Krieger Platoon Read online

  Bag smiled to himself, naturally Brett had the best office with the best view. He can still remember when Fort Greg was just a series of portable trailers and tents…times have changed.

  Brett’s secretary, a young and pretty female Specialist who’s overly perfect bearing and appearance screamed straight from boot camp, snapped to attention from her chair and nervously stumbled over her words. “Good Afternoo- I mean…sorry, Good Morning Sir!”

  Bag passed her a friendly smile. “Good Morning Specialist, how are you doing?”

  “Uh fine Sir, thank you.” The Specialist quickly sat down and went back to typing away energetically on her touch screen work station, intentionally avoiding eye contact with Bag.

  Bag sat down in one of many large leather-bound chairs set off into the corner for guests, and kicked his legs out. He had a feeling he’d be waiting for a moment, so might as well get comfortable. “So, I’m here to meet with General Travis. Could you let him know Colonel Kirovich is waiting for him?”

  The Specialist grabbed the phone and shoved it up to her ear. She was trying way too hard; everything was rushed and sloppy. “Sorry Sir, I’ll call him right now!” The Specialist waited for Brett to pick up, then spoke softly into the phone. “General Travis, Sir, there is a…Colonel…Kirovich here to see you….Yes General…Yes Sir, I will Sir!” She quickly set down the phone. “The General will call back, Sir. He’s in a video conference.”

  She reminded Bag of himself a little when he’d first joined. He told himself he was going to be the most squared away and have a perfect uniform and all that jazz. Finding the comfortable middle ground had taken awhile, but it was for the best in the long run. “Hey Specialist, can you do something for me?”

  The Specialist jumped to attention and her voice went straight to boot camp serious level. “YES SIR!”

  Bag sighed quietly to himself. She was way too wound up still, he’d have to make this sound like an order but not entirely. “It’s alright! At ease, soldier... I need you to do something very important.”

  The Specialist was hesitant to respond, suspecting some dire order no doubt. “Yes Sir, of course Sir!”

  Bag smiled to reinforce the friendliness he wanted to convey. “I need you to relax. This isn’t basic anymore, no one is going to chew you out. Speak to everyone respectfully but friendly like you would to your family. Just make sure to acknowledge their title, or say sir or ma’am, salute, and you’ll be just fine. Alright?”

  The Specialist faintly smiled and sat back down at her desk. “Ok… I will Sir.”

  Bag leaned back in the leather chair and stretched out. “What’s your name?”

  “Um well, it’s Werner. It’s says it right here.” The Specialist pointed toward her name tape and immediately returned to typing at her workstation.

  She was just avoiding the conversation now. He didn’t blame her. He wasn’t all too fond of speaking to other Officers either, but for different reasons. Bag let out a humored laugh. “Well, naturally I can read. What I meant is, what’s your first name?”

  Brett peeked out of his office door and stared at Bag very seriously. “Colonel Kirovich, when you’re done torturing the poor Specialist, get your butt in here and close the door!”

  Perfect timing. Small talk was never something Bag enjoyed doing, even though it was part of his job at times. It reached a point when it just seemed fake, and he didn’t like fakeness. He jumped out of the chair and made his over to an identical one in Brett’s square Office, gently closing the office door behind him.

  The office was a typical military setup with a large plastic desk in the center, several couches and chairs off to the side, and a variety of bookshelves and generic landscape pictures throughout the room. Brett was wearing his Army dress blues; a combination of dark navy blue dress jacket, and slightly lighter blue trousers, complete with all the typical ribbons and medals a General would have… Except for the unique golden scorpion and green shield of the Krieger Special Operation patch, that he had apparently never removed.

  Bag smirked at the sight. He knew Brett didn’t care for dress blues because that meant a meeting with the brass. Brett never really saw eye to eye with them…to say the least. “What’s with the dress blues? Meetings with the command keeping you busy?”

  Brett replied sarcastically. “Yeah…and I just love every moment of it.” Then frowned and let out a sigh. “I never pictured myself driving a desk… I wish I could be back out there Bag, but my duty is here now whether I like it or not…”

  “No reason you can’t grab a rifle and go get some bad guys once in a while.”

