To make up for it, he spent a few hours a week in the simulators, going through rote emergency drills and training sequences. His foil during all of this was Scott Mulligan, of course. The base command sergeant major was also the senior rig trainer, and while he hadn’t been in the field even ten percent as long as Andrews had, his mind was a steel trap. In the simulators, Mulligan was almost as punishing as he was during the small unit training he had suddenly become interested in after returning from San Jose. The sergeant major was generally less than thrilled with the team’s response during their encounters with Law and his people, and he wanted to ensure that the next time an SCEV team had their backs against the wall, they would be better prepared.
So with these lessons in mind, Andrews took his time doing his first inspection of the morning. The SCEV wasn’t leaking anything, the tires were in good condition, and the panels all lined up. The rig even had the Mission Equipment Pod attached to its back, the modular unit which held the millimeter-wave radar under a carbon fiber dome, anti-missile defenses, and a stowed rack of six AGM-114R Hellfire missiles, along with probes, interferometers, various antennae, and other scientific equipment that could detect just about anything.
When he finally climbed up the lowered ramp and passed through the airlock, he found KC going through several electronic checklists at the nearby engineering station. She was a small woman, standing at just an inch or so over five feet in height, with dark brown hair that she wore in a pixie cut. She kept her nails trimmed and always seemed to be wearing a tool belt, even when sitting down. She’d been one of Spencer’s assistant mechanics, responsible mostly for seeing after transmission and propulsion systems in addition to doing Spencer’s bidding whenever he had something that needed tending to that he couldn’t get to himself. The zeal in which she threw herself into fulfilling the duties of a crew chief was impressive, and Andrews was glad to have her. Especially since there had been some talk of assigning another mechanic named McCready. While Andrews had nothing against the other technician, he was a known door-bender and plate-popper, and he didn’t want him doing anything other than tanking up the SCEV with JP-8 fuel.
“KC, how’s it looking?” Andrews asked.
KC turned and looked up at him, a small smile on her face. “Coming along fine, sir. Everything looks to be in good shape. Have a small deviation in one of the electrical busses when they’re cross-tied, but I’m sure it’s just a capacitor. One of the Gentechs was salvaged, and it was original equipment—I’m thinking I’ll swap it out. Oh, I’m talking about the right system bus. It only acts up when the bus tie system is in the closed position. When it’s isolated, it works fine.”
Andrews considered that for a moment. “Okay. Any chance we’ll lose it?”
KC shook her head. “Not a chance, sir. If anything happens, I’ll start shedding load. We’ll be running well under capacity today, so we shouldn’t have to tie them together anyway. We’re only carrying four, right?”
“Five,” Andrews said. “How long would it take to swap out the capacitor? Is it in the forward or aft J-box?”
“Aft, panel four L in the third compartment. It would take twenty minutes to replace, then another five for automated testing. We’d have to do actual load testing before we could go into the field, though. Call it another forty minutes, total time. Who’s the fifth crewman, sir?”
“Special guest. Nothing to worry about. And KC? You can stop calling me sir all the time. I’m just Mike when we’re on this rig. All right?”
“Yes, sir.”
Andrews chuckled. “I like your style, KC. Try and loosen up a bit, you’re among friends here.”
“I know,” she said, glancing back at her display. “I’m trying. I just want to make sure I do a good job. Todd Spencer—he was an ace, you know.”
Andrews sighed and nodded slowly. Spencer had died, right in his arms, bleeding out in San Jose. It hadn’t been a noble or dignified death, but it had been heroic. Andrews missed the easy chatter the old crew chief had been able to maintain, always dissing other members of the crew. Especially Tony Choi, one of the mission specialists who had also perished. Choi’s death came only a few miles from Harmony. Spencer and Choi had always been dogging each other, whirling out a barrage of one-liners at each other’s expense. Andrews wished he had them back. As the mission commander, it had been his responsibility to bring them both back safe and sound, and he’d fucked that one up furiously.
“Sir?”
