by Gary Beller
“Sure think, Fuzzy.” The man behind the register said.
“Fuzzy?” Karissa asked.
“It would help if you didn’t look too much like tourists.” A man at the bar said, over his shoulder. “Military haircut, apparently it’s your first time here. Still wearing your dogtags in public, smart money says you’re a Private fresh from boot, AKA, Fuzzy.”
I began laughing. “I feel like a boot, sir, but I am no Private.” I said.
“You sure act like one.” He said, smiling behind his beer.
“Sorry, sir.” I replied.
“Don’t call me sir, kid. Sir is my Dad.” He replied, turning back to the woman he was with.
“Jack, don’t upset the locals.” Rachel said, coming up next to me. “Sergeant, are these two harassing you?” She asked to the man I had exchanged words with.
“Other way around, Ms.Bielema. And actually it’s Staff Sergeant now.” He said.
“Wait, you two know each other?” Karissa asked.
“Yup. This is Staff Sergeant John Roberts, he served with my brother.” Rachel said.
“Far too briefly, Kevin was a hell of a Marine, a better friend, and perhaps the bravest man I have ever met.” Roberts said. “So these kids belong to you?” He said to Rachel.
“Yeah. They’re my plebes.” She said. Roberts spun around on his stool, his female companion, turning half way as he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “So, Boot, what do you want to be when you grow up?” He gestured towards me.
“Well sir—“He cut me off, “You keep saying that word. I don’t think it means what you think it means. Try again, without the insults.”
“Well, Staff Sergeant—“he cut me off again, “Better, continue.” “Well, I want to be a Marine. Infantry.”
“Ambitious. It takes guts to lead Marine Grunts into combat. You think you have guts?” he asked.
“I believe so, Staff Sergeant.” I replied.
“Believing you do works fine on a football field or standing a fire watch, kid. When the air gets hot with particle beams, your beliefs aren’t worth the paper your degree will be printed on. Yougotta know.” He said. “And when you get there, you’ll know.” He turned to Karissa. “What about you, Bootette, you know what you want to be?”
“I am leaning towards Engineering.” Karissa said.
“We need good engineers. Even in the Marine Corps. We run our own cruisers, and Marine Corps engineers also operate and maintain the power generating stations on planetary bases.” The woman said.
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Karissa said, looking at me. “Did you know?” She asked.
“Sergeant Raines told me.” I said.
“Wait. Sergeant Raines…Victor Raines?” Roberts asked.
“Yeah. He’s our Midshipman Advisor, Staff Sergeant.” I said.
“He was in Boot Camp with me. Next time you see him tell him I said hello.”
“I have a hard time picturing him as a Private.” Karissa said.
“He and I were the quintessential boots. Wore our hair in a perfect high and tight, dog tags out in civilian clothes, even stood at parade rest when talking with civilians.” Roberts said.
“He still acts like a boot.” The Bartender said, passingus our food and gesturing to Roberts. “I caught him one time trying to regale a lady with tales of far off worlds. She was polite, and listened, even playing along. Before she rejected him outright, though, she pulled out her ID and introduced herself. Turns out the lady was a Lieutenant Colonel with some MARSOC unit.”
“Lieutenant Colonel Wright.” Roberts said, “My unit works with hers a lot. Every time she sees me, she asks if I have a new story for her.”
“That’s embarrassing.” Rachel said, with a chuckle.
Chapter 14
At night, Koliath remained almost as warm and humid as it did during the day. It was no wonder, when Karissa and I went to one of the dance clubs, that what passed for “Formal attire” on this world was often button up, open-collared shirts and shorts for the men, and dresses that came down to the knee at most for the women.
Karissa, for her part, looked amazing. Her midnight blue halter dress added a bit of pop to her red hair and blue eyes. On the advice of Sergeant Raines, I passed on wearing my dress uniform, instead choosing an outfit that blended well with the locals: A light blue shirt and khaki shorts.
“So, this is what a first date is like on a combat mission?” Karissa asked.
