Postal Marine 1: Bellicose

by Ben Wilson

  The grenades will make it it easier for them to locate you.

  “It doesn't matter if they know where I am now. I'm not dying today.”

  Saying that won't make it true. I have no idea where you got that idea, but it's going to get us both killed.

  “Maybe it will, but not today.”

  Bophendze hurried down the ladder. The thermal vision in his helmet helped him to see through the smoke. There were four guards lying on the ground. All but one lay motionless. He aimed his rifle and shot the remaining guard three times. The guard stopped moving.

  Those others are dying? Is that it?

  Smee, you can't complain that I'm not aggressive enough, then complain when I'm too aggressive.

  A few dead humans doesn't bother me. It's you being reckless and getting me killed that bothers me.

  Bophendze did not answer. As he closed on the next ladder, he primed another grenade. Once within range, he neatly tossed it down the ladder and shielded himself again. After the explosion, Bophendze did not hesitate. While the shrapnel pinged around the passage, he moved toward the ladder and climbed down. He scanned the deck for bodies. There were none. Deck three.

  He repeated the process—a grenade down the ladder followed closely with his descent. There were no other bodies on Decks Two and One.

  So far, so good.

  Either they've given up, or they're waiting for you below.

  How's that? I'm moving down the ladders as fast as I can, they can't know where I'm going.

  The battleship shuttered again. Bophendze gasped. “Is this a smart idea?”

  * * *

  Bophendze continued to the last level. He grew more cautious once he threw his last grenade. He quietly orbited the opening to the deck below, looking down to see if there were any guards waiting for him.

  If they figured out what you're doing, they won't be waiting to be blown up.

  Good point. He closed on the ladder. Thinking back to a stunt he saw once in the movies, he vaulted his legs onto the rail and tried to slide down. He held onto his rifle with his right hand, using it as a slide. He made it a third of the way down before his lack of skill kicked in. His grip failed and he landed on his back, his helmeted head slamming into the rung. Bophendze bounced the rest of the way down, landing flat on his seat at the bottom. His HUD deducted a percent off of his armor as if to protest his lack of competence.

  He shook off the landing and instinctively scanned for targets. The passage was vacant except for him. Okay, where is this control room?

  I have to say a brilliant landing.

  Thanks. Which way?

  Should be about twenty meters ahead of you, around the corner.

  Bophendze picked himself off the ground. He grabbed the rifle off the deck and brought it into the ready position. Shaking his head, he started padding forward.

  Stealth now?

  Never know. He reached the turn in the passage. He backed away from the corner's edge, then moved in an arc with the corner as the center point. As soon as his path cleared the corner, he saw the control room door. In front of the control room was its guard, who was not the least bit thrown off by Bophendze's stealth.

  The guard fired at Bophendze. The bullets slapped into Bophendze's armor. The HUD dutifully reported the loss of integrity by cycling the percentage count below seventy.

  It took Bophendze another moment before he realized he was being shot. The guard's fire was fully automatic, his accuracy dropping rapidly. Once Bophendze's mind was able to push through the shock, he pivoted the rifle up from the ready position to fire. He concentrated his burst at the guard's helmet.

  The guard stumbled back, then rallied himself. He's got armor, too. Bophendze reacted by firing targeted bursts at the helmet. Each burst stopped quickly, giving him the ability to re-aim his shots. After the fourth burst, the guard's helmet was penetrated and he collapsed. Instinctively, Bophendze closed with the guard and fired another burst to the exposed face.

  “How do we get into the control room?”

  How would I know?

  Bophendze looked at the door. It was locked with a keypad. Do you have any way of bypassing this?

  Not exactly. Try asking.

  Bophendze shrugged. He pushed the door buzzer and waited. While he waited, he looked at the door and saw the intercom with a small camera. He reached over to clean the lens, which had been splattered by the guard's blood. Before he did, his arm resisted.

  What are you doing? You can bet they can tell the difference between a patrolman and one of theirs. Don't give them the advantage of knowing who you are.

  “Good point. Thanks.”

  After a beat, the intercom next to the door squawked. “Access code.”

  Bophendze hesitated. He was out of grenades, so blowing the door was not an option. Nor did he have any idea of what the code might be. He shrugged and gave his own service number.

  A moment later, the intercom spoke again. “Sir, you do realize we're under general quarters? We shouldn't be opening the door.”

  It worked? Bophendze summoned his best command voice, and thought of some line from a movie. “Override security protocol. I need access now. Do you understand me?” He did his best to make his question sound more like a demand.

  The door lock clicked.

  How?

  Who am I to question how? Maybe it's what Angel called Providence? Bophendze pushed through the door into the room beyond. The room was dark, but his HUD adjusted almost instantaneously. He worked quickly to kill the personnel in the control room. Measured bursts dropped each soft target before any of them had a chance to react.

  The door closed behind him. He swept through the room, looking for any signs of life. None of those in the room looked alive. Bophendze went back to the door and looked at the lock. Smee, how do I lock it?

  You're asking me? I'm not familiar with this design.

  “I suppose I could just shoot it.”

  You believe what you see in the movies? It's an electronic lock. All you'd be doing is locking yourself in.

