Op File Sanction

by J. Clifton Slater

  “The Pillar isn’t crossing, we are,” she informed him. “You’ll need to build me the data withdrawal gear, arm The Talon, and one other thing.”

  “Not to throw an adjustable tool into your irrational adventure,” offered Walden. “But you’re planning to assault a warship with an unarmored yacht. Or did I miss something?”

  “Subterfuge, Poet,” Diosa said. “That’s the other thing I need from you.”

  They took a ladder to the landing bay where The Talon rested on the patrol boat carrousel.

  ***

  Diosa and Walden stepped through the hatch expecting to see their spaceship dangling high above the deck. Instead, The Talon and its sled had been moved to one of the piers away from the lifting area. While the ship sat isolated, it wasn’t abandoned. Four Marines in fatigues, a Navy pilot in post-flight thermal underwear, and a sailor with an ordinance patch on his dungarees stood gazing at the half yacht.

  “What time is the USO show?” Diosa inquired.

  The pilot turned and smiled. “Captain Taiki sends his regards, Master Sergeant. You have thirty-six hours until we’re in range of Identified Constabulary Ship number zero nine, segment forty of the Tres, Dos transition zone.”

  “That’s a mouthful,” Walden observed. “And who are you?”

  “Lieutenant Ayana from the fighter wing,” the pilot replied. “Call sign Firethorn. I’m your pilot.”

  “And why do I need another pilot?” Diosa inquired. “Besides Waldon.”

  “Because you can’t sneak a patrol boat, even a cut-down version, through the sensors to reach Elf-09,” Ayana answered. “I’ll fly a chase shuttle for the insertion.”

  “Elf-09?” Walden commented.

  “The old tale is you can’t see elves because they hide,” Ayana said. “The Constabulary captain of Elf-09 hides behind a big planet on every pass by a Galactic Council warship. But we know he’s there, we just act like we can’t find him.”

  “And who are the rest of you?” challenged Diosa.

  “Corporal Egill Katla, gunner and, in this case, the answer to your prayers,” one Marine bragged. “With the low profile of your ship, we can mount four torpedoes on the overhead and clear the launch tube.”

  “I told you, firing from a low mass platform will rip the roof off the yacht,” warned the ordnance man.

  “Not if we acceleration launch,” Walden corrected. “We can release them before we decelerate. They’ll continue on as I reverse our ion cannons.”

  “Then target and trigger them from a distance,” Katla said finishing Walden’s explanation.

  “So, I have an extra pilot and a gunner,” Diosa pointed out. “And you Marines?”

  “Sergeant Misaki Natsuki,” one introduced herself. Then indicating the last two, she added. “And this is Lance Corporal Wibke Benigno, heavy weapons, and the lanky guy is Lance Corporal Jari Auður, our sniper. We’re your insurance policy.”

  “This isn’t a pleasure cruise,” Diosa informed them. “We’re going into enemy territory and invading a warship. There is a good chance we won’t make it back.”

  “Embrace the suck, Master Sergeant,” Benigno announced.

  “We only have thirty-six hours,” Walden exclaimed. “I have to get to the electronics department. Corporal Katla, you be careful with The Talon.”

  “As if my life depended on it,” Katla replied.

  Chapter 13 – Attack on Elf-O9

  Walden dropped power and dipped the nose of The Talon. Breaking from the fighters’ formation, he took up a position behind their pattern.

  “Fighters and gunships on the screen, push it out,” combat control radioed.

  In response to the order, all of the ships circling the warship banked away from the Doric Pillar. The flight Walden followed also banked but they continued away instead of enlarging the circle.

  “Who has the eye?” the flight leader inquired. “Come on people, someone locate it.”

  “Negative on your left,” his wingman offered. Shortly, the same report came from the right side.

  The three fighters and the yacht seemed to waffle through space getting closer to the transition zone with each wide swing to the left and right. To the hidden Constabulary warship, they appeared to be a flight of three fighters patrolling beyond the screen of the Realm’s warship.

  “I got a touch,” the left wing reported. “I’ve got a fix on it.”

