by Chris Hechtl
Captain White Wolf had modified his training schedule to incorporate sleep teaching and downloads. So, every hump day they had the usual PT rotation, then a sim, a hot wash on the sim, then lunch, followed by another sim, hot wash, sim, and then a heavy meal followed by an early bedtime. The heavy meal was to get them to sleep deeply, to get them under without resorting to drugs as much as possible. In an unmodified human, that would have meant a recipe for gaining fat. In a Neo they were mostly muscle. All that exercise ripped and tore cells and sleeping allowed the body to restore and repair them.
The next morning though the troops were groggy and made sloppy mistakes. He'd learned to give them light duty to allow them to recover. They had to learn to function when groggy, confused, and unfocused, but for now he didn't want to push the issue, nor did the captain. She wanted them in tip top shape when they got to Protodon in a week.
<(>~^~<(>
Two days before breakout, Jethro ran into a sullen downtrodden sailor. “A problem spacer?” the panther asked as the young human male cursed.
“Yeah. Stupid crap,” the kid muttered, angry at the world. He slopped a bucket and mop about. “Why the hell I have to do this when we've got bots and well, you … someone did this section this morning!”
“Foot traffic. And an order is an order,” Jethro said.
“Foot traffic. Yeah, I've seen you Marines stomping around.”
“Jogging. And training,” Jethro said with a diffident flick of his ears.
“It's just … It's like you guys jogging. I'm running in place. Getting nowhere fast. You know?”
“Oh?”
“I signed up to the navy because I wanted to be better, to help. To yeah, serve, but more than this. More than on some stinking freighter,” he said shaking his head in disgust.
“Thought you'd be on a warship bridge? Rubbing elbows with the officers and Admiral?”
“No …,” the drawl wasn't quite convincing. The squid snuck a glance up at Jethro then back down to the work at hand.
“Use your elbows. Don't put so much back into it or you'll be sorry and sore later,” Jethro advised.
“Okay. Like this?” the kid asked, swinging his arms.
“Better,” Jethro stated, crossing his arms.
“See, I'm really into training. I mean, I want to get a promotion, to get off this tub. I tried to get my section lead to run more sims, but she said no,” he said in a mock nasal voice. “We're a freighter, get used to it, kid.”
“Okay …”
“I don't plan to spend the rest of my career here.”
“You want to go someplace, do things. But did you ever think you're helping right here?”
“But … anyone can do this!” the kid said, holding the mop out. “Look at me! I'm a com rating! I went to college and everything!”
“Okay …”
“They call me a kiss ass. All they do is slack off. When I try to get them to do something, I get slapped down. They told me to just go with the flow.”
Jethro winced internally. He'd invited the discourse, now he had to reap what he'd sown. “They call me an overachiever. Can you believe that? Just because I put out some suggestions and told them to do their jobs,” the kid muttered darkly.
“I put in for a transfer, but I'm stuck. No one who can replace me, all the noobs are going to the warships. And since I know my posting, they don't want to have to go through the hassle of training a replacement,” the kid snarled, gripping the mop handle tightly as he slopped the water around.
“Having fun griping, O'shay?” a cold voice asked from around the corner.
Jethro winced when the engineering officer came around the bend. She crossed her arms when she noted Jethro and the spacer. “Can't keep your trap shut I take it?”
“He's blowing off steam,” Jethro said.
The officer sized him up coldly. “This isn't your place, Marine. Butt out. Don't you have enough on your plate?”
Jethro put his hands up and stepped back.
“Ma'am, I want a transfer. I am supposed to be up in Protodon.”
“Dreaming of glory on a warship. Fine. I'll sign off on your stupidity kid, just don't come crying back here,” she snarled. She eyed him for a long moment then stormed off, brushing past Jethro as she went. She nearly slipped on the slick floor but recovered and then continued on.
“I would have loved to have seen her slip on her ass,” the spacer said ever so softly. Jethro snorted.
