Earth Unaware (First Formic War)

the line of stretchers, pausing at each one to check the men’s vitals. When he finished he sat beside Wit and gestured to the stretchers. “Who do you think will pass?”
    “All of them, I hope. We need a lot more than five.”
    “My money is on Mazer Rackham. The one who gave you his gun.”
    “Surrendering your weapon is hardly the trait of a supersoldier, Calinga.”
    “Under the circumstances I thought it smart.”
    “Would you ever give up your weapon?”
    Calinga shrugged. “Depends. If it meant I got a better, more powerful weapon in return, one that was better suited to the task at hand, then absolutely. I’d surrender that puppy in a heartbeat. And that’s what Rackham did. By giving you his weapon, he got a bigger, more powerful weapon in return. You. He knew that you with his weapon was better than him with the same weapon. And it paid off. You took out several men, including me. And I don’t go down easily.”
    “I don’t need me to take out the enemy. I need men who can take out the enemy without my assistance.”
    “You need men who can think unconventionally and do things that traditional soldiers would never consider. Him giving you his weapon seems like out-of-box thinking to me.”
    “It’s not enough to think outside the box,” said Wit. “We need men to tear the box to shreds and burn it.”
    “So he should have broken your gun into tiny pieces and set it on fire?”
    “I’m not criticizing his decision,” said Wit. “Under the circumstances it might have been the smartest course of action. But it would have been better if he had kept the weapon and taken out all those men himself instead of having me do it for him. Besides, knowing what and where to attack is far more important than knowing how to attack.”
    “But he was humble enough to realize that he wasn’t as good as you. That has to count for something. I’ve read the guy’s file. He’s young, but he has a head on his shoulders.”
    “They all have heads on their shoulders,” said Wit. “Although a headless army would certainly intimidate the enemy. What would we call ourselves, ‘The Sleepy Hollow Squad’?”
    “‘The Guillotined Gang,’” said Calinga.
    The noise outside the truck increased as they got closer into Auckland and traffic picked up. They exited the highway north of town and moved west toward the shipyards. After a series of stops and starts, the truck parked. Wit heard the driver and passenger doors open, and then the rear door of the trailer slid up. Two MOPs soldiers in civvies were standing outside.
    The semi was parked inside an abandoned warehouse on the waterfront. Wit had paid cash to rent it for the month, but he hadn’t bothered with any of the utilities. Other than a row of small generators humming quietly in the corner, the warehouse was empty and quiet.
    One of the MOPs soldiers spoke with a British accent. “How was it riding in the back with the stiffs, Captain?”
    “They’re not dead, Deen,” said Wit. “They’re sleeping.”
    “When they wake up, they might wish they were dead,” said Deen, laughing.
    “Anyone who wakes up and sees your face, Deen, will think he has died,” said Calinga. “And it won’t be heaven.”
    “You’re a bucket a laughs today, Cali,” said Deen.
    Deen hit a button in the rear of the truck. The wheels spread farther apart, and the bed of the truck lowered to the ground. He and the other MOP, an Israeli named Averbach, brought the stretchers out onto the warehouse floor. While Wit checked the candidates’ vitals one last time, Deen and Averbach changed into full combat gear. Black body armor, boots, helmet, sidearms, assault rifles. When they were finished, they looked impenetrable.
    “We all set?” asked Wit.
    “The room’s prepped and ready,” said Averbach. “You tell us who’s first, and we’ll get them in position.”
    Wit pointed. “That one. Mazer Rackham.”
    Deen and Averbach each took one side of the stretcher and pushed it toward the administrative offices on the far side of the warehouse. Wit followed. Calinga stayed behind with the other stretchers.
    They pushed Mazer through a series of doors until they reached the room designated for the screenings. It was roughly ten meters square, probably an old conference room. No windows or furniture. Bare walls. One door. High ceiling. Like a cell, only for white-collar office workers.
    Deen and Averbach pushed the stretcher to the middle of the room, pulled the