  Brett smiled and shook his head. What he would give to do that! If Brett could go out and see the battle first hand, and know what they were really up against, he could probably come up with better tactics. But that would land him a demotion or worse as soon as his command found out. “There’s about dozen rules and regulations explaining why the Commanding Officer of a base can’t leave, actually… Trust me I’ve looked for loop holes.”

  Bag crossed his arms behind his head, and leaned back into the corner of the overstuffed chair. He switched the subject all together. “Well, she’s jumpy.”

  Brett glanced at Bag curiously for the choice of topic. “Specialist Werner? Yeah, she’s a good kid. Best aid I have ever had, though really I only had two others before her. The first one was picked up for officer candidate school and is over in supply now.”

  “Yeah, and what happened to the second one?” Bag inquired.

  “I asked him to bring me a coffee…and he came back with only a bagel…a plain one with no cream cheese none the less…and only after being gone for an hour. So I had him transferred to Brigadier General Francis.” Brett opened his drawer and produced three large cigars, setting two of them on the front of his desk in Bag’s direction. “From what I hear, he’s doing just fine and annoying the shit out of Francis.” He smiled deviously.

  Bag grinned and grabbed one of the cigars. It was an artificial Cuban called a King Miami. The long brown paper and cheap mass produced tobacco, with its hint of citrus, was nothing even remotely close to an actual Cuban cigar, but in this day and age you couldn’t get a REAL anything. Who was third one is for though? “You don’t like General Francis?”

  There was a knock on the door right as Sergeant Major Josh Morijan, aka Cholius, walked in and was likewise wearing near identical MDU uniform as Bag. Cholius was an original member of Krieger and though he was usually very reserved and soft-spoken, he was one of the most experienced, and youngest of the Krieger’s Senior Non-Commissioned Officers. Cholius’ service record stretched back to the initial rough days of platoon, which combined with his steadfast loyalty, drew jokes about him being in Krieger since before the dawn of time.

  Bag immediately jumped up to shake his hand. That was definitely a person Bag was happy to see! “Cholius! It has been way too long, how the hell are you?”

  Cholius shook Bag’s hand and replied in his signature calm and collected way. “It’s good to see you, Bag. Brett told me you were returning to the fight.”

  Bag smiled and nodded yes. “It took a little convincing on my part, but I realized this is where I’m supposed to be. Where’ve you been, man? I haven’t heard from you since, hell, I don’t even know when.”

  Cholius nodded in agreement and maintained a perfectly collected tone of voice. “I was going to ask the same question of you. I’ve heard several rumors. One that you returned to Earth, and the other that you had died there.”

  Bag motioned for Cholius to sit in the chair opposite of the door. No doubt that was a question he was going to be hearing a lot…he’d just have to deal with answering some of it for the time being. “Yeah, I’ve been hearing that a lot. It’s a long story, but I actually went there following rumors about my family. I had lost touch with them a few months before that.”

  Brett produced an old flint lighter and fired the front of his cigar until it smoldered evenly. “Well, this is all starting
to make sense…did you find them?”

  Bag stared down at the King Miami cigar in his hand and began to roll it gently in his fingers. He didn’t want to think about it…but responded out of respect regardless. “No, unfortunately. The trail went cold while I was there. I’ve been trying to piece it together but it’s like they just vanished from the universe all together…”

  Brett took a long puff off his cigar and passed Bag a look of understanding. He could tell Bag didn’t want to talk about whatever it was that happened, but knew that an outside stress could be deadly in their profession. He’d have to push the questions carefully. “That’s a hell of a thing, but I’m sure that your family got off Earth before things went sour... Any news since then?”

  Bag took in a deep breath and sighed. “Nothing reliable…but let’s just get back to the Krieger business.”

