The Merrimack Event (Shieldclads Book 1)

by David Tatum

  “The job’s fine, I promise,” Rachel vowed. She was schooling her face as strictly as she could – she didn’t want to worry him when there really wasn’t anything wrong at all.

  Chris nodded. “So, how are your co-workers?”

  She flinched, knowing he had her. “Well, they’re fine...”

  “Rache, tell me.”

  “Really, they’re fine,” she insisted. “It’s just... well, I’m the only officer on the entire team, but because of my position I’m under their command. They like lording it over on me because of that, giving me silly orders, that kind of thing. Nothing too bad – I can handle it.”

  Chris frowned. “I think I’ll have a talk with them about that. Who’s your team leader?”

  “Oh, please don’t,” Rachel huffed. “I’m fine. I’d much rather deal with things myself then cause problems inside your engineering teams.”

  The watch Chris was wearing beeped, and he looked at it with a frown. “I can’t do anything about this right now – I’ve got to get ready for the raid – but we will be talking more about this, later. Dinner, tomorrow?”

  Rachel sighed. She didn’t want him to get involved in her problems, but it looked as if he was going to insert himself in whether she wanted him to or not. Still, she didn’t want to turn down dinner. “Sure. Same time, same place.”

  ——————————

  “Your personnel record says you’ve completed the basic hand to hand courses, but haven’t had any training with sidearms yet. I’m assuming that you’ve never used a sword, then?” Corporal Etcheverry asked Chris as he was handing out the equipment.

  “You’d assume wrong, although I admit I’ve never even used a modern sword,” Chris retorted. “I’m a member of the Society for Creative Anachronism. Well, I was – I haven’t been to a meeting in ages, but I’ve had some training with a saber and have won a few of the lower level competitions at medieval festivals. I am not exceptionally skilled, by any means, but I’m able to handle one without cutting off my own legs.”

  “Hmm,” Etcheverry said. “I’d like some time to evaluate your skill level, myself, but we’re on a tight schedule. If this were a real combat situation, I wouldn’t issue you a weapon until you’d passed a qualification test. Since it’s training rules, with practice swords, I suppose I’ll provisionally accept your self-assessment. Try not to get yourself killed.”

  Chris chuckled. “If things work right, we shouldn’t need weapons at all.”

  Beccera came into the shuttle, a grim expression on his face. “Okay, people, we’ve received word that Mr. Langer is in place. We leave in precisely fifteen minutes. We hope to have at least ten minutes to collect the goods, but probably won’t have much more than that. Mr. Desaix, I trust you know what you’re supposed to do?”

  “Go in, point out what we need to the Marines, and help haul things out with the antigrav pads,” Chris listed. “Oh, and keep myself alive until we’re all back on the shuttle.”

  Beccera nodded. “Correct. Etcheverry!”

  “Sir!”

  “Has everyone been issued their sidearms and blades?”

  “Yes, sir,” Etcheverry said. “Twenty sonic stunners, twenty one practice swords issued, sir!”

  Beccera raised an eyebrow at those numbers, until he saw Etcheverry gesture quickly at Chris.

  “Very well. Okay, people – this is a very important mission, but don’t go getting yourselves ‘killed’ even though this is just an exercise. The Chihuahua only has twenty Marines and it needs them all.”

  “Yes, sir!” the collected Marines chorused.

  “Good. Now, strap yourselves in. Ten minutes ‘til launch.”

  Chris boarded the shuttle and strapped himself down. He wasn’t entirely sure what to do with his sword, and mimicked the Marines by laying it on the floor under his feet. He hadn’t been lying when he’d said he could use a sword well enough not to cut himself, but he wasn’t entirely comfortable with the idea of using it in battle. He was more comfortable armed for this raid than not, though.

  He also didn’t feel comfortable getting involved in the chit-chat and laughter between the Marines, which ceased abruptly once the shuttle undocked and started moving. Things got so quiet that the hum of electric current running through the overhead lights could be heard.