“Don't let her or others bother you. Keep trying. Keep learning no matter what they say. But learn not to show it if you have to. But expand your horizons.”
“How? I love communications but ….”
“The computer does a lot? Fine? Look into side things. Stuff that a warship crew needs. Stuff like …,” the gunny wracked his memory for ideas. “The latest stuff. Encryption keys, whatever.”
“That's all coding and modules,” the kid replied.
“What about jamming? Or chasing a signal down to its source? Hacking?” Jethro asked.
The kid grew excited, animated. He licked his lips and started to gush on about macro scripts and such; it was over the gunny's head. Bast flicked her ears, clearly amused.
When he realized Jethro was tolerating it but not following the spiel, the kid dumbed it down. “A script is a file, more than a recipe. It's like a script in a movie.” Jethro nodded. “What we do is we have modules that are all linked to one script, one button, or key sequence. Then you code it to a specific button or like I said, sequence.”
“But if you have to adapt?”
The kid shrugged. “Oh, that's easy, you just adjust the variables. Change the frequencies.”
“And if that doesn't work?”
“I'm not an A.I.!”
Jethro's eyes narrowed. Marines hated excuses; they hated whining. “You can find ways to adapt. To get into the enemy's com, track them, hit them, and burn out their receivers or whatever. Think of it. Write it out. Game it.”
The kid nodded. “So I'll have it on file if needed? Smart, Gunny.”
“Yes. Don't do anything stupid like make a virus though,” he warned. The young man nodded dutifully. “But if you do come up with something, document the process so you can show it to someone who will appreciate your work later on. A macro yes. But keep coding, keep expanding your horizons. That way you can do it in real time if you have to. And ignore the taunts and crap.”
The kid hunched his shoulders. “Hazing.”
“Oh.” Jethro didn't reply in full, just looked at him coldly.
“I know. And beat downs to get me to follow along,” the kid said sullenly.
Jethro felt his sensors activate to scan the kid. Bast pointed out some bruising on his torso, mostly on the left side. The cat wasn't happy about it. He didn't know the situation, didn't know if he was hearing the truth and knew he was walking on the edge, sticking his nose where it didn't belong. But the kid sounded on the ragged edge, depressed which wasn't a good place to be. He could be pushed too far, and that could be disastrous for the kid, anyone around him, or even possibly the ship and a certain black cat.
“I can handle working double shifts. It's make work like this crap … the looks, the attitude … and the beatings I can't stand,” O'Shay said, still looking away.
“It's rough on a warship. Double duty is normal. Hell, in combat you run a full shift or more. It's the only way to stay alive,” Jethro said.
“You've been on a ship in combat, Gunny?” the kid asked, turning to him with wide eyes.
Jethro recognized the expression, the adoration. He snorted. “It's scary and not glorious like people think. I was on Firefly.”
“Oh …” the kid said, drawing the simple word out as he blinked.
“Yeah. Both when we ran to Antigua and then again in B101a1. So I've seen my share of combat. Anyone who wants to dive into it is stupid.”
“But you …”
“Look kid, that's normal for a Marine. We're known as stupid b
y you squids,” Jethro said, flicking his tail in annoyance. The kid blinked then cracked a smile. “We're not, we're just different. We're generalists, not only do we handle roles on a ship but we have to handle stuff on the ground.”
“Like what you are going to do in Protodon.”
“Yes. So we have to constantly train, constantly learn stuff—expand or die. And yeah, we're hard on each other and ourselves. Maybe your crew mates are down on you to give you a taste of what a warship posting will be like? Toughen you up?”
“I hardly think a beating would be on a ship, Gunny!”
“True,” Jethro said. “That's excessive. I don't know their reasoning. If you don't like it, report it.”
“I'm not a tattle tale.”
“Then figure out a way to deal with it.”
“Okay,” the kid said sullenly. Back in his shell Jethro thought.
