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Dark Crimson By Nick P.
Chapter X

As we left the compound, we trailed a line of writhing human bodies. Only then as I watched and pried hands from the Chief’s transport did I start to understand. No wonder Kurt shoved weed up the Coalition’s ass. The war itself was being run by a bunch of four-star clowns who were going to end up giving the whole circus away. They pied themselves when they aired the staged raiding of the Strogg warehouse. It was only a matter of predetermined time before they were shot out of the cannon and into the blue. With idiots like that running the country, inevitability was doom. And doom does not come close to describing it. When the tent falls down, fate worse than that waited beyond. I had seen parts of it and didn’t want to see the rest.

            The camp drew further away behind us as the darkness of the early morning hours swallowed it. There was the occasional flash of red light behind us, nothing else. But then came sounds: screams, explosions, heavy metallic thumps and the piercing sound of rapid fire. When the sun started rising over the horizon, there was nothing but silence. We had either drawn too far away or the futile battle had ended. Or both. Several dozen soldiers could not hold out against a Strogg battalion for more than a few hours.

            The alien sun rose further.

Chef started preparing a meal, his voice announcing “Chicken” from somewhere beneath the deck in the heart of the buggy.

            Then came a trail of dust that rose over the horizon and it became apparent that it was a Coalition buggy that was racing towards us. The men rose expectantly, not sure what to expect, but certainly anticipating something of interest. A piercing, wild cry rose from the oncoming buggy. The Chief yelled because the transport was racing for a head on collision. Then, at the last possible moment, the buggy swerved out of the way while the soldiers there continued to make animalistic vocalisations. Out of the other buggy, a flare flew out and landed on the retractable canopy that had been pulled up over the containment area to keep shade.

            Lance froze while Chef jumped back.

            “Fire!” he yelled. “Fire in the canopy!”

            I guess ComSec had lost more soldiers than they thought. They could count off all the dead ones. But they couldn’t count off all of the ones still living without a proper mind. The Coalition had a very short list of all of the military men driven to insanity in the war. Kurt was on that list. Perhaps the only person on that list. They knew he was alive and well somewhere Northeast of Karoggon. The rest were listed as MIA.

            While Clean sprayed the fire with an extinguisher, I rose and went bellow deck where I opened Kurt’s dossier again.

            Early spring, 2163: Kurt’s continual patrols north of Vagga Karran were coming under frequent ambush by Strogg scouts and scout groups. The camp itself started to fall apart. Almost a month later he ordered the assassination of three Strogg intelligence gatherers. One was fully human physically. The biomechanical gatherers were high-ranking officers in the Strogg army. The human was a loyal servant to the Makron who was actually supposedly gathering information for the Coalition. Kurt believed it was the other way around. But he had been right in assuming they were double agents. After their deaths, enemy activity in the Vagga Karran province and northward nearly ceased, as it did in a dozen other areas. The Stroggs were no longer able to as easily predict the Coalition’s moves. ComSec tried to bring him back one last time. If he had pulled over then it would’ve all been forgotten. But he kept going and going, and he kept on pushing his own way and winning it. And then they called me in. They called me in because they lost him. He was gone. His only existence was in rumours and threads and bits of unconfirmed intelligence, mostly from captured Stroggs. The Stroggs knew his name by now and they feared him. He and his men were playing hit and run in and out of Karoggon.

            I found myself back up on deck. The dossier offered little more, I had nothing to do but look at the bleak landscape.

            My feet carried me to the Chief.

            “How are our supplies holding out, Phillips?” I asked.

            The driver turned away from the invisible and rocky road he was following and glanced at me. “I don’t know, we’re good for another few weeks, and we should pass through the next checkpoint by then.”

            “I see. Well, the Stroggs are starting to pull down our outposts one by one. What if there is no next checkpoint? What do you think?”

            The Chief shook his head. “Why is that?”

            I followed his eyes to the flat horizon. “I don’t know. I’ve just got a bad feeling, that’s all. A bad feeling about everything these days. So, what do you think?”

            “I don’t think,” he replied simply, continuing to look forward and beyond. “My orders are to simply not know where I’m taking this buggy, so I don’t. Now, me being the one driving this show, I’d have to say that makes me a bit uncomfortable. You’ll have to break the news to us eventually Captain. Wherever it is, I have a feeling that it’s gonna be hot.”