“Seems that way.” I said, smiling and taking her hand and leading her to the dance floor.
The music was fast paced, and our dancing seemed like a shaking, jerking mess of random movements. Luckily the song ended fairly quickly, or I might have run out of energy or sprained something keeping up the pace.
“That was fun,” The D.J. said, “But let’s change up the pace, Ladies, pull your man close. This song is for the lovebirds in the crowd tonight.”
The pace of the next song was much slower, the lyrics painting a mental picture of a new love. On a number of levels, it reflected how I felt about the woman who was now pressed to me on the dance floor. The lyrics spoke of hope, and of fear, emotions that had flooded over me, sometimes overlapping, during our cruise.
Karissa put her head on my shoulder.“I love this song.” She said.
“Me too.” I replied, pulling her closer.
The song was over far sooner than I hoped. The next song was a fast-paced tune with an electric feel to it. At first I was reluctant to dance to it, but Karissa convinced me to. After a few moments of self-consciousness, I let go and followed her. The dancing felt therapeutic, releasing tension that had been pent up for days.
Apparently Karissa could tell that it destressed me, too. At the end of the song, she placed a hand at the back of my neck and looked into my eyes. “Jack, are you smiling?”
“Yeah…Is that weird?” I asked, perplexed.
“Just haven’t seen it for a while…hold on, you have something right there…” She said, placing a finger on my lips.
“Wha..” I began to ask, confused even more, as she kissed me. “Oh.”
My reaction made her laugh. “You didn’t see that coming?”
“Nope.” I said, feeling pleasantly blindsided. I responded by pulling her close and kissing her again. “Get a room, children.” A raspy voice chided us as we moved off the dance floor.
I looked to see who spoke to us, expecting to see a human, but the flicker of a tail threw me off. The person who spoke was tall, easily six feet to the top of her pointed ears. The catlike face didn’t quite match up right to what I expected, given the alien’s bipedal stance, although the tail swishing back and forth seemed to fit perfectly. The alien resembled a jaguar in fur coloration, at least the fur that showed outside of what appeared to be a military uniform. Standing before us was a Kntarian.
Karissa and I snapped to attention instinctively, unsure of the alien’s status, title, or any form of address. “We meant no offense, Ma’am.” I stuttered.
“My remark was meant in jest. I presume you two are military?” She asked.
“Midshipmen, Ma’am.” Karissa replied.
“First time you’ve ever met a Kntarian?” She asked.
“Yes, Ma’am.” We said at the same time.
“First of all, knock off the Ma’am nonsense. We are all off duty here. Secondly, if you feel the need to be informal, you may address me as First Matriarch, my rank. Otherwise it’s simply K’Shani.” First Matriarch K’Shani’s English bore a heavy accent, like an odd combination of accents resembling Russian and Japanese, with a slight purring noise accentuating the “r” sounds.
“Aye, First Matriarch.” I said.
The Kntarian officer placed her hands on her hips and looked us over. “You two seem to be having a good time…don’t let me keep you.” She said, with a wink. “And stay out of trouble.”
“Aye, First Matriarch.” We said in unison, as she turned and walked away, her tail swinging behind
her.
“Nice to meet an alien that didn’t want to kill me.” I said, only partially joking.
“Not every alien wants to run you through…although she looks like she probably stacks bodies for fun.” Karissa said, sounding impressed.
“They told us the Kntarians are a warrior culture. What is a First Matriarch equal to, though?” I asked.
“We’ll have to look it up.” Karissa said.
She and I retreated to the bar, and sat facing outward, watching the crowd. “You do a lot of clubbing back home?” She asked me.
“Only on the football field.” I said, taking a sip of a local soft drink.
“You club people in football?” her response was one of skepticism.
“Yeah, when you rush the passer, the club is a prep move. Club the arm, then use a swim move or a rip. Throws the blocker off balance.” I replied, demonstrating against the air.
We sat by the bar for a bit longer, before heading back out onto the floor to dance a bit longer. Around midnight, we headed out, taking the bus back to Starbase Leatherneck.
