Heaven's Devils

CHAPTER FOUR

THE PLANET SHILOH, THE CONFEDERACY OF MAN

Jim Raynor’s swearing-in ceremony took place in the town of Centerville, where everyone knew the Raynors. So after Trace parked the truck, and the family made their way toward Main Street, all sorts of people came up to shake Jim’s hand and exchange a few words with his parents. Trace’s hand never left Jim’s shoulder. Jim was beaming with pride.

About fifty people showed up to witness the moment, a crowd that grew larger when a government-chartered bus pulled up in front of the colonial courthouse and sighed wearily as it came to a stop. Fifteen recruits got off. And even though most had joined earlier that morning, they swaggered around the town square as if they were combat veterans, much to the amusement of some real veterans who were sitting on a bench.

In spite of all the well wishers, there was something a little bit sad about the dusty courtroom, the tired-looking bunting that had been draped across the front of Judge Guthrie’s bench, and the limp flag that drooped from a pole. Guthrie did his best, though, administering the oath as if it had been handed down from on high, while pausing at regular intervals so Raynor, Tom Omer, and the other recruits could repeat the words after him.

Rather than the sense of excitement he thought he’d feel as he prepared to leave his home planet for the first time, Raynor felt a vague sense of foreboding instead, but put the emotion down to the fear associated with going off to marine boot camp. A hellish place by all accounts, where brutal drill instructors ruled, and recruits were routinely abused. But all for a good purpose, or so Gunnery Sergeant Farley had assured him, while processing his application because “boot camp produces marines! And we’re the best of the best.”

There were handshakes all around, and lots of hugs, as Raynor worked his way out of the courtroom and onto the front steps. Then it was time to say one last good-bye to his parents. Much to Jim’s embarrassment, his mother had packed a lunch for him, and tears were rolling down her cheeks as she kissed him. “Don’t forget to write… . We’re going to miss you so much.”

Trace Raynor didn’t say a word, but it was all there in his eyes and the strength of his grip. Jim’s heart swelled with emotion, but he gritted his teeth and managed a weak smile. This is it, Jim thought, and a moment later was left to the mercies of a noncom named Corporal Timson who, if he had a first name, never chose to share it.

Timson was dressed in a reasonably clean uniform that was at least one size too small for him. Raynor noticed that there were four five-year pins on his left sleeve, which indicated that he’d been in the Corps for more than twenty years. So, either he’d been broken from a more lofty rank, or had been unable to rise above the rank of corporal. Neither of which spoke very well of his performance.

Whatever the case, Timson appeared worn out and eager to leave. “All right,” he announced to those who had been sworn in earlier, “it’s time to get back on the bus. We haven’t got all day, you know.”

Raynor gave a final wave to his parents and boarded the bus, carrying a small satchel and his lunch. There was a center aisle with seats on both sides, and a storage rack above.

Some of his fellow recruits were already aboard, shooting the breeze with each other or fiddling with their fones. The back of the bus appeared to be empty, so Raynor headed there and sat on the bench-style seat that ran from side to side. He looked around for Omer.

Moments later a boisterous group of young men entered the cabin and paused to give one of the girls some unwanted attention before shuffling toward the back. Their leader, a gangly red-haired youth, led the way. Fekk! Raynor’s stomach dropped when he recognized Harnack, and one of his father’s well-worn phrases came rushing back to him. “Trouble is like a boomerang—the harder you throw it, the faster it’ll come back at you.” Why did his old man always have to be right?

Whether he knew it or not, Harnack had become the butt of a lot of jokes around town the last couple weeks, thanks to Raynor and his iron fists. But now, as Raynor pretended to look casually out the window, he knew the bastard was looking for trouble, and could feel it coming straight for him. When he heard Harnack’s boots stop short midway through the aisle, Raynor knew he’d been spotted.

Harnack pretended to sniff the air. “Damn! What’s that smell?” Then, as if seeing Raynor for the first time, Harnack pointed at him. “Here’s the problem… . Somebody took a dump in the back of the bus!”

Harnack’s toadies erupted into laughter.

“What have we here?” Harnack demanded, as he snatched Raynor’s lunch sack off the seat. “This yours?” Then, having dropped it on the floor, Harnack stomped it. “Oh, sorry … must’a slipped. Too bad there aren’t any farmers around to protect you now.”

Raynor knew he had to stand up for himself, and was halfway out of his seat when a florid Timson appeared. “What the hell are you jerk weeds doing back here?” the noncom demanded. “This ain’t no fekkin’ tea party. Sit down and shut up or I’ll put a boot up your ass!”