            “Why do you say that?”

            He glanced at me briefly and spun the rectangular steering column to avoid a gigantic boulder. “One look at you says it all. The unusual mission specs do the rest.”

            After a long while, I decided to give them something to think about. It was about time, I couldn’t have him and the others sit in the dark much longer. I still wouldn’t tell him what my mission was exactly. I would probably never do that. But I could tell them where we were heading. “We’re going northward to the Vagga Canyon and seventeen kilometres north from there.”

            The Chief was silent for a while then slowed the vehicle and glanced back at me with more attentiveness. “That’s wild territory away from any Strogg establishments, Captain. What the hell would you want there?

            “That’s classified. But there, now you know where we’re going. You don’t have to know why. Technically that’s colonist territory and we failed to obtain a permit but that’s not important. That’s where I’m going. You just get me close enough to my destination and I’ll cut you and the others loose. Got that?”

            “Yes Captain.”

*          *          *

From there I again retired myself to my sleeping quarters below. I filed out Kurt’s dossier and started flipping through it once more, as if it had concealed something from me before. I had reviewed his past over and over again and had started to understand why he had done what he did. But I still had a lot to learn. I flipped through papers: computer entries and recovered e-mails, transcriptions, and memos. It was amazing how much information ComSec had managed to get their soiled hands on. If they wanted, they could really pry into your life. It was a scary thought, a spark of totalitarianism in a democracy. Sure, everyone had rights. But as soon as you broke away from the rest, you lost all your rights and privacy. As soon as you broke away, the government would jump on you. I guess there is no such thing as democracy.  

            I pulled out the tiny disk from which ComSec had printed all the information that I now held. The general had told me that there was more information on the disk that wasn’t as relevant or repeated already known facts included in the summary. I inserted the disk into my portable database and filed through the directories of files on the holo-screen until I came upon some new information. I wasn’t supposed to learn anything new from there. But I figured it was worth it anyway. At that point, the tiniest and least worthy information regarding Kurt was gold to me.

            It was a letter he had sent to his son. And it went as follows:

Dear son,

I’m certain that both you and your mother have been worried for not hearing from me these past weeks. But my situation here has become a difficult one. Take this as you may, but I’ve been officially accused of murder by the army. The alleged victims were three Strogg double agents. We had spent months uncovering and accumulating evidence. When finally absolute proof was compiled, we acted as one would expect, as soldiers. These charges are absolutely unjustified. They are, in fact, under the circumstances of this entire situation, quite insane.

In a war there are many moments for compassion and tender action, silly as it may seem. There are many moments for ruthless action, for what is often called this, the only way to achieve clarity in most war circumstances: seeing clearly what there is to be done and executing it properly with quick and swift action, with full awareness. All this while it remains in your sights.

               I would trust you to tell your mother only what you choose appropriate from this letter. As for the charges, I’m unconcerned. I’m beyond their timid, lying morality. And so, I’m beyond caring.

               You have all my faith,

               Your loving father.

Underneath was a curving signature, large, bold, and broad. My eyes scanned through the letter again, trying to get inside this man’s head. Trying to pry into his thoughts, to take what he offered and to try to explain why he did what he did. It slowly formed a picture in my head, a mass that took shape. “I’m beyond their timid, lying morality. And so, I’m beyond caring.” The Coalition had pushed him, ComSec being at the front. A man can only take so much before he snaps. It is then that conscience rules over values pressed on by society. It is then that he breaks away from the rest to pursue what he deeply and truly believes to be true. Kurt had broken away. Yes, I was forming a picture, a picture of Kurt. His photos spoke little to me. He was a large person in the photos, not fat but tall. His eyes sparkled with vigour and his smile made it evident that he was indeed going places.

            The voice, the letters, and the pictures did not seem to want to come together to form a single entity. I knew that soon I would have to confront him. Only then would they fall together.

            The buggy stopped and I glanced up and away from the photos, wondering just what was going on. I placed the contents of the dossier back into the sealed envelope and put it in my personal container to which only I had access. From there, I made my way down the aisle and through the beds and up the stairs still set in heavy thought. Sunlight attacked me and I had to shield my eyes in order to see properly for the first few moments.

            Chef and Clean had been fighting. The Chief had stopped the buggy and jumped back to stop them. All I heard was the two of them muttering.

