Krieger Platoon Read online

  Bag took another long sip of coffee. “Don’t judge me...”

  Brett began to shake his head, now obviously disappointed and more agitated by Bag’s dismissive attitude. “What happened to you? Your country needs your help and you turn your back on it!”

  Bag remained silent and stared down at his now mostly empty coffee mug. He couldn’t bear to look him in the eye, even though part of him knew Brett was right. Of all the days for this to happen…

  Brett snorted crossly and then slapped a paper note on the bar. “Here’s a list of names the Army and myself have recommended for the program. You’ll recognize most of them I think. That is, when you decide to climb out of the bottle and rejoin the real world…hopefully sometime in THIS century.”

  Bag glanced toward the note, then turned back toward his coffee. “I never said yes…”

  Brett stood up from the bar and retrieved the dirty facial shroud from his pocket. “You don’t have to, because I know the man you used to be. And I’m willing to bet he’s still in there somewhere, just waiting for a chance to fight and be a soldier again.”

  Brett passed Bag one more glance, though his face was now fully covered, as he moved toward the bar entrance. He lashed out once more with a tone that sounded suspiciously like he had just given an order. “Next Monday, 0700, Fort Gregg. That’s six days from now, if you’ve lost track of time too.” The doors swung wildly behind him as he stormed out without another word.

  Jesus walked up to Bag as if on cue and began wiping down the dust from where Brett had been seated. “What did that guy want?”

  “Friend from the past…” Bag picked up the note and began to read over the names for a long moment. Brett wasn’t kidding, everyone from the original platoon is on here…all the survivors at least. THE Krieger Platoon…

  Jesus rested both arms on the bar and stared Bag directly in the face. “How long have you been living here, Bag?”

  “Well, since about August 2118 or so.” Bag replied dryly as he continued to read the note.

  “Yeah, that’s right. What year is it now?”

  Bag had to think actually think about that. Wow…he really had lost track of time. Had he been here for a year, over a year? He honestly didn’t know anymore. “Uh well, its 2119?”

  Jesus threw the next question in before Bag even had a chance to complete his sentence. “What month is it?”

  “Uh, it’s January right?”

  “What day?” Jesus continued to stare fixedly.

  Bag curled his face in frustration. “I’m still not feeling good, why so many questions?”

  Jesus sighed loudly and crossed his arms, then spoke slowly and deliberately. “You’ve been living here, drinking, and doing close to nothing for almost a year. I’ve tolerated it this long because you helped me and Enid get setup here… But now I’m tired of this shit.”

  Bag raised an eyebrow at the man. Was he being serious? “You’re kicking me out?”

  Jesus shook his head slowly and maintained a firm expression. He WAS being serious. “No, I want you to go and live your life and stop feeling fucking sorry for yourself.”

  “I am NOT feeling sorry for myself.” Bag retorted.

  Jesus glanced toward the note in Bag’s hand, and then took the coffee cup from the bar and dumped the remaining liquid down the sink before Bag could protest. “Really? All you talk about is how much you want to ‘make the world a better place’. I know you haven’t realized it yet, but words don’t matter for shit without actions. You aren’t helping ANYONE here.”

  Bag remained silent and lowered his gaze to the bar counter as his mind raced about. Every fiber of his being was telling him to stand up, walk out the front doors, and just keep going until he caught up to Brett. He knew that deep down Brett was right… Jesus was right… And he had to stop trying to hide from his problems.

  Jesus continued in a much softer tone of voice. “Look man, there’s nothing here for you. Just pay your tab and go do all that stupid shit you talk about all the time. Make things better.”

  Bag took in a deep breath, and then nodded to himself. He’d made up his mind. “Yeah you’re right, man…I really have been here too long. Say goodbye for Enid for me, yeah?”

  He set a small stack of currency coins on the counter and walked straight to the front entrance. He took the list of names out of his pocket and gave it another quick read over, before barging through the doors, without a second thought.

  “Yeah...and don’t come back until you get better jokes!” Jesus laughed to himself, and then continued wiping down the counter-top.

