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  SCOUTS OUT: BOOK 3 (WAR)

  By: Danny Loomis

  This story is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

  Copyright 2017

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic/mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author.

  Other Science Fiction by this author: Scouts Out: 1 and 2

  Cover art by:

  Author’s Website: ddloomis.net

  Author’s Page: www.amazon.com/author/dannyloomis

  This novel would not have been possible without the enthusiastic support of my family–Thanks Melissa/Robert/Pete!!

  Also, a big thank you to the gang at Wildacres Writing Retreat for all the assistance provided!!

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  TRAINING PRESERVE 3, PLANET ALAMO (Orion Confederation)

  ALAMO AIRFIELD, TRAINING BARRACKS 5 (Day -120)

  DEUTSCHLAND, CAPITOL OF ALLIANCE (Day -118)

  ALAMO AIRFIELD, FLIGHT TRAINING FACILITY (Day -78)

  ALAMO AIRFIELD (Day -39)

  NEAR SPACE, ALAMO STAR SYSTEM (Day -36)

  ALAMO STAR SYSTEM, SECTOR HQ (Day 0)

  EIRE STAR SYSTEM-ABOARD RAGNAROK (Day +6)

  ON BOARD EREBUS (Day +18)

  EIRE, CITY OF YOUGHAL-LEGISLATURIST GARRISON HQ (Day +24)

  EIRE, DUBLIN CONTINENT–REBEL HQ (Day +25)

  PLANET EIRE, NEAR REBEL HQ (Day +37)

  PLANET EIRE–REBEL HEADQUARTERS (Day +42)

  RAGNAROK, NEAR SPACE, EIRE (Day +45)

  NEAR SPACE, ONBOARD EREBUS (Day +46)

  EIRE, CITY OF GALWAY (Day +52)

  ONBOARD RAGNAROK (Day +60)

  ONBOARD EREBUS (Day +62)

  CITY OF GALWAY, ALLIANCE HEADQUARTERS (Day +65)

  REBEL BASE–MOTOR POOL (Day +69)

  2nd OF THE FIRST BATTALION HEADQUARTERS NEAR CITY OF GALWAY (Day +73)

  PLANET EIRE–REBEL BASE (Day +75)

  EIRE-MAIN REBEL BASE (Day +78)

  EIRE STAR SYSTEM–ONBOARD RAGNAROK (Day +81)

  PLANET EIRE–REBEL HQ (Day +87)

  NEAR 41ST DIVISION PERIMETER (Day +92)

  ONBOARD RAGNAROK (Day +98)

  AFTERWARD

  TRAINING PRESERVE 3, PLANET ALAMO (Orion Confederation)

  2nd Diaspora 1199 (Old Earth 3985)

  “Still!”

  Staff sergeant Ian “Irish” Shannon stopped his slow crawl through the heavy undergrowth of a forested valley. Damn, another hundred meters and he would’ve been there. Resignedly, he played rock. A high-pitched buzzing passing overhead marked the flight of a surveillance drone.

  The upper left corner of the shield on his helmet displayed the slow-moving aircraft swinging out of sight. Relief spread through him. The new camouflage fatigues worked better than he’d anticipated. They’d been told to turn in their ghillies, which in his opinion were the ultimate in camouflage—they’d bent light rays around you. Too much of an electronic signature though, which couldn’t be hidden from specialized detectors. The new outfits had been permeated with a chemical that made the uniform act like a chameleon, and changed the color to match its surroundings. Waterproof, too. Not bad, maybe the science geeks had come up with a good idea for once.

  “Go,” came the signal. Once more he crept towards the command bunker, weaving between trees and tangled bushes. The blue-green tinge of the vegetation no longer seemed odd after all the time he’d spent on planet.

  Another fifty meters and he’d check on his squad. They should be in place, since they’d cheated and gotten into position a day prior to the exercise. Something he would’ve liked to have done with them, but had to stay back and be present for the official kick-off of the exercise. He smiled inadvertently. Lieutenant Colonel Wray would be unpleasantly surprised when their trap was fully sprung.

