Operation: Mongolia

1

CAV V-117 landed on planet Mawholla, setting ablaze what looked like a North American pine tree. But Sam Boggs knew better, this was a long, long way from home. The SA-1 intelligence computer on Colonial Assessment Vehicle V-117 had determined Mawholla to be a forest planet, with considerable volcanic activity and cave labyrinths, but also Earth-like elevation changes (rivers and moisture in the canyons, snow and colder as you go up the mountains).

Boggs emerged from his bunk, and slipped off the virtual device connected to his Happy Box. The “Happy Boxes” made advanced space travel tolerable, as Recon Elite disappeared into their fantasies. Most of his squad chose rock star fantasies, selling out large venues while having hundreds of adoring women throw themselves at them.

Boggs chose fishing trips. Specifically the Rocky Mountains, where he’d fish streams not all that different from the ones on Mawholla. Except in the Happy Box, his wife Sarah was still at his side, before she’d died during childbirth, taking his supposed-to-be son Connor with her.

Boggs pressed the red awake button on the Happy Box chain, and soon the rest of Recon Elite Six awoke.

“Get your fat asses up,” Boggs said as he slid into his forest camo uniform. “We have a planet to explore.”

James T Bone rose from his bunker, rubbing his head, and his short crop of hair. He stood at 6’7, an enormous man, with the body of a WWF wrestler. Behind him, along the row of Happy Box beds rose the other four men: Jim Dagger, Raul Portman, Tim Emoth, and Mark “Pearl” Staunch.

The men rubbed their eyes, yawned, and stretched as the CAV-117 winded down its engines and began the transition into support mode.

A bay door opened, and a rush of oxygen flooded the stale cabin air.

While the fresh air flooded the cabin, a security sensor deployed numerous lasers across the opening. Sure, Recon Elite Six had been briefed, and knew much of what they were dealing with on a surface level. But Boggs again knew better, and so did the commanding officers at Colonial Preparation Base, or CPB. No matter how well recon satellites portrayed a planet, there were always surprises. A man or woman had to get onto the surface and sniff around, get his or her fingernails dirty to truly find out what the planet was all about.

There had been countless reports of snafus and surprises… many the deadly kind. And the recon satellites could not, and would never determine every species on the planet, whether said species was poisonous or hostile. Even the drones had a tough time navigating thick forest, with ancient canopies blocking out however many suns on Planet Whatever. Submersibles were launched too, plying the oceans of Mawholla.

Some of the submersibles had disappeared into underwater caves rather quickly.

A little too quickly for Boggs, as if the recon submersibles had been swallowed by something enormous.

The rest of Bogg’s squad dressed, and slipped into their CR-07 replenishing backpacks. These neat backpacks regenerated a hydrating fluid of water, sodium, and carbohydrates, keeping the men consistently nourished in even the most demanding conditions for up to a week straight. The packs connected to a long over-the-shoulder straw from the top of the packs to their mouths. After that, they’d rely on on-board provisions, and whatever they could hunt and drink on Mawholla. The water had already been tested, and was approved by CPB as safe for consumption. The animals?

Not so much.

But Boggs had learned on plenty of these missions that meat was meat. If it looked like a lizard, and ran like a lizard, it probably tasted like one too, depending on what kind of vegetation the damn thing ate that week. If it had lingered in a swamp, he and his men could expect a muddy taste. If the animal had fed on meadow grasses, light and juicy. If it had fed on lichen, somewhere in-between.

“Fuck these packs,” Dagger said as he stood next to Boggs. “Let’s get some meat. I aint no damn vegan.”

“You pussy,” Emoth said to Dagger as he loaded his ZR-15, the standard colonization assault rifle for Recon Elite Six. “How in the hell did you get this job anyway? Maybe you should be a farmer.”

“Hah,” Portman said, also loading his ZR-15 with stun, frag, and decimate bullets. “I’d kill myself,” he said as he pumped in the ammo. “I need the action.”

Dagger shook his head. “Yeah, ‘cause you aint had any in years.”

Portman grinned and shrugged. “It’s true, it’s true. I lost your mother’s phone number.”

Dagger shot Portman a look, then grinned like a maniac. “Well, I hope she was good.”

Boggs sighed. “Alright you nimrods,” he said. “Recon Elite is better than high school locker talk. Respect yourselves, and in return earn respect.”

“Yes sir,” Dagger said, standing at attention and saluting Boggs. The rest of the men fell in line as Boggs paced the room, a waterproof map clenched in his hands.

“You see that door right there, men?” Boggs said as he leaned into his squad. “You see those protective lasers? Why do you think those exist?”

“To protect us, sir,” Dagger said.

Boggs stepped over to Staunch, and made firm eye contact an inch from his face. “What about you, Staunch? Why are there a hundred interlaced lasers protecting our six right now? Do you think it’s because there are rabbits and possum out there?”

“No sir,” Staunch said, his hands shaking at his side.

Hmmm… Boggs thought. He didn’t care for that. And Staunch had been quiet pre-trip as well, as if he’d been shaken by personal issues. Boggs didn’t need that. He couldn’t count how many times formerly confident and centered men had inadvertently screwed with group dynamics on missions. These kinds of psychological issues had a way of creeping up.

“You good Staunch?” Boggs asked. “Recon Elite don’t get nervous.”

“I’m sorry sir,” Staunch said as he glanced back at the laser-interlaced bay ramp.

Boggs watched as Staunch gulped his own saliva.

