by Danny Loomis
“What’s our status?” Bernard asked, failing to keep the quaver from his voice.
A white-faced Lieutenant Manning quickly scanned all systems. “Minor damage to one starboard het laser, two anti-ship missile stations knocked out temporarily. No serious injuries.”
Bernard’s face twisted in the rictus of a snarl. “Target all satellites, Guns. Fire as you bear.” All twelve satellites circling Edo vanished, a dozen lasers touching them at the same time.
“Now let’s back off until the strike force gets here,” he said. “Prepare a report on casualties and damages, Lieutenant Manning.”
Lieutenant Commander Bernard leaned back in his command chair, and struggled with the smouldering bite of frustration. He didn’t mind the casualties. He’d even planned on a higher level of damage. It was inconceivable the Edoans would destroy their main point of contact with the rest of the galaxy. Especially since all their considerable off-world trade had passed through it. Even more frustrating, he wouldn’t accomplish his secondary mission of capturing the space station intact.
* * *
Two Edoans stood watching the spectacular after effects of the explosion. It was as if a small sun had come into being in their night sky for a moment.
“It has begun,” the Elder Enforcer said.
“Yes, my dear,” his wife said. “As we foresaw, the cycle begins.”
PLANET ALAMO, FORT WILLIAM HENRY (Day -35):
“Prepare for launch,” a husky contralto whispered in Ian’s ear. No doubt about it, this was the best sounding launch coordinator yet. He double checked his body harness and snuggled deeper into the form-fitting seat of the Wasp fighter, listening to the ten second count down that would launch his eighty-meter spear of death and destruction. Both hands settled on the control panels built into the arm rests. Since there was no physical need to see out of the canopy, it was used as a display for the tactical computer, which showed an enhanced image of whatever happened to be of interest at the time. A smaller screen fit over his left eye, and fed him all the pertinent information about the status of his ship.
“Go”, the voice whispered, and immediately he was magnetically launched from the space station. “Four enemy contacts, at two o’clock. Eagle One, take the top bandit.”
“Rog,” Ian said, and twitched the Wasp to the left and up. “Vectoring in now.” The four bandits split up, Ian racing towards them. He continued to close on the bogey he’d been assigned, matching turn for turn when it attempted to evade. A low purring in his ear announced his shrike ship-to-ship missiles were locked on. He didn’t immediately launch as was called for in normal procedure. Instead he waited until the target window displayed on the inside of his canopy showed a solid circle around the bogey. Hold it, hold… When it felt right, he flexed both thumbs, keying the missile launch.
“Missile away,” he said. Seconds later the computer enhanced image of the enemy fighter dissolved in a fiery ball. “One target destroyed,” the sexy voiced controller whispered in his ear.
A three-sixty scan pinpointed the remaining bogeys. Two were engaged by other Wasps, but the third was making a run on the larger ships. Time to move it. He whipped around in a mind-blurring turn and crept up on the rear of the enemy fighter, until close enough to use his particle beamers. He aimed at the lower left side of the bogey and raked his fire across its midsection. It yawed to the right in a desperate attempt to escape.
“Oh, no you don’t,” he murmured. Again he felt the purr of a missile lock. Hold just a second longer, get a shot down its kilt… A jarring of his craft brought his mind back to his cockpit. A thudding sounded on his fuselage, as if taking fire from somewhere.
“Hey!” a muffled voice said. “You gonna stay in there all day?”
Shit. Just when he was getting into it. “Computer, end simulation,” he said. The tac screen blinked off, as did all electronics on the canopy. He reached over and unlatched the door to the simulator and swung it open, to be confronted by his friend and squadmate, Sergeant Phil “Pointy” Winters.
“It’s about time. I thought you were gonna sleep in that thing, man.” He absently rubbed the overly-large nose that gave him his nickname.
Ian shrugged. “Just getting in an extra run before we go to the gym for our hand-to-hand training. Brita did say the entire squad, didn’t she?”
“Yep. Y’know, I still wonder how you got this thing moved into our recreation room. You got some kinda blackmail goin’ on the C.O.?”
