He wasn’t that stubborn.

  He was standing beside the truck with Rodriguez. Sho and Washington were still on it, keeping an eye on things from the top of the cab. Washington had handed off the empty minigun, trading it with one of the other Marines for a new carbine. Sho had collected two new magazines. The sound of gunfire still echoed at the front of the line. The fight was hardly over, but the Vultures had finished their mission. Now they were on guard duty while the truck was unloaded.

  The scientists were looking pretty ragged around the edges, their faces stained with tears and sweat and in some cases blood. The injured had already been pulled aside and loaded onto the transport behind them, a large, boxy craft with powerful thrusters and no armaments to speak of. It was based on the same starship designs that had bred the Deliverance, scaled down for medium-distance hops from one site to another. In the beginning, the military had used the Hoppers to transport troops to the front lines to try to beat back the trife. When beating them back with infantry didn’t work, they switched to conventional bombs. When conventional weapons didn’t work, they went to nukes.

  The nukes made everything worse.

  The trife fed off radiation. All kinds of radiation. The vaporizing heat of the initial blast did okay, but within a week the bastards were back in far more significant numbers, the energy of the radiation allowing them to expand their forces through faster breeding.

  When it came down to it, humankind had lost the war because they turned to all-out war against an enemy they didn’t completely understand. It was a desperate, panicked act, and it had cost them everything.

  The Hoppers had been put back into use, only by then their role wasn’t to deliver multiple battalions of troops and equipment to an area. It was to send in maybe a single company, fifty to a hundred Marines or less. Sometimes they hopped in a single squad like the Vultures. Search and rescue. That’s what they called the mission parameters. Find the people Command thought they needed to bring to their new world and pull them out of the war zones.

  That’s why Caleb had named his squad the Vultures. They picked out the carcasses of the people who were dumb enough to have stayed alive.

  “Be careful with that!” he heard Valentine snap near the back of the truck. He glanced up and saw a team of Marines had brought a forklift out to help manage whatever was under the canvas tarp. Hadn’t her team carried it from the secured elevator to the truck on their own?

  He started toward the scene, Rodriguez following. The private had a nasty gash in the space between the chest plate and the backplate of the SOS, but he had patched it, and he refused to get further treatment until they were out of the combat zone. Caleb appreciated the Marine’s toughness and desire to see the job through to the very end.

  “Sergeant Pratt,” Caleb said, getting the attention of the loading crew’s commander. “These people carried that thing by hand. The lift may be overkill?”

  “Do you think you know everything, Card?” Pratt replied. He looked tougher than he was, tattooed and muscled beneath his fatigues.

  “I know that much,” Caleb replied. “Besides, Doc Valentine here is pretty protective over her bouncing bundle of joy. You break it; you buy it.”

  Pratt laughed. “Affirmative.” He looked at Valentine and whistled to his team. “Leave the lift, take it by hand.”

  “Roger that,” they replied.

  “And be careful to keep it covered!” Valentine shouted, following after them to make sure they didn’t sneak a peek.

  “What the hell did you bring back with you?” Pratt asked.

  “Do you mean the doctor or the package?” Caleb replied.

  Pratt laughed again. “Both? Seriously, I get the feeling we came out here for whatever’s in that truck, not the scientists it belongs to.”

  “No. We came for Valentine at least. I’m not kidding when I say that thing is her baby.”

  “If you’ll excuse me,” Pratt said, rushing over to help his team as they lifted the delivery and started bringing it over the side of the truck. It was about four meters long and three meters wide and shaped vaguely like a missile. It was lightweight enough that four Marines up top and four on the ground were able to control it despite its overall size.

  Of course, no part of it was visible. Valentine had cloaked it expertly, keeping it out of sight of the crew.

  “All hands,” Lieutenant Jones said, his voice cutting into Caleb’s comm and echoing out through the Hopper’s external loudspeakers. “All hands. Fall back. I repeat. Fall back. Mission complete.”

  A few scattered cheers went up from the Marines closest to the Hopper. Pratt’s team was carrying the package now, running it back to the craft. The Marines guarding the area were backing out with it.

  “Vultures,” Caleb said. “We don’t get on that Hopper until every other Marine in the Sixth reaches that truck.”

  “Roger that,” Sho and Rodriguez replied. Caleb didn’t worry about Washington. He knew the big man had the order.

  They weren’t required to stay behind. All four of them could have retreated to the ship, climbed the ramp into the massive open space of the hold, buckled into the restraints lining the walls, and called it a job well done. Lieutenant Jones wouldn’t complain, and nobody would blame them.

  Caleb would blame himself if another Marine died because he wasn’t out there helping them retreat. Search and rescue didn’t end when they retrieved the target. His fellow jarheads needed rescuing too.

  He returned to the truck, climbing onto it. The four remaining Vultures crouched in the back of the trailer, using the iron side as both cover and a rest for the ends of their guns. Caleb could see the other Marines pulling back ahead of him, laying down alternating lines of fire to keep the trife honest.