  This was his last training stint with the Scouts before heading off to flight school in ten days. He’d suckered the Third of the First Battalion Commander into a bet. If his squad could penetrate and destroy the Battalion’s command bunker during the Regimental field exercise, they’d win. The loser paid for a night at the Pelican Pub tomorrow night, which was also his farewell party.

  The sky was lightening on the horizon when he reached his final checkpoint, still undetected. He displayed an updated map on the inside of his face shield. It showed a path through the sensor network around the bunker. He keyed a silent call to his two team leaders, alerting them.

  “Move out,” came the whispered command. He started forward, again low-crawling. Since it was his last mission, the job of sneaking through the rear entrance of the bunker was given to him.

  Ten meters from his goal nine training laser beams impacted the patches that had been stuck on his uniform for the exercise. A burning pain lanced through his body and he spasmed, rolling into a ball. Damn, those patches stung when hit with a laser.

  “Ha! Got him. Okay, let’s turn him over to the Commander.”

  Irish raised his head. That sounded like–“Blade, is that you?”

  A helmeted head appeared above him. “None other, Staff. God, I’ve wanted to catch you like that for a long time.” Eight other grinning faces appeared around him, face shields raised. Chuckles and outright laughter filled the air, especially when Lieutenant Colonel Wray and five of his men joined the circle.

  “Welcome to my field HQ, Staff Sergeant. That was really satisfying to catch you out like this.”

  Irish forced a smile after raising his faceplate. “Glad to provide your morning’s entertainment, Sir.” A year ago his fire team had embarrassed the brand-new battalion commander’s staff during a field exercise when Sergeant Johnny Two Eagles had painted the now-famous bullseye on the back of the commander’s helmet-while he was wearing it. That particular helmet was in a frame over the Officer’s Club bar at Fort Henry.

  “I’m surprised at your squad, though,” Wray said. “Once we caught them trying to sneak up on us, they were more than willing to help snare you.”

  Irish shook his head. “Yeah, might have something to do with it being the last time they’ll have a chance to do it, Sir.” He stood, giving himself a shake. “In the meantime if you don’t object, I need to get a field debriefing from these sad sacks before we head back. See you at the exercise critique?”

  Wray gave a nod, still smiling. “That you will, Irish. And you’ll also see us at your going away party tomorrow night, since your squad’s buying rounds.”

  The squad lined out behind Irish, following at five meter intervals until two hundred meters from the bunker. He stopped, twirling a hand above his head. “Circle the wagons, guys. Blade, how’d your part of this go?”

  Sergeant Joseph “Blade” Chavez shook his head. “Jeez, man, it was hard gettin’ those security pukes the Light Colonel has guarding him to even notice us. Closed up to a meter apart, and walked right up to ‘em.” An indignant look crossed his face. “Then the bastards shot us without giving us a chance to surrender.”

  Irish chuckled. “Excuse me for not having any sympathy. Especially since you shot me the same way.” He looked around. “Any sign of Two Eagles?”

  A short figure elevated from the ground between Blade and Irish, causing both to jump back. “Nope, they didn’t see me. Mainly because I was already inside their bunker, in a storage room.”

  “Shit, man. One of these days you’re gonna give somebody a heart attack,” Blade said.

  Two Eagles’ teeth flashed in his brown face. “You guys are easy to sneak up on, just like those lead-foots behind us.” He str
oked his battle fatigues. “Especially with these new cammys.”

  “That’s a good name for them,” Irish said. “What about the package, you get it placed?”

  “Yep.” Two Eagles took a remote detonator from his pocket and pressed the button. A muffled siren began trilling from the direction of the bunker. “Not only a paint bomb, but a noisemaker. Make ‘em nice and irritated till they get it turned off.”

  Just then angry shouts reached them. Irish grinned at the sight of a dozen soldiers boiling out of the bunker. Even from this distance the orange paint covering them was apparent. “Okay, we’d better leave before they get hold of us. Blade, you and your fire team lead. I’d suggest a rapid pace since that group behind us looks just a bit ticked off. Move out!”

  * * *

  Irish knocked on the opened door marked Platoon Leader. “Hey, Lieutenant, you got a

  minute?”

  Lieutenant Frank “Franny” Smith looked up, a smile forming. “Of course, Irish. Light and set.”

  Irish handed over a file and seated himself. “Here are my final documents, Sir. Everything turned in, and I’m on my way out the door.”

