Strange Company Nick Cole (best classic novels TXT) 📖

He opened the truck and I saw the Little Girl in there. When he came back with an OD-green medical bag and started rummaging around for our retro-agent doses I asked him about her.

“What’s she doing in there, Cook?” I whispered because I didn’t want her to hear us talking about her.

He made a Who? face, looking up from the bag and seemingly perplexed at my perfectly logical question. I couldn’t tell if this response was genuine or not. He was starting to act strange. Which was saying something even for him.

“Natalie,” I hissed, not wanting her to hear me. “You know who I’m talking about!”

I was angry and it came through. I was just hoping the fear didn’t also.

He looked back at the dark Little Girl sitting in the passenger seat of the big chemical transport crawler. Seemingly unconcerned with us. Which was a good thing. She scared the hell out of me. She was small. Even for ten years old. She looked like any other refugee from all the worlds where wars got fought and no one cared much about the victims. Even the least and most vulnerable. Which she was not. She was pale. But olive-skinned. Wide dark eyes. Dark short hair. Big green coat someone in Strange had given her. Little more than a shift for a dress underneath. A black potato sack. But who makes potato sacks in black, amirite? Large oversized combat boots she painted happy faces on with white breaching marker. She’d been with us since the contract on Blue.

Her name was Natalie. But we called her The Little Girl.

She was a freak too. But too freaky even for Voodoo. Even Stinkeye got all quiet around her when she silently appeared, muttering, “Little Brujita” and making mystical and religious signs with his leathered old hands dangling with prayer beads as he did his best to shuffle on out of her presence.

“Oh, her,” said the psyops chief. He returned to rummaging in his medical bag. “Thought she and her… friend… might be useful out there today. You never know… but I have a feeling it’s gonna get hairy, Sergeant Orion. Just a feeling, mind you. I’ve learned to trust them and I’ll tell you, Orion, I got it this time. And that’s not just the acid talking… I mean retro-agent. It’s not that.” He waved at the bats again and muttered at them to “Stay back!”

Okay, I said to myself.

“Listen,” began Chief Cook anew. “I didn’t have to be here with you and Reaper. But I got that feeling back at the TOC when the Old Man was studying the battle. Told him, ‘Sir, that right there is gonna be the lynchpin to this whole operation. Where Reaper is going, and I need to be out there with Reaper when it happens. Right in the mud and blood and guts, sir.’ He just stared at me that way he does, y’know how he does, and then nodded that I could go do my thing. So I brought her, Orion, and myself, down here to help you and Reaper not get killed. Today. And before you go getting all weepy thinking I’m some kind of noble spectacuthriller hero… I ain’t, Sergeant. Three of your guys owe me sizeable gambling debts. I can collect if they’re alive. If they’re dead… well, you know how it goes. Gambling debts get paid last in Strange. Even if they’re inside the company. So I’m here purely for financial interests. Purely. This is business, Sergeant Orion. I can’t do this much longer. I have this idea to start a multi-world conglomerate specializing in buying high and selling low. Don’t ask me how it works… it just works.

“Here, take these tabs. Hand them out to your men and when I give the signal, put them on your tongues and hold on to your butts ’cause it’s gonna get real weird real fast. Also kill everyone you think might be the enemy. Even if they look weird. I’m not gonna use the psychotropic gas until we’re on the objective. Then I need you to keep them off me until I can find a main AC conduit and flood the terminal’s external intakes with this stuff. Then we dose up and go in, guns blazing, Sergeant Orion. Guns. Blazing. And kill ’em all and let the universe sort. Did I tell you it was gonna be freaky?”

He did.

“Good,” he muttered, nodding to himself. “Told myself last night to really make that point to you, Orion. Seemed pretty important when the walls started melting. A little.”

Twenty minutes later Reaper was on the move, combat wedge with all four squads and the big chemical transport half a click behind us and waiting for the signal to move on to the objective. The drifting smoke was thick, and we were getting good cover from it. There was some incoming, but we kept our alignment and formation, tracking a good course through the tall dead grass as we made for the landing apron in the mist and haze of late morning.

None of the other units were moving yet. And I won’t lie to you, we felt real naked out there. Someone had to start shooting at someone first. And usually that was the first bunch to appear on the battlefield. Surprise, it’s us. I could almost feel some sniper out there watching our skulls and thinking who to nail first. Or some LT getting all excited about dropping arty all over us. Life is fun for an NCO that way.

“We’re out front, Sar’nt?” asked Choker in disbelief as we waded through the tall dead grass that hadn’t been seen to in eight months of fighting. “Ain’t anyone else moving? Man… I gotta get out of this platoon, Sar’nt. I wanna be a Ghost. I wanna be unseen.”

“Tip of the spear, Choke,” answered Punch for me as we moved forward ready to deal some death. “Tip o’ the