“With me!” a waving figure called. “Advance Recon Landing Team, with me!”
Garroway, Vinita, Garvey, and the rest from Lander Three jogged toward the figure, where the other ARLT Marines were gathering as well. Without the net to connect them on a subconscious level, Garroway couldn’t tell the man’s rank, but when the Marine reached up and removed his battle helmet, he recognized him.
It was Captain Warhurst, the ARLT CO.
“Listen up!” Warhurst called as they fell into ranks before him. His face looked haggard and pale. “The main assault force has the situation well in hand. We’re being put into ready-five.” That meant they were in reserve, ready to go into action on five minutes notice. “Your orders are…stay in armor, keep your weapons ready and powered up, and remain in this general area in front of Building 12. I’ll pass the word if we’re ordered up.
“I know you’re all wondering what the hell is going on since the net went down. I can’t tell you a whole lot myself, but here’s what I do know: the Derna has been damaged but is still in orbit. I don’t know how bad that damage is or whether it will affect the ship’s ability to transport us home, but I will remind you that we have an international relief force on the way in our tracks, maybe six months behind us. We are not—I repeat, not—stranded here, so you can belay that scuttlebutt right now.
“I’ve heard one piece of scuttlebutt to the effect that there’s not enough Earth-type food here. Although one of the robot freighters, the Algol, was destroyed an hour ago, the other, the Regulus, is undamaged. We can assume she’s being unloaded now and that fresh supplies, food, and ammo are on their way.
“In addition, let me remind you all that there is a sizable human population here on Ishtar and has been for at least one hundred centuries. Our ethnoarcheologists have been telling us for some time now that most of the edible grain crops and domestic animals that appeared suddenly in the Middle East ten thousand years ago were gene-engineered by the Ahannu as a part of their colonization effort. Apparently, they use the same nutrients we do. There are Earth-native crops in the surrounding region, and we can eat most of the local food crops as well. We are not—repeat, not—in danger of starvation.
“And finally, Marines, I have a special announcement. Comp’ny, atten-hut!”
Garroway came to attention, along with the hundred or so other Marines in ranks.
“Attention to roll,” Warhurst intoned, his voice solemn, slow, and deliberate.
“Sergeant Alicia Jane Couture…
“Sergeant Kathryn DaSilva…
“Sergeant Nathaniel Easton Deere…
“Staff Sergeant Kenneth K. Feltes…
“Gunnery Sergeant Athena Horst…
“Lieutenant Joseph Edward Kerns…
“Sergeant Laurel Knowles…
“Sergeant Jacob Wayne Lowenthal…
“Corporal Jarrett Luttrell…
“Sergeant Abram Muhib…
“Sergeant Carol O’Malley…
“Staff Sergeant Krista Ostergaard…
“Staff Sergeant Frank Edward Stryker…
“Gunnery Sergeant Maria Ann Valdez…
“These fourteen Marines sacrificed their lives in order to safeguard the Derna and this mission. At tremendous personal risk, they reentered Objective Krakatoa when the enemy defense complex reactivated, in an attempt to reach and reprogram the nuclear device planted in Objective Krakatoa’s control center. When they could not reach the device due to time limitations and massive enemy assaults, they instead served as a communications relay for the triggering signal to detonate the weapon, destroying Objective Krakatoa.
“By calling friendly fire on their position, they saved the IST Derna and all of the Marines and other assets still on board from near-certain destruction, at the cost of their own lives. We will observe now a moment of silence in the memory of fallen comrades.”
Garroway stood at rigid attention with the others. The silence was not complete, certainly. The cracks and bangs of scattered combat continued to sound beyond the compound walls, a freshening wind sighed among stone buildings, and, nearer at hand, NCOs bawled orders at running Marines. A pair of Marine Wasps, boldly painted black and yellow strike fighters, howled overhead, banking toward the sprawl of New Sumer on the far side of the river.
Somehow, the noise of battle was part of another world, remote in time and space. Here, there was only the still introspection honoring dead heroes and friends.
“It is my intention,” Warhurst said, breaking the moment’s silence, “to recommend all fourteen members of Task Force Kerns for the Medal of Honor in recognition of their bravery, self-sacrifice, and service above and beyond the call of duty, all in the finest tradition of the United States Marine Corps.