The admonition left Raynor with no choice but to sit down, or complain about the other recruits, which was sure to make the situation even worse. Timson wasn’t there to protect him—he just didn’t want any trouble. Where the hell is Omer? Jim thought. And then he spotted him. Having just boarded the bus, Omer pretended not to notice the confrontation and immediately took a seat in the front row. Well, so much for loyalty.

Harnack straightened and nodded solemnly. “Sorry, we were working on seating arrangements, that’s all… . We’re good to go.” Raynor was surprised by the bully’s sudden deference.

Timson’s beady brown eyes flicked from face to face. “Don’t cause any trouble back here… . You’ll regret it if you do.” And with that he turned back toward the front of the bus and proceeded to count heads as he made his way forward. Then, having matched the total to the number on his list, he gave the driver permission to proceed. Harnack flashed Raynor a wicked smile before taking a seat a few rows up.

The engine roared and the bus lurched into motion. Then, while the few remaining spectators looked on, the transport raised a cloud of dust as it followed the main street to the two-lane highway, which is where the journey to the next town began. There were two additional stops, each lasting an hour or so, which meant it was well after dark by the time the bus pulled into Burroughston.

But rather than the hotel that Raynor had been hoping for, the recruits were ordered to get out in front of the local upper school, where the custodian was waiting to lead them to the gymnasium. They’re going to make us sleep in this place? he thought. It had high ceilings, simwood floors, and bleachers that were positioned along the south wall. The score on the electronic reader board was zero-zero. Raynor could have been back in Centerville.

“Welcome home,” Corporal Timson said sarcastically. “You think this sucks? You ain’t seen nothin’ yet. This is a fekkin’ paradise compared to your average barracks.”

There was a scattering of mumbled replies, which, judging from the expression on Timson’s face, amounted to a personal insult. He stood with fists on hips. “What the hell was that?” he demanded rhetorically. “Eventually, should one or two of you be fortunate enough to get through basic, you will be entitled to call me Corporal. But until that unlikely day dawns, you will address every noncom and officer that you encounter as either sir or ma’am, depending on the type of plumbing they were issued. And you will do so in a voice that can be heard on Tarsonis. Do you scan me, maggots?”

Maggots? It was so melodramatic, Raynor had to battle a grin as he shouted “YES, SIR!” along with the other recruits. The response was still ragged, but a good deal louder, and phrased correctly.

“That’s better,” Timson allowed grudgingly. “Not perfect, but better. Draw your gear, pick a place to bed down, and report to me. We’re eating field rats tonight, better known as barf boxes, and don’t even think about trying to heat one of them up. If you burn this dump down it will be deducted from your pay. Do you scan me?”

This time the answer was nearly perfect. “YES, SIR!”

“All right, assholes,” Timson growled. “Get your butts in gear.”

It didn’t take long for Raynor to get a mat, blankets, and towel. Then came the problem of where to put them. A good number of at least temporary friendships had been forged on the bus, but after being targeted by Harnack and his toadies, Raynor had been ostracized. Even Omer had deserted him. Not as part of a conspiracy, but because of a generally held desire to stay clear of the bully, as well as his pin-headed supporters.

So Raynor wound up throwing his mat down on the floor next to the north wall, a position that was a good fifteen feet from the nearest recruit, but would allow him to sleep with his back against something solid. Hopefully, assuming things went well, Harnack—whose name Raynor had discovered was Hank—would turn his attention elsewhere.

With that accomplished, Raynor went over to the line that led to Corporal Timson and three crates of A-rats—containers holding meals that could be eaten hot or cold—plus heat tabs they weren’t supposed to use, an energy bar, and two contraceptives.

Two minutes later Harnack showed up, elbowed his way into the queue, and grinned menacingly. “Hey, sissy boy, mind if I cut in?” It was the fueling line situation all over again.

Raynor felt the anger begin to rise inside him, and was careful to channel it, as he snapped his head forward. It was a move that his father, who had been something of a brawler in his younger days, had taught him when he entered upper school—when his mom wasn’t around, of course. “Don’t ever back down from a bully,” Trace had said. “Fight to win and end it as quickly as possible.” And the head butt worked extremely well as solid bone met the bridge of Harnack’s nose, cartilage broke, and blood gushed onto the bully’s chin.

Then, while Harnack was still trying to absorb what had happened, Raynor brought a knee up into his crotch. That was when Harnack produced a high-pitched keening sound, fell to his knees, and brought both hands in to guard his aching stones.

“Sure,” Raynor said conversationally, “please feel free to cut in front of me anytime you want to.”

Corporal Timson heard the disturbance, issued a long string of swear words, and arrived on the scene thirty seconds later. He looked down at Harnack and up to Raynor. “Did you do this?”

Raynor was about to say yes when Harnack lurched to his feet and came to something resembling attention. This was when Raynor learned his first lesson about the military: the unspoken code that marines don’t rat out other marines. “Sir, no sir,” he lied. “I slipped and fell.”