  “Any chance it locks automatically?”

  I don't remember seeing any way to open the door from the outside apart from the keypad. It is safe to assume anybody with the right code could enter.

  “Let's hope whoever has the right code doesn't happen to want to come in.” Bophendze scanned the control room a second time. He tried to figure out what exactly he had fought his way to. Do you have any idea what to do now?

  Didn't you say something about tapping into the fire control.

  Okay, how do I do that?

  * * *

  Litovio - Korundaj

  The battle had stopped being one-sided as the Postal fleet slowly tipped the balance. Once outside the focal point, they were able to exact heavier damage on the Navy ships that were still in their barrage formation. Litovio's targeting the jump ship worked. He watched Navy ships nearest the libration point fade out as they jumped. Perhaps they are surprised we have this much fight in us and aren't prepared to sacrifice themselves in a fair fight?

  Not all the Navy ships broke and ran, though. Litovio noticed the Navy fleet altering position. He instinctively stopped focusing on the ships and looked at the overall movement. He looked at the fleet as a single entity, a koleoideo. As he did, he recognized the formation the Navy fleet was converting to. It looked like the capitals were forming into a sphere, but the destroyers were forming into a claw. Sort of like a ball and chain.

  It meant that if the Postal Service was going to subdue the Navy, they were going to have to break the sphere. When they tried, the claw would tear the Postal fleet apart.

  “I think I'm all out of miracles.”

  * * *

  Bophendze - Navy Battleship

  He took off his helmet. The darkness of the control room surprised him. He walked over to the central console, thinking it might be important. The touch panels looked more intended for video recording than fire control. Bophendze raised his head to
see if he could see a more important-looking console.

  The display wall stood out. It was a dome, with the star field stretched out in every direction. Speckled all over the display was a constellation of white squares filled with blue. Just beyond that constellation was a smaller cluster in red. The audio was quiet, except for the occasional staccato of incoming messages. The tone of the messages was one of calm professionalism. Bophendze was annoyed by the undertone of disdain coming over the wireless.

  He concluded the console he was at had value. He sat down at the keyboard and looked back at the display. Some projector at the seat beamed an overlay at him. Bophendze adjusted the seat until the display was clear and centered. Then he saw that the display provided rich data on the ongoing fleet battle. The Navy was forming into a ball with some claw forming.

  He saw a list along the left of broadcasts. The time stamp stopped about the time he entered the control room. “So this room assigns targets to the fleet?”

  That looks like it. That means you're on the flagship.

  He looked back down at the console, where he noticed the keyboard and a smaller display. I type the target and it displays there?

  Give it a try.

  Bophendze looked back up at the display, trying to identify a suitable target. He set his eyes on a destroyer. He carefully typed in its target ID, ensuring the formatting was consistent with the target board. Satisfied, he hit SEND.

  A moment later, the fleet's guns stopped, and then fired a single concentrated salvo at the destroyer. Its target marker dutifully winked away.

  Idiot!

  What?

  That was one of your destroyers. Do you know which one?

  Does it really matter?

  Yes. Remember, your admiral and Litovio re-flagged to a destroyer. How do you know that one isn't the one they flagged to?

  Bophendze felt the blood rush out of his face as he realized he just destroyed a postal ship, killing dozens of fellow marines. He might not have known the word fratricide, but the guilt and horror felt all the worse.

  “Help me identify Naval ships.”

  Give me your hands so I can peck around.

  Bophendze nodded.

  A moment later, Bophendze's hands started to tap across the keyboard. The display popped windows as Smee worked to understand the display. Bophendze tried to keep up with the displays, but Smee's ability to read was just a bit faster than his. The red cluster and blue constellation disappeared, only to be replaced by a blue cluster and red constellation.

  There. I reversed the IFF, er, Identification of Friend or Foe. That means the Navy now sees all the Postal ships as friendlies. If I'm not mistaken, their weapons will not fire at a target marked friend on IFF.

  Neat. Is there a way to target specific Naval ships?

  Yes, do you want me to do it?

  No, I can take it from here.

  Bophendze felt his hands return to his control. He looked at the wall display, searching for a target. A giddy feeling came over him as he selected a pair of support ships. He carefully typed in the identity of the one that was flagged as “Navigation.” He hit SEND and a moment later was rewarded by watching the target disappear.

  Good call. That was likely the fleet's jump computer. I'm surprised. Normally a fleet carries two of them. Maybe our fleet took out the other one?

  What's a fleet jump computer?

  That's a ship that maintains the overall gravametric configuration and maintains a jump solution. That way, if a ship needs to jump to safety it can.

  Bophendze tried to grasp what Smee had said. Do we have one of those? Bophendze could almost hear a sigh in Smee's reply.

  The Postal Marines are not large-fleet based. You might want to target faster. It won't take long before they realize what's going on and send somebody after you.

  Bophendze typed in a queue of targets and broadcast them. The Navy started firing at the larger battleships, not as individuals, but en masse. The targets on the display grew in size, showing a white halo that turned slowly red. One of the ships that was mostly white suddenly exploded and the target marker disappeared.