“I suggest you bone up on everything you can learn. Not just in your specialty, but in stuff related to it. The navy will need people in Protodon. I don't know where you're going from here, possibly to Antigua. They'll definitely need experienced hands in the yard and in the ships launching.” The kid's face perked up with that idea. “Experienced people,” Jethro reminded him. “If you don't get what you want right away, keep your head down, and keep plugging. But at least get off this ship. And don't whine. No one like a whiner. No excuses.”
“Okay …”
“My advice? Your record will be a big reason why you'll get a transfer. But if you piss off officers like McNally or someone like the bosun, you may not like the posting. She could and possibly will get nasty in your paperwork. You could end up in some off the wall outpost in the back of beyond or on some crappy assignment like a tug.”
“As long as it's not here I'm happy,” O'shay stated firmly. “But I'm keeping a log of everything.”
“Whatever,” Jethro said as he left the area. He had ambiguous feelings over the entire situation. Bast just shook her head. “Yeah, I know, not my problem, I've got enough to deal with,” he said under his breath. She nodded.
<(>~^~<(>
Moira went over the initial plan she had inherited from Captain Gustav. It had made far too many assumptions and they'd bulled in with a frontal attack, going right for the spaceport. They hadn't properly assessed the threat environment. They had also gone in with far too few assets, both in equipment and personnel.
The shuttles for instance were Skyhawks, not Warhawks. That was a major mistake right there. Also, they had little time to prepare … she grimaced. Just like she was getting herself and her people into. Little prep time and they were split between two ships so they couldn't coordinate planning and training very well, nor could they train together. That sucked.
They were also going off halfcocked with troops that had less training than what Gustav had gone in with. She shook her head.
It was obvious that when Gustav had been killed Lieutenant Ebensher had been in over her head. She read good on paper, but she was up against a prepared dug-in foe with more material support, twenty to thirty times the personnel, and experience—loads of it.
“Firebases? But not even spread out around the perimeter of the space port and capital city.”
“Yes, ma'am. But they have interlocking fields of fire. And there is normally a warship in orbit for fire support if there is a concentrated assault on one or all of them. There have been three attempts to bounce them out, all have failed fortunately. But the last was tricky; they had come in from the capital side and it had been ugly,” Bast told her.
“Yes, I see that. And they can't resupply from orbit effectively. Not with the enemy controlling anti-air around the area.”
“And anything they drop with a parachute can be intercepted if it doesn't fall in the proper LZ,” Bast replied.
“Great,” the captain said, rubbing her brow. “So, we need to break the siege first off. Getting our people in will be tricky; we need a safe landing zone for the shuttles to operate in. At least they don't have energy weapons.”
“Ma'am?”
“They are using missiles. That means they have a finite supply of them. If they had energy weapons, they could fire until they ran out of fuel or ammunition or their equipment overheated,” Moira stated.
“True,” Bast replied.
Moira tugged on her ear as she flicked her tail. It was a tricky problem. Protodon did have energy reserves to spare around the spaceport and capital city. Apparently those areas had preserved not only their basic industry but also their hydrogen manufacturing facilities. They were all powered by a couple of hydroelectric dams in the area as well as some ancient but still usable solar and wind farms.
She was surprised by that. And also surprised that at the enemy hadn't tried to destroy those facilities to deny their use to the civilian population or the Federation forces. She shook her head.
“Any other intel we can gleam out of this mess?” she asked, indicating the tablet in her lap.
“Some basics about Protodon. The civilization used the hydrogen facilities to create dirigibles for trade. There are a lot of islands on the planet, and the seas are dangerous. They have chunks of ice and large animals under the surface.”
“Okay …”
“The civilians formed some sort of steamerpunk style of civilization. They mixed various tech while reinventing what they needed to keep the hydrogen facilities and other places going. Their planet has been a stopping point, a cross roads of travel through the area.”
“But getting that hydrogen out of a gravity well? And industry …”
“Hence the spaceport. The visiting ships brought the shuttlecraft.”
“Ah,” Moira nodded.