  “One minute ‘til docking,” Wolf’s voice echoed loudly throughout the passenger compartment. Chris stiffened – he wasn’t quite sure he should have volunteered for this assignment. He just prayed he didn’t freeze up at a crucial moment.

  With a metallic clunk, the shuttle connected with the Don Quixote. Beccera was the first out of his seat, gesturing silently for the others to hurry and get ready themselves. Chris nervously unhooked himself from his seat, grabbed his sword, and stood up. As he joined the line-up he found himself in the center of the group, surrounded by a wall of Marines.

  The alarms were already sounding by the time they went in. The alarm messages, however, indicated they were still undetected.

  “This in an unscheduled drill!” An announcement began. This was a live person’s voice, and not the synthetic voice of the computer alarms. “Academy personnel to respond only.”

  What followed a mere thirty seconds later, however, was a series of synthesized recordings that every person in the Navy learned about very early on... and never hoped to hear.

  “Security breach on the Bridge. All available Marines, to the bridge.”

  “Warning – critical failure of life support systems. Repeat, critical failure of life support systems.”

  “Collision alert! All hands, brace for a collision!”

  “Looks like Langer did his job well,” Chris mused.

  One right after another, alarm systems sprang up. Hidden among them was the security breach at the supply room – mentioned, but very quietly underneath all the loud warnings of imminent danger. The computer systems mentioned a crisis in every room on the ship, and the supply room was the least of the worries for the crew of the Don Quixote. It would take plenty of time for the security forces on board the tender to respond to the more dangerous possibilities... at least, that’s what Chris and Beccera hoped.

  “Okay,” Beccera said, entering the access codes Rachel had acquired to open the supply room. “Time to do your thing, Mr. Desaix.”

  “Huh?” Chris asked blankly. Becerra gave him a sour look before he remembered just why he was there. “Right, let’s go. And bring those grav pads – there is no way we could do this in the time we’ve got without them.”

  The Marines followed him in and he started pointing out various things that needed to be picked up. He checked crate after crate, deciding what to keep and what to toss.

  “Hydrogen collector assembly – we’ll need one of those, and it’s a priority, so load it up fast. Semiconductors, hundred count. We’ll need thirty of those boxes, but we don’t have much time. We can hold off on those until later. Quantum wheel nodes... way too big to load aboard the shuttle. Computer components – grab as many of those as we can, but hold off on that until the end, since we can make do with what we have if necessary...”

  Chris continued babbling out instructions, rapid-fire, assigning priorities for loading on the fly. Without even realizing it, he had taken over the Marine unit, not even allowing Beccera a chance to assign the proper sentries before he sent everyone off in various directions.

  Beccera grabbed two of the shuttle-bound Marines at random. “Drop off your loads, ASAP, and then take sentry positions. Don’t go back in there – we can’t afford to have you drafted into the collection parties again.”

  “Yes, sir,” they answered, grinning slightly at the whirlwind activity behind them as they rushed off to do as ordered. Quickly as they could, the Marines started filling the shuttle’s hold up. Beccera kept a watch on time, but didn’t even need to. Chris seemed to have some sort of internal alarm, so before Beccera could even give him the two-minute warning he had let everyone know to load up for th
eir last trip. Once the last of the Marines had taken their last load, Chris tossed several boxes of semiconductors on his own grav pad and started heading out, Beccera and the two sentries following him.

  They didn’t quite make it back to the shuttle before they were intercepted by the Don Quixote’s Marines.

  “Damn,” the lead Don snarled. “There really is a security breach. Bridge! Air evac, Corridor 3a, ASAP!”

  “Affirmative, Marine. Be advised, Admiral Mumford has personally confirmed that this is a genuine unscheduled drill, so war-game rules apply. Stun equipment only.”

  “Understood,” the Don said, seeming to relax slightly. “Helmets on, boys – we don’t have too long before we evacuate the air.”

  “Well,” Beccera growled. “They’re better than we thought. Marines! Lay down some cover fire, and remember your suits ARE active.”