            “Chef, stop it,” the Chief was saying. “Give it a break. What the hell did I just say? Give those damned jaws of yours a rest. This isn’t regular infantry, not bulk army. This here isn’t the Marine Corps either. So stop acting like regular infantry and stop smoking that shit, you hear me? Lance,” he said, turning on the young soldier that had been quietly sitting off to the side, his face painted a jet black, only his blue eyes shining out from beneath the heavy paint. “Lance, what the hell is it with the black paint?”

            “Camouflage in the night. Battle paint too.”

            “How’s that?”

            “So come night time, they can’t see me. They’re everywhere, you know, Chief.” He turned away, more interested in the sun that would soon be setting.

            The Chief nodded. “Good, your turn to be on duty Lance. Don’t let all that paint put you to sleep. You got a job to do in a few hours.”

            He turned and our gazes followed. A buggy was slowly riding toward us.

            The Chief examined it for a while then turned to us. “Inexperienced driver¾we got a colonist buggy coming this way, see? Alright, let’s get ready and have a look. Stroggs use these people, you know. Lance get on the heavy cannon. Just in case. Get up there, goddamn it! Chef, cover our ninety, get up there, quick!” He looked at me. “Better stay out of this one, Captain. We just have to take a routine check. It’s procedure.” By the time he finished the sentence, he had already made his way back to his cockpit.

            The colonists were famous and infamous. They were a simple people, the barren planet of Stroggos sucked them dry of all complexity. Their ancestors had come a little over a century ago seeking life away from Earth. They were exiles, many of them prisoners. The government used to routinely send such dangerous persons into desolate places such as Stroggos. I guess they proved too tough for the Stroggs. Or maybe the Stroggs didn’t care. When they first arrived, the Stroggs didn’t see them as immediate meat. But they knew that these people came from a planet overly abundant with the same animal. Greed burned and they wanted more, they wouldn’t settle for the early, grimy colonists. So these colonists were shifted aside and forgotten and they grew primitive while the war started raging.

            The Stroggs actually had started using these colonists to their advantage. They looked human enough because they were and yet their minds weren’t so. The Stroggs brainwashed certain individuals, which they were famous to do, and shipped them off to various strategic locations carrying bombs. These suicides seemed out of place in the all-out war that was raging, but it was no secret: the Stroggs didn’t even hold a concept of pride or fairness. They were going to use whatever tools possible the capture the human race for their own sick enjoyment. Anything. Three embassies had been destroyed and one spaceport had been seriously damaged just due to the suicide bombings. So as the Chief pulled the rogue buggy over, there was reason for concern.

            Their buggy itself had been taken from the military ages ago. It was an old tattered model with panels and things missing, soiled, and covered in dents. And this was all with an orange tinge given by the thin layer of Stroggos dust that covered the vehicle, more prominent in some places. One of the wheels was deflated and dragging along the ground noisily. This stopped the transport from reaching high speeds. One of the windows was shattered and some parts had been pried off to make more room. A leather canopy stretched from beam to beam, covering the containment area, which was piled with boxes and things while peppers hung from walls, waving in the wind over cages and food below. I could see some figures emerge from inside while the pilot of the battered vehicle slowly brought it to a stop.

            “Phillips,” I said, not taking my eyes away from the cloud of dust that rose as wheels stopped turning. “Let it go. Let’s forget it. We have to move on.”

                “I’m afraid I can’t do that, Captain. These buggies are trafficking supplies over the back roads. They’re an infamous people, so I’m left without a choice. I have to and I will take a look.”

            “Chief,” I said, using his nickname in hopes of gaining more authority. “My mission has got priority here. So let’s get that cleared up and then afterwards you can go chase down all of the poor native buggies you want. Hell, you wouldn’t even be anywhere near in this area if it wasn’t for me and my mission.”

            He turned to me suddenly. “Listen, sir: until we reach your destination, you’re just along for the ride. Cargo. Weight. No more. I’m giving this transport a proper inspection whether you like it or not.”

            The Chief turned away and walked towards the edge of the buggy, leaning over the edge and examining the transport more intently.

            “Lock your brakes, asshole,” Chef was shouting at the natives. They were totally unaware of what he was saying to them. They were mumbling between themselves in their own simple tongue, glancing at us and at the distant horizon uneasily. No one else seemed to take notice. Perhaps they were being chased? Then again, there was always tension between the colonists and the rest of humanity. I looked at them intently as they twitched and jerkily moved, staring with wide eyes.

