Ascendant

by Jack Campbell

  “There has to be more to their command net than that,” Mele said.

  “There is,” Corporal Giddings confirmed, his eyes shifting back and forth as he scrolled through data on his pad. “I’m seeing virtual walls blocking us from other parts of their command net. They look makeshift, though. That’s probably why it took so long to get us access. They were throwing together these walls to limit what we could see.”

  “Huh,” Mele said, not wanting to openly disparage Major Brazos in front of the enlisted. “Can you get through those walls, Glitch?”

  “What do we need to see, Captain?”

  “Where every friendly soldier is located,” Mele said. “Any detections they have of the enemy. Any fights going on. Any orders being issued by Major Brazos or anyone else.”

  Corporal Cassie Gamba gave a sidelong look at the militia. “How many have they got, Captain?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Giddings spoke up. “Eighty. Eighty-one counting Major Brazos. I just got into that part of the command net. All militia, like that guy said.”

  “Eighty.” Gamba grimaced as if she were tasting the number and not liking it. “How many hostiles?”

  “It depends,” Mele said. “Saber is going to try to keep shuttles from reaching this facility to drop off troops, and Shark can hit any that come within its line of sight. But any shuttle coming in with the facility between it and Shark will be safe from that. And if the enemy warship makes a run on Shark, Saber is going to have to move to support Shark. We’re expecting that to happen. That’ll give the enemy a narrow corridor to run a few shuttles through.”

  “A few shuttles?” Private Yoshida said. “They could have, what, three hundred on those?”

  “Depending on the shuttle type and what kind of armor they’re wearing,” Private Lamar said. “If four shuttles make it through, the numbers they carry could range from, um, two hundred eighty to three hundred fifty.”

  Mele gave Penny Lamar a questioning glance. “You’re a shuttle expert?”

  “It’s a hobby, Captain,” she admitted.

  “She builds shuttle models from scratch,” Private Buckland added, laughing.

  “Do you have any other interests I should know about?”

  Lamar paused. “No others you should know about, Captain.”

  “So,” Corporal Gamba continued, “we’re talking at least a few hundred hostiles, eighty friendly militia, and us. How good are the hostiles?”

  “We don’t know,” Mele said. “The ones I fought three years ago from Scatha were mercenaries hired as a unit from one of the Old Colonies. Kind of like you guys but not as professional. But we’ve had word that Scatha and Apulu, and Turan, have been hiring anyone willing to carry a gun. If we’re lucky, that’s who we’ll be facing.”

  “Reds,” Yoshida offered. “I heard a lot of them are from Mars. Somebody told me there’s like hundreds of thousands of Reds who’ll do anything for a job, and they’re cheap hires.”

  “Reds can be bad news if they’re gang fighters or warlord troops,” Gamba said. “Not as good as professional ground forces, but tough.”

  “Got it!” Giddings announced. “We’re in the command net. No restrictions. I gave you a ghost ID so even if their system watchdogs notice you they’ll think you’re okay, Captain.”

  “You’re a credit to the Marines of Glenlyon,” Mele said, running through the data now available on her pad. “Oh, yeah. And here’s the Major’s plan. Look.” She titled the pad so the others could see it. “He’s breaking his forces into squads and posting them at major intersections to stop any advance.”

  “What about the ways past those intersections?” Lamar asked, eyeing the plan.

  “That’s thinking like a Marine,” Mele said, nodding in approval. “The militia is trying to seal off routes, but they can’t seal off every possible path. Once aboard this facility the attackers can go up, down, right, left, and everywhere in between. They’ll either try to overrun the individual squads of defenders, which will be fast but expensive in terms of casualties, or bypass the defenders using other routes, which will take longer.”

  “So what are we going to do, Captain?” Gamba asked.