  Powerful sound waves, so strong as to distort the air around them, flew outwards towards the Dons, and return fire came quickly. That lasted for only a few seconds – with no success – before the lights started flashing to indicate the simulated evacuation of all oxygen in the corridor.

  “Swords!” the lead Don Marine ordered, pulling out his own practice sword. Chris, Beccera, and Chihuahua’s two Marines also drew their swords, preparing to defend themselves.

  Beccera’s pair of Marines charged into the fray, hoping a nearly suicidal charge would help spring the more important twosome free. Much to their surprise, however, the assembled Dons fell back. The Marines stopped their charge, seconds before a flanking force poured out of a side corridor where they would have been moments later.

  “Fall back!” Beccera ordered through his suit radio. Chris knew that it was already too late. In an instant he came up with a way to save them, prying open a panel on one of the walls. Before anyone could ask him what he was doing, he crossed a pair of wires and waited.

  “Containment doors closing,” a computerized voice announced. No-one would have heard it, had the atmosphere really been evacuated, but since it was just a drill everyone did.

  “What the—” the Don Marine started, before an airtight door slammed shut in his face.

  That left it a more even fight. Beccera and his two Marines faced off against four of the Dons. Chris gave the grav pad a push, knowing that the inertia would get it to their shuttle even if they didn’t, before turning his attention back to the fight. Beccera was faring well, though he seemed to have found himself fighting two enemy soldiers by himself. He failed to notice, however, a third Don charging him from behind after breaking free from his own fight.

  The sword blow, which would have struck right in the back of the neck joint in Beccera’s suit, was parried away by Chris’ practice blade. In a matter of moments, the engineer was able to take advantage of the surprise his arrival generated and slash across a shoulder joint, forcing the Marine to back off and “repair” the simulated leak in his suit. The surprise allowed Beccera to finish off one, than the other, of his dueling partners.

  Now outnumbering their opponents, the foursome from the Chihuahua made short work of the Don Quixote’s remaining Marines.

  “Not bad,” Beccera grinned. “Seems you were competent with that sword, after all, Chris.”

  Chris hesitated. “Not really. Just lucky enough to take my opponent by surprise.”

  Beccera chuckled. “Sometimes a little luck and a little skill is all it takes. Now, hurry up – we’ve got to get out of here before they get through that door you put in their way.”

  ——————————

  “Well,” Rappaport reported later that day, speaking on behalf of Chris and Beccera. “We will still have to fabricate some things. Those quantum wheel nodes were just too large to load, according to Chris, but we got most everything else we’ll need. We’ll probably be a bit low on replacement parts when all is done, but we’ll have a functional ship for the start of the Wargame.”

  “Good,” Burkhard said, nodding. Turning to Beccera, he said, “Were we found out?”

  Beccera grinned. “No. Green believes it was a regular Navy action, and apparently that’s how Admiral Mumford set it up. Even if we’d lost men in the raid, we still would have had them back for the Wargame. Turns out we’re goon enough that we didn’t need to take him up on the offer.”

  Burkhard nodded. “Remember, be careful not to let anyone who doesn’t already know what happened how we got those parts. If someone protests....”

  “We’ll be careful,” Chris said. “But it’s unlikely we’d have to get rid of the parts, even if someone found out. Admiral Mumford has given us written permission to keep all items acquired in the raid, regardless of whether we were discovered or not.”

  “Even the Admiral may be called on to explain himself if we have to produce those orders. Some people already think we’re being favored by him because we have his granddaughter on board,” Burkhard warned. “Captain Morrison explained a few of the possible issues to me while we were watching your ‘exercise.’ Green is nothing if not a master of service politics – if he felt that Admiral Mumford’s favoritism was usurping his authority and decided he wanted some retribution, he could very easily turn several upper level members of the Admiralty against Mumford. It’s too much to expect absolute silence about this incident, but let’s try and keep the talk down enough that Mumford doesn’t have to step in and protect us. Got it?”

  Chris and Beccera shared an uneasy look, and the old Marine stepped forward. “Got it, sir. We’ll keep the rumor mill quiet.”