            I started playing with my knife as to kill the time.

            The Chief started handing out orders like they were draft papers.

“Ok, Lance, keep watch. Watch our ninety, Chef, and don’t fuck up, damn it. Keep watch! Ok, on second thought, leave that Chef. Go on, search them.” He started gesturing towards the buggy while piercing into Chef. “Come on, go. We don’t have all day. Just a routine check…”

            “Shit, man,” Chef complained. “Why don’t you go? You made us pull over in the first place.”

            “Don’t shit with me, Chef, get a move on! I order you to go search that buggy.”

            Chef got up from his position behind the mounted machine gun and jumped from one buggy to the other. He walked around the deck aimlessly while the natives looked at him with their terrified human faces with a certain inhuman quality. There was a whole load of cargo on board. There were crates, many filled with food and things salvaged from crashed bombers and destroyed bases. There were baskets and a few animals as well. A goat wearily backed away from Chef as his stroll took him around it and to the back of the vehicle. The floor was littered with dried straw and droppings while a heavy, putrid mist hung over the crates. Flies, big fat flies brought over by humankind buzzed around. The pesky insects had quickly adapted to the new gravity and harsher atmosphere. They had become larger, blacker, and nastier.

            “Keep your eyes open, Clean,” said the Chief to the young soldier who had taken helm at the side-mounted machine guns.

Chef swatted at one of the flies, annoyed.

“I got you, Chef,” Clean said.

Suddenly, Chef turned around, apparently not able to put up with the idiocy any longer. “They are OK. No problems here, just supplies, nothing wrong. They’re OK.”

“Search it, goddamn it!” the Chief yelled. “Don’t just stand on it. Search it!”

Chef picked up a bowl of rotten fruit and flipped it over. “Oh, apples, what do you know,” he said, his voice rising. “And would you look at that. Why, could that be¾a fucking goat? And look, some rice, too! And potatoes. Is that what we are looking for? Potatoes? Cause if not, then we are fucking wasting our time!”

“What’s wrong with you?” shouted the Chief. “Search it!”

“Hmm, there’ some fish. Oh, and dried peppers. Onions…” Chef went through, flipping over pans and dishes and tearing at the walls. “And garlic too!”

“Chef, search it!”

“There’s nothing on it!”

“Search it!”

“Fine, alright! Move it over, asshole,” Chef said, pushing through one of the natives and continuing his tearing apart of the buggy. “Mangoes, fascinating. And what’s this? Cucumbers? Maybe that’s what we’re looking for. Fucking cucumbers. They make good clubs… Is that it… Oh, and some oranges… here’s oranges. Along with the apples…” He kicked the bag.

“Check the rice bags,” advised the Chief.

“And back to the goat, there’s the goat, and empty cages… And some canned foods, dangerous weapons too, yeah…”

“Check under the fruits, there in the basket. Check under them.”

Chef lifted the fruits then looked back angrily. “Alright, there ain’t shit in here. Let’s get a move on.”

“What’s in the crates? And that one cage? Look, see that rusty can? Check behind it, just there…”

“Look, goddamn it! It’s rice! Fucking rice! That’s all!”

“Check that cage, she was sitting on it.”

Chef moved angrily towards the cage. He was about to flip open the door when one of the colonists jumped forward an in front of him. I got to wondering just what was happening but then rapid fire echoed throughout the plains and drowned all my hopes of understanding as to just what the hell was going on. Clean had started emptying his machinegun into the other buggy. Chef jumped down to avoid being hit. The natives were immediately slaughtered. The one female colonist’s body did a dance of sorts in the air, contorting to the steady stream of bullets, moments before strength left her and her mangled body crumpled to the floor. Lance just saw chaos and fire and he trained his heavy cannon on the cockpit. He fired and blew it clean off. Good thing he didn’t hit the fuel cells.

Clean continued firing, his face twisted in crazed terror, screaming at the top of his lungs. The ammunition belt that fed into the gun was starting to run short. Cartridges rained on the deck and piled over the side, gathering over the reddish land. Bullets dotted the metallic surface of the buggy and ricocheted here and there, sending off high-pitched DING! sounds that were nearly lost in the heavy, rhythmic beat. Clean’s crosshair danced all along the wheels and the containment area and the cages and supplies. Fruits exploded and pans were flung in the air. Light filtered through newly-made holes in the metal skin.