“The Navy just couldn’t find a way to say no when the Colonel insisted.”
“Be that as it may, I wish I had that kind of pull. I’d have ’em put a wet bar in the corner of this joint.”
“Dream on, you lush. C’mon, let’s get over to the gym.”
* * *
Tuesday nights were devoted to hand-to-hand training, with one of the small padded workout rooms reserved for the LRS. By the time they loosened up, they were joined by the rest of the squad except for Brita, who was supposed to be the instructor. Usually Sergeant First Class Frank “Franny” Smith, their Platoon Sergeant, had that honor. But he was with fourth squad on its training rotation to the jungle training center on South Continent, and wasn’t due back for a week. This left them with the second-best instructor on the planet.
They were finishing their warm-ups and stretches when Brita came in, followed by a young man with a dark complexion.
“Alright, guys. Tonight I thought I’d give you a chance to learn a few moves from a different martial arts form. Please welcome Sergeant Johnny Two Eagles to our squad.”
Ian perked up at that. “Is this our new replacement, Staff Sergeant?”
“Yes, and he comes to us from the NCO Academy. He was an instructor there for the past two years. Special weapons and hand-to-hand were his specialties.”
Ian looked more closely at the “young” man. Dark eyes, short dark hair. Still didn’t look a day over seventeen.
“Sergeant Doyle, you’ve bragged about your abilities in the classic style of Karate. Care to take first crack at the newby?”
Sergeant Charles “Chucky” Doyle was the largest man in the platoon, and also the newest team leader. He moved forward, thick muscles rippling under dark brown skin. “Be a pleasure, boss-lady.” He settled into a ready stance.
The mismatch in height and bulk made Two Eagles look like a mouse about to be squashed by a cat. Ian’s interest sharpened as he noticed the unusual stance into which Two Eagles moved. One arm arced from the rear over his head, the other pointed toward Doyle with the palm facing himself. Looked like he was about to flip off his opponent. His stance also lowered his center of gravity until it looked like Doyle could step over him. Very stable, but what could he do from that low a position?
Sgt. Doyle leaped forward with a spear-hand jab, shouting a loud “Kia!” With negligible movement Two Eagles deflected the stiffly out-thrust hand and did a double spin to his left, ending in a hooking blow with his right heel to the back of Doyle’s thigh. The meaty thud made them all wince, and Doyle tumbled to the mat. He somersaulted back to his feet and rubbed the back of his leg. Doyle came back on-guard and sprang forward into a flying kick toward him.
Two Eagles fell to his back, extended both legs straight up and caught him in the stomach. He somersaulted with the force of Doyle’s attack, and helped him along by fully extending his body into a strong push with his legs. Doyle crashed into the padded wall several feet away.
He regained his feet on rubbery legs and looked at the small figure standing calmly ten feet away. “Damn, man. You’re good. Better’n Brita, I’d say.” He waved in surrender and wobbled back to his place in line.
“Anyone else care to have a try?” Brita asked.
“What the hell,” Ian said, stepping forward. “Guess I’d better get it over with.” He walked up to Johnny Two Eagles, holding his hand out. “I’m your new team leader, Sarge. What’s your nickname?”
Two Eagles took his hand and started to answer. Ian droppe
d to his knees, pivoted and flung him over his shoulder. Two Eagles flipped over in mid-air, and landed lightly on his feet. “Nice move, Boss. Caught me looking on that one.” While speaking, he leaped towards Ian, both hands aimed like spear points. Ian dropped, rolled under him and spun to his feet in time to meet Two Eagles’ next attack. A flying kick whistled by his shoulder and he wrenched his body to the side. Too fast, thought Ian. This guy was just too fast.
Ian hurriedly backed up, putting space between them. “You part cat or something? I swear you land on your feet when dropped.”
Two Eagles smiled and held out his hand, walking toward Ian. “Thanks for the compliment. I did a lot of gymnastics and martial arts as a kid.”