  Krieger business it is then. Brett set his own cigar down and produced what appeared to be a recently opened letter from his top drawer. “I’ve got here a letter from the Chief of Staff for the US Army. I won’t bore you with the jargon, but it says all members of Krieger are reinstated and recalled, effective immediately. It also gives me the power to appoint whoever I want to whatever position I want…” Brett motioned toward Bag and continued. “Meaning YOU have the power to appoint whoever to where ever.”

  Brett folded up the letter then placed it back in the drawer. “I also have your first set of orders, but we’ll wait for that until the rest of the boys and girls get here. They ARE coming, right?”

  They should be… Hopefully… Bag produced a match and lit both his and Cholius’ cigars. “Yeah, all but Jon it seems.”

  “What? Did he say no?” Brett was clearly unsurprised.

  “He didn’t say yes.”

  Brett smiled and interlaced his fingers on his desk. “Neither did you, if I remember.”

  Bag half smiled, which ushered in a long silence in the room. Brett continued to puff on his cigar and began to spin slowly in his chair, the subtle sweet blends of tobacco ingredients settling along the top of the low ceiling. He had pictured a lot more talking in this reunion…but then again it was Bag AND Cholius. If it wasn’t about the mission, they didn’t really speak. He’d forgotten about that… “Oh, about the replacements I’ve picked for the open billets…” Brett spoke at last.

  Cholius gave his lit cigar a curious look, then took another long reluctant puff. “Hmm, I’m not usually one for cigars…or replacements. Who are these new soldiers?”

  Brett took another puff off his cigar and blew a smoke ring into the ceiling. He made his tone firm and undebatable. “Let’s just say they’re the best I could come up with on short notice, and also the ones you’re getting whether you like it or not. Krieger needs to be at full strength, I’m sorry to force them on you but this is coming from the top.”

  Bag took another puff off the cigar. From his expression, he clearly didn’t enjoy the tobacco, or the idea of the replacements. “I agree with Cholius, I’ve never been a smoker…but if you say they’re qualified then they’re fine by me.”

  Brett nodded in return. He could tell Bag was trying to be supportive despite his own objections. He appreciated that. “Well Bag, I’m glad you decided to come back here after all. You actually had me concerned for a few days… Now enough said, are you ready to get this thing going?”

  Bag immediately smothered the tip of his cigar in a nearby ash tray. “Yeah, always. First thing first though, I haven’t eaten since yesterday morning, and those pancakes the chow hall was making smelled pretty good on the way in.”

  Cholius likewise smothered his cigar and grinned in agreement. “I could go for pancakes.”

  Brett stood up and laughed. Nothing like cheap synthetic military food to bring friends together. “Haha, yeah why not…”

  ***

  Staff Sergeant John Bergan, aka Valor, sat in the back of the ruined and grossly over decorated economy cab, trying desperately to listen to the classic dub step music in his ear buds as the driver rattled off his life story about being a mushroom photographer or something outlandish like that. Valor had been Krieger’s Armor Commander, and was promoted to that position after one of the many skirmishes against the marauders during the Martian Immigration Blitz…which technically never truly ended.

  Second Squad had been pinned down by a group of bandits hiding in a captured Army fort, and instead of waiting for backup from the rest of the platoon. Valor rammed his tank through the wall of the fort. He essentially shot anything and everything in sight until second squad was able to move up and clear the rest of the complex. When asked by ‘Captain’ Bag at the time why he decided to do that, Valor responded that nothing can harm his ‘Big Sexy Tank’, much to the amusement of the rest of the platoon.

  The cab turned down the very traveled dirt road toward the chain link front gate of Fort Gregg, flanked by two large concrete bunkers and a large American flag waving in the wind. The entire base was up on an elevated plateau which spanned for miles in all direction, and was smack in the middle of the Martian desert. There was nothing, literally nothing else except this base, and sand, and rocks.

  Valor tipped the cab driver, who was still going on and on about mushrooms, and shouldered his sea bag with a quick heave. Finally here and away from that cabby! He’d rather cut his own feet off than have to sit through THAT again.