Arriving at the base at 01:30, we were surprised to see how active the base was. Approaching our quarters, we followed behind a pair of tanks, which didn’t bob on their anti-gravs nearly as much as the bus seemed to.
At the building, we snuck a couple of kisses before we entered and had to behave ourselves. The Petty Officer working the front desk checked us in as “C/S” on his computer, although as we passed I saw at least a few names appear with D/D next to them, including Vin.
“Vin got hammered?” Karissa asked.
“Looks like it.” I said, suddenly becoming very anxious about returning to the room he and I shared. I kissed Karissa goodbye one last time at her door after rather obviously making sure we were unseen, then headed to my room.
I expected to see Vin dancing around, or something. Instead, he was sleeping peacefully on the couch. I found a blanket, threw it over him and placed the small waste basket next to him just in case, and headed to bed.
Chapter 15
The next morning, we were all roused from our sleep by pounding on the door. “Formation in ten minutes!” Sergeant Raines yelled, repeating twice before moving on to the next room.
I jumped up with a start and threw on a uniform. Vin was slowly moving, but was moving nonetheless. “Rough night last night?” I asked.
“It was a blast, Jack. But…uh…don’t hang out with Infantry guys if you can’t hang with them. This is gonna suck today.” He said.
“Hydrate, Vin.” I said, tossing him a bottle of water from the fridge.
Five minutes later we were formed up, waiting. Sergeant Raines stepped out and pulled his cover on as Rachel began issuing orders. “Attention!” She bellowed. “Dress right, Dress!” We got our spacing set, and she ordered “Two,” so we returned to attention. “Cover down.”
Once everyone was lined up, Raines stepped forward. “Alright, here’s the deal. Twenty minutes ago, Fleet Command cancelled all shore leaves for ships in the Koliath system. Any personnel planeside have been ordered back to their ships. This coincided with Starbase Leatherneck and Naval Station Koliath going to an elevated alert level.” He said, then looked at one of the midshipmen who had her hand raised. “No, I don’t know why. We’ll find out when we get back to Armstrong. You all have twenty minutes to gather your personal effects. Dismissed.”
In our quarters, it was a mad scramble to get stuff packed back up. Vin and I finished a few minutes early, and ran around the room to make sure we had everything. With nothing left behind, we fell back in in front of the building.
The bus took us to the spaceport, and we boarded a jumper. Within an hour, we were back on the Armstrong, which we met in space rather than the dry-dock.
We formed up again in the common area, waiting for a briefing. Lieutenant Webb arrived, looking angry, but determined.
“Alright listen up!” She said, “Intelligence located a Banor force on a direct line of attack heading our way. The cruisers Dorsetshire and Gettysburg have been following the enemy fleet, and gave 95% odds of an attack here in the Koliath system. We will form up with the fleet here for a defensive action. Midshipmen will report to their last assigned duty station.”
“Aye Aye, Ma’am.” The Mids said in unison. When we were dismissed, everyone scrambled to get out of whatever uniform they were wearing and get back into utilities. As we changed, the klaxons sounded.
“General Quarters, General Quarters, all hands man your battle stations. General Quarters, General Quarters, All hands man your battle stations.” The ship’s Command Master Chief bellowed over ship wide, followed by various instructions to the crew.
Karissa and I arrived a few moments later in the CIC, where Lieutenant Webb ordered us to man the auxiliary consoles. Sitting down I looked over the sensor board, and saw the size of the assembled fleet for the first time. Battleships, heavy cruisers, light cruisers, and dozens of destroyers arrayed themselves in a battle formation. Off to the flanks, groups of frigates and destroyers, including Armstrong, were clustered for reasons that were not yet apparent.
The Klaxons continued to blare around us, but as I slipped on the internal communications headset, they were drowned out. The alarms were replaced by calm voices of various systems’ operators doing status checks.
Lieutenant Webb arrived and took her station, joined by the Captain. I listened in to the communications coming from the command-level officers.