This time Ian didn’t try anything cute when he took his hand. He looked down at Johnny Two Eagles and was struck again at how young he looked. Being eight centimeters taller than him added to the feeling.
“Alright, enough introductions,” Brita said. “Irish, Johnny, get in line. Let’s begin our workout for the night.” The rest of the evening passed quickly.
* * *
Three days later Warrant Officer Boudreau entered third squad’s classroom where they were just unhooking from virtual reality headsets, absorbing more information about their next mission assignment to the planet Bifrost.
“Quick announcement, troops. We’ve got a pre-mission briefing scheduled for 1700 hours, in the chow hall. See you then.” He exited the classroom before anyone could comment, something unusual for Boudreau.
Pointy rubbed his nose, a quizzical look on his face. “Did our glorious leader seem a bit upset to you?”
“Yeah, we probably got another shit detail assigned us from Regiment,” Ian said. “We’ll be out of here in a month, then those staff weenies will have to find someone else to screw over.”
“At least until we get back,” J.C. said. “I heard they were gonna move one of the LRS squads up to Regimental HQ for guard detail. I’ll bet they’ve changed our mission orders and we’re the lucky apes they decided to screw over.”
“Enough jaw flapping,” growled Brita. “It’s almost lunch time. Go straighten up the squad barracks and head for chow. Move it!”
* * *
At 1700 on the dot, Brita and her squad entered the empty chow hall and seated themselves at one of the long tables furthest from the door. It would be another half-hour before everyone else showed up for supper. By the time they’d settled in, Warrant Officer Boudreau had joined them.
“Normally I’d wait and give all of you a more formal briefing, but I thought it best to keep you informed soon as possible. That way you wouldn’t be listening to J.C.’s rumors before me.” Romero ducked his head in embarrassment. His aptitude at finding out what was on the rumor mill was legend, to include his ability to make one if nothing was happening.
“We just got word this morning from Regiment about an extension of our mission to Bifrost,” he said, taking the chair at the head of the table. “Our mission is still a go, and it’ll remain a three month commitment. However, we’ve been given an additional job on our way there. It seems the Alliance plans on visiting one of the neutral star systems. The Confederation is going to show up at the same time, and rain on their parade by showing the neutrals they don’t have to be afraid of the big bad Alliance.” He nodded his thanks as Brita handed him a cup of coffee.
“This means we’ll leave a week later than anticipated, so we can join with the task force that’s been put together for this saber rattling. Gives us more security on our way to Bifrost.”
“Sir, how large will the task force be?” Two Eagles asked.
“One superdreadnought, three dreadnoughts, several light and regular cruisers. Not sure what else.”
“That’s a large force to use for saber rattling,” Brita said. “Something stirring the pot more than normal, sir?”
“You’re right, it is large. Our government on New Britain has decided things are tense enough between the Alliance and us that they’d better begin sending an occasional task force along the pioneer to bolster those star systems allied with us. Be that as it may, our job is to be available for the will of the task force commander, and that’s all. At least until we reach Bifrost. I guess our lords and masters feel we don’t have anything else to do except act as props… Scratch that last. Sounds too whiney. Basically, we’ll have an extra week to prepare and probably get to Bifrost three weeks late. We can live with that.”
“Yeah, sure,” grumbled Pointy. “Bein’ crammed into the hold of a ship for an extra couple of weeks; who’s complaining?”
“There is one positive side to this trip,” Boudreau said. “We won’t travel on board a corvette. Instead we’ll be billeted on one of the new Wasp carriers. Captain Stanton’s company will be quartered with us. You’ll have twice the living space you do here in barracks.”
Ian could almost feel his ears perk up. “Carrier? Will it have the full complement of Wasps?”
“I haven’t heard yet. Later on this week Captain Stanton and I are getting the full briefing on this trip. We’ll let you know then.”
“You keep saying ‘we’. Does that mean you’re coming with us, sir?” Brita asked.
“Yes. I thought it’d be wise to have a layer of command between you and the Navy types since there’s going to be so many of them. Keep the ash and trash off your backs, so to speak.”