  “Reaction force,” Mele said. “Or fire brigade, as they used to call it, because we’re going to be putting out fires. As the enemy hits these militia forces, or bypasses them, we’ll hit the enemy. If there’s a breakthrough likely, we reinforce the militia if we can get there in time. If a breakthrough occurs, we stop it.”

  “Six of us?” Buckland asked.

  “That’s right,” Mele said, trying to sound confident but not insanely confident. “I’m going to personally command Team One. That’s me, Corporal Giddings, and Private Lamar. Corporal Gamba, you command Team Two, with you, Yoshida, and Buckland.”

  “Major Brazos has a reaction force designated,” Gamba pointed out.

  “Yeah, but that reaction force is also assigned defense of a critical intersection just short of the space dock. That’s a mistake, people. He’s going to be afraid to move that reaction force because its other job is so important.”

  Buckland looked around as a burst of laughter came from one of the militia squads, the sound a little too high-pitched and forced, like people trying to appear unworried rather than people who weren’t worried. “Can they do this, Captain?”

  Mele knew what the question meant. It was as simple as the way the different groups appeared to an outside observer. The militia members looked dangerous in a haphazard, chaotic way, whereas her Marines appeared dangerous in a very controlled and capable way. “They can,” Mele said, “if we show them how.”

  “Captain,” Gamba said, “with all due respect—”

  “I know what that really means, Corporal.”

  “Uh . . . my apologies, Captain. How can we show them how to fight in the middle of a fight?”

  Mele nodded to show her understanding of the reasons for that question. “I’ve done this, led volunteers against regular troops. Because that was all I had. Give them good leaders, good examples, and they can do a lot. Respect them, boys and girls,” she told her Marines. “They know they’re not good at this, but they’re facing death anyway because there’s no one else to handle the job. That takes guts. Lets help them ensure their deaths make a difference.

  “Because plenty of them are going to die trying their best.”

  CHAPTER 9

  None of them disputed her statement. Mele hadn’t expected any of them to do that, but she had wanted to see how they reacted. To see if any of her new Marines suggested abandoning the militia to their fate. Anyone who would do that might later decide to abandon their fellow Marines.

  But they just sat, quietly absorbing her words or looking toward the militia.

  “We can try teaching them a few things,” Yoshida finally suggested. “How long do we have?”

  Mele nodded approvingly before checking the time on her pad. “We’ve got two hours left before the estimated time the invasion fleet gets close enough to the planet to start dropping shuttles.”

  “When will they try to send shuttles here, Captain?” Buckland asked.

  “You know, I may look like I know everything, but I don’t.” Mele tried looking for information in some other parts of Major Brazos’s command net. “Ah, this will help. It’s a look at the outside, where the ships are operating. There’s the enemy destroyer. If Commodore Geary is right, when that destroyer lines up to hit Shark, it will be our warning that the enemy is about to send shuttles here.”

  Corporal Giddings looked up from his own pad and around at the food stalls. “Excuse me, Captain,” he said as he got up.

  “What’s he up to?” Mele asked Corporal Gamba as they watched Giddings walk quickly to an unobtrusive stall whose lack of decoration implied either a bare-bones operation or one so well-off that it could ignore the need t
o try to impress potential customers.

  After a couple of minutes, Giddings walked back, unsuccessfully trying to look casual despite the bulging bag he was now carrying.

  “Open up,” Mele ordered. Inside the bag was . . .

  “Chocolate,” Lamar whispered.

  Mele pulled out one of the bars and examined it. “Old-Earth-origin chocolate. Do you rob banks on the side, too? How much do these things cost?”

  “They told us everything was on the house,” Giddings said defensively.

  “These are all the bars they had?”

  “Yes, Captain. I was able to remotely pop the lock on their storage.”

  Corporal Gamba spoke up. “We shouldn’t leave them for the enemy, Captain. That would be wrong.” The other enlisted Marines nodded in solemn agreement.

  “It would be,” Mele agreed. She looked around the food court, counting the militia members present. “Giddings, you and Gamba divide up those bars into enough pieces for everyone in this area.”