Chef was shouting, “Yeah, let’s kill them all! Why the hell not? Let’s just do it for no fucking reason!” But his voice was lost in the heavy pounding fire and in the plains that stretched for miles.

“Why the hell not!”

Lance trained the heavy cannon on the buggy again, this time more wearily.

Thick smoke was filing everywhere and had filled up the other buggy. Suddenly, the heavy pulsation ceased and was replaced by a low clicking sound that was chilling in its quietness. The gun had run dry and no more bullets were being loaded into the main chambers, no more fire left the barrel. Clean stopped pressing the trigger and absolute silence hung over the two transports, only broken by the gentle, warm wind that slowly carried the heavy smoke away.

“Hold it!” the Chief had been yelling the whole time. “Stop! Hold it!”

Another silence came. The Chief looked intently at the young soldier behind the heavy machine gun. “Clean?”

He was panting. Between breaths, he uttered, “I’m good.”

“Lance? You OK?”

The heavy gunner nodded.

“OK, Chef, check what she was hiding.”

Chef stepped over the mangled body and walked over to the cage. He wearily and somewhat frantically lifted the door with shaking hands. He gazed into the darkness and I saw an odd and somewhat maniacal look cross his face. He reached in and pulled out something small, white and furry.

“Look at what she saw hiding!” he yelled. “See it? See what she was running for? See why you gunned her down? A fucking puppy!” he cried hysterically.

“Give me that dog,” said Lance, stepping down from the heavy cannon.

“Fucking mango too, you want that?”

Chef started for the ladder to climb off of the native buggy and back on our own. He had barely reached the ladder when the Chief cried out.

“Chef, stop for a sec. She’s moving behind you. She’s alive. Check her out, she’s alive. Check her.”

Chef turned around and gazed at the bloodied woman that had started to shift on the floor. She rolled to one side, leaving a bloody trail behind, and stopped moving again. Chef carefully pushed the puppy under his shoulder and moved towards her. “Goddamn… Clean, come over and give me a hand!”

“Take it easy, Chef. Clean, go over and help him.” Clean moved away from the still-hot machinegun and leapt from our buggy to the other one. When he landed, he stumbled and nearly fell as he slipped on the fresh coat of blood. “Damn,” he murmured, glancing down with wide, fearful eyes.

“Is she breathing, Chef?”

“She’s hurt, she’s bleeding.”

Chef had kneeled down and gently pushed her up and off of the ground. Clean circled around and hoisted her legs up while Chef supported the torso.

“Bring her on board,” cried the Chief.

They were bringing her on our buggy. This was a total diversion from our mission plans. I couldn’t believe these men. They didn’t listen before and I knew they wouldn’t listen now. Their ignorance caused an incident that would now jeopardise my mission. It was unthinkable to bring a wounded colonist on board, one that would require care and time, and for what? These people were worth little to us and the Stroggs. It was a waste of valuable resources and above all, time.

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

“We’re taking her to some friendlies, Captain,” the Chief Phillips replied. “She’s wounded, she’s not dead.”

Chef and Clean had finally made it up the ladder with much difficulty and the Chief helped them hoist her all the way up and settle the colonist lady on the ground. Her empty black eyes scanned the sky. The expression of pain on her face was hidden by the thick coating of blood. Beneath was her gaping mouth. Her pale hands clutched at her bloodied chest. Immediately, blood started to pool on the deck. The Chief quickly pulled out a medi-kit.

At that point, I knew what I had to do. I didn’t quite want to, but was left without a choice. I lifted my blaster and pointed it at the girl point-blank range. Her unconscious stare did not heed the blaster end that hovered inches from her stiffened face. The others saw what was coming a moment before I pulled the trigger. A flash of yellow danced through the air and impacted, sending a spray of blood on Chef’s feet and the metal deck beneath them. The poor colonist went immediately limp.

Everyone was quiet. They understood, but they stared quietly, waiting for me to say something. Only Chef was talking. He backed away, clutching his face while it twisted in agony. “Fuck it,” he cried, “Just fuck it all.”

I put the blaster back in my holster and addressed them.

“I told you not to stop. Now let’s go.”

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