  Chapter 2 - Lone Star

  The thrashed and badly aged country western bar, Lone Star, lay nestled near one of the many derelict shipping piers in Tundra City. A testament to the failed Martian fishing and cargo industry. The bar lay empty, as it usually did, with the exception of the few local ranchers and farmers who frequented it for their early morning routine; still desperately trying to cling to their old world professions in the new world. Like the fishing industry, the traditional agriculture industry struggled the hardest due to the harsh climate, and their struggle paved the way for the corporate terraforming giants to buy up nearly all of the farm land, and turn it into synthetic food processing plants and greenhouses. Realistically, there was no competing with that.

  Maybe that’s why he enjoyed this place? The people just don’t give up despite the bullshit. Jon thought to himself, as he tossed the last of the three broken and dull darts into an equally abused dart board, just narrowly missing the bulls-eye. Jon grunted in acceptance of his placing as his opponent, a large, drunk, and apparently very impatient vagabond, viciously grabbed the darts off the board and snickered in an almost undecipherable gutter speak. “Dat all yous got, boy? Dat hundred dollars is gonna look real good in my wallet, might as well pay me’s now!”

  Jon scowled toward the man, unblinking, and downed the fresh shot of whiskey the bar tender had just set down for him. He took a moment to appreciate the effects of the alcohol, and spoke in his distinctive Texas drawl. “It’s your turn, sweetheart.”

  The large vagabond sneered back at Jon, showing his rotting, and jagged teeth, then turned toward his two almost identical friends, who began hooting and hollering him on almost incoherently. The man viciously threw the first dart, missing the board completely by an easy 2 inches, followed by an even greater miss of an entire foot, and then a direct hit on the 12 near the bulls-eye. The man roared out in self-admiration and snickered back at Jon.

  Jon walked up and casually took each dart out of the wall, pivoted immediately on the shooting line, and scored an instant bulls-eye. Jon strode over to the now frozen, scowling man and handed him the last 2 darts. “You lost, just in case you didn’t know.” Then strolled over to his usual seat at the sticky, alcohol soaked bar counter and waved down Scott the bar tender. “This one’s on ugly over there and his two stunt doubles.”

  Scott glanced to the vagabonds and then grunted a laugh as he quickly refilled the glass. He knew Jon well enough to appreciate the humor of his actions, it was a regular thing. Jon grabbed ahold of the shot glass at the same time as a hand was laid on his shoulder, prompting a low growl from him. “Do you want to lose that hand?”

  Bag took up the seat directly next to him and let out a lighthearted laugh. “Not particularly. Well on second thought, maybe if there’s a hell of a story involved in it!”

  Jon sighed at Bag’s attempt at a joke, and just stared down at his shot glass. What the fuck does HE want? “And just what the fuck are YOU doing here?”

  “I can’t have a drink with my Executive Officer?”

  “I’m not your fucking XO anymore.” Jon snapped back.

  Bag waved the bar tender off, and twisted his face with frustration. “Well…it’s nice to see you too, Jon.”

  Jon grumbled and downed his shot of whiskey. What the hell did Bag expect? Did he think Jon was just going to be like ‘Oh hey Bag, good to see you. How has abandoning all yo
ur friends and disappearing off the face of the planet worked out for you?’ He had some fucking nerve… “There a reason why you’re here bothering me?”

  Bag visibly hesitated and then shrugged his shoulders. “Patriot found me.”

  Jon picked up his once again full shot glass and downed it at once. “…So?”

  “So, they want to bring Krieger back, and that they want us to be a part of it.”

  “Who’s they?” Jon inquired doubtfully.

  Bag turned and motioned toward the bar tender, who had begun to walk away. “Hey, on second thought I’ll have an India Pale, and no tab please.”

  The bar tender grabbed a random IPA, popped the cap off reflexively, and slid it toward Bag. “Let me know if you need anything else.” He remarked faintly.

  “Thank you.” Bag took a long swig of the dirty, sour tasting liquid and turned back to Jon. “THEY are the Army. Apparently they’re desperate and really need our help all of a sudden… Funny since they were the ones that disbanded us.”

  “How is that funny? How is that fucking funny at all?!” Jon countered back irritably.

