Chapter 4

"If I can have your attention," the green uniformed man said in Spanish, after touching the voice enhancing device around his neck. "I am Lieutenant Jacobs with the Confederacy Marines and this is an extraction."

It was my fifth one today. Following the announcement, there was the typical uptick in decibel volume—as desperation kicked in for numerous wannabe concubines.

"Where are we again?" I asked, looking around at the newest location, having recently emerged from the transporter.

"Oh, shit," my favorite marine sergeant swore behind me, "not another titty bar!"

It was indeed just that. There were three elevated dance platforms with the prerequisite stripper poles ... and strippers. Considering what was waiting for me up on the Pacific Princess, I have to say this display did nothing for me. The last two clubs we'd hit didn't do much for me either.

That, however, wasn't my concern. The Spanish was. "This is still El Paso, isn't it?"

Sergeant Davis glanced down at her tablet and swore again. "Worse, Juarez. What does that idiot think he's doing?" With a disgusted shake of her head, she ordered her squad to go monitor the perimeter.

The schedule clearly stated we were to head to Tucson, besides which it was contrary to extraction policy to hit multiple sites sequentially the same day in the same general location. Still, the ranking extraction officer—which Lieutenant Vernon Jacobs was—had broad leeway when it came to when and where. And the lieutenant seemed to have a penchant for strip clubs—and I'm not talking the high end variety either.

I had accompanied Decurion Sundberg for the first two extractions and that went relatively well. Our task was to tag along on with teams from the Andromeda and then the Northern Lights to see if we could pick up a bundle of free concubines to ship to Demeter on the Pacific Princess. In particular, we were looking for passed over low six males that would be suitable for the planetary citizen militia and could, potentially, test up to genuine Confederacy sponsor status at some point. In addition, I had the side task of filling up the concubine quota for myself, Gene, and Martin.

I must say, after those two extractions, I had done well on both fronts. Well, not exactly. We did great at the first priority, garnering 114 men for the Demeter militia. As to the second, I had Gene's and Martin's quotas filled but had still yet to fill any of my slots. Einar said I was too picky. Actually, that wasn't the case. I just couldn't see claiming anyone for myself who could avoid concubinage altogether by heading off to Demeter instead.

Anyway, I was able to siphon off three couples with young children—two for Gene, which filled out his quota, and one for Martin. Each couple had someone who had real sponsor potential; they just had no interest in military combat service. Finally, to round out Martin's crew, I found a couple of naïve coeds in San Antonio who I thought would adore him and that Diane would be able to handle.

After our two runs together, though, the decurion sent me off to fly solo with an extraction crew from the Orion, while he checked back in with his boss. Sadly, it proved to be a huge waste of my time. Well, not entirely. There was Sergeant Davis but that was about it. Since the Pacific Princess was nearly full and set to leave soon, she and one of her squads had been transferred over to the Orion. So, while we both had the unfortunate privilege of having to deal with Jacobs, we at least were able to do it together ... at the third strip club in a row ... in Juarez, Mexico.

All I could do was shake my head. Strip clubs were not target-rich environments for me or anyone, really—especially dives like this one. The ratio of women to men, for one thing, was all wrong—probably one woman for every nine or ten guys in the place. Secondly, only guys with low CAP scores tend to still frequent clubs like this anymore. I will admit, there did seem to be a few marginal volunteers here—just like at our previous stops—but that appears to have been by design, judging by how they all have interacted with our fearless leader.

In no time at all, the stages at our current location were put to full use. The available women—nearly all strippers and wait staff—were pretty much taking all comers in a free-for-all attempt to be selected. Even the lieutenant got in on the action, triple-teaming one woman with two of his other marines.

For me, the display was not so much erotic as it was pathetic. Even the crude line-ups of the slavery era, where African women would be lined up naked on the docks and sold off to the highest bidder, had to have had far more humanity and dignity than this. As I found myself doing a lot over the last few hours, I could only shake my head in disgust.