“A confident squad is the best squad,” Boggs said as he met eyes with the rest of his men, one by one. Boggs turned and pointed to the bay opening. The smell of pine trees wafted into the craft. “Out there, you’re going to encounter who-the-hell-knows-what. Sure, some of those animals may look like ones we’re familiar with. But don’t be fooled. They might be poisonous. Might bite. Might spit shit at you that melts your face off. Or, they could all hold hands and sing skippety-dee-doodah. You just never know. So no slacking, got it? Your partner has your back, and you have his. We go out two by two, due to the forested nature of planet Mawholla. Listen to that word, men. Mawholla. Twice the size of Earth. Two suns, Little Blaze and Big Blaze, offset by 90 degrees. According to CPB Commanders, this is numero freaking uno on the list. Let’s not let them down. Look sharp, be sharp, or have sharp things sink into you. Got it?”

“Yes sir!” the men shouted back in unison.

Bogs cupped his ear. “What’s that, I didn’t quite hear you.”

“Yes sir!”

“Good,” Boggs said. “That’s what I like to hear.”

2

Recon Elite Six stepped off the CAV-117 and into a breezy meadow. What looked to be North American pine trees swayed in the wind. To Boggs, it felt an awful lot like Montana.

“I don’t get it,” Dagger said as he adjusted his LifeForm Scanner that hung off his belt. “Where the hell are the birds?”

Boggs turned and shot Dagger a look. “Who the hell says there are birds?” he said.

Dagger glanced away. “The recon craft data indicated there might be.”

Boggs nodded once, and spat. “Key word there is MIGHT. The drone’s sensors weren’t optimal due to bad weather. But CPB was hot to get here, so here we are. Let’s not let our people back on Earth down.”

“Roger that,” Portman said, flexing his bicep as he gripped his ZR-15.

Boggs flashed his LifeForm scanner in front of him. He didn’t want his men to know that he too, had suspicions as to why there were no flying life forms such as birds. This meadow was excellent habitat. Beyond the ancient-looking pine trees, rugged mountains laced with random snowfields rose higher and higher. Boggs took a breath of the clean cool air. Not like Earth air. At all. Things had gotten too hot on the home planet. They’d fucked it up really good: oceans of plastic, the shoulder seasons disappearing, with months of long drought that killed crops and triggered widespread famine. No one was able to control it. The planet had been set on a course that was unrepairable for generations.

Boggs led the way across the meadow as moist grass dragged along his camo pants, slicking his boots. Strange insects that looked like ticks and gnats scurried along the blades of grass.

“We’ve got life,” Boggs said. “Of the insect variety.”

As expected, the hand-held LifeForm meter beeped, and gave an “all clear” indicator in the shape of a green circle. Even on other planets, green meant go.

As Boggs hiked across the meadow, clouds swirled above, clean and clear and pregnant with rain. The air here was so much different than Earth, despite similar oxygen concentrations. The difference was the absolute absence of pollution. In the modern era, this was just not something human lungs were used to. Boggs noticed he felt lighter and faster, despite a valley elevation of 3,231 feet, approximately 2,000 feet higher than his apartment in Billings back on Earth.

Mawholla’s power was having its way with him, Boggs thought. He’d been on these missions before, on planets that were quite frankly, a joke compared to Mawholla: desert planets not fit for a god damn scorpion, or planets teetering between dying out completely, and still harboring a few random life forms. There were of course the sad lot of planets near Earth, solid ice, desert, and gaseous. Useless planets, really, at this stage in their existence. And Boggs had learned in all his years from space travel that planets were a lot like people. They just existed, did their own thing, and died.

In the end, that’s all this was. And he and Recon Elite Six were the spearhead for humanity, necessary agents for the ultimate survival before Earth fried like an ant under a magnifying glass. Not only could Boggs feel the power of Mawholla, but he could feel the power of his men, too. Fit as bull elk thanks to years of weight training and cardio work. Boggs didn’t want to say they were the “best of the best”, because that was a bullshit cliché. But they were good. Real fucking good.

Boggs’ LifeForm device beeped, this time revealing a yellow icon.

Caution.

The device wasn’t entirely sure what species lay before them at forest’s edge.

Which sucked.

A red icon meant the animal was dangerous, take no risks. There was a sense of comfort in knowledge. But the unknown? Not so much.

The great thing about T-Bone was he loved trouble. He glanced at Boggs, and Boggs gave a thumbs up. T-Bone inched ahead to tree line, his ZR-15 aimed and ready.

The rest of the squad aimed their ZR-15s without hesitation, as if purely on instinct. Boggs raised his weapon, expecting whatever was behind the ferns to launch right at them.

But it did not.

Instead a large moose-like animal emerged slowly, its ears pinned back. But this was not quite a moose, with much smaller ears, and very narrow eyes.

And it wasn’t quite healthy.

A chunk had been taken out of its rear, and the animal paced and whimpered.

“Holy shit,” Emoth said, inching closer to T-Bone, who was already crouching in the grass and way too close. “Something took a hell of a bite out of this bad boy.”

Blood trickled from the animal’s rear flank, and glistened in the dim sunlight.

“Anyone hungry?” Portman asked as he raised his rifle.

Boggs stepped over to Portman and lowered the rifle barrel with the palm of his hand. “We don’t have time for this shit,” Boggs said. “We have weeks of medically-approved sustenance, and a planet to explore. We can’t play gourmet chef right now.”

“Gourmet?” the young Staunch asked.

“Never mind,” Boggs said.

The moose-like animal limped off into deeper forest, and they never saw it again.