Waking in the Stars (Marston Chronicles Book 2)

by D Patrick Wagner

  Without each man’s strengthened bones, muscles and tendons, they would have been hard-pushed to keep the pace, their boots sinking into the mud and holding as they pulled free of the sucking muck. No one activated their battle chemicals stored in the phials in their chests. They all knew that these were the last.

  The powered servos of the full metal armor allowed each marine to carry an inordinate amount of equipment and supplies, more than anyone could hope to lift, let alone transport. With night goggles activated, the squad slogged through the trees, seeing everything in green, glowing forms.

  Lance Corporal Ghali took point, scanning everywhere, carefully placing his feet, staying as quiet as possible. Insuring that he stepped in the same footprints as the lead scout, Lance Corporal Latif carried his semi-automatic shotgun at the ready, leaving his sniper rifle as part of the monstrous pack on his back. First Sergeant Boulos came next, swinging the waist-mounted Gatling gun side-to-side, covering forward and sides. The chain of bullets linking the Rapid-fire cannon to the box of ammunition strapped to his back swayed with each sweep. Corpsman Faheem and radioman Mahdi followed their sergeant with the two marksmen, Lance Corporals Wadji and Jabour protecting the rear.

  Two hours of silent footslogging brought the squad to its first rest. First Sergeant Boulos pulled out and activated his personal tablet. No screen illuminated, as the wireless pickup in his helmet transferred the data to a portion of the visor. Viewing the map and noting his team’s location, he sent the signal to the other five members.

  “Twelve kilometres. Good progress,” he announced over the close-band, personal network of his squad.

  “Does that mean we get milk and cookies, Sarge?”

  “Can it, Latif,” the sergeant replied with a smile in his voice. “Now we know why you never went to college.”

  “Why’s that Sarge,”

  “Because, Mr. Ghali, nobody likes a smart ass.”

  Even though everyone had heard it before, they still laughed at their sniper’s expense.

  “Let’s move. I want fifty clicks by sunrise.”

  First Sergeant Boulos got his fifty kilometres that night. He got another fifty the next night. The miserable rain storm abated in the middle of second night’s trek. The third night brought fog and damp, clingy dew. Their armor protected them from the soggy weather and the squad achieved the final fifty kilometres, bringing them to the point where the survivors had fled the charging aliens.

  Staying concealed behind trees and rocks, the squad looked down at the wreckage of the vehicles they had used to escape the bug assault on their compound.

  As a spotter, Corporal Ghali’s kit contained the most powerful scoping equipment. Set on its short tripod, the corporal sighted the rangefinder at the now-destroyed Sasanian vehicles. Slowly he focused and recorded every troop carrier, tank and rocket platform.

  “Demo did their job, Sarge,” Ghali whispered into his mic. “Everything is totally destroyed. It must have been quite a show. Here.” He opened up his link to the local net and distributed the just-taken photos and videos.

  After viewing the photos, First Sergeant commented, “I don’t see any bugs.”

  “Nope. After losing whoever they lost and searching the remains, I bet they wrote everything off and moved on.”

  “Well, we’re not going down there. There’s no reason to. And, maybe, they returned the favour and counter-booby trapped the whole area again.”

  “Look at pic twenty-three. Just under the tank turret. Something’s there.”

  Flipping back to twenty-three, the squad leader answered, “Yup, bugs bugged our stuff. Whatever it is, bomb or sensor, now we definitely are not going down there. Mahdi, get on the box. Put together a burst transmission. Include these pics and videos. Note pic twenty-three. Summarize Ghali’s observations. Get it back to base. Let them deal with it.”

  “On it, Sarge.”

  “Dig in, people. Full concealment. Blind from the sky. No electronics, no coolers. No fires. We’re cold camping today.”

  By now the squad acted as one mind. Camouflaged, two-person tents rose quickly amongst the rocks and trees. Nets and webbing stuffed with ground debris covered those. The two marksmen remained in their armor, taking first watch. The rest crawled in and peeled out of theirs. Opening self-heating rations, they quickly downed meals and crashed. Two hours later the marksmen repeated the action. Lance Corporals Ghali and Latif took their places standing sentry.