"What?" My marine companion asked over the din of the cheering and chanting crowd.

I glanced her way and then gestured with my head toward the spectacle. "Humanity at its finest," I jeered.

She nodded in agreement. We'd had this conversation before and nothing more needed to be said. The sergeant had spent nearly a year training and then fighting in hit and run attacks against the Sa'arm on Tulak, and nothing had demoralized her more than her present tour of duty doing extractions. She explained it in terms of having to watch that old movie Schindler's List over and over again. Each time you watch it, you get to see some people saved but you still feel like shit when it's over.

Turning away, I pulled out my small datapad and went through the names of the volunteers performing up on stage. Just as I suspected, pretty much all of Jacobs' new buddies had Grigorian's bad subscore combinations.

<Do you wish to target these volunteers for long term CAP evaluation, just like you did the ones from the last two extractions, sir?>

<Yes, Orion.> I answered the ship AI.

It took a bit to get used to, but when I shifted from one ship's extraction team to another, I also shifted AIs. They were pretty much interchangeable but each one did have a slightly different tone and feel, so it took a little bit to make the adjustment. Davis told me that calling them by their ship name helped immensely. It did.

Suddenly there was a sharp squeeze of my arm. Looking up, I met the sergeant's concerned gaze.

"Garvis and Atkins are saying the interdiction field still isn't up," she hissed, motioning toward the door.

I took a quick glance around and noticed the number of guys talking away on their cell phones rather than taking in the proceedings. Jacobs and his cronies, meanwhile, were balls deep in another desperate woman. This was not good.

<Orion, please inform the lieutenant that we need the interdiction field up.>

<Affirmative.>

I could see Jacobs' face and knew immediately when he got the message. He turned to look at me over the crowd, not to mention the girl he was pumping away in, and spoke directly to my implant.

<Just chill out, Hendricks, you're wound too tight. We're still waiting on a few CAPs to show. No big deal. If you're bored, maybe you can take Davis out and give her a good fucking. She's got no conks and could probably use it. Now stop bothering me.>

I don't think he slowed a stroke the whole time.

<Orion, please confirm that I can't call for the interdiction field.>

<That is correct. Lieutenant Jacobs, as the ranking extraction officer, restricted that responsibility to himself moments ago.>

I looked up at the sergeant and shook my head. "He won't do it. Says he's waiting on a few more to show."

"What now?" She asked, visibly as concerned as I was.

"Pull your guys back from the perimeter," I said, thinking as quickly as I could. "We'll play this his way, but we both know how this will likely end up..."

"FUBAR," she interjected.

"FUBAR," I agreed, nodding. "Okay, send someone to seal the back door. We definitely don't need anyone sneaking in behind us. You and I'll grab the pad and head for the dancers' changing area back stage for better control."

"Agreed," she replied, quickly getting back into gear. "The others can converge on us there. We'll reset the transporter and hold it for as long as we can."

With that she got on the horn and started giving the appropriate orders, which I could hear over my implant. Jacobs gave no indication of awareness, so I suspected he'd ordered his muted.

I walked in the direction of where we'd first come out of the transporter, with Davis not far behind. As I suspected, none of the other squad, whose task it was to guard it, were present. No need to guess where they were. Sergeant Davis appeared as disgusted as I was.

I could hear her sub-vocalize to the ship AI. <Orion, please be advised that we need the transporter connection severed temporarily while we reposition it.>

<Understood, Sergeant. Connection terminated.>

While most everyone's attention was focused on the stage show, I was surprised to see several with eyes on us instead. Two even stood up and started walking toward us, blocking our way. They did not look friendly.

As I was only an observer, I was unarmed. Fortunately, my companion wasn't and she didn't hesitate. Without warning, Sergeant Davis dropped the two men with hits from her handheld stinger. Following her initiative, I quickly snatched up the deactivated pad and we made a beeline for the backstage door.

Then the Orion AI gave us even more bad news.