  “What's that?”

  I'm not an expert in targeting. It looks like some attempt to assess damage of the capital ships. It must not be entirely accurate since that one just disappeared.

  Steadily, other battleships started to explode and disappear. The wireless chatter suddenly started changing. The professional disdain from before became chaotic pleas for help.

  Bophendze started typing in more targets. Looking at the display, he started to make out the patterns that the fleet was arrayed in. He pointed out one of them. It looks like those are team leads. I'll just target all of them. Smee, is there any way to identify which of them is the overall fleet lead? Bophendze heard Smee sigh.

  Try target code ‘A300B2-203.’ While you're at it, issue command ‘JMP-611’ and ‘CG-49’

  Bophendze typed that code in, along with those of the other ships that appeared to be in leadership positions. He smiled and pressed SEND.

  The ship started to shake. Not once but repeatedly. Bophendze's helmet fell to the deck and rolled. He got out of the seat and scrambled for it. Another shake tripped him and he fell. “What's going on?”

  You asked for the target code for the central ship. You are on that ship, remember?

  A part of Bophendze's vision showed a yellow halo.

  That number up there next to the ship's name is its code. JMP-611 is a jump command. CG-49, if I'm not mistaken, signals all ships to communications silence. What does it all mean? The ships will fire on auto until the commanders can tell their crews to stop firing. It also means they won't be able to change targets without severing their cooperative combat fire. Ships will also start jumping in a panic, which means a lot of them may well never be heard from again.

  “All ships?”

  Yes.

  “This one?”

  Yes.

  * * *

  Bophendze felt like he just wet himself. In his haste to target the Naval ships, he sealed his own fate. The ship's continued shaking was a constant reminder of how he had managed to screw up yet again. His mind numbed at the weight of his failure. He dropped back to sit back down into the chair, which had been moved in all the explosions. Instead he fell to the floor and onto his back. Rather than pick himself up, he clinched his fists and brought them up to his eyes. He had no way out, and he knew it.

  Even if the ship was not destroyed by the Navy ships, the Postal Marines would continue to pound on it. If it did not, then the battleship might jump away without a good solution, ghosting them forever. It was not the thought of all the naval personnel killed that weighed on him, but of his own inevitable death. He had promised his mother that he would make something of himself. He had survived Makaan. He had even found a way to control Smee. But none of that mattered now. His life was over. He started beating the floor with his armored fist.

  It took a couple of beats, but his despair started to wane. He pulled himself up into a sitting position and surveyed the control room floor. His helmet was not far away, so he reached over and picked it up. He looked at the helmet's face and saw a little reflection of himself. Bophendze resisted the urge to throw it across the room.

  “Bophendze, think. What are your options? Dying is the default of doing nothing. Maybe I can surrender the ship? That wouldn't matter if the ship was already programmed to jump away. How long does it take a ship this size to do jump prep anyway?”

  Bophendze stood up and went over to his rifle. He bent over and picked it up. It was a lot heavier than the helmet, but easier to handle. “Whatever I decide to do, I can't stay here. Maybe I can get to an escape pod, and hope that my side doesn't shoot survivors on sight.”

  He walked over to the door. He leaned the rifle against the door jamb, and slowly put his helmet on. Once he had twisted it into the lock position, the HUD started synchronizing with the suit. The ship continued to shudder as ship fire kept slamming
into it. He tried to figure out how to get to an escape pod without having to fight his way out.

  Wait a second. I can order an abandon ship, can't I?

  * * *

  Bophendze sat back down at the console and pulled up the list of broadcast commands. He selected abandon ship. He smiled as he pushed the send button.

  The ship's alarm started sounding abandon ship. Bophendze thought it was interesting that the command was the same on Naval ships as it was on Postal ships. He hoped the message carried over the communications silence. Okay, Smee. Show me the way to the escape pod.

  Silence. Bophendze started to get angry at Smee playing games. Then he remembered that intense emotions pushes Smee out. He could still feel the pangs of his earlier breakdown. He was still frustrated, but realized he had to rely on himself for a while.

  He started tapping on the keyboard and searching the display. After a while he saw a tab for the ship's diagram. He called it up. I'm only two decks above the bridge. There are escape pods right there. Despite himself, he pointed at the diagram. I'll bet the ship's commander leaves last.

  Bophendze ran to the hatch. He checked his rifle to ensure he had enough ammunition. He was still a stranger on the ship and could not rely on panic to completely camouflage him. Satisfied, he opened the hatch and stepped into the passage.

  The crew was not as panicked as he had hoped. They were abandoning ship, but not flying for fear. It was an orderly escape. Jumping into action, Bophendze ran to the ladder and resumed his descent. It took him only a few breaths to make it down the two decks necessary to make it to the bridge. He took a moment to regain his bearings. He pointed in the direction of the bridge, assuring himself of the right course.

  He brought his rifle into the ready position and started padding forward. There were fewer crew now, and the ship stopped shaking from cannon fire. He approached the bridge steadily, its hatch clearly visible in front of him. Unlike the bridge of a postal ship, there were no guards posted outside. That's odd. Maybe they've escaped?