Dusk (Dusk 1) by J.S. Wayne Page A

like a proper diplomat instead of an argument for mind-washing .
    He sighed again and put on his best poker face. Dealing with Marine DIs had given him one of the best around. There was nothing quite like having a guy twice your mass and half again your height screaming obscenities about you, your mother, your intelligence, and the likelihood that someone in your family tree had sexual relations with an orangutan while repeatedly driving elbows and knees into your gut to keep you from showing any kind of emotion, ever. In private, Pete didn’t bother with the act. In public, especially in the company he was about to be keeping, the act might very well save his career, if not his life.
    “Colonel, the shuttle to the surface is ready.”
    Just the idea of riding down to the planet’s surface on a shuttle instead of being fired from the ship like a sentient bullet was enough to give Pete mental whiplash. He could count on one hand the number of times he’d taken the more leisurely method of transport rather than needing to be on the ground with a heavy weapons team ten minutes ago.
    Gunny Larsen eyed him as he clawed his way out of the drop pod. “You okay, Captain? ”
    “ I got this, Gunny. Sitrep ?”
    “ We have local hostiles inbound. Guess they saw us coming down .”
    “ Backup ?”
    Larsen snorted. “Not fucking likely, Cap. We’re about as alone as we can get out here. Nearest Marine detachment is three hundred klicks away. By the time they can drop their cocks and get over here, it’ll be all over but the shouting .”
    He didn’t add, “One way or the other.” There was no need to. Pete got the message loud and clear .
    Pete grimaced. “Okay, Gunny. Let’s get dug in. Weapons crew ready ?”
    Larsen smiled. “Yup. Had ’em laced up for the last fifteen minutes .”
    “ Good to go .”
    Larsen’s leathery, tough face faded from Pete’s sight. Like so many other Devil Dogs who’d had the misfortune to wind up on that Christ-forsaken planet, Gunny Larsen now existed only as a handful of rags and a memory Pete would never fully be rid of.
    He shook himself as if flinging away fleas. Larsen had known the risks, just like they all had. He went down doing what Marines were supposed to do: taking the fight to the enemy.
    “Colonel?”
    Pete jumped.
    “You coming, sir?”
    He turned to see Kozlowski looming in the doorway. As much as he hated to show alarm in front of friends, he hated it double in front of someone he couldn’t be entirely sure of. Kozlowski had never been anything but exactly what a good warrant officer ought, but he gave Pete an itch between his shoulder blades he could never quite scratch. Pete had learned the hard way to pay attention to that itch. It was usually a hint that someone nearby was thinking about sticking a knife there. The fact the warrant officer had opened his door, when he’d specifically said only Pete himself could do that, set off a dull warning chime in the back of Pete’s skull.
    There was no doubt about it: Kozlowski bore close watching.
    “Yes, Warrant. I’m ready.”
    “Very good, sir.”
    At the shuttle, Al-Aziz waited impatiently, his traditional robes swirling about his legs. As he caught sight of Pete and Kozlowski, he stopped and drew himself to his full height.
    “So good of you to join us, Colonel. Perhaps next time you will do me the courtesy of actually being on time.”
    Go fuck yourself , Pete thought. Aloud he said, “I’m sorry, Ambassador. I had to send a communication.”
    Al-Aziz’s hawkish face sharpened at the word “communication.” “Would you care to share the contents of this communication?”
    “I was sending a final report to General Neville. I don’t know how many chances there will be planetside.”
    Al-Aziz harrumphed. “And you did not see fit to clear the content of your message with me prior to sending it?”
    Pete bridled a little. “With all due respect, Ambassador, while I am attached to your diplomatic team, I