  The next sunset saw the seven-man squad pack up and pull out, hiking just under the ridgeline of the mountain range. Since the tallest peaks stood below the tree line, the Sasanian marines had no trouble staying concealed.

  Four more days of sleeping and nights of hiking brought the squad to a peak that overlooked the western valley of Yeni Persia’s capitol city, Sasania. Below, where once fields of grains and food stuffs grew, stood six alien domes. Five of the domes formed a circumference around the sixth. The five parameter domes connected directly to the center sixth via enclosed passageways. All the surrounding area reflected neglected fields of grain, growing wild, going to seed, never harvested.

  “The bugs have been busy, Sarge.”

  “That they have, Faheem. That they have. What do you make of it?”

  “Not a clue.”

  “Ghali, you recording?”

  “Every square inch. Look further north, Sarge.”

  “What’s that? Mining? Digging?”

  “Can’t get a clear line of sight. But, yes, there is something going on there.”

  “Well, I guess we know what our next target is going to be. But, for now, we need to find out what is going on in those domes.”

  “Sneak and peek?”

  “Right the first time, Latif. You and Ghali. After we observe for two days.”

  “Understood. Ghali, you got your drill and flex camera?”

  “Always. Need you ask?”

  “Well, seeing as there aren’t any women about for you to spy on, I wasn’t sure.”

  “Ha, ha. Eat your rations. You’re going to need your energy for the creep.”

  “Ghali, how far?”

  After staring through his range finder, he answered, “Just over three hundred meters. A meter a minute, three hundred minutes. Six hours. Say, seven to eight. Digging in for two days, one night reconnoitre, another night back. Three nights. Two days.”

  “Ok, set up. Silent mode. Ghali, hand off your equipment to Mahdi. You two are off watch. I want you guys fresh and frosty.”

  Two days later, First Sergeant Boulos called his squad together.

  “Looks like the bugs are diurnal. Minimum action after dark. Our original plan still stands. Their patrols are minimal, close to the domes. They act like they own the place. Good for us. Get ready. You go tonight. Wadji, Jabour, overwatch, rotate, two on, two off. I’m reserve. Mahdi, send another burst. You’re up Latif, Ghali.”

  Just before sunset, Latif the sniper, and Ghali the spotter, prepared for their approach to the enemy camp. Stripped out of their armor, the two stood, dressed in sand and brush camo-colored military garb. Face paint and hair dye further added to the camouflage. Three days of cold ration packs for each sat strapped to their left thighs.

  Lance Corporal Latif had strapped an ammunition pouch to his upper chest, within easy reach. His sniper rifle, also painted with the sand and brush camouflage, hung down the right side of his chest. Special caps and covers kept the entire rifle air, dirt and water tight. A nine-millimetre machine pistol lay holstered on his right hip. Night goggles sat, strapped to his forehead.

  Lance Corporal Ghali’s rig matched the sniper’s, with the exception that, instead of carrying a long gun, he carried his spotting and camera gear.

  The two bounced up and down, checking for jingles and noises. After many tests and tightenings, they both were satisfied with the silence. Carefully they donned their ghillie suits. The two had worked the entire two days, weaving weeds and grain stalks into the netting that covered the specially
tailored overalls. Once Latif finished donning his suit and pulled up his hood, he lay flat on the ground. Ghali critically circled the sniper, rearranging branches and stalks, adding others. Tapping Latif’s head, he watched as the sniper took three minutes to crawl three meters. Nothing showed. Nothing drew attention. Once he was satisfied, he gave Latif a shoulder pat and waited for the sniper to stand up. Once up, Ghali lay down and Latif repeated the ritual.

  “Ready, Sarge,” Ghali announced.

  First Sergeant Boulos, having watched the whole procedure, nodded. “Good hunting.”

  Slowly, carefully the experienced sniper team slipped out of the mountains and onto the valley floor.

  Aboard Odin

  Vice-Admiral Weiskoff sat in his command pod, almost at attention, using rigidity and rank to hide his morose feelings. Running from an enemy, abandoning a planet full of people stuck in his craw. Like a pendulum, his morose feelings would swing to hot, burning anger then back to moroseness. So he sat and let Captain Brewer manage the salvaging of the alien wreck.

