“You paid a steep price coming here. Was it worth it?”
“Completely,” I responded. “I found what I needed to find. I don’t know what will come of it, but I’ve done all I can.”
“You don’t have much left of your company. Last I heard from the med center more than half of them are dead, with more wounded.”
The older commander obviously didn’t know me too well. “With all due respect, we came here to die. If I wanted to live I’d have stayed on Earth. Plus, I don’t own any of them. They were the survivors of our last engagement. I saved every one of them then, so if you want to get technical they owed me their lives from the start.”
“Most people would be concerned about that, but I’m not going to argue it with you. It got another planet cleaned up for the mission, so I can’t fully doubt your thoughts or actions. What’s your interpretation of your findings?”
I pieced together what I had seen and tried to provide an intelligent response. “The monoliths we found present an anomaly in all of their forces. They haven’t been used tactically in any situation, from what I’ve heard, but they clearly have some purpose that has not been called on yet. I think they’re transmitters.”
“Remember, we’re in no place to discern motives of an alien race. Who the hell knows what their plans are?”
“That’s what’s so odd. Their tactics have tended to morph from disarray into a reflection of our own. This is something of their own doing entirely, especially since we found the body.”
“Body?”
“There was an alien body inside one of the boxes. I’ve never seen anything like it myself or referenced in the archives.”
“Well, you can bring it up to command once we get back to the fleet.”
I nodded. “That was my plan. Shove this in the admiral’s face, get some results.”
“Nice. I hope you’re ready for the storm you’re going to walk into out there,” he advised. “The admirals aren’t going to take this little maneuver lightly.”
“What are they possibly going to do to me? They’ve already tried to kill me how many times?” I looked past him, through the windows and over the darkening landscape. “They’re gonna have to try better than this. I’ll take care of them.”
I left the commander to get cleaned up again. As usual, I looked like I had been drug through eight levels of hell. Fighting without my helmet had left my head covered with blood and debris, not to mention my own injuries. Most of the marks cleaned off easily, but I didn’t waste any effort on my armor this time.
The trip back to the fleet went faster than I had imagined. I took some time to get cleaned up, rest briefly, and have the med center take care of the hideous scar forming across my head. By the time we landed, the scratch was barely visible, save for the bald patch shaven around the area.
When we landed on the capital ship, I felt like a stranger again. The looks I got from the crew on deck didn’t help matters any. As Renault predicted, the officers were waiting for me.
I saw our welcome party at the foot of the ramp waiting for us, so I didn’t want to leave them wanting. A few of the survivors were at the edge with me, so I gave them a quick thanks for volunteering to help me out and went off to get what was coming to me. As I walked away, I got the distinct feeling that they would have done it all again.
My escorts were not nearly as pleasant. Three majors dragged me off the deck along with four security forces soldiers.
22
“Are you insane?!” Heddings shouted as I walked into the war room. “This is an army! You’re not some freaking bounty hunter running around on his own!”
“I think you need to hear about what I found.” I ignored his accusation.
“I already know about the transmitters. Renault was stationed there to keep them silent.”
“He couldn’t have destroyed it?”
“Not without more intelligence.” Heddings calmed down slightly. “We don’t have the resources to devote to a full investigation.”
“I think it deserves more than a passing glance. There may be more in play here than we know about.”
“I agree, but it’s not feasible right now. Your information will be passed off to the analysts here and on Earth. Outside of that I can’t guarantee anything.”
“Sir, I don’t think you fully understand what could—” I protested but he cut me off.
“No, you do not fully understand that we could still lose this war. I’ve got to make sure that doesn’t happen. You’ve got work to do, too.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Flight training. If I can’t leave you idle, I’ll put you to work.”
“What’s in it for me?”
“Nothing, but it keeps you in the action and out of my hair. If it makes you feel any better, it gives you a better position to deal a ton of damage to the enemy.”
I liked the sound of that. “Will it keep me killing them?”
Heddings nodded. “That it will.”
He handed me a tablet PC that appeared no thicker than a few sheets of paper. “This has the documentation for all of our offensive systems. It also contains the specs and training information for our vehicular and handheld weapons. Get familiar with any platform that interests you and then get back with me and I’ll get you some flight time. Also, head over to supply and get a flight suit so you can get out of that armor.”
I nodded.
“Do yourself a favor and get some sleep. I had room 314 reserved for you. It’s a spare officer’s rack on the top deck, so take your time. Any questions?”
I shook my head, turned, and made my way over to supply.
After checking out a flight suit and the accompanying gear, I took my leave to my room and began studying the various weapon platforms. At the time, I had little idea which frame I was interested in, so I opted to read through the manuals for them all. I lost track of the time I spent there.
I imagine I went a few days without leaving the room. All day and night, I copied notes, memorized statistics, plotted courses, and recited tactics. All the while, my memory helped me out. I rarely read a single passage more than once or twice, but I could see every concept visualized in my mind.
