Starcross

Chapter Three - Part 1

      “No, sir. But-“

      “Then shut your face hole and fall in!” He shouted. The two men jumped and scurried on ahead to catch up with Esposito who stood a few meters up shaking his head.

      “Well, at least some of them are gung-ho,” Staff-Sargent Blithe said next to Spinnaker, who could swear he neither saw or heard the heavy man approach.

      “Good,” He said, reaching for his canteen again. “I have a feeling that before the week is over they’ll need everything they can get...”

      Blithe nodded and carried on, the M-16 looking like a puny toy next to his muscular frame. As the last man walked by, he shouldered his rifle and fell in line, keeping his head turn toward the heavens on the off chance that he might see the attack craft before it came in close enough range to attack, his exact orders being that everyone keep aware of their surroundings but he knew that since so many of them were so young he didn’t hold them too accountable for letting their heads sink to the ground, especially in this heat.

      It wasn’t long before he heard his name called from the front of the line and, with more dread than he should have had, he jogged to the front of the half mile long skirmish line. Since the platoon had more or less come to a halt, he caught Marines lounging against the rocks or sipping on water as he passed; comically, most of the men jumped up and pretended to be doing something important when they saw him, then collapsed back into the dirt when they thought he wouldn’t notice. Actually, he didn’t care if they took a break, it had been too long since their last one and whatever he was called to the front for would obviously take some time to resolve so he could easily take care of two birds with one stone.

      As he came to the front he slowed and saw his two point men, Privates Dennis and Dennis, looking past a chain link fence with their field glasses, scanning the forward area for threats, possible cover, and terrain markers. He was a few meters back when he crouched low so as to not break the skyline with his silhouette and give away his position, and approached the two young troopers.

      “What’s up, guys?” He asked softly.

      “Facility up ahead. Can’t make anything out, but clearly it’s a government installation,” The first Dennis, Private Dennis Feuerstein reported without looking away from his high powered binoculars.

      “I don’t see a flag,” Spinnaker commented, though at this range a flag would only appear like a slightly more colorful blur. “How can you be sure?”

      In lieu of answering him, the second Dennis, Private John Dennis, just pointed upward with one finger elevated on a raised hand toward the fence. Spinnakers gaze followed the white finger upward and for a moment he felt ashamed that he didn’t think to check before asking. Adorned on the fence in bold lettering and encircled by a red, white, and blue shield a sign said with utmost authority: THIS IS A U.S. GOVERNMENT INSTALLATION. IT IS UNLAWFUL TO ENTER THESE PREMISES WITHOUT AUTHORIZATION.

      After seeing the sign, Spinnaker looked down for a silent moment of shame then, recovering quickly, he asked, “Is this China Lake?”

      In his South Texas drawl, Sargent Rutherford leaned forward with the areas map card. “Could be, sir. China Lake,” He pronounced it ‘layke’. “Was in our area when we stopped on the highway. Unless we are way off course, then that’s gotta be it.”

      “Good,” He said with authority. Then turned to the Dennis’. “Boys, break out the wire cutters.”

      Exchanging mischievous grins, they reached into their packs and pulled out standard issued wire cutters and started making a small, but sizeable hole in the fence. Edward turned back and waved Sargent Blithe, who he knew was watching, up to meet him.

      Sure enough, after only a few short minutes filled with the soft sound of metal being cut, the Staff Sargent came jogging up in a crouch for the same reason Spinnaker crouched before he approached the two point men. Though sweating, the burly man did not look like he was hiking in the desert for most of the afternoon; Blithe was what was known as a professional soldier. No matter how hard, exhausting, or dangerous the assignment, he always acted as if he was doing it just for the experience of doing it, like getting shot at was the same as an expensive team building exercise for the yuppies out of the city.

      “We there?” He asked around the cigar.

      Spinnaker wiped his brow and looked past the fence; he thought he saw people moving near the large complex. “Either that or we are very lost.”

      Blithe shook he head, dismissing the entire possibility of being lost. “Nah,” He said. “I trained those men myself, we ain’t lost.”

      He tapped the big NCO’s knee with the back of his hand. “You okay, Sarge?”

      “Worried about base. That’s all,” He replied, which told Spinnaker all he needed to know. Jared Blithe never let on that he was anxious or worried, even when the bullets were flying overhead and they were out of ammo.

      “We’re through, sir.” One of the Dennis’, if you weren’t very familiar with them then they looked and sounded very much alike.

      “Esposito!” Spinnaker called out and the echoing of footsteps coming up the gulch they were resting in let him know the Marine heard him. “Feuerstein, Rutherford, and… Moore. You’re with me. Blithe, you have the platoon.”

      The five men squeezed through the gap, careful not to scratch themselves on the cut metal, and spread out in a ragged line moving toward the large, grey building a few kilometers away. He turned back and saw Private First Class Duane Chesterson, one of the Marines that was arguing about sending aid to the Druidth earlier and the unit sharpshooter, lean his scoped M-14 over the ridge, then wave. Spinnaker marveled, and even chuckled a little bit causing a worried look from Esposito, at how childish most of the men in his unit acted.