  Franny took the proffered folder, welcoming smile on his lean face turning wistful. “We’ll miss you around here.”

  “thanks, I feel the same. But things move on, hopefully for the better.”

  “You tell Two Eagles his new quarters await him?”

  “Yes, Sir. Glad you picked him to replace me. He’s probably the best troop we’ve got in the platoon.”

  “You plan on attending his promotion next month?”

  “Hope to. Depends on whether I get time off from flight training, though.”

  “Good.” Franny handed him a document. “One thing you might not know. Blade just accepted an offer from Major Stanton to transfer to his new battalion. He’ll be made a Platoon NCOIC when he’s promoted to Staff Sergeant next month. Serving in a position a pay grade higher will look good on his record.”

  Irish gave a rueful smile. “Too bad you’re losing another NCO. At least he’ll have a good Battalion Commander to work with.”

  Franny shook his head. “Seems only yesterday Stanton was a First Lieutenant, and now look at him. He’s not starting up a training battalion, either. They’re gathering seasoned troops that’ll do spook missions, from what I hear.”

  “I hope he does well.” Irish leaned forward. “You hear anything about Brita’s ship? It’s been two weeks since she left…”

  Franny held up his hand with a smile. “No, and we probably won’t hear anything till the ship gets to Norcross. You’d think you were married to her or something the way you fuss around.”

  He shrugged. “Near enough. Since she’s in a wheelchair, it was tough getting her to agree to get engaged, let alone married. At least until she gets treated by specialists on Norcross. Hell, why can’t we get facilities like that on Alamo, Sir?”

  “You’re singing to the choir about that. You’ve got to admit, the hospital here was good enough to save her life.”

  Two months ago while their squad had been on a particularly nasty mission, Brita had been gravely injured, with neck and back injuries that almost killed her. She was the squad leader, and everyone had taken it hard. Especially Irish, who’d been in love with her for months. Being in the same chain of command at the time, they’d both had to cover their feelings. Now, for the first time, they’d been able to do something about it. The engagement party just days before Brita left had filled the NCO club.

  Irish stood and offered his hand. “Wish me luck, L.T.”

  Franny grinned as they shook. “I seriously doubt luck will have anything to do with it. Go make us proud, Irish.”

  ALAMO AIRFIELD, TRAINING BARRACKS 5 (Day -120)

  After double-checking the number on its front, Irish walked through the entrance of the three-story building. No name on it, and looked similar to those around it except for the extra story. Inside, the first door on the left had a sign proclaiming “Orderly Room.” He readjusted his rucksack and knocked before entering.

  Inside, a sandy-haired Senior Chief Petty Officer glanced up from a computer screen, his chocolate-brown face creasing into a professional smile. “You lost, Staff Sergeant? The NCO Academy is on the other side of base…”

  Irish came to parade rest, looking just over the Senior Chief’s head. “No, Senior Chief. Staff Sergeant Ian Shannon reporting to flight school.”

  He gave him an up-and-down look. “Relax, Staff. Take a seat over by the window while I check my roster. Don’t remember an Army NCO takin’ part in this class, let alone any NCO.”

  “I was scheduled for a class six weeks ago, Senior Chief.” He shrugged out of his rucksack and sat down. “But apparently they thought I was dead. Only got into this one at the last minute.”

  “Hm. Give me a minute, will you? And my name’s McIntyre. Call me Chief since I’m the only NCO you’ll see in this outfit.” He continued flipping through screens. “Ah. Here you are, you’re right.” A small scowl formed as he kept reading. “Your record’s still at Division HQ for some reason. You been in any trouble lately?”

  “Huh? No, we just got off a tough mission, though.”

  McIntyre’s scowl deepened. “Something’s not right, here.” Suddenly his eyebrows shot up. “Damn, man. No wonder. You were an acting Ensign during part of that tour, weren’t you?” He swung towards Irish, eyes pinning him.

  “Y-yes, I was. We had a setback, and there towards the end they made me temporary Ensign so I could fly a Wasp. Weren’t too many pilots left at that point.” He rubbed his chest, willing away memories of exploding Wasps around him.