Andrews came back to the here and now. “Yeah, Todd was a wizard,” he said, clearing his throat. “But you’re doing a hell of a job yourself, KC. Don’t think anything else. Okay?”
“Okay, sir. You want me to swap that capacitor?”
“No, leave it where it is. I just won’t tie the buses. We’ll be fine.”
“Roger that, sir.”
“Say, ‘roger that, Mike.’”
KC smiled shyly. “Roger that, Mike.”
Andrews shot her a thumbs-up and headed for the cockpit. It was a cramped space, home to two crashworthy wing seats, a center console festooned with buttons and switches, a forward instrument panel with three large LED displays, and an overhead panel that served as a second engineering station. Andrews stepped over the center console and lowered himself into the left seat. After getting himself squared away, he did a quick switch check, ensuring all the switches were in their proper positions given the rig’s current condition, which was stopped and on external power. Mulligan called it an exercise in “switchology,” and it was now one thing Andrews had no trouble with, thanks to the repetitive simulator training. Everything was set and in its proper place. He powered up the instrument panels, and for a moment, displays and annunciators flashed and alarms sounded as the technological beast inside the SCEV roused itself from its slumber. Voltage flowed, computers booted, operating systems loaded, and screens came alive. Andrews paged through the initial displays on the center screen, doing a quick status check. He paid attention to the buses, and found no indication of faulty capacitors or any other item. Satisfied, he launched the automatic checklist system and monitored its process as the SCEV’s computers ran through their power-on tests before strobing the rest of the rig’s systems. Everything was green and good to go.
Next up was the navigation. Their destination was less than ten miles from the base’s perimeter fence, which equated to a transit time of around twenty minutes, give or take. No one needed to break any land speed records, and the truth was, Andrews wasn’t eager to arrive at the target area. Even though it wasn’t going to be a long trip, it wouldn’t be an easy one. He didn’t dwell on it for long. It wasn’t his cross to carry, and for once, he was happy to just be a bus driver.
It wasn’t long before he heard someone else climb aboard the rig, followed by KC’s suddenly nervous, “Uh, sir...?”
Andrews leaned to his right and looked around the cockpit’s padded bulkhead. KC was on her feet beside the engineering station, standing straight, left arm at her side as her right snapped up into a smart salute. Standing before her was Major General Martin Benchley. The commanding general of Harmony Base smiled at her as he returned her salute.
“As you were, Sergeant,” Benchley said. “You’ve got work to do, don’t waste any time with me.”
“Yes, sir,” KC said, without moving a muscle.
Benchley ran a hand over his thinning silver head of hair. “Winters, you act like you’ve never seen me before. Don’t look so stressed out—it’s all good.”
“Yes, sir,” KC said again.
“Hey, Kase? This is our fifth crewmember,” Andrews said, trying to come to her rescue. “As long as he’s on this rig, he’s just another mission specialist, and you’re his superior. So have him drop and give us fifty, okay?”
Benchley snorted. “You’d be lucky to get one, and then someone would have to help me up. My knees aren’t what they used to be. And I’m not nearly as useful as a mission specialist, Captain. I’m just here for the drinks.”
Andrews smiled and started to extricate himself from the cockpit, but Benchley waved him back.
“Stay there, son. I’ll come forward.” As the general moved away from the airlock, a shorter officer stepped into the vehicle. Colonel Lawrence Walters was the officer in charge of the SCEV maintenance unit, and he was a small man with short gray hair that was now turning white. He also had a somewhat disconcerting lazy eye, which had earned him the nickname Colonel Walleyes years ago. Whereas Benchley had an easy air about him, Walters was anything but easygoing. The small officer was a real piece of work.
“Andrews, is everything good to go here?” Walters asked. Without waiting for an answer, he turned to KC. “What’s with the right bus? It’s throwing an error.” Walters would know this because SCEV 4’s computers continuously reported out the rig’s condition over an encrypted wireless channel while in the bay, a routine diagnostic feed that kept the maintenance staff abreast of each vehicle’s operational status.