  “We are going to sweep right then on my mark track back,” the flight leader ordered. “Combat control. We have located the eye. Be advised, will bisect it at the red line.”

  “Talon, did you copy?” control asked Walden.

  “I have good copy, control,” Poet replied. Then he turned his head and glanced down at the six people on the deck below him. “We’re starting our approach.”

  “How close to the transition zone?” Lieutenant Ayana inquired.

  “The flight leader said at the red line,” Walden replied.

  “That’s good and bad,” Ayana offered. “Once over the line we’ll be in Constabulary territory and closer to the planet. But our fighters are not authorized to cross the boundary. We’ll have no cover.”

  “If this works, we won’t need any,” remarked Diosa. “If it doesn’t, it won’t matter to us.”

  “Combat control. We are thirty seconds from target,” the flight leader announced.

  The flight gently drifted left stretching out the turn to cross as close to the red line as possible. Eighteen seconds later, control radioed.

  “All pilots, we have a major sensor event in ten seconds,” combat control warned. “Protect your gear.”

  All of the spacecraft in the screen and the flight ahead of Walden began snapping off their sensors. Blind and close to other ships, the pilots maintained their positions and headings. While the shutdown would cause the Doric Pillar’s protective screen to break up momentarily, the steady paths were better than collisions between sightless ships. And by killing their sensors, the fighters and gunships saved their equipment from getting fried by the scanner blast from the Pillar.

  “Talon, you are on your own,” the flight leader said.

  “Thank you for the escort,” Walden radioed back before killing all broadcast communications and sensors. Without radio, he watched the ship’s clock and didn’t hear the countdown.

  “Five, four, three, two…” the transmission from combat control ended in static for those ships monitoring until the last second.

  Walden threw the ion cannons to the left while increasing internal drive. The Talon angled right and he rammed on full internal power. Almost as quickly as he pushed the cannons over, he brought them back to center and applied power to the external drive.

  The unarmed yacht entered the top of an invisible cone. Marked in space by navigation, the tiny circle was a theoretical point a few thousand kilometers from where the sensors of the Constabulary warship merged. Closer to the planet hiding Elf-09, the cone broadened to the circumference of an airless world with low gravity.

  The Talon slipped unseen into the eye aided by the pulse from the Realm warship. For five seconds, the space surrounding the Pillar glowed and reverberated with energy signals issued from and returning to the vessel. Then the major sensor event ended and the defensive screen reformed as the fighters and gunships came back on the net.

  Walden watched the clocks as the times raced out of sync and the power indicators bounced. When the internal drive reached maximum and just before the external climbed above that level, the clocks struck the same times and The Talon evolved. But the pilot didn’t relax. Now encased in yellow ions, the spaceship shot forward on a collision course with the barren planet.

  “Nice evolution,” Firethorn complimented Walden.

  “Not a jolt or jerk,” added Katla as he studied the readings on the triggering box. “All four torpedoes are secure and responding to tests.”

  “That’s obvious,” Auður commented while looking up at the ceiling. “The overhead is intact.”<
br />
  Snipers were pragmatic and stating the observable kept them alive and allowed the deadly riflemen to complete their mission. No one judged Auður’s remark. Most of the people on board were more worried about the ship being in the cone.

  The timed turn and the quick evolution without proper alignment could mean they were actually flying beyond the edge of concealment. As far as anyone on The Talon knew, their next evolution might be in view of ELF-09’s sensors and within range of the Constabulary ship’s rockets.

  ***

  When assaulting an enemy position, training and tactics gave a percentage of confidence for survival based on skill. The combined talents of the people trapped in the ion encased yacht had little sway on the situation. They were hurling helplessly towards a crash with a planet or into the path of inbound enemy rockets or missiles.

  This phased depended on the pilot’s ability to evolve from external drive to internal drive a safe distance from the planet. As a result, the six people on the deck gawked up at Walden Geboren. He ignored their questioning eyes and focused on the mission clock.

  “Corporal Katla. Standby for release,” Walden instructed without taking his eyes off the clock as the seconds ticked down.

