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Dark Crimson by Nick P.
Chapter I

I heard them all day, footsteps. They danced beyond my door, signs of the life beyond. The naïve, the pointless, and the wasteful life. They came in many forms, some fast, some light, and some heavy, echoing in the usual rhythmic pattern. And they sickened me. Every person whose footsteps echoed outside my door was a foil, an impossibly opposite personality to me. I was the war and they were the fearful. I felt it, a deep feeling that boiled inside me. And yet, a pair of footsteps outside came, a different tone. They were heavy, well placed, done so with a purpose.

            There was a knock on my door.

            “Captain Willard?” said a voice when the door remained shut. “Are you in there?”

            I wiped the sweat from my eyes and felt my feet carry me towards the door. They were finally here. Took them long enough.

            Another knock came.

            “Captain Willard? Captain? Are you in there?”

             I was there. Forcefully, I swung the door open and came to face two soldiers both dressed in the typical military green with young faces that, in my opinion, lacked any seriousness. This was, after all, a war. Not a goddamned game of tag. “Yeah,” I answered simply. “What do you want?”

            “Are you all right, Captain?”

            I looked down at myself and wondered what the young soldier saw. I was nearly naked save for a ruffled pair of briefs. It was the only way to avoid the heat. It was the heat that forced me further into my madness. It covered me with sweat. Inside, everything had started to smell in this exact way. My hair was undone and unkempt and had grown somewhat lengthy in contrast to military protocol. But it was all over, the pain, the hungry anticipation that ate away at me in the last few months.

            “How does it look?”

            The soldier answered me with a somewhat irrelevant question, or rather, statement. He spoke, his eyes cast upon his clipboard. “Captain Willard, 143 division, 172^nd airborne?” He examined me and sceptically said, “Captain Willard with the full gratification from the CAG?”

            I decided to also answer his question with an irrelevant statement.

            “Hey, are you gonna shut the door?”

            “Listen, sir, we’ve come to take you out to the airfield—”

            “What are the charges?”

            “Sir?”

            “What did I do now?”

            “Oh,” he said, a look of understanding crossing his face. “Nothing sir. There are no charges. You are simply being reassigned, as it seems, to LASU division intelligence all the way out in the Outlands.”

            “Outlands?”

            “Yes sir.”

            “Which mark?”

            “Three sir.”

            Outlands Mark III. These were the words finally struck a note with me. There were four separate stations to which we referred to as the ‘Outlands’, all of them in checkpoints across the vastness in space, set here and there. Mark IV was outermost and the stations fell in declining order, Mark I being furthest out in space. Closest to the Stroggos. Was this my mission? It seemed like an optional one, one that, if executed, would get me a retirement fund. That is, if I lived.

            “Come on, Captain, we still have a few hours to get you cleaned up. Go take a shower, sir, we’ll be back in 0200 hours.”

*          *          *

I was going to the worst place in the world and I didn’t even know it yet. Weeks away and hundreds of kilometres through invisible space routes that ran through the war like a circuit that led straight into the heart of darkness. And there waited a man named Kurt. It was no accident that I was to become the caretaker of Colonel Walter E. Kurt’s memory any more than being back at the Midway. There is no way to tell his story without telling my own. And if his story is no more than a confession, then so is mine.

            The Outlands Mark III came as expected, a desolate rock floating in a sea of similar stones. The asteroid belt that encircled Saturn was beautiful and colourful, wrapping around an even more colourful planet. And yet, as it drew near and individual stones became apparent, all beauty left it. It was empty, bare, and unholy to watch. The only place where one’s eyes could find solitude was in the swirling green and lightly tinged red of Saturn itself.

            My escorting shuttle hummed silently through space until metallic walls came around it and soundwaves were carried properly yet again, revealing the whining of the ionic engines.

            The compound was a large dome-shaped structure with various panels and hallways in the form of pipes that stretched from it and led to other similar structures, some rectangular, and some not. Off to one side was the unmistakable power grid that drew power from two cylindrical power generators, each marked appropriately with covered catwalks leading to and away from it. Along the dome stretched large panoramic windows behind which tiny human figures were evident, soldiers leisurely spending their days, killing time by throwing lost money in card games at victors and spending the ones they won on liquor.

            As soon as my shuttle fell upon the metallic deck of the vast rectangular landing bay, I was greeted by two men at the bottom of the unloading ramp. They looked familiar and both sported an impressive array of colourful awards strapped to their chests. This signified that I should stand at salute. So I dropped my bags at the shuttle’s door and stood there, rigid, waiting for those two words:

            “At ease, captain.”

            I bend over to pick up my bags again but was soon cut short.