“Thank you, sir,” Brita said, with a look of relief.
“In the meantime, all of you double-check your dress blues. We’ll probably have to take them in case the task force commander uses us in some official capacity.” Boudreau stood and glanced at Brita. “Questions will have to wait ’til I get briefed from the higher-ups. I’ve been in your hair long enough. Time we all get back to work.”
“And on that note,” Brita said, “I suggest we take an early break for supper. Dress blues inspection at 1000 hours tomorrow. Not laid out, either. Wear ’em so I can see if anyone needs to get any tailoring done.” Muffled curses greeted this last announcement. Of all duties, the least desirable by any of the Scouts was getting spiffed up for an inspection or parade.
NEAR SPACE, EDO STAR SYSTEM (DAY -31)
Commodore Givens leaned back in his command chair, fingers steepled before him. His division of four Alliance battlecruisers had entered real space two days before. They were just now entering high orbit around Edo. Having made Commodore prior to leaving the Alliance capital, he still chafed at having a separate command station from the Captain of his flagship.
“Talk to me, Commander Franklin. What’s happening on the planet?”
The head of his Intelligence section swiveled around in his chair, looking away from his tactical display for the first time in eight hours. “Very little activity, Sir. If it wasn’t for the lack of air traffic, I’d think they didn’t even know we were here. It seems to be business as usual, at least on the surface.” Space had been a different matter. Seven freighters had been detained as they entered the system to do business with Edo. None were allowed to leave until after the task force arrived.
Givens called up a stylized map of the planet on his screen and concentrated on the largest of four continents. Four cities with populations over twenty thousand were marked in red, with several dozen smaller towns sprinkled across the continent. Although there was a plethora of water, the majority of land on the main continent was arid. Either high plains or desert.
An impossibly high mountain range on the western side of the continent robbed moisture from the rest of the land. It averaged close to six thousand meters above sea level on most of its length. Less than five percent of the population was on the other three continents. He couldn’t see how anyone would be interested in living in a God forsaken place like this.
“No movement of troops? What about concentrations of military hardware?” the Commodore asked.
“Nothing, Sir. The main space port seems deserted, but otherwise it’s normal.”
“Now that we’ve arrived, l
et’s ensure the air is secure. Have the Vipers knock down anything flying.”
Franklin looked worried. “Sir, the Admiral said to leave the planet alone. Don’t you think…”
“Yes, Commander, I am thinking. I’m the one in charge, and I think it would be wise to show these Edoans, or whatever they call themselves, who their new masters are. The Admiral meant he didn’t want us to land any troops before he got here. Do you have a problem with that?” he asked, glaring at his intel officer.
“Er—no, Sir. It shall be as you order.”
Givens relaxed into his command chair. “I also want two of the battlecruisers to move out in support of the cruisers we stationed near the emergence point most likely to be used by visitors from the Confederation. That should give us enough of a punch to knock out anyone coming through before the Admiral shows up with the rest of the fleet.”
Within another twelve hours, the task force had moved into their holding positions. One battlecruiser remained over the planet, one was stationed on the far side of the sun as a guard against unwelcome guests trying to surprise them, and two were within four light-seconds of the Confederation’s logical emergence point. Two heavy cruisers were also within two light-seconds of the point. Any closer would be suicidally dangerous. If a ship happened to be in the same volume of space as one emerging, both would be totally annihilated.
Captain Chapel, commander of the Alliance flagship Condor, was putting the final touches on his end of watch report when Givens swept onto the bridge with two of his staff. “How many Vipers are combat ready?” he asked.
“Twenty-five of thirty-two are space worthy. The others have just been cycled in for routine maintenance.” Each battlecruiser carried five Vipers, with an additional two per cruiser. All were mounted externally along the spine of each ship.
Givens seated himself at the Captain’s console and studied the readiness list. “Hm. Two of those redlined are ours. Not good. Have one of the battlecruisers from the emergence security force join us in orbit. I’ll need their Vipers for the next phase of my operation.”