My studies centered on the deep strike missile frigate, the SR-1 Fighter, and the standoff gunboat. However, I didn’t want to limit my work, so I continued my studies with the advanced infantry manuals, space warfare guides, and just about every other chapter I could access.
I met with the flight commander a few days later for a discussion about my next step. He was more than surprised with my apparent and thorough command of the training material, to say the least, but less inclined to hand me a ship.
“I’d prefer to give you a gunboat for your preliminary flight training,” he began. We were sitting in his office across the desk.
“Fighter training is a mess in and of itself, and I think I would get the axe if I recommended that you be given full command of a missile frigate. The gunboat will give you the opportunity to lead a ship, as well as some training at being an actual pilot. If you live long enough, it could give you the flexibility to go in any direction later on. Regardless of the far future, I know you can handle the job.”
“Thanks for that vote of confidence. When can I get started?” I asked.
“I can have you assigned to shadow one of my officers within a day. You will remain in that capacity until the fleet commander has an open ship, at which time we will transfer your authority.”
“What missions will we be flying?”
“Mostly perimeter patrol, escort, and some fire support. We are ramping up our efforts in preparation for a new offensive, so you may be needed in that capacity.”
I reported to the bridge of Captain Kevin New’s gunboat in under an hour. He eagerly accepted my assistance and began to show me the workings of the ship firsthand. He had been commanding the ship since the beginning of the war and his knowledge ran deep. As time wore on, I was constantly impressed
by both his technical expertise and his relationship with his crew. While always professional, I don’t think he ever missed a name even though we must have interacted with hundreds of people every day.
The first week, we ran perimeter patrols along the edges of our fleet. It wasn’t much more than running the same pattern over and over again while doing intense sensor sweeps, but I wasn’t going to complain. If we were to be attacked full force, the warning would be the destruction of our ship.
Soon, our defense rotation was over and we were set to run escort for supply transports. We were to meet our first team of ships back home and shuttle them out to the other systems. They were set to haul some fresh heavy weapons out to augment the missile frigates for the next offensive.
We had few engagements during those runs, but the first still sticks in my mind. We beat back some alien fighters when they got the drop on a few service ships. The transports survived, we lost a few fighters, and I didn’t think much more about it.
Watching from the bridge was an interesting spectacle. Captain New must have seen the entire battle in his mind. He had a strong grasp of where every ship was located, their status, and even their weapons. For once, I was outclassed and utterly useless.
His first and foremost instruction was to protect the supply ships. I came to realize he was a self-sacrificing guy like myself. I don’t think he would have hesitated for a second to step in front of a torpedo aimed at his ship if it meant saving his crew. In execution of the mission, I’d have to agree, but I was soon to realize he took his oath a great deal farther.
I sat alone in my bunk after the shift, reading more about the capabilities of the ships in our fleet. At the back of the room across the desk from me was a single window maybe twice the size of my head that reached out through a few meters of skin and armor into space. No stars were visible over the lamp above my head.
A knock at the door stole my attention. I turned as the captain entered.
“Time for roll call. Follow me.” He cut right to the point.
“Is this necessary?” I asked, not wanting to leave the comfort of the private corners of my mind.
The captain took half a step into the room. “We had men die today. Save a miracle, they’ll never return home. Absolutely it’s necessary, and it’s the very least we can do.”
I would have fought, but I could tell that there was no changing my commanding officer’s mind.
“All right.” I closed the book. “Let’s go.”
We left the room behind and ventured down the nearest stairwell into the main hangar. Most of the crew was already assembled, and one of the master sergeants called the room to attention. New put the room at ease, and they went back to their seats on crates and support equipment.
Captain New approached a central case the size of a foot locker and pulled out two clean glass bottles full of some brown solution. From the consistency, I guessed it was whiskey.
“The hell is this?” I asked.
“Take it,” he ordered, handing over one of the flasks. I reluctantly took it, having the wherewithal not to speak my mind in front of the audience. Their souls looked damaged enough as it was.
We stood to the side and opened the bottles. It was definitely whiskey, and from the smell, it had been distilled with engine oil.
The captain addressed the room, “Today the Aquillians came for us, and we did what we were called to do. Zero civilian casualties. Salute!” He raised his bottle in a toast.
I followed suit, still feeling like I was watching the whole scene commence through a hologram. Down at the end of the runway, I saw the black emptiness beyond beckoning us to oblivion. What the hell, I thought, and returned the toast and tasted rocket fuel.
“We’ve got a day while they make their repairs. The enemy is a week beyond that,” he continued, but his eyes gave away his distress. “We didn’t all make it. Here’s to the fallen.” He raised his flask again, but this time poured a shot’s worth onto the deck. The rest of the group did the same, as did I.
“Roll call!” New shouted, and produced a paper list of names and callsigns.
“Alpha Flight. Hellfire!”
“Here!” came the resounding response.
