NOVEL NEXT Chapter 69: The Night Patrol
0402h. TAF-Monday.
Acting Marshal-in-Saltilla Phyllis Grimmersby's mobilization order had been promulgated a little past 0300h in the morning, activating all Allied Forces personnel for emergency deployment to 'key risk areas'. The remnants of the 67th Penal Legion in Saltilla—comprising PLPs Betelgeuse Sakar, Voke Thatcher and Douglas McKay—were no exception, and after an hour spent in frenzied force-preparation they were funneled together with their parent company—Jegorich First Brigade, First Battalion, First Company, commanded by Captain Tenzhian Cacliocos—into a massive, sputtering, open-backed 5-ton Maschinenfabrik-manufactured petroleum-powered truck.
The Diplomatic Chambers was still burning a ghostly refulgence in the distance, and they trundled up out of the Saltilla Barracks onto the main-road, their driver swerving to avoid the platoons of blue-uniformed, blacksteel-vested policemen swarming up out of the Underground. And they went onward through the chittering nocturne, the distant, splendiferous fireshow winking in and out of existence as the great columns of Saltilla were irregularly interposed.
The wind was whipping against Betelgeuse' face, seeping up through the sides of his helmet and licking at his ears, and he leaned backward against the metal siding, raising his head at their purple-pockmarked sky now half-lit and flickering by the faraway totem of fire.
"Here we are going again, eh, Don't Blink?" a deep voice rumbled to his side. Betelgeuse let his head loll in that direction, and though he knew that the words had come from Staff Sergeant Entuban Kanos he found it a little intimidating to find that eyeless silhouette loom high above him and yet also funny that the giant had to hunch forward uncomfortably in order to balance out the truck's weight distribution.
"If it's not one thing, it's another," Betelgeuse said, putting on a smile again that he knew nobody would see.
"Here's to hoping everybody will be making it back in one piece," Entuban said, stretching his shoulders.
Betelgeuse grunted in apparent assent to this sentiment. Douglas was grumbling irascibly to the side, probably lamenting his luck or complaining about his impecuniosity, but Betelgeuse didn't care enough to listen.
"It's a pretty bad track record so far," Betelgeuse said suddenly, after a minute's rumination,
"What?" Entuban shifted his large girth, and a flare of orange caught the left side of his wide face as it canted toward him, framing his broad and flattish lineaments in penumbral shadows.
"I said that the stats don't seem to be on our side."
"Defeatist talk! Don't let that be stopping you from hoping!"
The man sitting before Betelgeuse shifted his legs, bumping Betelgeuse' padded shins in the process. Then he did it again, and Betelgeuse realized that it was Sergeant Von Fenak, trying to get his heel over Betelgeuse' knee so that he could kick Entuban in his jutting midriff.
"I think you should not be giving out to the young ones false hope. I am thinking it is better to be realistic," Von said, to which Entuban scoffed loudly and muttered something that was lost to the wind.
Betelgeuse turned away to gaze at the street-lamps streaking by, letting his mind meld into the skimming shadows. They were just reaching the end of the main road bounding the Northern and Eastern Quadrants when Cacliocos took to his feet and stepped across the juddering chassis to the head of the troop compartment—standing just before the closed, front cabin—and turned to regard them, flashlight in hand.
All attention pivoted toward him.
He cleared his throat. Betelgeuse thought he looked weary and far older than his years. There were a few velcro patches plastered across his vest, and as far as Betelgeuse knew these were the badges and commendations Cacliocos had earned for his time in the field, though Betelgeuse didn't know enough to identify them specifically.
"I'll keep this announcement short," Cacliocos began, speaking loud enough to be heard over the rushing wind. "I'd like to start with one of our auxiliary PLPs, Betelgeuse Sakar," and he glanced up at Betelgeuse and indicated him to the rest of the Jegorichians.
"This was supposed to be announced over first parade today, but given the circumstances, I'll just announce it here. Command line has recognized PLP Sakar's exceptional performance in battle, and, as of today, he has been promoted to the rank of PLP Corporal. Congratulations, Corporal Sakar."
"WHAT!?" Douglas blurted, whipping around and elbowing Betelgeuse roughly. "I dint hear nothin' 'bout this!"
"... Thank you, sir," Betelgeuse said after a brief moment of surprise, pointedly ignoring Douglas and raising himself to his feet to salute Cacliocos respectfully. The Captain snapped off his return salute, his expression flat and professional.