  The demons had lost a lot of their steam and were barely giving chase. They were too busy with one another, engaged in a massive skirmish that would only end when all of one side was dead. It didn’t matter. Staying out there wasn’t a function of need. It was more important when the danger wasn’t as severe, a show of support for the rest of Sixth Company, even if they had fallen back while the Vultures advanced.

  They were all in this together.

  He noticed the others noticing him and his team as they reached the truck. The Vultures fired on the few trife who were still tailing the Marines back to the hopper. Once the last of the group had come even with them, they rose and jumped down on the other side of the vehicle, running with their company-mates up the ramp to safety.

  The last group into the hopper had the job of turning around and continuing the cover fire. The thrusters flared, a loud whine and hiss preceded the ship starting to rise. Caleb continued shooting down at the trife, only a few dozen still coming after them. Once the ship was high enough, the ramp began to close. Caleb only dropped the carbine from his shoulder once it had banged shut, clanged locked, and sealed with a loud hiss.

  Now the mission was complete.

  They had made it.

  Chapter 8

  “Sergeant Card,” Lieutenant Jones said.

  Caleb turned his head. The Lieutenant was approaching from the front of the hopper, where the mobile CIC was located. He was a tall, wiry man, with short, prematurely white hair. A neatly trimmed mustache and beard covered a long scar across his chin. Caleb had served under many officers in his career, and Jones ranked at the top of the list for the men he respected the most.

  “Lieutenant,” Caleb said, prepared to stand at attention.

  “As you were,” Jones said. “No need to stand up. I’m sure you and your team are exhausted.” His eyes flicked to each one of the Vultures. “I want you to know; I’m going to submit a commendation for what you did out there today. General Watkins stressed the importance of getting Doctor Valentine and her team back safely multiple times.”

  “We didn’t get them all back safely, sir,” Caleb replied.

  “Considering what you were up against, saving half of them is more than impressive.” His expression shifted. “I’m sorry about Banks and Habib. They were both good Marines.”

  “Two of the best,” Caleb agreed. “They sacrificed themselves for the rest of us.”

  “I’ll be sure they receive posthumous commendations for their bravery. I know it isn’t much, especially considering the circumstances.”

  “We all do what we can, sir.”

  “I know Banks didn’t have any family on the Deliverance. But Habib’s husband is on board, isn’t he?”

  Caleb nodded. “Yes, sir. And their son.”

  Lieutenant Jones nodded, his face pained. “I’ll be sure to inform them as soon as we get back.”

  “No, sir,” Caleb replied, sure his expression was the same. He hadn’t even thought about Habib’s family until now. Damn it. “I’ll tell them.”

  Lieutenant Jones didn’t argue. Caleb had broken the news every time the situation had arisen. It was another thing that never got easier, and he was grateful for that. People deserved to see sincere regret from someone who knew the person they loved, in some cases better than they did.

  “Sir, what happens now?” Rodriguez asked.

  “Ours was the last search and rescue mission,” the lieutenant replied. “Once we get back to the Deliverance, we’ll have twenty-four hours to get everything settled and all the pre-flight checks completed, and then we’re gone. Eight ships have already launched successfully, so I think as long as our luck holds out and the hopper makes it home, we’re going to be alive for a long time after this.”

  “Alive and holed up on a giant tin can,” Rodriguez said. “I’m going to miss open spaces.”

  “Not once you get used to not having to fight for your life you won’t,” Sho said. “I’m looking forward to it. I heard they have atmospheric generators on board that simulate weather. Light, dark, sunshine, rain, thunderstorms, blue skies, clouds. It’s like being outside without actually being outside.”

  “And best of all, no trife,” Jones said. “None of you have been in the city yet?”

  “No, sir,” Caleb said. “We’ve been too busy trying not to die.”

  Jones nodded. “I’ve been with you on most of those missions, Sergeant.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “In any case, Metro is a wonder to behold. Hell, the Deliverance is a miracle of its own. From an empty hangar to a generation starship in less than two years? I would never have thought it would be possible.”

  Washington tapped Caleb on the shoulder. Caleb glanced over, and the big Marine spread his hands in apparent frustration.

  “And now we tuck our tail between our legs and run away?” Caleb said, translating the gesture. Washington nodded and flashed him a thumbs-up.

  “Nobody is happy about that part,” Jones said. “We’re leaving a lot of people behind. What else can we do? This isn’t a fight we can win, we all know that.”

  Washington dragged his finger across his throat.

  “Not me,” Sho said in response. “I want to live. I want to have a family, maybe make a few babies.”

  “You’ll get your chance,” Jones said. “Once the Deliverance reaches space safely, we’ll be reducing the number of military by a factor of ten. We don’t need Marines in the middle of the black. Metro will need law enforcement, and of course as a generation ship we’ll need to provide the future generations.”

  “I don’t even have a boyfriend,” Sho said.

  “There are protocols in place to arrange for women to be paired off. Not an arranged marriage, but as a genetically healthy woman you’ll have your pick of the litter, so to speak.”

  Sho smiled. “Sounds good to me.” She looked over at the other Vultures. “What about you guys? Sergeant Card, if you’re looking for a wife, I would definitely consider you.”

  Caleb smiled. “I’m honored, Yen. But I’m not ready to make any decisions like that just yet.”