“Colonel, it’s just a capacitor,” Andrews said. “We’ll replace it when we get back. So long as I don’t tie the buses together, there’s no issue.”
Walters turned and stepped around Benchley, glaring at Andrews. “But today, you’re carrying the general, Andrews! I’m not going to certify the rig for field operations unless that’s taken care of right away!”
“Sir, maybe you need to pass that on to Sarmajor Mulligan,” Andrews replied. “I’m sure he’ll accept that rationale with dignified silence.” As he breaks your spine over one of his legs, he amended silently.
“Okay, guys,” Benchley said, “I’ll make the decision. We’re going. Walters, any issue with that?”
“Sir, if there’s a fault in the rig—”
“SCEVs have two buses, right? Both can run all the systems? I’m pretty sure that’s what I learned back in the day, and since I just went over tie procedures in the sims, that seems to be true. So there’s not a huge amount of risk involved, is there?”
Walters apparently decided not to back down. “General, it’s against procedure to allow a rig to depart the maintenance area with a known fault that could potentially invoke a cascading failure situation.”
“So we lose a bus, no big deal,” Benchley said. “We lose both buses, still no big deal. We’re only twelve to thirteen klicks away at the most. Batteries will get us back.”
“And if they fail—”
Benchley slowly turned back to Walters. “If they fail, Walters, then it’s because you and your maintainers are fucking up on the job. Happy now?”
Walters blinked, one eye looking left while the other locked onto Benchley. “But, General...”
“But nothing, Colonel. We’re leaving on schedule. If an SCEV is sidelined because of a simple capacitor issue, then maybe we have bigger problems than you’ve been revealing in your status reports. Right?”
Walters’s lips compressed into a tight line at the comment, but he chose to give up the fight. “Yes, sir. As you said, the SCEV is good to go. It likely can’t be disabled by a single capacitor failure.”
“Great. Thanks for seeing me aboard, Larry.” Benchley moved to stand in the cockpit doorway, his dismissal of Walters crystal clear. While he couldn’t see around Benchley, Andrews was sure Colonel Wallace was fuming as he stomped out of the SCEV.
“Nice office,” Benchley said, looking in at the cockpit. “Mind if I take the right seat?”
“Not a problem, sir,” Andrews said. “Just watch out for the center console.”
“Got that.” Benchley slowly eased into the cramped room, crouching to avoid the overhead panel while lifting his right leg over the center console. It took a bit of doing, but the general finally managed to lower himself into the copilot’s seat. “It’s been a while since I’ve strapped one of these on. Looks great, even has that brand-new car smell. Something you probably wouldn’t remember, of course.”
“Oh no, sir. I remember that,” Andrews said. “My dad was always getting new wheels before the war. Really drove my mom nuts.”
Benchley snorted. “Old Jeremy was an automobile aficionado, was he?”
“So long as they still had gas engines. He never cared much for the electric jobs.”
“Odd that he should be our senior engineer, then. So listen, Captain—was wondering if I could crew up front? I’ve been putting in some sim time preparing for this little jaunt, and I was kind of hoping to be able to pitch in and help out.”
Andrews looked at Benchley as the general started paging through the menus on the systems situation display in the center of the forward instrument panel. His smile was essentially frozen on his face and he no doubt he probably looked like a grinning idiot, but that was all he could do at the moment. The last thing he wanted was the commanding general of Harmony Base acting as his copilot. While Benchley was a competent officer and had been through at least the introductory SCEV training, the bulk of that instruction had been more than ten years ago. As Andrews himself had discovered, crewing on an SCEV wasn’t anything like hopping on a bicycle after a long absence. The skill set was absolutely perishable.
“Well, sir, you’re the general, so you can pretty much do anything you want,” Andrews said, trying to be as diplomatic as possible. “But to be honest, I’d rather Eklund was in the right seat.”
“I promise not to break anything,” Benchley said. “If I’m screwing the pooch, I’ll climb out and sit in back like a good boy. Scout’s honor, Andrews.” With that, Benchley held up his right hand. When Andrews just looked at him for a moment, Benchley added: “That was a saying from the Boy Scouts,” as if that cleared things up.
