Militia Up

by J. L. Curtis

  ***

  Four divs later, tired, hungry, and grumpy, Nicole collected her trunk at the baggage claim. Keying her code to it, she walked out of the terminal, the trunk obediently following behind. She looked around, and saw nothing resembling a ground transport. A person walked around the corner of the terminal, and she politely asked, “Ground transport?”

  “You gotta reserve it. Only got three working now. All have done gone to Center. Gonna be a while, if they come back at all.” The person turned around and scuttled back around the corner of the building.

  Nicole walked back inside, and finally found an e-board with notices posted. She paged through and found one labeled Taxi. Only one number was listed, and no address went with it. With a sigh, she activated her wrist comp and told it to call the number.

  Another half div later, she finally got to the Women’s Lodge. After signing in, and confirming that she would obey the rules of the Lodge, she was finally squirted a code for the room. When she asked about food, she was told by the AI at the check-in counter that the autochef was being serviced and would not be available until morning between six and eight divs. The AI did offer that the room water was potable.

  ***

  Boykin and Fargo stood on the shuttle deck, watching the last team for Feeder Three load, “You doing okay, WO?”

  “I’m hanging, Captain. I don’t do a lot, just fly the bus and monitor the instruments.”

  Fargo reached out cautiously with his psi sense, and realized she was telling what she thought to be the absolute truth, but her shoulder and hip were hurting, and were being ignored.

  Daman walked forward, “We’re loaded. Got the maintainer, and the medic is passing out med packs.”

  Boykin cocked an eyebrow at Fargo, who held up a hand, “Anybody seen Jiri?”

  Jiri came jogging through the hatch, “Just got a download from the Captain, latest updates from the LEOs he’s deployed. Looks like there are people massing at Feeder Three.”

  Fargo hunched his shoulders, “Shit. I was hoping we’d get everybody down before we got a reaction.” Turning to Daman, “Put somebody in armor. Make that two somebodies. Full stealth. I want them off first.”

  Daman nodded. “Nil, Karun, mount up! Take two Phantoms from the storage. Weapons tight. Full stealth, now!”

  Fargo said, “You know those suits don’t have any weapons loaded, right?”

  “Yes, but if we have to, they can get to the Hab and get one out that does.”

  Fargo nodded, as Boykin said, “So much for being on the TOT. I can make up some time, but probably not all the segs that we’re going to be behind.”

  “We’ll deal with it. I’d rather get folks down in one piece, than be on exact time on top.”

  Boykin grinned, “Your circus, your monkey. I just drive the bus. I’m going to go squirt the data I’ve collected to the Captain. I’ll be back in ten.”

  Fargo rode in the copilot’s seat, noting the torches, Torches? Really? Are they that backward? Or is this a show of force to try to scare us off? He turned to Boykin, “A little hotter reception this time.”

  Boykin nodded as she dropped the first two modules, keeping her nose pointed at the crowd just outside the range of the sonic containment. “Yep, apparently the word got out. Or got passed. Each drop has had more action.”

  “Let’s hope this is as far as they go.”

  Boykin nodded as she backed the shuttle down and tractored the maintenance module down. Sidestepping the shuttle, she eased forward with the nose almost against the sonics, “Just in case.”

  Fargo nodded as she keyed the IC, “All ashore that’s going ashore. Aft ramp going down now. Rear approaches clear.”

  Nil and Karun stepped off the ramp as it touched the ground, placing themselves side by side in front of the Hab module’s door. Daman yelled, “Alright, everybody off! Single file. First man blocks the door open.”

  Hari went down the ramp at a run, trunk bobbing in his wake, his rifle up at high ready, as he sprinted to the Hab. Quickly popping the door, he dropped his trunk, and bladed up, rifle at his shoulder. The rest of the team moved quickly, with McDougal bringing up the rear.

  Boykin smiled. “Listen to this.”

  She hit a button and voices came through the cockpit, “Something is out there. I can’t tell…”

  A female voice said fearfully, “They wouldn’t have armor, would they?”