'This must be what Marja was referring to,' Betelgeuse mused, recalling her mentioning something about an 'important announcement' yesterday. 'But so much for the lower-risk posting. I guess she couldn't come through on that.'
Several of the Jegorichians—some new faces, some old faces—shifted in their seats to nod toward Betelgeuse, and a wave of desultory claps followed, only to wilt away flaccidly against the heavy thrum of the truck engine. Betelgeuse scanned the faces around him, noting in particular Sergeant Allih Belekov's sharp-eyed attentiveness, his features lingering half-obscured at the edge of the gloaming shadows.
"Jeezo man, you got so deep into the Cacky you became a nepo-shitster!" Douglas whispered, gritting his teeth at Betelgeuse as the latter lowered himself back down upon the steel floor.
"Don't look at me," Betelgeuse hissed at Douglas. "I got nothing to do with it—"
"Congrats," Voke said, leaning forward over Douglas to bump his fist against Betelgeuse' knee pad. "Next nights-out drinks on you, kay?"
"I promise nothing," Betelgeuse folded his arms, returning his attention to Cacliocos, who had begun speaking again.
"... To recap, we've been deployed in sections across the streets spanning Marlowe—just several blocks from Prilogia—through to Lent and Colonnade. One section per street. The edgemost section in our AOP is Marlowe, which we'll be passing by shortly—Corporal Sakar, you'll take command of your section and patrol the street. Report any suspicious activity to me, or failing that, HQ. I won't repeat last week's patrol briefing, but bear in mind you're generally looking out for the same things."
"Understood, sir," Betelgeuse responded.
"Same for the others. The rest of us… going up the AOP, we'll take, in order, TTDI Street—that's my section, Hiraeth—Entuban, Colonnade—Von, and Lent—that's you, Belekov," Cacliocos said, punctuating his words with deliberate jabs of his finger indicating the relevant section commanders.
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They were perhaps several kilometers away from the first of the Saltillan Obelisks now, and the conflagration at the Diplomatic Chambers reflected brightly from the many windows that tessellated that great and looming shape. Betelgeuse could see dark dots framed in those lighted squares, and he supposed they were people, gazing out in that insuppressible apelike curiosity at that great and awesome fire.
'Monkey see explosion. Monkey can't help looking,' Betelgeuse thought, laughing internally.
"Look sharp, we're turning into Marlowe. Corporal Sakar, ready for disembarkation."
Betelgeuse hefted his carbine and readied himself.
***
0425h.
Betelgeuse stretched and twisted his head to the side by pushing at his chin to crick his neck, but the tiredness would not leave his body. It was a curious psychological phenomenon, he thought, 'when the exhaustion sticks with you and multiplies the weight of the shit you have to carry.'
"If you look at it from another perspective, at least they didn't send us into Prilogia," Voke said, kicking at the flared bases of the shoulder-high barricades to check that they wouldn't tumble over.
Douglas grumbled and shouldered past him and jabbed the tip of his stump into Voke's side, too irritated to respond.
"That's the wrong way," Betelgeuse said, pointing back where they came, "Marlowe Street is T-shaped. We gotta go down this direction and then turn left to get to the end of the route."
"Yeah, 'cos you know everything about Saltilla now, Mr. Corporal," Douglas whipped around, raising his good hand and pointing accusatorily at Betelgeuse. His eyebrows bristled with a tantrum and his hair was spiked up in such a mockery of anger that Betelgeuse had to force himself to think of dead bodies to keep himself from laughing.
"Doug. Stop it," Voke said, placing a hand onto Douglas' shoulder. "Let's just finish this shit quickly, okay?"
Douglas wagged his shoulder, shrugging Voke's hand off and then tramping down toward the newly-minted PLP Corporal.
"You better fuckin' get me my support coy posting," he said as he passed Betelgeuse, moving on into a flickering patch of light created by an overhead streetlamp blinking with a constant period.
"Is it some kind of penis envy, do you think?" Voke whispered, coming up beside Betelgeuse and squinting after Douglas.
"Who knows? Maybe he just hates the fact that I'll be paid more than him starting next month," Betelgeuse snarked.
"… That's what I meant, B.T."
The three of them continued down the wide street, passing between low-rise structures of four or five stories in height and yawning at whichever grim-faced group of Saltillans happened to be passing them by. Save for several civilians milling about—CDF members, from the fact that they were outfitted with makeshift armor-plating (where they'd sourced such equipment Betelgeuse could only wonder)—the streets appeared to be mostly devoid of traffic.