  “Standing by, Poet,” the Marine gunner replied.

  From the relative quiet of a ship on external drive, the banging and pinging of the internal drive rattling up to power grated on frayed nerves. Heads, arms, and legs jerked as the sounds from the internal drive reached a pounding level. There were no sudden movements as The Talon evolved and the yellow ions cleared from the monitors.

  “Katla. Drop them,” Walden ordered.

  “Releasing torpedo one and two are away,” Katla announced. “Three and four are free. Transmitting tests. Electronics testing in progress. We have four live torpedoes.”

  The gunner had control and he guided them in the direction of the cone’s edge. With the torpedoes separated and the roof solid, Walden positioned the ion cannons upward and feathered the power.

  “Tumbling,” Poet warned as the passengers found themselves upside down. Then the command deck righted itself and they felt the thrust against the momentum of the spacecraft.

  In a standard high-speed approach, the pilot would have flown off to the side to dissipate the forward movement. Poet didn’t have the flexibility, so he flipped The Talon and let the ion cannons fight the forward momentum. Minutes later, the pilot reached out and snapped on the exterior cameras.

  An airless desert filled the screen as the spacecraft began to cruise in a tight circle.

  “There is a Constabulary warship on the other side of the planet,” Poet informed the group. “And as far as I can tell, Elf-09 has no idea that we’re parked in their backyard.”

  “Nice job, Poet,” Diosa said while unbuckling her safety belt. “Saddle up people.”

  “Join the Corps the recruiter said, see the galaxy, meet new people, have exciting adventures,” Benigno proclaimed. “She never mentioned a tour of an active enemy ship.”

  “It’s a little late for second thoughts, Lance Corporal,” Sergeant Natsuki told him.

  “I’m not complaining, Sergeant,” the heavy weapons specialist replied. “I’m working on my story so the next time I see my recruiter, she has to buy the drinks. Give me my machine gun and harness. I’m ready to rock and roll.”

  “You can work on the sympathy drink story while getting into your armor,” Natsuki suggested. “Hustle up people. You don’t want to miss the tour bus.”

  ***

  Firethorn called Poet and he activated the articulating arms which shoved the four-person shuttle out of The Talon.

  “Careful with my packages, Lieutenant,” Natsuki reminded the Navy pilot from the stripped-down cabin.

  The seats, cabinets, and excess equipment had been removed. But the space wasn’t enlarged for the three armored Marines and Warlock. They sat on Auður’s sniper rifle case, Benigno’s two crates with his machine gun and harness, boxes of kinetic magazines, and explosives. Attached to the underside of the shuttle, a cable ran to the hanger bay and Sergeant Natsuki’s packages. Although they removed items from the shuttle, there wasn’t room for the fixed position automatic weapons system.

  “I’ve got them, Sergeant,” Firethorn assured her. “Poet. We are clear and making for the horizon.”

  “Understood,” he confirmed. Then, turning to the remaining Marine, Poet instructed. “Drift three out and let me know when they have cleared the planet.”

  “Three out and holding one in reserve,” Katla repeated.

  While the shuttle flew around one side of the planet, three torpedoes ignited briefly then they drifted in the opposite direction.

  “Talon One. Hold while we get Elf-09’s attention,” Poet advised.

  “Holding just below the curvature,” Firethorn informed him.

  The three torpedoes cleared the shadow of the planet. As dead objects, they transmitted no signature and while the Constabulary could identify the shapes, they had to locate the weapons first. Space was big and even the best sensor operator couldn’t look everywhere. After the boost, the torpedoes received a slingshot effect and flew away from the planet. When they crossed into the sensors of Elf-09 and lined up between the enemy ship and the Pillar, Corporal Egill Katla notified Poet.

  “Light them up and be noisy about it,” ordered Walden.

  All three torpedoes began pinging as they searched for a target before they ignited. Then they ran straight for the Constabulary ship.

  “Firethorn, go,” instructed Poet.