  Another voice answered, “Nah, not after the stink we raised before. These are some cheap security types they hired from some backwater planet. I doubt they could even run a suit.”

  The first voice said quizzically, “Maybe a heat mirage, that door’s right behind the engine on that side.”

  The female said, “Well, that one at the door with the rifle isn’t a mirage. I wonder if it’s loaded.”

  The second male snickered, “Probably not. Their rules are so strict I don’t think they could shoot if we were over running them. We made sure of that.”

  Fargo turned, “Can you get video?”

  “Got it, good video of the first male and female. Second male is behind them. No good video of him yet.”

  “Keep trying.”

  Boykin just looked at him.

  “Sorry. Sorry… Not trying…”

  Daman came over the radio, “We’re in and clear. What do you want us to do with the spare armor?”

  “Keep it. And load it. If you have room, put it in the maintenance module. If you have to, park it between the modules in full stealth.”

  “Roger, thanks for the ride, WO. We should be up in a couple of divs, Captain.”

  Boykin looked at Fargo and he nodded. She replied, “No worries. We’ll be around if you need us.” Lifting off, she overflew the protest, maybe a little lower than she should have, and she cussed, “That son of a bitch turned away. No video of him, but we’ve got good voice ID. And I’ve got pics of most of them now.”

  “Good. Let’s get to the Palace and call it a night. I know you have to be tired. Jiri and I will pick up the comms checks and check-ins.”

  Boykin nodded and swooped toward Center. A div later, she gently grounded in the spot she’d been allocated, “Do we let GalPat know we have an enhanced shuttle?”

  “You mean the data collection issue?”

  “Yes.”

  “Up to you.”

  “I’d rather not. I’m still not sure what’s going on here, and some Intel doesn’t need to be shared.”

  Fargo glanced at her, “Your call.”

  Boykin stretched, “Then no.”

  A half div later, Fargo and Jiri finished setting up the comms consoles, and were starting their checks, as Grayson stuck his head in, “Need me for anything, Captain?”

  Fargo shook his head. “No. Quarters okay?”

  Grayson smiled. “Oh yeah. I got officer billeting!” With that, he disappeared down the hall, whistling.

  Fargo went back to running the checklists, confirming the surveillance modules were feeding into the molycirc storage they’d set up, getting comms checks with each site, and confirming the watch schedules were on track. Shanni called in with an issue, they had two storage lockers filled with winter gear. Fargo and Jiri looked at each other and sighed, neither said a word, but they smiled at each other. Finally at 0200, he turned to Jiri. “I think that’s it. We’re up and online. The one thing we didn’t think about was manning this site.”

  Jiri shook his head. “Damn, you’re right. That… was stupid on our part. And nobody caught it.”

  “Screw it, I’m going to set it up to ping our comps. That’s about the only thing I think we can do. Maybe talk to Boykin and Grayson and see if they’d mind helping us out.” Getting up, he stretched and groaned, “I’m too old for this shit. Let’s call it done until zero eight.”

  Jiri nodded. “Sounds good. I’ll get a cot to put in here tomorrow, if I can find one.”

  Fargo followed Jiri down to their rooms at the end of the hall, their trunks bobbing along behind.


  Fargo shoved his trunk in the corner, made a quick lap through the fresher, and collapsed on top of the covers. He was asleep before he could even roll over.

  Settling In

  Fargo dialed up a bulb of coffee, and a high protein breakfast from the autochef as he tried to stretch his aching muscles, Damn, I’d forgotten how bad Fleet beds could be. I swear I’ve slept on softer rocks. Jiri came in smiling as usual and Fargo grumped, “Guess you slept well?”

  Jiri laughed. “Of course, my captain. Nobody was shooting at me!”