“Really?” Timson inquired cynically. “You fell on your balls?”

That got a laugh from everyone within ear range with the notable exception of Harnack’s toadies, who shuffled their feet and glowered at Raynor.

“Yes, sir,” Harnack said stiffly, his eyes straight ahead.

Timson shook his head wearily and sighed. “Okay, be more careful next time. Now hit the head, get yourself cleaned up, and report to me. I’ll put a box of A-rats aside for you.”

Harnack gave a stiff nod, said, “Yes, sir,” and limped away. Once he was out of earshot, Timson looked Raynor up and down. “What’s your name?”

“Raynor, sir. Jim Raynor.”

“Well, recruit Raynor,” Timson said in a voice pitched so low no one else could hear him. “I know Harnack has been up in your face … but what goes around nearly always comes around, which means you should keep a close eye on your six.”

Raynor knew Timson was referring to the six o’clock position on a standard clock, which was to say, his ass. “Sir, yes sir.”

“Plus,” Timson added ominously, “if you do anything like that again you’re going to piss me off… . And pissing me off is a very bad idea. Do you scan me?”

“Sir, yes sir.”

“Good. Go get something to wipe up the blood with, get back in line, and don’t screw up. I’ll be watching you.”

So Raynor went in search of a utility room and found one. Then, mop in hand, he went back to clean up Harnack’s blood. And it was then that he noticed how things had changed. Recruits who hadn’t been willing to speak with him before were openly friendly now—which meant he had people to sit with as the group explored their rations.

The fact that each of them had been issued two condoms came in for a good deal of humorous commentary, as did the political propaganda that was printed inside the lid of each barf box, urging “each member of the Confederacy’s military forces to fight the Arbellan menace with all of his or her strength.” The problem was, the Arbellan rebels had been defeated ten years earlier! The rations had apparently been sitting in a warehouse for a very long time.

Once the meal was over, Raynor returned to his mat, removed his fone from the travel satchel, and surfed the latest sports scores, followed by a news summary.

He readied his Dopp kit, and began what turned out to be a long surveillance of the men’s bathroom. Raynor had taken Timson’s—and his father’s—advice seriously and knew there was a very good chance that a person like Harnack would come looking for revenge. And what better place to attack someone than in a restroom?

As he waited, Raynor brought up one of the digi-tomes he had uploaded for the trip. It came complete with a soundtrack that matched the story, continually morphing illustrations, and opportunities to pull up more information about the characters and their backgrounds. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Harnack and each one of his toadies had come and gone from the lavatory before he followed a group of three other recruits into the brightly lit space and took a quick sonic shower. Then, with a towel tied around his hips, he made his way over to one of the mirrors and went to work with his sonic toothbrush. That was when he heard the boy who had been singing in the shower stop suddenly.

Raynor turned, but not quickly enough, as a big bony fist hit him in the side of the head. He fell, and was still sprawled on the tiled floor when Harnack placed a size thirteen boot on his chest. Toadies formed a semicircle around him, and judging from the lack of other background sounds, the rest of the recruits had been ordered to vacate the room.

There was a black scab on the bridge of Harnack’s broken nose, one eye was beginning to turn purple, and there was no sign of humor in the smile he produced. “Well, sissy boy, we meet again. You surprised me, I admit that—I didn’t think you had the balls. But there’s a big difference between head butting someone when they don’t expect it and fighting like a man. So get up, sissy boy, and let’s see how you do in a real fight.”

Raynor considered mentioning the time he kicked Harnack’s ass in the fueling line, but refrained. A foot belonging to a very angry person was pressing down on his chest, after all. It was not the time for brutal honesty.

Jim understood both the situation and the part he was about to play. Having been put down in the gym, and having lost face in front of his followers, Harnack had to whip him. Or at least seem to, although Jim realized the chances of a truly fair fight were pretty slim as he scrambled to his feet.

That didn’t make any difference, of course, because what was, was, and all Raynor could do was accept the situation and make the best of it. Which was why he began the one-sided contest by taking a swing at the nearest toady. He felt his fist connect and had the satisfaction of seeing the youth go down.

That was a victory of sorts, but a short-lived one, as the other three rushed him. Raynor landed a punch on Harnack’s cheek, but that was the extent of the damage he could do as a flurry of punches and kicks drove him to the floor.

Then, while blow after vicious blow landed, all Raynor could do was curl up into the fetal position and try to protect his head as the other recruits kicked him. “How do you like this moron now?” Harnack demanded from some place far away, as Raynor began to fall toward the bottom of a deep well.

Then the beating was over, the pain was gone, and Raynor was at peace.