“Cadet!”
“Yo!”
“Dice!”
“Here!”
“Martyr!”
“Still here!”
“Shank!”
Silence.
The captain knew what was coming, but gave it one more shot.
“Shank!” New was again met with a hush over the room. He looked about and raised the bottle.
“To Shank,” he toasted, and continued.
For the first few shots, I almost felt angry. I wanted to break the bottle across the captain’s face, to shout to the rest, “Where’s the respect for the thousands who died on the ground?! Back on earth?! What makes you so special?!”
Two shots later, I answered my own question in silence. To die in space meant to be thrown into the infinite abyss as nothing more than shadows and dust. The soldiers we lost on the ground at least had graves. Hell, I recovered most of my squad from Ash. They probably got full honors back on Earth. The ones we lost there . . . well, at least they were home.
Home. What an alien idea that had become. With the universe so vast, it seemed so quaint, yet at the moment so important. For the warriors around me, it was still worth dying to protect.
Maybe I had some mystic revelation. Maybe it was the ethanol. One way or another, I felt Allison’s presence. In that moment, I didn’t feel alone. She didn’t speak but I knew her thoughts.
You’re better than this. It’s okay to be human. Don’t give your life away.
Another sight flashed before me. Simon. The soldier in the tunnel. Simon was his name: I saw it on his armor, and his last look of terror dropped before me like an inescapable inferno. I was evil. How could I not be?
We lost six pilots out of forty. After the list was finished, we raised our glasses to victory, humanity, and all that rot before breaking up to B.S. about the fallen. I don’t remember much more.
Eight hours of cascading nightmares later, I awoke back in room, curled in the corner, already clutching my rifle. It was so much easier being a machine.
There were several classes of ships that made up the fleet of the Space Corps. Rather than create completely disparate platforms for each mission and situation, the fleet was organized into five classes, based on specific frames. Each frame was designed to be modular enough to be adapted to fit the mission.
The largest was still the capital class, a single prototype which was more of a space station than an actual cruising vessel. It had been built in orbit around earth and could supply and service every deployed unit for over a year, without receiving any additional reinforcements. The ship included docks for a number of other fleet ships and could transport them all through hyperspace jumps while using far less fuel.
Next was the Missile Frigate: a battleship that could be configured for everything from planetary bombardment to heavy transportation. When outfitted for combat, each side was fitted with several hundred heavy cannon emplacements, bringing world-shattering destructive power to the front of the fight. Conversely, the same bays normally outfitted with weapons could be reconfigured as cargo bays and fuel tanks. This variant was instrumental in being able to sustain operations so far from earth.
Much smaller than the Frigate was the Gunboat, designed to carry ships or soldiers into battle as well as run protection for the larger ships. A heavily modified version was rumored to be used by the Corps as a deep space bomber, but by this point I had not seen anything to even prove its existence.
Smaller still was the Shuttle, a tiny craft by the current standards, which generally moved crews between outposts and rarely, if ever, left our home solar system.
At the bottom of the size scale was the fighter class. The main model, the SR-1, carried a crew of no more than two, but more firepower than most other ships in the i
nventory. It may come as a surprise that the fighters were again piloted by an onboard human, after taking an extended hiatus. Even though human pilots had long since been removed from combat duty in hot spots on earth, the same concept did not translate well to space.
Early experiments involving unmanned fighters failed time and again when subjected to the harsh environment of deep space. When distances in space combat could quickly measure a few hundred thousand kilometers for a single engagement, relativistic effects and speed-of-light-limitations ranged from being mere annoyances to causing critical-mission-failures.
Once the compromise for manned space fighters was made, the designers went back to the drawing board to create a variation of the capital ship’s artificial gravity systems for the fighter to counteract the dozen-plus g force environment of space combat. Their solution was a success, limiting stresses on pilots to no more than four to five g’s in any direction.
With all the ships in place, the fleet was ready to move out to secure the galaxy.
I had learned in my time spent in rehabilitation that the fleet had begun docking on my moon above Bastet, using the remnants of the alien defenses as staging platforms. This effectively cut 9’s inhabitants off from the war. Even with the planet’s population dwindling, presently the USF didn’t have the manpower to take the planet by invasion, nor did the inhabitants have the means to plow through our blockade. It was only due to luck and the relative isolation of the area that I was allotted the chance to retrieve my fallen soldiers.
The closest planet to Bastet was Reshep, and it was the focus of the next offensive. While the fleet continually blasted away at Bastet to completely remove their military and will to fight, a second force was being organized to begin the assault of Reshep. The new weapons we were delivering held the promise of being able to bombard the defenses of the planet from a greater distance while remaining undetected and out of range.
Our convoy consisted of two heavy transports and eight escorting gunboats. When we were about half way through our trip, during one of our routine stops closing in on Sol Charlie, we came under attack.
MissionSRX: Confessions of the First War Page 17