            “Leave your bags here, we have little time to spare. We’ll have someone carry them to the bombing squadron promptly. You’ll be able to rest then and there. Follow us, please.”

            I did as they said and, wondering why my bags were carried over to the bombing squadron, I followed the two men. Running through well-lit steel corridors with a maze-like quality, I soon began to question myself. Was this the war I wanted? And why the hell were they serving up my mission in this way?

            A metallic door before us swished upwards and the two men entered what seemed to be a rather cosy and dim room with fine furniture and endless stack of book disks. Though it was still bare, metallic and rectangular, projectors running along the walls projected textures and images that gave the room a classy, cosy feel. It was unmistakably a general’s quarters. I rested myself against the doorframe, waiting for the usual invitation that one should expect from his seniors.

            “Come on in. Cigarette?” said one of the men.

            “No, thank you sir.”

            “Captain, have you ever seen this gentleman before? Met the general or myself?”

            “No, sir. Not personally.”

            Truth was, I still didn’t know who the hell they really were. Their colourful and decorated uniforms implied that they were important figures. And yet, after spending weeks locked in my tiny chamber, clawing at the floor and screaming at the sweat-covered sheets, I knew little. What had happened? Had the Stroggs struck again? What battles had taken place? While in my room, I didn’t want to know. I contradicted myself by not gathering all possible information on the war because it only made me feel worse, it showed me what I was missing.

“Colonel Lucas, Captain, and this here is General Corman. You’ve worked a lot on your own, haven’t you?”

            “Yes sir.”

“Intelligence and counter-intelligence with ComSec and the Coalition Corps, am I correct?” His grey eyes fell on me with curiosity.

“I have no authorisation to discuss these operations, sir.”

            “You did not work for the Coalition Corps?”

            “No sir.”

            “You did not assassinate a high-ranking United Terra Coalition inspector sent to determine funding needed for the Coalition Corps on August 28^th, 2156?”

            “No sir, I did not. And even if I did, I would not disclose such an operation to anyone, that is, if it did in fact exist. Sir.” His eyes continued to scan me, trying to pierce through me, to perceive the truth. Yes, I had assassinated a financial director that, according to Coalition intelligence, was hiding his true job. Sure enough, after he was killed, ties with ComLink frequencies that fed directly to Karoggon on Stroggos were found in his quarters. A Strogg spy. That was my first mission, after which I was sent to await further orders and waste away in my room while the real war started.

            Finally, the Colonel gave up. He knew that I wasn’t going to reveal any sensitive information. “I thought we’d have something to eat while we talk. Sources tell me that you weren’t to be found at the mess hall for over a week.”

            I thought it awkward that a Colonel would concern himself with such silly affairs, but said nothing at first.

“That is correct, sir.”

            “So, I expect you are hungry as hell, Captain.” His eyes fell down. “Your hand, are you wounded?”

            “A door jam accident at the UTC briefing room, sir.”

            The two men gazed at me sceptically.

                “Can you fire a weapon with an arm like that, Captain?”

            “Yes, general. I got four-eight, nine-twelve accuracy marks.”

            “After the accident?”

            “Yes sir.”

            He nodded. “Very well.”

            Colonel Lucas had moved away, though it was evident he still held one ear up to keep up with the conversation. He motioned for us to follow him to the table, where a series of dishes and plates of steaming food were systematically arranged. The colonel motioned towards a centrally placed plate of a large, aromatic loaf of meat. “This here’s roast beef, which is fairly good. Here,” he said, handing me a plate. “I recommend you take some. It’s probably the best they’ve got, there’s the usual seafood, but once you taste it, you don’t have to prove your bravery in any other way. See, it’s a long way to Earth and we often get food poisoning from the seafood because of it. I believe last week we had three cases, one of which is still in the hospital bay. I don’t know why they even bother to send it here, I suppose there are some who still eat it…”

            I poked at the slice of beef that lay on my plate.

                The general, however, spared any unnecessary dialogue. “Captain, have you heard of Colonel Walter E. Kurt?”

            I looked up from my food. “Yes sir, but very little.”

            “Operations officer, 5^th special forces. We have monitored some transmissions he has been broadcasting… Lucas, play that one recording will you?”

            The colonel moved across the room to a computer console that was mounted on an arm that descended from the ceiling. The projectors in the room suddenly ceased, revealing bare metallic walls and panels. Moments later, the room was filled with noise, garbled static, and speech that replaced the thick aroma of the roast beef. ‘September 4^th, 2200 hours, unexplored region north of Karoggon.’