  “Everyone?” Lamar asked plaintively.

  “Yeah, everyone.” Mele stood up to attract attention. “Hey! Kosatka militia! Come on over. We got something special here.”

  As the militia and the Marines shared the unexpected feast, Mele was able to speak to Kosatka’s defenders. She knew people like them. She’d led people like them. The similarities with the eager and naïve enthusiasm and the worries and barely hidden fears of those Mele had trained and commanded three years before were painful, calling up memories of the ones who hadn’t survived. She wondered how well she was hiding the reactions those memories were creating in her.

  Like other newly settled worlds out here, the first set of colonists had come mostly from one region or state or area, with subsequent waves including people from a broader part of the vast variety of human cultures and places. Mele couldn’t help noticing that nearly all of the militia up here seemed to be from one of those subsequent waves, and that all the ones she was speaking with were lower-level techs and assistants. Worker bees. Hardworking. Essential. And replaceable.

  And only eighty of them. It wasn’t hard to factor that equation.

  Did Commander Derian on the Shark know? Had First Minister Hofer of Kosatka’s government known when he asked for help from Rob Geary? Probably not, Mele thought. More likely, the highest levels of Kosatka’s military command had run their simulations using the parameters they thought were right and made their decisions to leave the defense of this facility to what was poetically called a forlorn hope. Because forlorn hope sounded a lot better than human sacrifices.

  More time had passed than she realized, or the invaders had moved faster than expected. The facility’s public announcing system suddenly boomed to life. “The invasion fleet has begun launching its attack! All personnel to defense positions!”

  The militia members waved hasty farewells and dashed off. Mele stood, waiting, until they were gone, then checked her information again. “All they’ve launched so far are warbirds,” she told her Marines. “They’re still a little ways out from the planet.”

  Lamar spoke up. “That’s probably so they can get the warbirds in position to screen the shuttle launches from Saber. Just in case our ship makes an attack run on them.”

  “Right,” Mele agreed, pleased that Lamar had also been studying up on landing procedures. “Standard tactics for a landing operation. We’ve still got some time. Giddings, I want to know the location and type of everything left on this station that can explode.”

  “Captain, I’ve got an Improvised Explosives certification,” Yoshida reminded her.

  “So you do,” Mele said, berating herself for not remembering that. “Work with Giddings. This is a nice, central location,” she told the other Marines. “We wait here until we see what else is happening.”

  Gamba came close to Mele, speaking in a very low voice. “Captain, talking to those guys, this looks worse than I thought. All militia up here, no regular ground forces. Not very many militia. And no one they can’t afford to lose. I know what that means.”

  Mele nodded, impressed that Gamba had also put together all the pieces of the picture. “I came to the same conclusion. Kosatka’s high command must have written off this facility. They left just enough defenders to put up an inspiring fight before losing because they figure it’s sure to fall.”

  Corporal Gamba seemed momentarily surprised by how calmly Mele agreed with the assessment. But after a moment, Gamba smiled. “We’re gonna prove ’em wrong?”

  “Damn right we are.”

  “Captain?” Yoshida called. “They’ve got some grain storage compartments on this facility.”

  “And?”

  “They’ve got fans to suck up any grain dust and filters to collect it, because fine particles of grain dust can be explosive in the right concentrations.”

  Mele raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Grain can explode?”

  “Grain dust, Captain. If it’s fine enough and there’s enough of it.” Yoshida pointed to a portion of the facility shown on Giddings’s pad. “That’s why they’ve got the fans and filters. Those grain storage compartments are almost empty, but nobody bothered emptying the dust collection bins. If we disable the filters, open the collection bins, and reverse the fans, we’ll get a real nice concentration of dust in those compartments.”

  Mele nodded as she studied the image. “All we need is a spark?”

  “That’s all we need,” Yoshida agreed. “We’ve got access to some maintenance shops and spare parts lockers on this facility. I can rig up something using stuff in those.”