  “Just saying, man. I’m trying to look at the brighter side of things.”

  Jon shot Bag an angry look, before turning back toward his shot glass. What a fucking asshole… “I haven’t heard or seen from you in years! You think you can just show up talking about this shit and expect me to go with it? I thought you had fucking died! Fuck you!”

  Bag seemed to accept the harshness of the words, took another long swig of his beer, and sighed deeply. “After things went down…I went back to Earth. I had to do it alone, and I couldn’t risk letting anyone know I was leaving.”

  “Ok, well fuck you too. All that shit about trust and respect, all of that went out the window.” Jon glared and turned away.

  Bag sat quietly in thought. Jon was right, it was wrong for Bag to have just left like he did… But it was for a very real reason. He had to tell Jon the truth, he owed him that at least. “…I went back to Earth to find my family. I heard rumors that they were alive… And I had to be careful…overly careful…not to scare off the source. I did what I did because I truly had to.”

  Jon’s expression softened slightly. “Is that an apology?”

  “Yeah. As much of one as I can make.” Bag replied frankly.

  Jon pivoted on the stool and saw the sincerity behind Bag’s eyes. That was actually the truth. He was still pissed off at him to be sure, but not for that at least.

  The three vagabond men had quietly made their way behind Jon and Bag, who hadn’t noticed until they had started grunting. The bartender walked over to pour another shot of whiskey, then began wiping an already clean glass; carefully eyeing the situation.

  Bag peered over his shoulder toward the now very drunk and angry looking men, then back to Jon with a curious expression. “Friends of yours?”

  “None of your fucking business…” Jon said softly, as he downed the shot of alcohol.

  Bag raised an eyebrow at him and became unnecessarily, and annoyingly inquisitive, at least Jon thought so. “How many shots is that? Like five in the past ten minutes?”

  Jon exhaled loudly from the burning aftertaste. “…Shut up, Bag.”

  The alpha vagabond growled and stuttered toward Jon. “You done cheated! Yur a damn cheatin! I want me dollars back! Cheatin!”

  “Hmm…how horribly illiterate.” Bag commented in a stuck up tone of voice, though he had a tendency of sounding like that anyways.

  Jon sighed in annoyance and spun around on his bar stool, speaking in the slowest and most insulting tone he could. “No, you just suck at darts. So why don’t you take your ugly fatass outside and do something you’re good at, like rolling in the mud and eating your own shit?”

  The man grabbed Jon by the shoulder and violently pulled him off the bar stool, followed immediately by Jon slamming a fist into the man’s chin, and diving out of the way of a slow and sloppy fist from the vagabond on the left.

  Bag casually downed the last of his beer and tapped the counter to get Scott’s attention. “Could I get another beer, please?” Scott grabbed another of the same beer, popped the top, and set it on the bar with a glance toward the fight. Bag noticed the eye movement. “Thank you, and are you going to do anything about that?”

  Scott shrugged, and didn’t appear to care. “He does this pretty much every night...”

  That certainly sounds like Jon. Bag laughed to himself and took a swig off the beer.

  One of the men picked up a chair and threw it at Jon, who ducked under a table just as it flew overhead and smashed against the wall. The table on his right suddenly flipped over, revealing the large vagabond holding a jagged shiv. Jon waited cautiously for the man to swing with the blade, then countered. Jon snapped the vagabond’s wrist in one agonizing move, forcing him to drop the knife. Just as Jon cocked his arm back, he was grabbed from behind by another vagabond.

  Jon furiously kicked off the alpha vagabond’s face, sending him and his attacker flying backward. Jon repeatedly began to elbow his attacker in the face, and finally fell free of his grasp. The third vagabond ran up and drunkenly threw a series of harmless punches, followed by Jon drop kicking the man in the chest, slamming the man’s back onto the edge of the over turned table. The alpha vagabond managed to recover and then charged in at Jon, swinging the shiv wildly with his unbroken hand. Jon tripped him and moved in to disarm again, only to be tackled by the second vagabond and then furiously punched in the back of the head. The alpha started to hobble toward Jon, his blade leading the way. “Dis one gonna die now, Billy! Hold ‘em still!”