                “That tells you quite a bit. Colonel Kurt, assuming he’s still alive, is still somewhere north of Karoggon. The following has indeed been verified as Kurt’s voice.”

            “Karoggon? But that’s the Stroggos city, how can he have lasted so long? And surely this transmission was intercepted by the Stroggs.”

            They both looked at me. Then, the colonel pressed something on the keypad and the transmission continued.

            “Today a dozen of my peoples fell to the hand of Strogg troops. But I’m sure that they will not bother to attack again. Yes, they are clever, but not clever enough. It’s a nightmare here, and yet, is it better on Earth? Better to gaze at the sky fearfully, hoping that some damned Strogg ship would not fall from the sky, that some half-machinated freak would not carry you away on board and take you back to Karoggon…” Static slowly faded in and a computerised message on the screen announced, ‘End of first transmission. Fourth transmission, September 12^th, 1840 hours, unexplored region north of Karoggon.’

            “We must kill them all, burn them, wisp them away into nothing more than vapour. First Karoggon, one after another, battalion after battalion. First Karoggon, then the outlying and nearby satellite cities and factories. They must all be killed, and then we must die. And I am supposed to be the assassin. But what about when I accuse them? After Karoggon, we must move on to what remains. They lie; they lie, and look what has come to because of it! I hate them, hate them, and they must be killed as well.”

            The transmission ended.

            “Kurt was a truly outstanding officer, one of the best we’ve ever come across,” said Corman. “He was brilliant and outstanding in every way, a man of vision and plan. He knew where he was going. He was a smart whose trust and friendship was worth more than can be said in words, a man of wit and humour and a well-balanced philosophy and personality. Then he joined the Special Forces. After that his ideas, his methods, they became, well, unsound.”

            “And now he has settled somewhere west of Karoggon with his army followers. Some are men and some are Stroggs, but they all worship him like a god, and follow all of his orders, orders to fulfil his unsound methods.” said Lucas. “And his power has grown and more have joined him. Judging from information we’ve compiled, even the Strogg forces of Karoggon don’t dare meddle with him. He has, essentially, carved out his own kingdom on the planet Stroggos.”

“Yes,” said Corman, affirming that everything Lucas said was true. “And I have some shocking news to share. Colonel Kurt was about to be arrested for murder.”

            “Murdered who, sir?” I asked.

            “As I said,” continued the general, “he has become the leader of his own legion and has taken many matters into his own hands. He ordered the executions of some Strogg intelligence gatherers, who he seemed to believe were in fact double agents. He said that the Stroggs wouldn’t welcome fully human men unless they were food or agents to be used against us. Captain, in wartime, things often become confusing and distorted. The Stroggs, however disgusting they may be, envy us. They envy our purity, and that’s part of the reason they want to destroy us, so we believe. So here comes this pure man, and with him he brings all those good qualities, natural leadership. He was a natural leader to them, a god of sorts. The constant battle in the human heart does not always fall in favour of goodness. Many men have fallen to irrational means during wartime. And all men have a breaking point, and Mr. Kurt has reached his.”

            “Were the men he murdered double agents?”

            There was an unnerving silence that followed. “One has, indeed, been verified as one. The others, however, have not. It is because of these particular individuals that Kurt faces trial.”

            “Yes,” said Lucas. “Obviously, Mr. Kurt has gone insane.”

            I let the silence hang in the air before agreeing with the two superiors. “Yes sir, obviously insane.”

                “Even the Stroggs don’t dare to go near him unless they are willing to fall under his leadership. We feel that, even if we defeat the Stroggs, all of the remaining Strogg soldiers would fall away and join his army, and they may be a much larger threat than that big gun out at central Karoggon.”

“Your mission,” said General Corman, “is to be escorted the KCP outpost, which is as close as we can get you to his headquarters. We are issuing a squad of bombers that are to bomb several Karoggon installations. After the fly-by, they will stop to refuel and rest at the hidden outpost, where you will be dropped off. From there, you will proceed northward in a patrol buggy and pick up Kurt’s trail. Learn what you can along the way and make sure to report back with any useful information. Once you find the colonel, use whatever means necessary to infiltrate his operation and terminate his command.”

            This struck me as rather drastic. “Terminate the colonel?”

                “Yes captain. He is out there, unrestrained, with a deep well of power contained within his troops. Don’t you know what happens when unstable men are given power? Some of the worst events in human history have come from such blunders. We don’t want to ensue in another war once this entire Stroggos conflict is over. We want to prevent it, and it all rests on your soldiers.”

            “Terminate with extreme prejudice.”

            “You understand, Captain, that this operation does not exist, nor will it ever exist just as those operations against the UTC inspector.”

And the general smiled lightly.

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