Actually, he had been both lucky and unlucky in many ways over the past month.
He straightened his uniform, then did a few quick bends. After the academy, he’d been in the best shape of his life, thin and very muscled. Now he was even thinner, and it felt like he needed to build back up his strength. He’d have time on this trip, but finding a way to exercise on a freighter was going to be hard. He’d have to be creative.
He glanced back at the letter on the desk. So far it was a short note to Major Boris Veck. Orren and Veck had been friends since childhood. Veck had been three years older than Orren, and Orren had followed him everywhere growing up. Their parents thought they were inseparable. Now his older friend Veck was going to be his commander.
Orren had signed up when he was old enough, just as Veck had done, and followed his friend to the academy and now into space. But in the three years that separated them, Veck had moved up to the rank of major, being one of the youngest in the service to ever get his command.
After graduating as a fresh cadet, Orren had been assigned a Bolo and put in Veck’s regiment along with the rest of his class out of the academy. And his Bolo was a brand new, highly classified Mark XXXIV. He’d been trained completely on every detail of the new model.
But just before shipping out on the Tasmanian to Delas with the rest of his classmates to form the 1198th Armored Regiment under Veck, Orren had come down sick. The doctors were afraid his sudden sickness was what they were calling the Melconian Flu, a biological weapon that had been rumored to be spreading through human space. He was rushed into isolation and had spent weeks there.
Orren still remembered, even through the fever, that Veck had come to the viewing window of his hospital room right before shipping out. But they hadn’t talked. Orren had been too sick. Veck had simply snapped off a salute, turned and left.
At that moment Orren figured he’d never see his old friend and his classmates again. He learned later that the Bolo that was assigned to him had been assigned to another cadet. And that there was little chance Orren would get a new Bolo assignment. There just weren’t that many Bolos.
But then he had gotten lucky again. His disease hadn’t been Melconian caused, just a very nasty case of standard influenza. And just when they were releasing him, there was a new Mark XXXIV coming off the assembly line late.
The very last one.
He was late. His Bolo was late. They matched perfectly.
They were still going to be part of the 1198th under Veck once they caught up with the regiment. The freighter Cannon Beach was going to take them there.
He glanced at the letter again. He knew Veck would know he was coming with the new Bolo. But Orren had just wanted to flash him a personal letter first. The problem was, what could he say to his commander, no matter how long they had been friends as kids? How could Orren tell him how proud he was to be a soldier, how happy he was to get a chance to serve under Veck? How glad he was to actually get a Bolo.
He glanced at his watch. The Bolo wasn’t due in the cargo bay just yet. He had time to figure out what to say in the letter.
He brushed his short hair back with one hand, did a few more deep-knee bends, then sat back down at the desk. He was about to take charge of a Bolo. If he could do that, he could figure out what to say to an old friend, commander or not.
* * *
The armored contergrav staff car took the bumps of the rough road and smoothed them into almost gentle, slight hills as it sped through the trees and brush. The air conditioning and environmental units kept the temperature and humidity perfect inside for the two passengers, while a soft music played in the background.
Soft disgusted Major Veck. He was used to a much more rough, out in-the-dirt type of existence. He didn’t much like some of the perks that came with command. But his companion in the staff car, Brigadier General Kiel certainly did.
The two of them were like day and night. Veck was short, muscular, with black hair and dark eyes. His reflexes were quick and he didn’t much like talking. Kiel on the other hand was tall and rail thin, with silver hair and twinkling eyes. He clearly liked to laugh and told jokes often.
It had been Kiel who had asked Veck to dinner tonight. In the month the 1198th had been on Delas, tonight was the first time the two had done any more than talk about orders. Kiel had brought him all the way off the defense lines on the northern continent for this social get-together, as Kiel had called it.
Veck called it a waste of time.
Of course, Kiel didn’t agree, making the invitation almost an order. But halfway through the strained conversation news had come in about Kezdai activity after a long silence. A very odd silence, but Veck figured the long silence on the enemies’ part was because they were afraid of his unit.
And they should be.
But now the Kezdai were on the move again.
“Glad we finally have some action,” Veck said as the staff car cleared a small hill and plunged down into the trees. Around them the night was more like a painted evening, as the sky was clear, letting the Firecracker Nebula bathe everything in a faint red light.
“Why’s that, Major?” Kiel asked.
“The Kezdai show their hand, we clean them up,” Veck said. “That way I can get my regiment up to the Melconian front and some real war.”
As far as Veck was concerned, everyone knew who the real enemies were. The Melconians. Fighting them was the real war, not this backwater border skirmish with the Kezdai. The 1198th was needed fighting the Melconians and he was going to see that he got it there as quickly as possible. And quick didn’t include social calls on his superior officers.
“Real war?” Kiel asked, turning to stare at Veck.
“Yeah,” Veck said.
Kiel snorted. “I could show you a valley full of headstones, Major. Each with the name of a good solider on it. And plenty of them were friends of mine. Ask them if this war is real. Trust me, it’s as real as it gets.”
Veck stared at the older man in the dim light for a moment. The general was right. Fighting was fighting. His job was to go, win the fight, and move his regiment on to the next fight.
“I’m sorry, General,” Veck said. “Of course, you’re right. Still just not past the shock of not having my regiment sent to the Melconian front.”
Kiel laughed. “I remember when I was your age. All I wanted to do was get into the action, too. Trust me, that mellows in time. Or you don’t live to care.”
Veck said nothing as the staff car crested another ridge and sped out into a meadow, sliding to a halt in the middle.
He was about to ask Kiel what they are doing when he felt the ground rumble, and he knew the answer. They were here to meet a Bolo.
Veck climbed out one side of the staff car as the general went out the other. The night air was humid and warm, the light of the nebula bright enough to see details in the jungle around them.
The rumbling was coming from Veck’s right and he faced that way as the trees near the edge of the clearing shook. Under his feet the ground was rumbling hard now. A moment later the Bolo smashed through, not even bothered by the six foot diameter trees it mowed down like twigs.
Veck recognized the Bolo instantly as an old Mark XXX. General Kiel’s Bolo, Old Kal.
“You here to take charge of it?” Veck asked as the Bolo rumbled to a stop and shut down its engines, letting the night silence again close in around them.
“Nah,” General Kiel said. “Old Kal can take care of himself. So can your fancy new XXXIVs, even as green as they are. You need to trust them and they won’t let you down.”
Veck said nothing. He didn’t trust his Bolo, or any Bolo for that matter. Humans were the ones who built them and he was going to stay in charge of them. They were just weapons and as far as Veck was concerned, a weapon needed a finger on the trigger.
General Kiel muttered something that Veck couldn’t hear. It was clear that he was talking to his Bolo through his bone-conduction ear-piece. That way Veck couldn’t listen in. And Veck didn’t like secrets being kept from him.