  The second vagabond strengthened his grasp on Jon’s arms, just as he was knocked into unconsciousness by a glass bottle to the head. The third vagabond began to recover and turned back toward the fight, only to be kicked straight in the face by Bag; incapacitating him for good this time. Jon slowly rubbed the back of his painfully bruised head, and dodged what would have been a deadly cut across the gut.

  Jon continued to dodge, then grabbed the knife out of the man’s hand as he made a sloppy thrust, and punched him with full force directly in the nose; breaking it in a terrible crunching sound. The man tumbled down in bloody agony, followed by a final knockout punch to the temple, ending the fight. Jon, still fuming in an adrenaline fueled rage, turned almost instantly to Bag, who had returned to his bar seat to finish his beer. “I didn’t need your help!”

  Bag grinned and stared back. “Ok.”

  Jon hobbled over to the bar stool as Scott poured another shot of whiskey without asking, and spoke in a partially frustrated tone. “I’ll put the table, chairs, lamp, and blood stains on my floor on your tab, Jon…”

  Bag laughed at the comment and nodded over to Jon. “I’m surprised you haven’t been thrown out yet.”

  Scott shook his head and sighed in annoyance. “He’s our best and often only customer… Plus he always tips well.”

  “Ugh…” Jon stared down at his shot glass, still rubbing his bruised head. Just stop trying to be funny, Bag.

  Bag snorted and set a wad of currency onto the counter. “Fort Gregg, next Monday.”

  Jon stared at the money questionably. “You’re actually serious? Who’s in on this thing?”

  “Patriot and I.”

  “Patriot, you, and who else?”

  Bag pulled the list of names from his jacket pocket and set it on the bar. “Well, this is everyone… New guys included.”

  Jon aggressively grabbed the list and gave it a quick read over. “Everyone’s coming back? Just like that?” He wasn’t convinced.

  Bag slowly nodded and glanced down at the list. “Yes. Everyone except you.”

  “Damnit Bag…”

  “Damnit what?”

  Jon hardened his expression into frustration, and growled back in reply. “What do you mean what?! This is whole thing is bullshit. You just expect me to drop everything and come back, is that it?”

  Bag looked around at li
mp vagabonds and the now destroyed bar. “I don’t expect anything, Jon. I’m just asking you.”

  Jon grunted and slammed the note down on the bar. Just asking? What does he expect him to do, forgive and forget? Even if he wanted to go back, why would he? “Why now?”

  Bag’s expression said something around the lines of ‘I have no idea, I’m just as lost.’ “Patriot says it’s important…and because it’s what I should have done long ago.”

  Jon pulled the shot glass toward him with both hands and stared motionlessly down at it. “Maybe...”

  “I need my XO back. Wouldn’t be the same without him.” Bag added modestly.

  Was he trying to make him feel bad now? Play on his sense of duty or something? Jon sighed. He knew from the tone of his voice that Bag actually meant that…But it was a shitty move!

  Jon continued to stare into his shot glass and refused to respond or even look in Bag’s direction. Bag waited in vain for a response, then just stood and briskly walked out the door.

  Chapter 3 – Admin: The Abridged Version

  Bag marched through the second floor hallway of the Armored Infantry Headquarters at Fort Gregg, which was surprisingly busy for 0645 in the morning, and did a quick self-check of his Martian Dress Uniform or MDUs as the Army called them. The Orange, Black, and Tan digital pattern of the uniform, complete with tan combat boots and patrol cap, reminded Bag of something he saw in a movie once. Though the Army claimed it was the newest and best camouflage they have ever made for the Red Planet. New was a relative term, since the only thing the Army had to work with is equipment salvaged from Earth, MDU’s included.

  Bag was 15 minutes early to meet with General Brett Travis, and to him that meant he was right on time. He rounded the corner past the admin office, nearly running into a mail orderly’s cart, and walked straight into the large corner office labeled Regional Commander. The windows of the office looked over the airfield and parade grounds on the north side of the base, along with a striking view of the new and very large artificial lake habitat the Army was attempting to stabilize farther to the North West.