  The autochef spit out Fargo’s breakfast and bulb, and he carried them to a table off to the side, as Jiri selected his breakfast. Slumping down, Fargo winced as his back complained about the hard chair. He sighed, and juggled the bulb, waiting for it to cool. Reaching out cautiously, he sensed Colonel Zhu coming down the hall, and cocked his head toward the hall as Jiri started to say something.

  The colonel came into the mess, saw them, and crossed to their table, “Morning gentlemen. What is your status?”

  “All four sites are up and on line, Colonel. Insertion was done without any problems. There was a fairly large crowd at Feeder Three, but they took no action. We have initiated video surveillance and I’ll be getting those downloads every twelve divs. To who do you want us to pass them?”

  The colonel thought for a second, “Let me think on that. I’m not sure we necessarily need to let the administration know we’re doing that. It was also brought to my attention that your shuttle pilot didn’t use standard approaches when the modules were emplaced.”

  Jiri interrupted, “Colonel, we weren’t told we had to use any particular approaches, and she used the most secure approaches to the sites. Not overflying populations, and minimizing any potential interactions with any flights.”

  Zhu nodded curtly, “Makes sense. If there are any reactions or protests, notify me immediately, any time.”

  They chorused, “Yes, sir.” And Zhu headed for the door.

  Jiri mumbled, “Damn martinet …”

  Fargo coughed to cover a smile, “Garrison folks are a little different.”

  Jiri smiled wryly, “Give me the field and a real enemy anytime. Them I can deal with. Backstabbing and politics, not so much. It’s not in our genetic makeup to deal gently with those.”

  Fargo coughed for real as he snorted coffee out his nose, “Damn Jiri… You said that with a straight face… Don’t do that to me.”

  Jiri’s smile broadened, “We are what we are. Granted our reputation precedes us, but that is who we are. Deity knows, we deserve it.”

  WO Boykin and Senior Grayson walked in together, and Fargo marveled at the size difference. Grayson almost made two of Boykin, and their personalities couldn’t be much more different. But, in the situation they were in, he was happy to have them both, and he knew they were both professionals. That was all that mattered.

  Fargo waved them over, and they sat as soon as they’d gotten their breakfast. He turned to Boykin, “Well, you got caught out on the surveys. How did they colonel put it? It was brought to his attention that you didn’t use standard approaches when the modules were emplaced.”

  Boykin shrugged. “So?”

  “Jiri covered you nicely. Today is probably a good day to go make nice with the pilots here, and see what else you can find out.” Turning to Grayson, he said, “You getting settled in?”

  Grayson nodded around a mouthful of food, holding up a finger. “Yes, sir. I’ll check out the facilities today. Got the spare stuff stashed in the shuttle for a quick react.” Plucking at his sleeve, he said, “These grays are pretty nice. You sure I won’t get in trouble?”

  Jiri replied, “In accordance with GalPat Rule thirty-one, three-eighteen, blah, blah, you’re authorized indigenous uniform when temporarily additional duty to indigenous forces. Which we qualify as. Voila, grays. And yes, they are probably better than your issue ones.”

  Fargo got up, “Time for morning reports. I’ll go collect those. Jiri will you follow-up with the colonel? WO, Senior, y’all are on your own.”

  They all nodded, and Jiri got up, “Since the colonel is already here, I might as well go beard him now. You know where our office is, right?”

  The warrant and senior both nodded. As Jiri walked away, Grayson asked, “So if I’m in grays, why aren’t you, WO?”

  Boykin laughed. “Well, if militias had combat shuttles, I would be, but since I’m flying the latest and greatest combat shuttle, it’s kinda hard to say I’m not GalPat.”

  Grayson leaned over, “Have you seen their damn armor?”

  Boykin nodded, looking quickly around. “Yeah.”

  “It’s a helluva lot better than ours. And ours is supposedly the best in the universe. How the…”

  Boykin interrupted him, “Grey Lady. They do testing for De Perez.”

  “De Perez? But why in the back of beyond on a dirt ball like Hunter?”

  Boykin shook her head. “You really don’t pay attention, do you Grayson?”

  “Huh?”