  “I’ll marry you,” Rodriguez said. “Why not?”

  Sho wrinkled her face. “I didn’t ask you, Taco.”

  “Why do you have to go there, Dumpling?” Rodriguez replied, making his accent thicker. “Seriously. I was trying to be nice.”

  “You make it sound like being with you would be a good experience.”

  Caleb glanced at Lieutenant Jones, who was shaking his head and smiling. “Sergeant Card,” he said, causing Sho and Rodriguez to quiet their banter. “I’ll leave you and your team to relax for the rest of the ride home. When we get the hangar, get cleaned up, head to medical to get that wrist of yours looked at, and then meet me in my office.” He raised his arm, revealing a gold watch. “Let’s say, thirteen-hundred.”

  “Yes, sir,” Caleb said.

  “Again, excellent work, Vultures. I’m proud of each one of you.”

  “Thank you, sir,” they all replied.

  Lieutenant Jones turned and headed off toward another of the squads to offer praise for the job they had done. Sho and Rodriguez went back to insulting one another. Washington made knowing eye contact with Caleb, who leaned back against the bulkhead.

  Washington knew what the others didn’t because he was in the same boat.

  Caleb wouldn’t be joining them in Metro.

  Chapter 9

  Caleb closed his eyes, letting the hot water of the shower pour down on him, the rivulets smacking his face in a soothing cadence. He was thankful to be out of the SOS. Thankful to be back in the barracks and washing off the dirt and sweat and grime. Knowing the last mission was done, knowing it was a success made it easier to enjoy, bittersweet as it was.

  There were Marines at all of the showerheads around him. Sho was on his left, Rodriguez next to her, and Washington to his right. Other squads were positioned beyond them, each of the people in them likely just as grateful to be out of their armor or fatigues, away from the battlefield, back home and getting cleaned off. Most of them would head right to their bunks when they were done, exhausted from the mission.

  Not Caleb. He had orders to get his wrist looked at, and then to stop by the lieutenant’s office. He had no idea what Jones wanted to talk to him about. He was sure it wasn’t anything terrible. He had done what Command tasked him to do. As far as he knew, both Doctor Valentine and her valuable equipment were safe.

  The other Vultures finished their showers within a few minutes, turning off the heads and retreating from the space in silence. He wasn’t sure when or how, but treating the shower like a church had become a custom for the United States Space Force D-Battalion. Men and women alike stood naked under the water and prayed to whatever god they believed made them, or to whatever kind of fate they put their trust in. They were silent and reverent from the moment they entered to the moment they left. It had been that way before the Vultures had been transferred to the unit, and he had come to appreciate it during his stay. It wasn’t uncommon to see fellow Marines break down in tears in here. It wasn’t unusual for them to receive silent and understanding support. There was something about the water, the silence, the unified experience that made the experience therapeutic.

  Caleb needed the therapy right now. Not only for the past. For the future too. Lieutenant Jones had said they were cutting the military presence on the Deliverance by ninety percent. He was one of the ten percent that would remain, keeping watch over the people of Metro from the outside. He wouldn’t be living in the city. He wouldn’t be mingling with most of its residents. The protocols had all been developed by a team of highly regarded social psychologists, tasked with writing the rules for how to survive a two hundred year trip across the universe without going insane.

  What they had come up with covered three thick volumes of paper manuals, though Caleb skimmed over it on his tablet whenever he couldn’t sleep. He had found that the dry material was an excellent cure for insomnia. The bottom line for him was that he wouldn’t have much contact with anyone who wasn’t a Marine, and having a family was out of the question. There was nothing worse than an absent father.

  He lingered under the water until he was alone. Only then did he let the tears come, lowering his head and putting his hand over his eyes. He didn’t think he had PTSD, but how was he supposed to know? All he knew was that he needed to get all of the horror, all of the pain, all of the tension out sometimes, and this was how he had learned to do it. It eased his mind. It renewed his clarity and his soul.

  Only for a minute. Then he turned off the water and backed out of the shower, grabbing a towel and drying off. He went from there to a locker along the wall, lined with the same gray shirt and shorts in enough sizes and quantity for everyone. He grabbed the clothes and slid them on, then stood in front of the sink to shave.

  He looked at himself in the mirror. A tired and worn face stared back at him. Sharp blue eyes, an equally sharp nose, brown hair was getting a little long at nearly half an inch. He would have to get it trimmed before they left.

  He grabbed his razor and quickly shaved the stubble on his face. Then he headed out of the head and into the main barracks, walking down three doors to his squad’s bunk on the right. He walked in, his eyes heading instantly to Banks and Habib’s racks. They had already been stripped, their personal effects boxed and removed. It hit him like a punch in the gut.

  Sho looked up at him, her expression sad. She held up the tablet she was looking at. “Newswire says the Russians got another ship out.”

  “Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” he asked. Rodriguez and Washington were both in their racks, out cold.

  “Couldn’t sleep. Not when I saw the empty beds. It feels worse because it was the last run, you know?”

  “All too well,” Caleb agreed. “Banks was with me almost from the beginning. Habib, over a year. They were more than squad mates.”