  “We’ve finished the retrieval, Vice-Admiral.”

  “Thank you, Captain. Please power towards the Bridgelen gate and send a notification to the governor.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And send Mr. Clark to my ready room.” Weiskoff said this as he exited his pod and strode from the bridge.

  The vice-admiral took his place behind his desk and stared at nothing, replaying the Sasanian video in his mind and projecting it onto Nye-Nippon. Holding this pose, he returned to the present as Lieutenant Clark knocked and entered. Coming to casual attention, Weiskoff’s adjunct waited.

  “Take a seat, Lieutenant.”

  Relaxing and following the implied order, the lieutenant did so. As he sat he saw the vice-admiral slumping, seemingly struggling under the burden of his decisions.

  “You are doing what you need to do, sir.”

  “I know, Jerome.” Not often, but sometimes, Vice-Admiral Theodore Millhouse Weiskoff, the Third, became personable.

  “It’s a tough call, letting people die. And this is the first time since our revolution against Earth that this has occurred.”

  “It’s just hard.” Taking a deep inhale and almost growling as he exhaled, the Vice-Admiral switched back to command mode. “We’re powering to Bridgelen. We’ll arrive in about six hours. What have you got?”

  “We’ll arrive about ninety minutes behind the alien blockade. I’ve been studying their formations, specifically their battle formation. It’s very aggressive, designed to smash. There is no subtlety to it. Five high destroyers, three low cruisers and a super dreadnaught stationed in the middle. There are also eight frigates but I think we can ignore them. No maneuverability. A battering ram mentality.”

  “How does this help us?”

  “We can run a feint. From the Yeni Persia videos, they show no subtly. They charge and smash. Even though they have a two-tenths light speed advantage, if we can sucker them into charging, we should be able to angle off.”

  “Keep sensors focused on the alien flotilla. Let’s see if they stay true to form. Keep working on that battle plan.”

  After Lieutenant Clark left to work on his assigned task the vice-admiral returned to the bridge. Standing, fighting off the urge to again drop into his emotional morass, he forced himself to get his thoughts in order.

  “Captain Brewer.”

  “Sir.”

  “Send your best software engineer to the alien derelict. No, make that your best hacker. If they are separate people, send them both. And Major Wilson.”

  The captain noticed the convoluted order but didn’t comment. “Aye, aye, sir.”

  Five minutes later the vice-admiral arrived in the cargo bay and stared up at the alien ship, the ship which had help kill Mahdi. Lost in thought, inspecting this strange craft, he startled when Major Wilson and the two software specialists approached.

  Quickly recovering, he turned to the three, who slammed to attention and threw crisp salutes, waiting for the senior officer’s acknowledgement. Weiskoff snapped a quick one in return.

  Weiskoff spoke first. “Major Wilson.”

  “Vice-Admiral Weiskoff. May I introduce you to Lieutenant (junior grade) Carter and Ensign Baker.

  “At ease.” Seeing the short ponytail binding the ensign’s hair, the vice-admiral commented, “That’s not regulation, spacer.”

  “No, sir. Sorry, sir. As soon as we are done, I will correct the error, sir.”

  Fearing that his most creative anti-cyber hacker would be disciplined, Lieutenant Carter stepped up. “My apologies, Vice-Admiral, sir. Ensign Baker is a rather out-of-the-box thinker. She tends to wander. In utilizing her unique skill set and creativity, I’ve let her run a little more casual than formality requires. I accept full responsibility.”

  First staring at the Lieutenant, back in rigid attention and then at the squirming ensign, Weiskoff understood. Even with his own personal demons and his current emotional state, he still understood leadership and moral.

  “In a bun. Tight.”

  “Sir, yes, sir!” the ensign’s voice rose a notch as she slammed back to attention and responded.

  Vice-Admiral Weiskoff saw that he had made the right decision. “She’s the best, Lieutenant?”

  “A unique mind, sir.”

  “Good. We are going to need that. Major Wilson.”