  ——————————

  EAS Mouse

  Farmburg studied the video records he had obtained on the ‘daring raid’ that had supposedly been conducted by the regular Navy. He had a suspicion that assessment was incorrect and wanted to know exactly who it was. It had taken some effort to hack into video logs of the incident, but he felt confident they would be worth it.

  Even if it was just an exercise, there were a lot of Academy officers who would come down hard upon someone they felt ‘cheated’ to get an advantage. Internal rivalries like that would help to fracture the disciplined unity that the Earth Alliance Navy had enjoyed for centuries. Sowing that kind of internal dissension was one of the reasons why he had been inserted in the Academy in the first place.

  After several hours of reviewing the footage he was about to give up, but then he noticed a discrepancy. A shuttle had left tracking only a minute before the raid occurred. It was tagged as coming from one of the colony stations orbiting the system’s primary planet, but backtracking the shuttle’s course that didn’t seem likely. He checked to see if there were any visitors logged into the station at the time who might have altered the records.

  The Chihuahua, he thought furiously. Damn! This isn’t good. They’re the one ship I can’t do anything about right now.

  His plans tentatively called for the destruction of the Chihuahua in the last days of the Wargame as an ‘accident’ in an effort to take out the Academy’s best and brightest. If that bit of sabotage was timed to occur shortly after revealing this bit of news, would it cause more internal conflict among the Academy students, or would it be better to let the crew of the Chihuahua live and struggle with ostracism and derision from their fellow classmates for the favoritism shown them?

  Probably the former. Most likely, people would think that someone felt so strongly about the Chihuahua’s ‘cheating’ that they had taken revenge. Everyone would be pointing fingers and accusing their fellow students of the crime.

  Which, as long as he wasn’t discovered as the actual saboteur, would be a good thing. But, regardless, when would be the best time to begin the operation? If he started rumors now then chances were the actual incident would be largely forgotten by the time the Chihuahua was destroyed, even if some resentment remained. Timed so far apart, though, it would be harder to connect the person who originated the rumors with the saboteur, making things safer for him. If necessary, he could admit to starting the rumors, but
he couldn’t admit to being the saboteur.

  The other possibility was a bit more risky, but could have greater impact in the long run... if it worked. He would have to continue investigating, to find more solid evidence, harder to explain away evidence of the Chihuahua’s involvement. He might even be able to connect the raid with someone higher up, which might cause resentment and strife among the Admiralty should one of them take offense for the favoritism.

  He would have to limit how much time he could spend on that investigation, though. The rumors could be perfectly timed to allow the outrage over the supposed ‘favoritism’ to peak amongst the ranks. That would give him until the day before he orchestrated the Chihuahua’s destruction. It would take some doing, but he was sure he could manage it. It was definitely a risk, though – the information just might not be there to be found, and the closer the two incidents were to one another the harder it would be to hide his connection to both of them.

  Farmburg was not a risk-taker, usually, but the rewards just about equaled the risks in this case. He just couldn’t decide.

  “Hey, Joel,” Jefferson Flay called. He was the man he’d put in charge of the failed assault on Wolfgang Schubert before that party. Of his ‘flunkies,’ he was probably the most competent... but that wasn’t saying much, in Farmburg’s opinion.

  “Yeah, Jeff?” Farmburg said, assuming a face of interest despite still being absorbed in his decision.

  “I just wanted to return that hundred yen I borrowed from you, yesterday,” Flay said, tossing a coin his way. “I gotta get to work. See you.”

  Farmburg caught the coin in mid-air and stared at it for a moment. Shrugging, he flipped it into the air, and watched it fall to the ground.

  “Heads,” he whispered to himself once it had stopped spinning.

  Well, that was one vote for waiting.

  CHAPTER XIII

  EAS Chihuahua

  “Hey, Chris!” Rachel shouted over the din of the cafeteria crowd, waving him over. “Over here!”

  Chris held back his smile until he was close enough for her to see it. “Hey, Rache,” he said. “Seems a bit busier here than usual.”