  Valor walked the remaining paces up to the Army sentry, verified his own identity with a retinal scan, and spoke in his deep, American East Coast drawl. “Hey yo, where’s the Krieger platoon boys?” The sentry pointed toward a huge group of green canvas tents. “Its barracks number 03, it says it right on the sides of them, you can’t miss it.” Valor checked his watch, 15:23, then started down toward the tents. “Thanks bro.”

  Fort Greg was a hive of activity with aspects of every branch of the military, all sharing one large base. Valor paused along the road and breathed in deep; it was the all too familiar smell of the fine red sand from the nearby dunes being blown in by the cold dry Martian breeze, and the smell of the cheap, military supplied food being cooked in the chow hall. The air was filled with the sounds of welding, units running in formation singing cadence, aircraft taking off and landing, and most importantly to Valor the deep rumble of armored vehicle engines.

  Valor passed by the open auto shop where mechanics were working on several badly worn M3A1 Main Battle Tanks and a few Infantry Fighting Vehicles. He shouted over to them, “Oh, oh…those are my babies’ right there. HEY YO! You better fix those tanks up and treat ‘em right, cuz they are about to be mine again! Haha!” Oh this was turning out to be better than he thought! Tanks! Tanks and even more tanks! Which one was going to be his though?

  Valor continued to walk toward the barracks in the center of base and across a paved street, but had to jump backwards off the road after almost being run over by a column of Air Force fuel trucks and fire fighting vehicles. “Hey! Do you even know who you just tried to hit? You better watch yo backs!”

  Valor gave a quick look across both sides of the street, then began to walk at a more brisk pace. The unit tent was instantly identifiable, the third down next to the parade field, and with the huge Krieger scorpion and shield unit patch spray painted onto the sides. Looked like it had been done recently…if he had to guess it was probably done by Cholius. He was all Krieger all the time. Wonder who else was around?

  No sooner did he cross the tent threshold, did he have to dodge a foam football thrown in his direction. He didn’t mind though, because that meant he was in the right place. The large rectangular tent was bustling with the voices of a dozen or so unfamiliar faces, all spouting the typical crude humor and topics of a military unit. It was so far even better than before since now it was all single beds instead of bunks…he hated bunks. Valor gave a quick look around for an open metal rack, and found one that literally had his name written on it. It also appeared to be the last open one out of the 40 or so in the deceptively large tent.

 
A foam football hit the back of Valor’s head as he set his gear down, followed by an all too familiar voice. “Valor, you cheap bastard!”

  There was only one man who would dare peg Valor with the foamy football… Valor spun around to see Corporal Brian Murphy, aka Alighten, wearing a Hawaiian shirt with his MDU pants and standing with another foam football cocked back in his hand; a huge devious smile on his face.

  Hah! He knew it… But there was no way he was going to let Alighten make that a thing. Valor sternly spoke, “Alighten, I swear to God, if you throw that football-”

  Alighten pegged Valor right in the face, as the foam football made a squeaky noise. Valor froze in mock surprise, before jokingly tackling Alighten and placing him into a loose choke hold. Oh it was so on now! “Haha, you better tap out, ya bastard!”

  Alighten gasped for air and tapped Valor repeatedly on the shoulder, clearly not enjoying the joke as much as his friend. “I give! Shit!”

  Valor let go, and then helped him back to his feet. Shit, it’s like they’d never left! He was damn glad Alighten was here! “HAHA! How you doing bro? It’s like I haven’t seen ya in ages!”

  Alighten was Valor’s combat driver almost the entire time the two had been in Krieger, and both had learned to rely heavily on the others unique tank skills. Alighten and Valor became steadfast friends because of that, and generally joke that if either one of them switched armor units or vehicles without bringing the other, it would be ‘cheating on their relationship.’ Though most of Krieger infantry thought the armor crews were…odd. Hah. That was alright by them, it wasn’t a popularity contest, because if it was they’d win anyways.

  Valor laughed and pretended to throw some mock punches, which Alighten likewise pretended to block. “Haha, man I’ve been finishing up my political science degree and trying to avoid getting caught up in this damn war! At least not in the fighting sense…”

  “Well hate to tell ya, but you already failed that last part! Haha!”