  “You do that. These grain compartments are located under two of the main approach routes the enemy might use trying to get to Shark. How long will this take to set up?”

  “Half an hour.”

  “Get it done.” She thought about whether to tell Brazos, who’d probably find some reason to object to the plan, but decided that keeping him in the dark wouldn’t do anyone any favors.

  Mele went a few steps away to call the major, waiting impatiently for him to reply.

  Brazos finally came on. “What is it?”

  To hell with you, too, Mele thought. But she kept her voice professional. “I need to inform you of two things—”

  “We’re busy here.”

  Narrowly avoiding spitting out a nasty comeback, Mele kept speaking. “We’re rigging the grain compartments to blow if the enemy penetrates that section of the facility—”

  “No!”

  “Excuse me?” Mele said, surprised that she didn’t sound angrier.

  “You’re not authorized to plant any of your explosives anywhere on this facility!”

  “Any of my explosives? You mean any explosives we brought with us?”

  “That’s right! Am I clear?”

  “Absolutely,” Mele said, having decided that if Brazos wanted to dance on his own he was more than welcome to it. “Thank you.” She ended the call and went back to her Marines.

  “Any problems, Captain?” Gamba asked.

  “Nah.”

  “Yoshida and Lamar went to set up the grain compartments to blow. They’ll have to break a few physical safety interlocks and plant the spark generators.”

  “Good. I’m going to make some calls to individual militia squad commanders so they know who we are, and so I can get a feel for who they are.”

  She was well along in that process when Yoshida and Lamar returned, the former grinning and giving her a thumbs-up.

  Soon after, a call came in from Commander Derian. “Yes, sir,” Mele responded immediately.

  “The enemy destroyer is clearly setting himself up for an attack,” Derian began without any unnecessary greetings. “And several enemy shuttles are positioning themselves in orbit where they’re screened from fire from Shark. Saber can’t move to engage them without exposing Shark to
attack. We estimate you’ve got roughly one hour before enemy shuttles will begin reaching the facility and dropping off soldiers. Thanks to the expert knowledge of Commander Ivanova, our new repair estimate is one and a half days from now to get under way. Please give me that time, Captain Darcy.”

  “We will,” she replied, her conscience nagging at her. “Sir, we’ve found a way to weaponize some of the materials on the facility, which would mean destroying part of it. I don’t see any alternative, though.”

  “Why are you—? Oh. Captain Darcy, I think that Major Brazos is too concerned with balancing multiple responsibilities,” Derian continued. “Brazos has been ordered to both defend the facility and prevent it from being too badly damaged.”

  “I’d gained that impression,” Mele said.

  “I can’t override Brazos’s orders from the government, contradictory as they are. But I also can’t give orders to you. Your orders are from Commodore Geary. If he ordered you to do what was necessary to hold this facility long enough to allow the repairs on Shark to be completed, then I’m in no position to tell you to disobey those orders.”

  “Thank you, sir. I understand.” That was as close to a go-ahead as Derian could give her. “We’ll get you that day and a half.”

  The call ended, Mele turned to her Marines. “It’s down to a day and a half. That’s how long we’ve got to keep the enemy from reaching Shark on the dock. Estimates are the enemy will land in about an hour. That gives you all thirty minutes of leisure. Half an hour from now we go on full combat readiness. Expect to stay that way until Shark pulls out of here.”

  They’d all been in long enough to know how to make the most of thirty minutes. Bathroom break, raid the snack dispensers, catch a brief nap, write a message that might never make it to the intended recipient, or whatever else served to prepare for the worst.

  Mele did some of that, too. But mostly she sat a little apart from the others as she obsessively studied the layout of the orbital facility and tried to work out plans that might keep Shark safe and her Marines alive.

  At the thirty-minute point, Mele stood up, adjusting her armor and checking her weapons. The other Marines did the same without being told.