Gray Panthers: Dixie

by David Guenther

  “Montgomery, take point,” Semmes said to one of the female scouts. “Scotty, if you would take position behind me, and Captain Culpepper, if you would stay behind Ambassador Scholl, please.” He then called out, “Everyone else, assume your normal patrol positions. Move out, people!”

  Scotty stood waiting to move out as the two enlisted scouts that had accompanied the lieutenant started down the trail and disappeared. More than half a dozen additional scouts appeared from the tree line and fell in on the trail. The lieutenant took one last look around as he got ready to move out.

  “Scotty, Captain, if you would follow me now, please. Try to keep ten feet from me and each other, please. No talking from here out, and please try to avoid making any unnecessary noise or movement. If you see something or need something, just put the palm of your hand flat on top of your head. Keep your weapons pointed either to the left or right of the trail with safeties on. If you see me drop or get off the trail, follow my lead. If we get separated for any reason, just keep heading downhill till you hit the river. We will look for you there. Any questions?”

  The pair shook their heads and Scotty gave a slight half-salute with a smile. Semmes turned back to the trail and started out at a brisk pace to catch up with the rest of the patrol.

  Scotty noted that it was already starting to get light and cursed the rumble in his belly, thinking it had been a mistake not to refill his pockets with something to eat from his pack.

  Gray Panthers Space Port, Arizona

  29 October 2128

  The Georgia shook violently as it lifted off the ground. The view of the spaceport was limited to those areas that were illuminated. The repairs on the ship had been completed at 2130, and the captain had announced that departure would be 2200.

  In high orbit, two small fleets waited, each consisting of a hundred shuttles. One was manned by the Gray Panthers. The other consisted of the US Army. The Gray Panthers’ general, William “Black Jack” Black, wanted nothing more than to have the space to pace as he waited for the Georgia.

  The flight deck crew watched the Earth decrease in size as they increased their altitude. Captain Woods contemplated the mission ahead of them. The thought of the two hundred shuttles navigating up to his hull, then attaching themselves in space, made him feel overly protective of his newly repaired ship. The thought of all the possible damage that could occur left his stomach in knots. The thought of immediately going to FTL crossed his mind more than once, each time more enticing than the last.

  “Captain Woods, General Black sends his compliments and says they are ready to commence landing on the Georgia in accordance with the load plan,” an ensign reported.

  “Very well. We’ll stop, hold position and attitude, and let them come to us.” Previous experience had Woods ready to watch a circus as the shuttles maneuvered. Instead, they approached like a well-choreographed ballet. Each shuttle quickly and smoothly found its way to the assigned portion of hull and landed without difficulty.

  “Captain, the shuttles have all confirmed that they are ready for us to get back underway.”

  “We are now heading out. History rides with us,” Woods said with conviction. “We shall vanquish the oppressors who thought they could attack Dixie with impunity. We showed them our back once, but now we shall re-engage them and be victorious, or we shall enter Valhalla as heroes for our cause. Engage the FTL drive. All crew, assume your stations while we use the FTL.”

  The ship’s crew and those in the shuttles felt the anticipated nausea during the transition to the FTL. Those in the shuttles prepared for the worst, having learned about the side effects of the drive. The effects stopped almost immediately.

  General Black was relieved that the nausea was gone, but worried about what had gone wrong. “Georgia, this is General Black.”

  “Go ahead, General Black. What can we do for you, sir?” the ship’s officer of the day asked.

  “Why isn’t the FTL working? How long until we can re-engage the drive?”

  “Sir, the FTL only has that effect for a minute or two. Then the drive synchronizes and the nausea goes away. The only time the FTL drive causes discomfort in space is if it is not correctly synchronized and tuned.”

  “Thank you, Georgia, I’m looking forward to a more pleasant cramped five days. Black out.”

  Arizona Space Ship Beater, near Gas Giant Rewards, Libra Alliance space

  30 October 2128

  Captain Johnson was getting irritable. Hiding in the asteroid field meant he had to keep the crew at high alert. The danger of one of the larger asteroids hitting the Beater was very real. Every few hours the crew could hear the collisions of the tinier asteroids bouncing off the hull. With the enemy being so close, the force fields couldn’t be used because it would give off too large of an energy signature. The alternative shielding, polarizing the hull, was working well.

  “Beater, status report. Are you ready to upload the virus to the entertainment nodes yet?” Johnson rubbed his bloodshot eyes. The others on the flight deck looked almost as tired and anxious as he felt.

  “Sir, the virus is ready, but there are variables I mentioned—”

  “Launch the virus or whatever you need to do to deliver it, now! We can finally get the ball rolling. When we’ve determined that the ships are disabled, we’ll hop over, using the FTL drive. We’ll take out the tanker ships first. We’ll hit the one that is still loading first, and with luck it will take out part of the refinery. We’ll then target each of the tankers by their distance from us. Closest first, farthest one last. If any of the fleet manages to engage, we’ll break off our attack and use the FTL to depart the engagement. If their fleet is incapacitated, we will destroy them all.” Johnson tried to sound enthused as he outlined the plan, but the tiredness in his voice was hard to miss.

  He reached into his pocket and took out a small, ornate box. The top showed the front of a small boat, with a cutlass crossed with a flintlock pistol behind it. He looked at the design as if for the first time, then glanced around the flight deck to ensure that no one was watching as he opened the box and quickly popped a tiny white capsule into his mouth. He washed it down with a swig of coffee in his cup that had gone cold.

