Sergeant Joe

Chapter 1 – Team Building

Joe felt good in the warm shower.  You could hardly recognize him since his skin was not flesh colored, but rather black and blue all over.  The shower was not good for his stapled up cuts that seemed to be more plentiful than the hairs on his body.  It had only been a few days since he had escaped certain death.  Joe wasn't the mission leader but like many times before he was the only one who survived and the one who made the mission succeed.  As a matter of fact, he was the only reason there was a mission and not a bust, for he fought alone through hundreds of enemies and security measures to secure the object of the mission.  In this case the object was a person: the daughter of a representative of the federated planets.  She was safe now in a luxury apartment with bars (cocktail bars, salad bars, gold bars, whatever bars her little heart desired).  Meanwhile, Joe continued living in bliss in his one room flat.  Joe never made much money on his missions because so many people died and so many politicians lied.  Joe didn't care because he earned the respect of his fellow soldiers and agents.  Some day there would be a reward coming.  He knew that there were highly placed people who would look after him in his old age.  For now he was okay with his lot in life.  Then the phone rang.

He hardly wanted to answer the phone but his life was not a very private one.

"Yeah, this is Joe.  What do you want?"

"Joe, how are you doing?  It's big Ray.  I hope you're feeling better.  By god, you better.  Because you're on a trans-light flight at noon.  We've got a job that needs your skills in the back water part of the galaxy.  There should be plenty of fun on this trip for a guy who likes bars, babes, and brawls.  Get your skivies on and get on down to the central lift station.  I'll meet you there for a briefing.  You following me?"

"Holy shit, I'm dying here.  How can I do anything in this condition?"

"Look Joe, you can get plenty of rest on the trip.  We'll even splurge on some liniment and rub downs.  We'll get you some new skin to cover those nasty staple marks.  I'll even throw in some liquid refreshment but you'll still be subject to commercial trans-light regulations."

Click.

It wouldn't matter if Joe was dead, he would still have to get on that flight.  Groan, moan, mutter.  So he put on his skivvies, pants, socks, shoes, shirt, scabbard, gun belt, bomb pouch, burglar tool kit, bullet proof vest, etc. and packed his bag with booze, food, booze, ammo, booze, etc.

Joe locked up his priceless palace, dropped down the tube, hailed a cab, and zipped to the station.  He tipped the cabbie handsomely and made his way to the info booth.  "I'm looking for General Ray Adder.  Please, where will I find him?"

With a vacant blonde look, "go to line 7, you are boarding in five minutes."

There were two GI's in line 7.  Joe arrived in time to hear the sound of breaking glass as GI number one's bag was unceremoniously dumped onto the loading conveyor.  Zip, stuff, stuff, zip.  Joe was at the gate.

With a quick retina scan and a reservation check he was admitted onto the moving gangway.  It smelled.  At the end of the gangway was a peacekeeper and a lift representative.  He was directed to a seat in a secure conference room on the third deck where awaited Big Ray and the two GI's.

Joe carded in, reading the names above the pockets of the supposed GI's:  "I see the lieutenant is now named Jones and your captainship is now Smith.   Good for you Smitty and Jonesy.   It will be nice to rank someone for a change.  What's my mission Ray?"

"Hold on a second Sgt.Vincenzo, and what are you doing in noncoms anyways?  This is a special assignment.  You know that means nondescript attire and attitude.  What's your excuse?  And sit your ass down and shut up."  Big Ray was in fine form.

Joe could feel the vibration in the shuttle as it started to move into position onto the lift accelerator.  He imagined the buzz in his brain from the initiation of the shuttle monopole.  He moved back into his seat as the roller locks disengaged.  There came the clatter of the accelerator super conducting magnets separating and rising, soon followed by two plus gees of smooth as glass lift off.  It was nice to be in a civilian lift shuttle with one hundred percent shielding where one didn't need to move parts of the anatomy out of the prickly patch (if even a toe or an ear were subjected to the unshielded EM field, the polarization of the blood could lead to severe complications).  The officers continued as if two gees were as normal as walking on the beach.  Of course, they did not seem to be suffering from any contusions, broken bones or internal injuries.  For Joe the gees were literally compounding the fractures.  But Joe dutifully bent his ear to the conversation.  To know is to live.

Ray continued, "... at transfer station one we will board a system transport with more discreet conditions.  We will be more able to have an open discussion of options then.  For now, it is sufficient for you to know that you will be traveling into unoccupied territory with no home support or acknowledgement.  You will be in constant danger."

"And loving it."

Three faces looked at Joe without sympathy.  Then Big Ray knocked a bit of seriousness into Joe and then slapped him a couple of times to revive him.

Chapter 2 - Mission Statement

Joe gave Ray a dirty look.  Ray handed out mission folders.  Joe thumbed through the photographs of psychopathic malcontents, contour maps, special weapons and stealth transport.  No pictures of beautiful princesses this time.  What a relief.  Just normal unconquerable odds, indomitable terrain, and unethical subterfuge.  Ah, something to look forward to after the journey in the gooey bath of the auto-doc.