<The overhead drone reports several vehicles pulling into the front parking lot and many more are on their way. Some of the occupants appear armed.>

Almost immediately, we could hear gunfire erupting behind us. You could also hear the sizzling crack of the marines' stinger rifles in reply, as the sergeant and I hastily set up the pad. With a quick call to the AI, she had it visibly active again.

By this time, however, the lieutenant was screaming like crazy over the implant. Sergeant Davis merely yelled over him.

<Marines, abort and fall back to my position. We'll hold as long as we can.>

Within seconds, PFC Yates bounded up the steps from the back door, stinger rifle in hand. "They're banging like crazy on it, but it should hold," he told us, slightly out of breath. Seeing me without a weapon, he smiled and tossed me his handheld stinger. "Just don't hit me with it," he joked as he took position by the door with Sergeant Davis.

Maybe a minute later, Lance Corporal Garvis came through the door, partially carrying Private Atkins who'd been hit in the leg. Behind them was Private Kettering, who was making good use of his stinger rifle.

Seeing a need, I stepped forward to take Atkins from Garvis and hustle him through the portal.

Sergeant Davis turned toward me and started to point but could see I was a step ahead of her. She smiled and was about to say something when a round came through the doorway and caught her in the neck, just above her protective gear.

Time slowed way down for me. I could see the shock in her face as she slumped toward the floor. There was a pulsing stream of blood striking my arm as I reached to pull her out of the doorway. I yanked the medpatch out of my pants pocket and slapped in on the wound. The only reason I knew it was there was because Serena had pointed it out to me earlier.

I could hear yelling but it was like it had all faded into the background. With everything I had, I lifted my fallen friend, cradling her in my arms, and headed for the transporter.

"Can't sleep?" I asked, looking over my shoulder.

It was Heather this time. She stood in the doorway shaking her head.

"Me either," I replied softly. "Bad dreams?"

She nodded.

"Come here," I invited, motioning for her to join me on the couch.

As she walked toward me in the dim light, I could just make out two other shapes lurking in the hallway behind her.

"You girls, too?"

Both Gina and Gretchen nodded as solemnly as Heather had. Waving them in, as well, they soon followed behind their sister.

I had asked the AI earlier to project an external view from the ship on the larger of the living room walls as if it were a window. So I had been sitting here watching some kind of massive ship docking structure suspended above a darkened Earth, with countless ships coming and going. It was mesmerizing.

As Heather drew near, I opened my arms and she climbed on my lap. With that space now claimed, Gretchen crawled onto the sofa and snuggled into my left side—while Gina stopped to admire the amazing panorama.

"That is so cool," she murmured, as a large military looking ship separated from the docking structure and began to slip out of view.

"It is, isn't it?" I replied, with a touch of amazement still in my voice. Like I said, it was mesmerizing. "The AI says that's the Light Cruiser Marseille. And back there," I said, pointing to a massive carrier ship in the distance, "is the Victory. It's the Navy's main command ship. Most of the big Admirals work on it, I guess."

Gina nodded at the screen and watched for a bit longer before coming over to the sofa and snuggling into my right side. We all just sat there for a while, watching. I could feel Heather breathe against my chest and the smallest of the three would periodically rub her nose against my arm.

Finally, the oldest spoke—no doubt speaking for her sisters. "You really scared us, Dad."

"I know, Sweetie," I responded. Leaning to my right, I gently kissed her on the forehead. "I'm sorry."

It wasn't my first time being shot at but it was my first time being shot. Thankfully, my body armor took all but one of them. The one it didn't went through the meaty part of my left thigh and embedded in my right. Apparently it happened when I squatted down to pull Serena—Sergeant Davis—out of the doorway. As a result, I was now the first Civil Service officer ever to be wounded in combat. Personally, I could have done without the distinction.

