The Forever War Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The year 2426 of the new time. Battle Station Sigma 06 "A New Hope." Infantry Deck.

Private First Class Joshua Drakowicz once again examined the freshly polished lenses of his optical sight. He examined them carefully, searching for any imperfections that might hinder him during combat. After a moment, satisfied, he placed his weapon back in the locker. He glanced at the contents again and, making sure he hadn't missed anything, closed it.

"Phew... I'm finally finished." He yawned and looked around the storage area.

A large hangar came into view, lined with rows of identical metal containers where soldiers' equipment was stored. Anyone on the Station was required to deposit their equipment. As moving around Sigma 06 while armed was strictly prohibited by Imperial Law regarding the presence of mobile battle stations. And the Inquisitors took their duties very seriously, allowing them to judge individuals who broke the law. Convictions were almost daily, and for this reason, they were not very popular among the Order's soldiers.

At the end of the room, behind a composite desk that had clearly seen its best days, sat a bald, overweight corporal. Joshua knew Ol's chubby cheeks, sharp eyes, and bushy eyebrows. They had been friends for about a year, and during that time, they had reached a profitable agreement. Drakowicz sold the corporal equipment captured from the enemy and medical supplies salvaged from the bodies of fallen comrades, and in return, he received useful information and access to the latest technological advancements. Olo paid particularly well for a new Stimpak. Some said he was addicted to them, others that he sold them to civilians who didn't have access to them. And still others said he collected them, though the private had no idea why anyone would collect such things. Whatever the truth, the fact remained for Joshua that Sergeant Olo was a good and profitable friend. Besides, Drakowicz really liked him, and they often sat over beers, reminiscing about fallen comrades in that endless war.

He was interrupted by the sound of a conversation taking place at the deposit counter:

"Are you sure about this information?" Olo asked.

"Of course I am, and if I weren't, I wouldn't be selling it to you," the short, dark-haired man replied. "

I hope so," the corporal said, looking deeply into his interlocutor's eyes.

"Stop it. You know me, after all, and besides, I'll make more money trading with you than cheating," the private admitted honestly.

"I think so too," Olo smiled. "Just don't share it with anyone else, because our arrangement is off the table." He added, reaching for the files.

"I know, I know. Don't worry about a thing, I'll be as silent as an officer's grave." He finished, handing the sergeant a small blue folder, then turned on his heel and walked briskly toward the door.

Sergeant Olo watched the departing informant skeptically for a moment, then shrugged, examining the folder in his hand. With a swift movement, he tore open the envelope and immediately began reading the newly purchased data.

Joshua, seeing the soldier Olo had been talking to leave, lit a cigarette and took a deep drag. Then he slowly walked over to the depository. He glanced briefly at the files held by the corporal, but finding nothing that might pertain to his unit, he lost interest. Wanting to attract attention, he cleared his throat slightly.

"Huh... It's you, Drakowicz," Olo greeted, raising his head. "What can I do for you?" he said, carefully folding the pages, then quickly placing the folder under the depository counter.

"Nothing specific, actually. I just came to talk." The private sighed a bit artificially and added. "Maybe there are some new rumors. You know, something like 'we're going to war' or 'I have new equipment and I want to get rid of it'?"

"Ha...Ha... You're always the same." Olo laughed. "But seriously, I heard"—he paused and looked Joshua deep in the eyes—"that you're flying to York tomorrow," he added in a serious tone.

"You're kidding! Really? Finally, some combat action. And I thought they wanted to turn us into a representative unit." Drakowicz rejoiced, genuinely pleased.

"Repre... what?" the corporal asked, frowning.

"You know... One where you don't fight, you just strut all day long in front of important officials from command," Joshua explained matter-of-factly.

"Huh! Does such a thing exist?" Olo mused, biting his lip thoughtfully.

"Yes, I heard." But what do you actually know about tomorrow's marching orders? The private deftly changed the subject. "

Truth be told, it's not much, but it's certain that your company is moving on York tomorrow," the corporal said. "You have something to destroy there, and something big. I'm telling you, take extra high-explosive grenades.

" "Don't worry, just make sure there's someone to throw them at," Joshua worried. "Because last time, I didn't even fire a magazine and they already told us to return to the ferries," he confided to his interlocutor. "

From what they told me, you weren't exactly eager to carry out that retreat order." Olo smiled and looked soberly at his friend.

"Why am I still a private? The trail would have taken them all." He became irritated. "Why the hell are they training us to kill enemies of the Empire if they don't give us the chance anyway?" he finished, practically shouting.

It wasn't the first time Joshua cursed his fate as a scout. Other formations had it easy, they could shoot as much as they wanted, throw grenades at enemies at will. But he didn't—why?—because he was on reconnaissance! He'd fly to the planet and wander around, reconnaissance, quickly and quietly. He couldn't even fight like a soldier, because in action, it was impossible to be spotted by the enemy. Otherwise, the airborne assault forces would lose the element of surprise. And was that fair? On the other hand, no one told him the life of a soldier would be pleasant. But then again, no one asked him if he wanted to be one. They simply cloned him and assigned him to the army, like millions of others.

Olo snapped him out of his sad thoughts:

"As for York, I know it's a planetary system occupied by Chaos.