  McIntyre swung back, eyeing his computer screen again. “Hm. Yeah, I remember hearing about that. Okay, since you are officially listed as an incoming member of this class, I’ll put in a priority routing on your records.” He stood. “In the meantime, follow me and I’ll show you where your new quarters’ll be the next fourteen weeks.”

  Irish grabbed his rucksack and hurried after him. “You think I’d be able to get some time in on a simulator tonight?”

  “Yep. We can also get you outfitted with your new issue of clothing.”

  By the time they reached the barracks, Irish was piled high with newly issued gear. To include something foreign to Ian. “What’s with the running shoes, Chief?”

  There was a deep chuckle. “Officers do their PT in those. Since almost all of those who go for flight training are officers, we have to give everyone a pair. Welcome to the new world of bein’ an officer, Staff.”

  They pushed through the entrance, with Irish almost dropping his load in surprise. “Rooms? We each get a room?” The inside of the barracks had been divided into cubicles.

  McIntyre nodded. “Y’each get ten square meters of space to call your own.” He stopped beside a cubicle labeled 30. “Here’s your home away from home. Get settled in, then come back to my office. I’ll take you to the simulators then.”

  By the time Irish turned around, he was gone. “Thanks, Chief,” he called after him.

  A glance around the room confirmed what the Senior Chief had said. A cot, desk and dresser barely fit in the room, leaving him a narrow walkway down the middle. He shrugged, and began putting things away.

  Twenty minutes passed before he stuck his head in the Chief’s office. “Ready to go, Chief.”

  He stepped past him. “About time.” Irish suppressed a grin. Made him feel right at home. He hurried after McIntyre, heading for the warehouse-sized structure across the street. Inside, thirty rounded metal containers rested in the closest half of the space. The remaining area was walled off into what looked like small classrooms.

  McIntyre stopped at the last line of simulators. “Yours is that one. Number thirty.” He indicated the far end of the line. “You’ll find that quite a few things around here have numbers. Yours will always be number thirty.”

  He ran his hand across the top of
it. “Is it turned on?”

  “All y’gotta do is lift the lid and climb in.” He watched Irish clamber inside it. “You sure you don’t want to get a last night in at the local bars? It’ll probably be two weeks before any of you get a day off.”

  “Maybe later Chief.” He flicked switches, bringing the simulator up to full operation. “If you don’t mind, think I’ll just introduce myself to my new friend, here.”

  McIntyre inadvertently smiled when Irish closed the door of the simulator in his face. There was a dedicated guy. He shook his head, walking off. If all the students were this gung-ho it’d be an interesting fourteen weeks.

  By 0630 next morning, Irish was just putting on his blue-gray coveralls and matching boots when McIntyre came in the barracks. “You up yet, cadet?”

  He stepped out of his cubicle, soft cap tucked under his arm. “Exercised and showered, Chief.”

  “Thought I saw someone sprinting around the track when I got in an hour ago. How far’d you manage to get at that speed?”

  “About two klicks. Usually do my distance running after dark.” He was three steps past McIntyre before he stopped and looked back. “What? What’d I forget?”

  “I forgot you’re an ex-LRS guy.” He shook his head. “I always thought the stories I’d heard about you weirdos were lies. Not so sure, anymore.” He caught up with him. “C’mon, I’ll show you where the mess hall is. After that, you’ll be on your own. No more guided tours. The rest of the pack’ll be here, and they’d think I was playin’ favorites. Remember, y’got to be at the 1300 formation. That’s the official start of training.”

  Irish matched strides with McIntyre. “Appreciate what you’ve done for me, Chief.” He touched his chest at the warmth he felt. Snowflake seemed to echo his thoughts.

  * * *

  The football-sized parade ground next to their barracks was looking busy by the time he stepped out. Another minute or so and—A whistle pierced the air, and Senior Chief Mcintyre bellowed “Form up!” His arm twirled above his head and pointed at six individuals in line facing him. “You received a number when you registered this morning. First five numbers behind the officer on my left, next five behind the next, and so on. You got one minute to get it right.” He stalked off the field, replaced by a naval officer. Lieutenant Commander, from the gold leaves on his tabs. Irish trotted over to his allotted line and fell in at attention. The last individual fell in just as the minute expired.