  “Have you looked, I mean really looked at who is in this particular militia company?”

  Grayson shrugged. “Little, old guys. And they all carry those funky antique knives.”

  “You don’t get out much, do you?”

  “What?”

  “You ever hear of Ghorkas?”

  “Yeah, the CSM in boot was one. Why?”

  “You ever see any other ones?”

  “Not really. Treated a few when I was with the Fleet.”

  “Never did a ground pounder tour, did you?”

  Grayson sighed, “Where are we going with this, WO?”

  Boykin put her hands on the table and looked directly at him, saying softly, “Those little old men with the funky knives as you call them, have an average, average of over forty years of service, and an average rank of E-nine. You never see them anywhere but in combat outfits for the simple reason that they love to fight. And they smile when they do it.” She leaned back. “And that is why they’re here, and we’re here. And why they are doing testing for new armor. They have more combat…”

  Grayson held up his hand, “So, what you’re telling me is I fucked up, right?”

  Boykin smiled, holding her fingers about an eighth of an inch apart, “Just a little bit. There may be hope for you yet. Go on the net and look them up. You might learn something.”

  Grayson nodded. “Will do, WO. As soon as I finish breakfast.”

  “Good man. Now I have to go see a pilot about a schedule.”

  ***

  Fargo sat down in front of the communications suite, made sure the data logger was on, and started calling the four sites.

  Shanni at Feeder Four noted they had seen evidence of at least one disturbance higher up on the mountain behind Coventry, but it didn’t appear to have fresh tracks in or near it. They had hooked the location, and would continue to monitor video. They had also dropped a Ferret near the location and their two man patrol was out for another two divs.

  Feeder Three reported in, with Daman identifying what appeared to be an observation post, watching the feeder and their operations. He squirted a vidcap, and Fargo pulled it up. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he said, “That looks almost like a sniper’s hide. Are you getting any transmissions from there?”

  “Nothing in the RF band, we’ve got a patrol out, talking to mostly shopkeepers in the area.

  When they get close, they’re going to launch a Ferret, and we’ll fly it up to the window, and see what we get.”

  “Copy all, update at sixteen unless something happens between now and then. Good catch, guys.”

  Horse reported in for Feeder Two with no unusual activity, and very little movement around the site. Barun reported in for Feeder One, and due to their more remote location, their patrol had already been out and back. The closest village was over a mile away, and nobody had reacted to them at all.

  Fargo wondered again about the feeder placement, Should
have asked Mikhail about that. Their layout is entirely different than Hunter’s. Which reminds me, I need to get with Ivan and get the maps for the cross feeds, sub-feeder links, and links to the remote farms. Don’t want to have the warrant inadvertently flying into those. Maybe task her for some overflights of the outlying areas around the locations. Totally different feel than Hunter.

  Jiri came in with a worried expression. “Are we running armed patrols?”

  “Why?”

  “The colonel is apparently already getting complaints from the ‘natives’.”

  Fargo picked up the mic. “Feeder Three, Base.”

  “Go Base.”

  “Daman available?”

  “Standby one.”

  “Feeders One, Two, and Four, listen up.” He heard double clicks from the other sites, and fidgeted as he waited for Daman. “Colonel pissed?”

  “He wants to know what kind of patrols we’re running.”

  Fargo scrubbed his hands over his face, “Well, apparently the locals have some kind of organization that is intent on making our job interesting.”

  The radio squawked, “Daman for Fargo.”

  Fargo keyed up, “Daman, give me a description of the patrols you’re running.”

  “Standard two man patrols. In grays, sidearms and slung rifles.”

  “So GalPat standard, right? Rifles slung down the back?”

  “Correct, no overt show of force. Just introducing themselves to the shopkeepers. Vidcams on the lapels. Handing out the holocards of what we are here for.”

  “Anybody doing anything different?”

  Barun reported from Feeder One, “Well, we’re not giving cards out. Only thing out here is animals and I don’t think they are sentient, much less able to read.”