  When the Constabulary vessel detected the inbound torpedoes, the ship went to general quarters, engaged their defensive batteries, and executed the procedure. By the time Talon One broke away from the planet, the atmosphere had been pumped from the extra bays, and the large resupply hatches opened.

  The captain’s decision to remain hidden forced the Elf’s sensor department to focus on high threat areas. Using her midrange sensors in selected quadrants meant none of the sensors targeted in the direction of the planet.

  From a gray fist-sized object in space, the Constabulary vessel seemed to grow as Firethorn closed the distance. She anticipated a scan, a rocket, and the shuttle being blown into tiny pieces. None of that happened and fifteen minutes later, she guided Talon One through the open resupply doors.

  ***

  Crates of supplies immune to the vacuum and cold were stacked along wide corridors. Firethorn guided the shuttle into one, reached the end, circled around, and entered another aisle. Near the end of the deck, she dropped power and allowed the small spacecraft to settle on the plating. While the atmosphere had been pumped from the bay, the warship’s engines maintained the artificial gravity.

  “My packages?” inquired Natsuki.

  “Right behind us on the deck, Sergeant,” Ayana responded. “I’m decompressing the cabin.”

  “Do it,” Natsuki instructed. “Unseat yourselves, people. The fun is just beginning. Lance Corporal Auður, take out their eyes while we sort the equipment.”

  “One long gun, coming up,” the sniper responded.

  After opening the hatch, he grabbed the gun case and a box of ammo before leaping to the deck. Squatting down, Auður snapped open the case and a box of ammo. With his rifle in one hand and several bandoleers in the other, he rose and turn to find Natsuki a hand’s width from his chest.

  “Gear check,” the Sergeant informed him as she expertly ran her hands over the armor and faceplate. “Name and rank. How are you feeling?”

  “Jari Auður, Lance Corporal. Airflow is good. Seams are tight and I’m almost comfortable,” Auður informed her.

  “Go!”

  Benigno stood on the deck leaning into the shuttle. Both of his boxes came out as he stepped back and allowed them to fall to the plating. Before he could reach for the snaps, Natsuki grabbed his shoulders and spun him to face her.

  “Gear check,” she told him while patting down his armor and faceplate. “Name and ra
nk. How are you feeling?”

  “Wibke Benigno, Lance Corporal. Airflow is good. Seams are tight and I’m almost comfortable,” Benigno assured her.

  “Carry on.”

  The heavy weapons Marine squatted down and unsnapped his boxes. From one, he extracted a body harness. Once it was fitted over his shoulders and around his waist, he lifted out a machine gun and secured it to the harness.

  A loud electronic bark rang out followed almost immediately by the sound of metal shattering. On the far side of the resupply bay, a camera case split like pedals on a blooming flower. The sniper had begun eliminating the Constabulary’s eyes on the bay.

  Master Sergeant Alberich fought the urge to take over the inspections. Then, she remembered it wasn’t her job to examine them, position the defenses, or command the Marines. They were here for the mission and she was key to its success. Warlock threw a salute in Natsuki’s direction and jogged for a towering bulkhead with a ladder.

  With Auður surgically removing the cameras and sensor banks and Benigno shifting to cover a large interior hatch, the Sergeant signaled Firethorn.

  “Welcome to the Corps, Lieutenant,” Natsuki said. Then she pointed at the deck. “Won’t you join us?”

  Ayana struggled to navigate the ammo boxes in the cabin but finally reached the hatch. She dropped heavily to the deck.

  “How, how, do, do you, you move in this armor?” stammered the Navy pilot with chattering teeth.

  “Gear check,” Natsuki declared as she ran her hands over the armor. “Name and rank. How are you feeling?”

  “So, so cold,” Ayana replied.

  “Name and rank. How are you feeling?” demanded the Sergeant.

  “Oh, I understand. Lieutenant Salim Ayana, Galactic Council Navy,” Firethorn reported.

  Natsuki unlatched a pouch on the belt of Ayana’s armor and adjusted a dial. Then she stepped back and waited for ten seconds.

  “It’s not as cold,” the pilot reported.