“We have little to go on about the population other than that there is some sort of guerrilla movement, much like your Rangers. But no reports on their structure, how they are organized and outfitted, and if they are coordinating their efforts with each other or with the Marines or not ma'am.”
“Damn it.”
“We also have little on the enemy other than it is led by a General Busche,” Bast reported. “And she has a Brigade of suppression troops.”
“Storm troopers you mean, to suppress the civilian population and perform their ethnic cleansing,” Moira said with a slight snarl.
“Yes. Reading between the lines of Captain Gustav's plan, it is apparent that he underestimated them. Possibly assuming that since they were storm troopers used to fighting civilians and this was their first outing in the area, they wouldn't be outfitted as they were or that their leader would turn out to be as good and ruthless as she is.”
“He was wrong. He should have known she was ruthless. Anyone who goes in and kills thousands, possibly millions of people just because they look different from you is not to be taken lightly.”
“Yes. And since she was backed into a corner with little left to lose …”
“And she had time to prepare. They waited on landing, letting her stew to think the situation over and surrender. Another mistake.”
“Apparently so, ma'am.”
“And we don't have access to the files on her or anything that intel has picked up.”
“No, ma'am. Ma'am, are you aware that Admiral White may not anticipate your arrival? And with the forces you have? I think he will be expecting a squad or two.”
“Then we should come as a welcome surprise.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“But let's not let the enemy give us too warm a reception. We need to work on the landing, find a way around it. If we have to we may need to come down on another place.”
“Ma'am, the terrain is rough. The islands are mountainous. The continents are hilly and mountainous as well. Both poles are covered in ice, and there are very few places of civilization we can tap into.”
“Then we'll have to work something out or take the spaceport properly.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“Think you can whip up some plasma cannons?”
“Ma
'am?” Bast checked the inventory rapidly then shook her head on the captain's HUD.
“No dice, eh?” the wolf asked.
“Not with materials on hand. I'd also have to replicate the power supplies for them. If you want man portable, that means super conductor battery packs, a lot of them. Plus a recharge station and a supply of ammunition pellets.”
Moira held up a restraining hand. “Okay, okay, I get it. It was wishful thinking anyway. Focus on what we can do to even the odds. I'm not going to feed my people into a meat grinder.”
“Yes ma'am. I'll do what I can.”
“So will I,” Moira murmured. “So will everyone.”
Chapter 24
There wasn't a lot of cheers or grins among the crew or the Marines when the small force achieved breakout in Protodon space. A palatable sense of relief yes, those on Sabrina 99 were glad their training was over. But there was also a sense of anticipation and a slight trace of fear. They knew they were going in outnumbered and possibly outgunned.
The flagship Farragut reported in to Admiral White. Jethro wasn't a party to the IFF transmission or long range discussions. He had his own problems and focused on any last minute preparations they could get done. He wanted to be squared away when they entered orbit of the planet.
Bast transmitted requests for the latest intel updates on behalf of the captain and Marines. The admiral's flag lieutenant transmitted what she had for them when she got the request. It took hours to receive the transmission and even more time to process it.
“We're as ready as we'll ever be, ma'am. At this point we've maxed training and getting diminished returns,” Jethro stated during the next morning meeting.
“I was afraid of that. But no, we're not quite ready, Gunny,” the officer stated.
“Ma'am?” Jethro asked curiously.
“I'm getting an updated report on the situation here now. Bast is processing it for me, but she's sent me the synopses. It has confirmed my worst fears. There has been some unfortunate losses on the ground; the Marines are barely holding the perimeter of three fire bases near the spaceport. They can't get logistics in; the enemy has interdicted it. That's something we'll have to deal with, their anti-air capability. But I meant the logistics. That has changed,” she stated. He cocked his head. “All that hardware is bottled up in space, Jethro,” she said patiently. Slowly he nodded in dawning comprehension. “Our people without proper implants and training won't be able to use it to their maximum effectiveness, but it is far better than what we currently have. And we have quite a bit of it. Plus some troops we can draw on to thicken our ranks.”