Funny thing, though. At the time of the incident, I didn't actually have a rank—seeing as the service hadn't decided what to do with me yet. On the citation—oh yes, I got one of those, too—I'm listed as having been a decurion. It's the equivalent, I'm told, of what used to be a captain, now commander in the newly proposed unified ranking scheme. A bit of a demotion for me but oh well. Had I actually had that rank at the time, rather than have it applied retroactively, though, I could have potentially overridden Lieutenant Jacobs' order about the barrier with the AI. But, as they say, hindsight is 20/20.

Knitting me up didn't take all that long, just a half hour in the tube. Serena took far longer, nearly a day and a half. Turns out the bullet had made hash of her neck and did significant damage to her spinal column. Thankfully, her own nanites and those in the medpatch gave her time until we could get her to the tube. Having to re-grow nerve tissue, though, meant she would have to relearn a lot of basic functions like eating, drinking, walking, and talking. I haven't been allowed to see her but the AI says she's making remarkable progress.

My only complication is difficulty sleeping. Well, that and worrying the hell out of my family.

"I love you girls more than life itself," I finally told the three of them, keeping my voice low and calm. "Just like I love Mama Erica and Mama Trisha ... and even Matthew," I added just a touch later. It had its desired effect. All three giggled.

"Now, sometimes bad things happen," I continued quietly, "and I've set things up so you all will be taken care of should the worst happen. But I'm not in the Navy or the Marines. People won't normally shoot at me. Now..." Gina started to protest but I nudged her. "Now if they do—like they did a few days ago—our people can put me in a medtube and make me better. A few years ago, Sergeant Davis would have died. Today, she's going to be fine after a couple days in a medtube and some physical therapy."

I then gave each of the girls an extra squeeze. "I know you'll probably always worry about me—just like I'll always worry about you. But remember I'll also always do my best to come back to you, okay?"

After a little prodding, Gina and Gretchen told me "okay" while Heather simply nodded into my chest. With that, we settled in for a bit more ship gazing. My thoughts, however, meandered back to the botched extraction.

Lieutenant Vernon Jacobs somehow survived the ordeal, leaping through the portal at the last minute, missing significant portions of his uniform and gear. Corporal Schnelling and Private First Class Richards were not far behind in a similar state of undress. Privates Hitchens and Ingersoll, however, were not so fortunate. Turns out a couple of rival drug lords thought it would be a good idea to kidnap some or all of an extraction team. Unfortunately, both sets of gangbangers showed up at the same time, saw each other and the rest—as they say—is history.

Adding in the military casualties with the civilian ones, there were a total of nine dead and thirty two wounded in the whole debacle.

The Pacific Princess broke orbit yesterday but we're still here. The powers that be had our pod temporarily transferred to the Orbital Pod Tender Mobile Bay. Seems there's a contested general court-martial in two days and they want me there. At least that's what Emma—Major Hernandez—tells me. She's assisting counsel for the prosecution on this one. To be honest, I'm not really sure what they need me for—after all, they've got all the recorded information from the Orion AI. Emma even said the Article 32 hearing showed their case was pretty much a slam dunk—but orders are orders.

Minutes ticked by as we watched ship after ship silently stream past our little window on the world. Before long, however, I realized I was the only one still awake. I fidgeted a bit but they didn't stir. I could even hear their breathing shift as they headed for deeper and deeper sleep. But as they did, a really big ship—the Carrier Martin Van Buren—drifted into view. Floodlights caressed it from bow to stern, causing the ship's skin to gleam and shine against the dark Earth.

<The Presidential Class Attack Carrier Martin Van Buren was just commissioned yesterday and is now setting out on its maiden voyage under the command of Captain Isidor Burros.>

The vision of the ship, so majestic as it lifted effortlessly past the docking facility stirred something deep within—as did the thought of so many men and women heading out into harm's way, likely never to return. Almost before I knew it, the verse of a hymn I'd sung as a chaplain so many times before was on my lips.

"O Trinity of love and power!

Our brethren shield in danger's hour;

From rock and tempest, fire and foe,