A Collection of Short Stories

Short Story 003 (2016/11/07

Outer rim world: CARRINGTON
Monday January 19, 2678; 0756 CMT
Lieutenant James Cade:

"Rise and shine you fuckin pansies! You're not in Kansas anymore!" Came the shout from the end of the falcon class shuttle's lowering cargo ramp.  It had taken over eight hours to transfer supplies and personnel from the Colonial Navy Vessel John Paul to the planet of Carrington's surface. 

The ramp met the ground with an echoing boom that caused most people to jump. 
"For all of you this is your first mission! Some of you have more training then those already on this base, however everyone on this base has more experience then you! You're not in fuckin' Kansas anymore, you're in hell! Shouted a desert camouflage clad black skin marine.  His friend or foe tag marked him as a Seargent David Crawford, born on Mars.  All of us where still strapped into our seats and waiting for orders. 

"Alrighty! I have all one-eighty-two of you! Unbuckle, grab your shit and down the ramp to the waiting trucks! Move!" None of us needed to be told twice, most of us where either fresh from boot camp or had done time at the Colonial Military Collage on earth enough to know a pissed off sergeant wasn't worth arguing with, so I slammed the release on the harness and peeled it off. 

Standing up I started my checklist; battles dress uniform? On. Ruck sack? Shouldered. Combat equipment bag? Over the chest.  I could feel the adrenaline kicking in as I picked up the near 200 pound load. I wasn't out of shape, but even for a special operations member it wasn't light.  Before thundering down the ramp towards the waiting light armoured vehicle at the end of the row dedicated to the new officers.  It wasn't going to be a pleasant  ride to base. 

As I stepped up the ramp I was comfortable with the half-inset seats based on the walls of the APC. The centre panels had been arranged for gear to be strapped down so they wouldn't shift across the six feet of width.  Claiming the seat farthest from the hatch I set Ruck sack and bag into the makeshift cargo hold pulling the axis arms 227 Mac. Tactical pistol from my operations bag.  It was a compact and cubic sidearm (at only six and half inches long), however it was stupid simple and reliable.  The magnetic box holster allowed for quick deployment of the weapon, and featured an integrated multipurpose forward mounted lens.  It's 962 gram loaded weight made it ideal for a backup with its 252 round one-eighth sphere round magazine.  Guns had come a long way since they where invented.

Slipping the holster onto my hip and pulling it tight, I leaned back into the seat waited for someone else to board the transport.  I knew I wouldn't have to wait long as only two of us on the flight where commissioned.  

The dark blue and grey navy work uniform was adorned with the the single subdued black bar on the centre of the her uniform.  The red navy research battalion patch  was strapped to her left arm as she stepped into the truck. Her dulled red hair was pulled into a messy bun as she strapped her gear down and slid into the seat across from me.  'Tavares' was  sewn onto the Velcro patch on her left lapel.

"Already packing, James?" She says with a smirk, gesturing at my always present side arm now back on my hip.

"Damn right Makayla, I missed her almost as much as I miss not having a cabin to ourselves." It was know that her and I were involved to a select few, our superiors included in that few had made arrangements. 

"Mhm, of course, whatever you say lieutenant Cade." She shot back, before reaching into her field kit and drawing a more compact version of the Side arm I was carrying and strapped It to her thigh. 

"One to talk eh? What, don't wanna be shown up by your boyfriend?" I chuckled before leaning back into the seat and watching her scowl form—she was fuckin cute when she got angry, as long as you didn't mess with her lab.