" "CHAOS?! Wrong… I've never fought them. Are they good?" "Drakowicz asked, looking hopefully at the corporal.

"Unfortunately, I don't know that, but I think they know where the trigger is on the rifle," he said, glancing at his time-worn hands. "You know what? I know a guy who's dealt with them. His name is Damian, and he's a bartender at the canteen on Deck F. Go over and ask him about it," Olo advised his younger colleague.

"Damian, right? Okay, for now," he said, and offered his hand to the corporal. "I have to go because my friend is just getting out of medical school, and I'd like to take him for a few beers. He deserves it after a week in the cryogenic cabin.

" "Hi. Be careful tomorrow and kill one of the bastards for me." With that, he shook Joshua's hand firmly.

Drakowicz said goodbye to the corporal and headed for the exit.

Leaving the safe deposit box, he noticed Olo had started reading the files. He smiled,

"Some people never change," he muttered under his breath, and went out into the corridor.

A long series of airlocks lined both sides of the rectangular room. A few soldiers stood at the end of the northern wall, chatting quietly. All unfamiliar faces; Joshua didn't recognize any of them; war was taking its toll. He passed them, glancing briefly at the shoulder straps. Not noticing the officer, he headed for the elevators. He summoned one and, entering, selected deck F on the gray console. The cabin began to rise, squashing Drakowicz slightly into the floor.

About a month ago, the technicians had installed new drives in the elevators, and Joshua hadn't yet fully accustomed himself to them. Although he had to admit, after the change, traveling in them was faster. It might not be as pleasant as it once was, but it saved a few minutes a day. And the command readily signed anything with the word "savings" in it.

The elevator stopped, and a moment later Drakowicz was walking down the soldier-filled corridor toward the mess hall. Paying his respects to the lieutenant, he entered a kind of bar.

The room was the same as most establishments of this type. Circular with plenty of simple metal tables. The furnishings consisted only of uncomfortable chairs and four arched bars, arranged symmetrically around the perimeter. Nobody seemed to expect interior design ingenuity from the infantry.

At this hour, only one of the food service points was open. A portly gentleman served him, and it was to him that Joshua headed. Approaching, he noticed an ugly scar running across the bartender's right cheek, all the way to his throat. It looked as if it had been inflicted by something extremely sharp, quite a while ago.

Sitting down in the chair, he placed his hands on the counter and said,

"Beer, please," while handing over his identification card. "

I'll get you one," the bartender replied. After checking the alcohol limit on the document, he poured half a liter of the golden substance and handed it to Drakowicz.

Joshua carefully took the glass and, trying not to spill a single drop of the priceless substance, took a small sip.

"Not bad. Although I've had better on Centauria. It was beer there. Dark as amber, bitter as life, and strong as hell," the private mused, taking a few sips.

"Aha... do you have a business, or are you just looking for a friend?" the bartender interrupted brusquely. "

Hmm... they told me you fought the soldiers of Chaos," Joshua said.

"The worshippers of the evil and filthy four gods, right? Perhaps..." the bartender replied, and, resting his chubby hands on the counter, leaned slightly over the private. "

You see, I've just learned I'm flying tomorrow, and apparently I'm supposed to see their hideous faces up close." He finished, looking into Damian's bloodshot eyes. "Perhaps you know the best way to greet them. So that they won't forget our visit for a long time.

" "Listen, boy." I've fought the Kornites twice, and the only thing I can say about them is that they're damn good killers. Believe me, they're exceptionally dangerous, and if I were you, I wouldn't get off the landing craft," he said, swallowing hard. "And one more thing. Never, under any circumstances, fight them hand-to-hand, or with melee weapons. You'll die before you think about it.

" "Aha... well, thanks." Joshua finished the last of his beer in one long gulp and stood to leave. When suddenly the bartender quickly grabbed him by the sleeve of his uniform.

"You think I'm joking?! Where do you think I got that scar, genius?" He turned his cheek to Drakowicz. "Look closely, that's what happens when you're stupid on the battlefield!" The scar throbbed, tense, and Joshua couldn't take his eyes off it.

"You lost, didn't you?" he asked sadly.

"What do you think?" Damian released the sleeve of his interlocutor's uniform. "There were many of us, and we didn't hide our presence. We weren't afraid enough." He closed his eyes and continued. "It happened on Grawina. At first, we defeated a small enemy force and felt strong thanks to the easy victory. Then, when the core of the Kornite army appeared, we decided to test their skills in direct combat." He paused for a moment, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. "Look... I know what hell looks like. I was there and saw the slaughter of my brothers. We were slaughtered like cattle, not a regular unit. Within three hours, our company was gone, just a carpet of fallen bodies. I myself and a few boys retreated to the ferry and managed to escape this cursed entanglement." He finished, furtively wiping away his tears and opening his eyes. "To this day, I believe they let us escape. Don't ask why, because I don't know, and honestly... I don't want to." Because the truth of this could be far worse than my current ignorance of their motives.

"I didn't know..." was all Joshua managed to choke out, genuinely shocked.

"Sometimes ignorance is bliss," Damian replied with pain in his voice.

Drakowicz remembered this conversation for a long time. Even though he didn't want to.