“Torpedo 1, TAO,” Webb said, “Load all tubes with Mk.85, begin filling autoloaders with same. Ready all systems for rapid fire.”
“TAO, Torpedo 1 confirms.” The Torpedo room officer replied.
“Main battery, set for Remote Auto. Gun mounts, report status.” Captain McCormick said.
“5-1, ready.”
“5-2 ready”
“5-3 ready
“5-4 ready”
“5-5 ready”
“5-6 ready.”
“Missile Battery, TAO. Report readiness.” Webb ordered.
“Missile 1 ready.”
“Missile 2 ready.”
“Missile 3 ready.”
“CIWS, report status.” McCormick stated.
“CIWS ready.” The operator reported. Although the ship was fitted with a half-dozen Close in Weapons System mounts, they were unmanned systems and controlled from a central fire control group in CIC.
“CIC, Engineering. All reactors are operating at maximum. You have full power to primary, auxiliary, and tertiary power grids at your command. Damage Control teams are prestaged.”
“CIC Copies, Engineering. McCormick replied.
“Sickbay to CIC. Standing by to receive casualties.”
“Acknowledged, Sickbay.” Webb said.
“TAO, Command. Confirm all systems ready?”
“Command, TAO confirms all systems ready.”
The whole rundown took less than two minutes, and was, by my estimation, a marvel of military efficiency.
“All units, incoming warp signatures, bearing one niner one mark eight seven.” A voice I did not recognize reported.
“Sensors, do you have a read on that?” McCormick asked.
I looked at my board. “Yes, Ma’am. Reading eighteen signatures.” I said.
“All Banor?”
“Yes, Ma’am. Friendly tails must be too far back for me to see them.” I said.
“It’s all right, Sensors.” McCormick said.
“Frigate groups two and three, set up for torpedo runs.” The unidentified voice said.
“Armstrong acknowledges.” McCormick said, hitting the external comms button. “Bridge, CIC, prepare for torpedo runs.”
“Bridge copies.”
The Banor force reverted to sub light, and began firing immediately. The two Coalition battleships at the center of the force responded with impressive volleys from their main battery guns, reaching out across the vast distances of space to slam into enemy warships. As the capital warships exchange
d long-range fire, the comms came alive with Starfighter chatter.
“Kittens, Knights, Thunder Chickens, approach from position three.”
“Kitten 100 copies.”
“Eagle 100, in position.”
“Dusty 501, on station.
“Screamer 301, ready.”
“All fighters, engage at will.”
“Frigate groups, follow those fighters in for your torpedo run.”
Icy cold dread filled my stomach as I felt the ship lurch forward…
Chapter 16
The first particle beams sailed past us, well wide of the mark. On my visual sensor screen, I could see the UCSS Evans in formation just ahead of and relatively above our attack pattern. Evans wasn’t bobbing and weaving, as the Standard Operating Procedures recommended. Instead, she was putting all power into a forward push, pushing the frigate to the edge of its performance limits.
Behind us, forming the rest of an echelon formation, the frigates Carpenter and Hipper were also pressing hard to keep up. Luckily, the three ships with us were also Valentine class frigates, so we were able to keep pace with each other. The second frigate group, setting up behind us, was comprised of three of the newer Fisher class frigates, which were slightly faster, although they carried the same overall armament.
“One minute to launch.” Webb said. Enemy fire was beginning to get much closer. A few times, Banor Darts tried to make runs on the formation, only to be chased off by our fighters.
Forty-five seconds out from the firing zone, the enemy landed their first hit on the Armstrong. The hit was a glancing blow that deflected off the curved bow. The second hit was more direct, penetrating just to the side of gun mount 5-1.
“Hull breach. Hull Breach.” The computer reported.
“Damage Control teams to Deck 1, Section 102.” McCormick ordered. Another glancing shot creased the dorsal hull, causing a shudder.
“Ooh....tickles.” Webb said, with a smile.
“Guns, batteries released, local control. Give us some covering fire.” McCormick ordered.