Joe felt the maneuvering rocket thrusts as the shuttle sought contact with the orbit station tether.  There was not much time left to memorize the mission, so Joe concentrated.  Joe was alive not because he was lucky, he was prepared.  It seemed like a simple insertion and coercion task.  Not much of a mission at all.  They would land on a remote planet with a government hostile to the Earth Centered Republic, slip past well armed militia and well trained guards, abduct a beloved leader, remove him to a preinstalled bunker, reprogram her and return her to her villa unmissed and unaware.  "Smitty" was better known to Joe as the brain butcher from Bermuda, Searl Smythe.  Nobody played poker with Smythe, for after one hour in a room with him he could have you believing that he was God, your best friend, or just the winner of every hand.  He is more dangerous when he didn't need to be subtle.  The reprogramming would not be a problem.  "Jonesy" was probably Henrik Joseby, a mission specialist of some repute.  Henrik confirmed his identity by displaying a habit known to Joe: snapping the corner of his folder and nodding his head.  Joe long ago decided to be able to identify mission leaders (they had a habit of changing faces), especially rookies, incompetents and suicidals.  Henrik had a chance of surviving but Joe wasn't going to make it his number one responsibility.

Joe never liked the feel of the tight stretching two gee turn of the tether.  He especially didn't like the feel as the shuttle winched in to the orbit station.  His stomach turned but he fought it down as he had done dozens of times before.  Big Ray was finishing up his pre-briefing as the shuttle locked home.  Joe handed in his folder and took his pay check (it was good to get paid up front on a politically sensitive mission where you may have to sacrifice a chunk of change on bribing a dungeon guard or buy a get away car with no access to a bank).  The pay check was in the form of a bag of natural diamonds.  Universal exchange.

Joe hadn’t thought of Big Ray as a lover but he accepted the love shove from Ray quite amicably and made his way down the tube.  Joe was happy to hear a huff from Ray after a bit of a sprint to the hub.  The auto-chromatophores in Joe’s eyes activated and a neon green arrow pointed the way to their gate.  This was good because Joe could stay ahead of more love shoves at least for a few standard minutes.

Real human attendants were waiting to hustle the four to seats in a shuttle. “Five minutes to detach.”

“Ahh, a moment of me time.”  I pulled a flask and bulb from my pockets and vacuumed myself a small 4 ounce taste.  Big Ray’s left paw swiped my treasure away.  Ray had a funny look on his face.  The bulb and a bit of 12 year-old scotch had contacted Smitty’s pristine uni-suit.  Oh-oh.  Not that McEwan’s had any better luck of sticking to a powered slick suit than contact toxins or acid, but you just didn’t mess with Smitty’s clothes...or his hair…or anything.  You just called him sir or Mr. Smith.  Some guys you just don’t mess with.  Unless you wanted to wake up thinking you’re a bug or that you can drive a hundred miles an hour through a blast wall.

“No drinking on this job, Joe.  And clean up the mess you made and apologize to Mr. Smith.”

“That’s Sgt. Joe to you and of course I apologize Mr. Smith – here’s a towel.”

Chapter 3 – Execution of the Project Manager

I managed to pull a bit of metal aside and clamp on to a security cable,  With the help of my little friend the door opened in a few seconds.  I fired to the left twice and swung right to see three other targets down,  Jonesy sped away to cover our escape.  Smitty was at  the presidente’s side in a moment with a hypo.  I checked in on my little friend to  monitor the security net.  “Oh oh.  Smitty , we gotta go.”

“What!? Jesus Joe.  Close the door for five minutes at least.”

“Okay. Five, but come out weapon ready.”

Before my timer could give me the shock of a lifetime, Jonesy was out, weapon in hand.”

“We flew through the halls and out the back door.  In two minutes I saw Smitty firing over our shoulder.  I spun and fired also.  I took a dart to the shoulder pad: “missed me by that much”.

“Shut up and run” said Smitty as he got off another round.  Then an opening in the ether appeared from nowhere and we were in the jumpship falling into jumpseats and three gees.

Ray, in a pissed off voice “report”.

Me: “no sign of detection”

Smitty: “all witnesses eliminated”

Jonesy: “only four minutes with the presidente and his guards.  I had to make do but they won’t remember anything.”

Ray: “Management scores coming in.  75% for Smitty,  50% for Jonesy.  25% for Joe and me.  25% Joe.”

“Sorry about that chief.”  There went 75% of my bonus and a lifetime of getting it from Ray.  At least we were out clean.

 The news already was reporting an aborted attack on the presidente who was unscathed and praising the heroism of the royal guard in successfully fending off this terrorist attack.

Epilogue – Lessons Learned

I switched to galactic news and there was the presidente speaking to the press and confessing that he is a clone and he couldn’t continue with the charade any longer due to a guilty conscience.  In other news, galactic forces had discovered and freed the real presidente from a terrorist cell on a remote planet.

Geez…Jonesy only had four minutes…