Betelgeuse scrutinized the buildings to the sides, observing the tinted windows and occasional clothes-laden drying pole sticking out from white-painted pole-holders fitted into the walls. He noted that the buildings appeared to be apartment complexes of some sort. Marlowe Street appeared to be a residential area.
Brzzt…
The familiar buzz of the transceiver brought Betelgeuse' attention down to his wrist. Cacliocos was calling. Betelgeuse quickly thumbed at his transceiver screen, allowing the call to connect.
"Sakar, do you read?" the Captain said, his voice breaking up slightly with static but his words enunciated with that peculiar Cacliocos exactitude that made mistaking his meaning difficult.
"Yes, sir," he responded, looking up to find Douglas making stupid faces and Voke hitting Douglas' ass with his carbine-butt.
"I have an urgent message from HQ. They want us to check the CDF Muster Points because they haven't comms-ed back in a while. What's your location?"
"We've forked down the Marlowe junction and are moving northwesterly toward the end of the route. The part that points at Prilogia."
Betelguese heard shuffling and low mumbles, and then there were the tell-tale sounds of the transceiver on the other end being jostled about.
Some seconds later, Cacliocos said: "Apologies. Okay, you should see the street's electrical-grid-control somewhere around you. Maybe you have to walk down a little, but it should look like a… uh… a box sitting on a pole. Like one of those Citron terminals or something that you see at the hotels."
Betelgeuse scanned the surroundings, thinking to himself how he'd no idea what the hell a Citron was. An object that looked very much like how Cacliocos described it—a box sitting on a pole—caught his attention. The pole was stuck into the pavement some tens of meters down the road and right at the edge of a dimly-lighted patch. He arched his neck and squinted, then rushed toward it, Douglas and Voke in tow.
Speaking into his transceiver, Betelgeuse said: "I think I may have found what you're talking about. It's labeled SUD."
"That's the one. It's Saltilla Utilities Department. It's… there's a box?"
"Yes, yes," Betelgeuse said, bringing up his hand to touch the smooth surface and then trying to open the thing and feeling a little surprised that the front panel swung open without resistance. "... But it's not locked. There's a bunch of switches here."
"Not locked?" Cacliocos echoed, surprise evident in his tone.
"Yes, sir, It looks from the inside like it's a manual bolt-lock. Can't be opened or closed without a key. Aside from blasting it open, that is."
"There should be a switch inside routing power to the Muster Point," Cacliocos said.
"I see it here, sir. It's labeled Cell Number fifty-four Muster Point and it's off."
More mumbles issued from the transceiver. Voke had walked on past Betelgeuse, moving down the street to peer into what appeared to be a narrow hole that had been dug into the flanking pavement. From his vantage, Betelgeuse estimated that it was just wide enough for two people to enter side-by-side, though he couldn't see exactly what was in it.
"Okay, turn it on. You'll see an opening by the side. It should lead downward into the neighborhood's Underground Granary."
"I see it," Betelgeuse said, flicking at the switch and finding that it required a surprising amount of force to flip it up to the on-state. A dull vibration emanated from somewhere underneath his feet.
"Home Affairs recently converted the Granaries to 'double use', and as a rule CDF Cells are allocated an assembly area within. Take your section and check it out—your transceiver should have the security clearance needed. Report back once you establish contact with the CDF Cell."
"Noted, sir."
"That's all. Cacliocos out."
The transceiver clicked, and a dull tone informed Betelgeuse that the call had cut.
"Another potential shitshow," Douglas' voice drifted over from behind him.
Betelgeuse ignored him and trudged down to Voke's side.
"So? What's the Captain want us to do?" Voke asked.
And Betelgeuse indicated into the Underground passage that led, as far as he could see, to a passage bathed in white light and enclosed at the end by a pair of steel doors polished so keenly they reflected a silver luster.
"We're going in," he said. "Cacliocos says there's supposed to be a CDF Cell, but…"
Betelgeuse trailed off as he tried, but failed, to pinpoint the strange feeling that was welling within his bowels. He turned to glance awkwardly at the row of buildings opposite. The street was deserted, and the apartments were sitting still, silent and imposing.
"... Something fishy in the air. Check that your weapon's loaded, but keep safety on."