  ”Sir.”

  “Escort these two to wherever the alien computer is, if there is one. Give them whatever they need.”

  “Sir!”

  “Lieutenant Carter, Ensign Baker, you are tasked with accessing the alien computer system and retrieving whatever data, in whatever form you can. You are to transfer that retrieved data to a portable, isolated human storage device. Is that clear?”

  “Sir! Yes, sir!” the two specialists barked out.

  “Dismissed.”

  The three about-faced and marched up the ramp into the alien wreck. Vice-Admiral Weiskoff returned to his ready room to continue his battle with his emotions.

  Suichuu-Shigai

  “The time is now, gentlemen. The alien fleet is coming. Vice-admiral Weiskoff has been forced to withdraw his fleet.”

  Taishou Suzume studied the people at the conference table as he delivered the dire news in his usual, no-nonsense manner.

  “Where do we stand and where do we go? Dono Hamasaki?” Chamberlain Demura asked.

  “Chamberlain,” the production manager acknowledged. “Now that the aliens are getting close, I believe that we can no longer collect materiel, equipment or foodstuffs from landside. If those invaders see supply lines, they may track them to the ocean and infer that we are down here.”

  “Excellent Point.”

  “That being said, if we are not attacked, we should be able to last about two years.”

  “Why so short of a time?”

  “Over-population. Everything is strained. I am projecting breakdowns and replacement curves for our survival equipment. Air scrubbers, water desalination, waste disposal. That is where I get the two year number.”

  “I see. Two years. Well, we will just need to win this war before then. Drones?”

  “We have reached our goal. One thousand drones are ready for dispersal. We have enough raw material for three thousand more. Those will be deployed within the next three weeks.”

  “Then we have eyes and ears on our alien invaders. Thank you, Dono. Dono Katou?”

  “We’ve built as many domes as we can. The dome count went from the original seven to thirteen. None of the new domes have housing networks under them but they are all connected with subterranean tunnels.”

  “Water tight?’

  “Only the entrances to the tunnels. As we dig, we’ve been installing blast doors at all of the entrances.’

  “Air recycling? Plumbing?”

  ”All in place. No formal travelways have been built. The military domes have basically created their own, through functional needs.”

  “Wh
at about housing needs?”

  ‘Everything is temporary. Tents, quonset-huts, the like. The plan is to build the permanent residences underground. Keep the above ground for war and survival needs.”

  “Excellent plan, Dono Katou.”

  “Thank you, Lord Chamberlain.” The Dome Manager said this with a slight head and shoulder bow.

  “Dono Ueda?”

  “No shortage of food, although, in that same two-year span we will be out of rice and eating processed kelp as a replacement. We are heavily stocked on spices and preservatives. We will run out of wheat and corn. Again, we can harvest kelp as a replacement. Our eggrolls will take on a taste of their own.”

  Everyone politely chuckled.

  “As long as we can harvest the sea bed and fish the ocean, there will be no food shortage. As long as the desalination plant is running, there will be no water shortage. We will need to expand our waste disposal capabilities. That is no problem. We have the equipment and manpower.”

  “Then no worries on feeding our people.”

  “Not as long as we can harvest, fish and desalinate, Lord Chamberlain.”

  “Thank you, Dona Ueda. Your optimism and positive spirit brings light to our time of darkness.”

  “I am honored, Lord Chamberlain.”

  “Taishou, your turn.”

  “Thank you, Chamberlain. General Tanaka, where do we stand with the battlement emplacements?”

  “In place, concealed and tested, Taishou. When the time is right, we are ready for our counter-thrust.”

  “Standing army?”

  “As you know, the Federacy never allowed us a true military here on Nye-Nippon. However we have conscripted all able-bodied men and women and began a training program.”

  “Weaponry?”

  “More than enough small arms to equip our ground military. This includes portable land-to-air missilery, anti-armor rockets and breaching bazookas. We are severely limited in our own armored fighting vehicles and tanks, as we could only collect those that could be transported to the domes. However, we have concealed a great deal of heavy weaponry landside. Unless we fly drones over their concealment, we won’t know if any have been discovered.”