“Yes, sir,” Andrews said. “Ah... really, General, if you want to take right seat, that’s fine. It’s not like it’s a long distance recon or anything...”
“Listen, Andrews—throw an old man a bone, okay? I’ve been in exactly four places over the past ten-plus years: my office, the command center, the commons area, and my quarters. Excluding the biennial visits to Doc Pia, that is.” Benchley spread his arms, indicating the SCEV’s cockpit. “To me, this is like an island getaway.”
Andrews smiled and nodded. “Okay, sir. I get it.”
“Thanks, Mike. Really.”
“No problem, sir. If you’re game, we can start going over the pre-departure checklist. Automated checks are complete, but we still need to drill down below the bold type items.”
Benchley reached into the pocket on the side of his seat and pulled out a binder full of laminated papers. “We still doing it the old-fashioned way?”
“Eyes on paper is how we keep the computers honest, sir. Correct.”
“Great, let’s do this.”
The two men spent the next few minutes going through the checklists. Benchley was pretty quick on the verification procedures—Andrews only had to prompt him twice, and the general accepted the corrections with good grace. As soon as they were done, Benchley nodded out the forward viewports.
“And here comes the man of the hour,” he said.
Andrews looked forward. Scott Mulligan followed Leona Eklund toward the waiting SCEV. The big sergeant major towered over almost everyone else in the maintenance bay, and if he noticed the glances directed his way, he didn’t let it show. His gait was sure and strong as he marched in time with Leona, and his expression was as flat and emotionless as an old stone. Andrews couldn’t say the same about Leona. Even though she tried to adopt what was generally accepted as her “ice queen” look, Andrews could tell she was wound up pretty tight. He didn’t know what conversations had transpired between the two of them, but he wouldn’t have doubted they had been a bit tense. Andrews felt the tension himself, and he wasn’t even really involved.
“Big Sarge looks like it’s just another day on the ranch,” Benchley said. “Take a note, Captain Andrews. There’s one tough SOB heading our way.”
“I never thought he was anything less, sir,” Andrews said.
“I’ll handle him,” Benchley said. “This is g
oing to be a tough run, and I don’t know how it’s going to play out. But I’ll keep him squared away.” The general turned and looked at Andrews directly. “What happens out there, stays out there. Good copy on that, Andrews?”
“Yes, sir. Good copy.”
There was a bit of confused consternation when the couple boarded the rig and found Benchley in the right seat. Both Leona and Mulligan thought they’d copilot the SCEV, but Andrews tamped down on their discontent by telling them the decision had been made. Mulligan and Leona would have to ride out the trip in the second compartment with KC. Mulligan accepted the verdict without complaint, but Leona’s expression told Andrews what she thought about the arrangement. Just the same, she retreated to the second compartment after Andrews conducted the mission brief, discussing the mission at hand and the roles each person would play during transit to and from the objective.
“Well. Glad that’s been taken care of,” Benchley said, keeping his voice low once the mission essentials were out of the way. “Sorry for all the drama, Captain.”
“It is what it is, sir. I guess we’re about ready to go?”
Benchley nodded. “Let’s seal her up and put rubber wheels to work.”
“Crew, prepare rig for departure,” Andrews said. He motioned for Benchley to put on his headset, then slipped on his own. “Okay, sir. Let’s go over the pre-start checklist.”
“Roger that.” Benchley read out the items, and Andrews concentrated on following through, checking switch settings, bringing generators and the auxiliary power unit online, ensuring the buses were charged and functioning normally. KC closed the outer and inner airlock doors and reported the rig was ready for pressurization. Andrews reached for the overhead panel and switched on the SCEV’s cabin pressurization system. A moment later, his ears popped slightly as the rig’s interior pressure increased slightly in a bid to keep out any radioactive particles they’d encounter on the surface.
Earthfall (Novella): The Remains of Yesterday Page 2