  Short Blade sat with the other chief petty officers. They were drinking more of the drink they called coffee, which Short Blade found disgusting, and using the time for what he figured was warrior bonding. Before them was a large communal bowl of popcorn, a food that had become one of the small Jacka’s favorites. He had found that almost every food from a group called dairy had a strong effect on him, and the butter in the popcorn was making him feel good, but he was careful not to eat too much. The chiefs around him had been telling war stories, and Short Blade was fascinated not only by their tales of humans killing each other—but also by the fact that the two in front of him had each done it for twenty years when they were younger. Both had been accepted into the Gray Panthers and were now physically in their twenties, although their faces still retained their chronological appearance.

  “I’ll be glad when we get the hell out of here,” Chief Petty Officer James “Jimmy” Brewster said, taking a long sip of coffee. “I don’t even want to think about what the hull looks like, after all the hits we’ve taken from the asteroids.”

  “The bright side, though, is when we get back home, we have our junior-most member of the crew here to repair all the dents and scratches before he repaints the hull,” Chief Petty Officer William “Guns” Wright replied, laughing as he stuffed a huge handful of popcorn into his mouth.

  Short Blade wasn’t sure if they were jesting or not, since he still couldn’t figure out human humor. He decided to lick his paw clean of the butter. That always seemed to amuse his two friends and change the topic of conversation.

  “I think we should get back to our stations. I have a feeling things are going to hit the fan soon, and I get nervous letting those Dart drivers man our stations to keep them from getting bored,” Jimmy said, refilling his cup t
o take back with him to the port weapons station that doubled as his berthing area.

  Guns followed his example and departed for the starboard weapons station. Short Blade quickly ran his paw along the bottom of the empty popcorn bowl, collecting the butter, and then proceeded to engineering to do a quick physical check of the ship’s systems.

  “Condition red. Condition red. Man your battle stations,” blared from the speakers before any of the three made it to their stations. Beater had informed Captain Johnson that there was an eighty percent chance of success, and he was going to go on the attack.

  “Pilot, jump to our first target. Ensure proper attitude and altitude so we can bring to bear all weapons on the target.” Johnson fought to keep his excitement in check as his body shook with energy. The Beater jumped to a position only a mile from the tanker as all weapons stations opened fire. The initial barrage ignited not only the ship but also the line of transports ferrying supplies. Johnson watched in horror as the refinery became a firestorm in space. The outer edges of the gas giant exploded into flames, engulfing the remaining tankers and four of the warships in fire.

  Beater didn’t wait for orders, using the FTL drive to jump the ship an additional thousand miles from the gas giant.

  Johnson snapped back to alertness from his shock when he realized that the ship had jumped without his orders. “Who jumped the ship without my orders?” he shouted as he leapt to his feet. Adrenaline coursed through his body, causing him to shake.

  “Captain Johnson, I jumped the ship or we would have been incinerated. It appears the refinery was releasing an unknown agent into the upper atmosphere of the gas giant that acted as a catalyst to quicken the refinery process. Seven of the remaining eight warships have severe damage and are broadcasting for assistance. The eighth ship is trying to conduct rescue operations on its own,” Beater reported.

  “Is the space dock facility providing any assistance to the rescue operations?” Johnson asked, dreading the answer he knew would come.

  “Captain, the entire facility has been destroyed, along with all ships that were in the immediate facility of the space dock and refinery,” Beater reported.

  The thought of providing humanitarian aid went through Johnson’s mind as the catastrophe continued to unfold before them, until he snapped back to his duty.

  “What can you determine about the damages to the ships, Beater?”

  “Enemy ships were too close to the explosion and are all heavily radiated. I doubt if any of the crews will survive. The ships could be used again once the radiation levels are reduced. The eighth ship has minor radiation damage and the crew is partially incapacitated. We would have no difficulty in destroying it if we attacked now—”

  “Have we sustained any damage from the gas giant?” Johnson interrupted.

  “Slight damage to the hull. Ship is still fully—”

  “Pilot, set course back to Flem. We will use the facilities there to repair our ship and then decide on the next target. Commander Poland, you have the flight deck.” Johnson exited before anyone could ask questions.

  Dixie fleet, approaching planet Dixie

  30 October 2128

  Admiral Pierre Gustave Toutant-Beauregard had spent the last five days waiting for his fleet to get home to Dixie. The fleet consisted of twenty heavy warships that had deployed to Earth to repel a Libra Alliance invasion fleet.

  “This is the Admiral. When we drop back into normal space, I want First Squadron to attack the enemy battleships. Second Squadron will close in on the cargo ships so they cannot get away. Third Squadron, you will hold in reserve until we know where you are needed. The enemy’s main goal was to get captives for use in their army, so we must go on the assumption that some of the cargo ships may have Dixians aboard them. After we destroy the battleships, we will board the cargo ships to look for captives.”

  The admiral had thought hard about where to drop back into normal space, since they couldn’t see what was going on until they were actually back in normal space. If they returned a safe enough distance to avoid materializing into an enemy ship, it would give the enemy enough time to get away. He had decided the risk was worth returning as close as possible to Dixie and the enemy fleet.

  “Admiral to fleet. We are dropping back into normal space now. God bless, and good hunting.”

  The ships materialized between the enemy fleet and Dixie, and immediately went on the attack. The heavy warship Bull Run immediately engaged the closest enemy battleship using the information gained from Earth. Getting close enough to the enemy ship to prevent it from using the FTL, the Bull Run let loose with all weapons. Other ships closed in as well, in support of the Bull Run’s attack.

  The remaining battleship began to fire and maneuver. The first jump by the battleship was almost into the heavy warship Chattanooga. The captain of the Chattanooga took the opportunity and rammed into the side of the battleship, locking the two ships together.

  The reinforced armored hull of the Chattanooga began to lose pressure in half a dozen areas. The battleship’s hull began major venting, and both ships switched from trying to destroy the other to saving themselves. Dixie ships pounced on the wounded battleship while avoiding the Chattanooga. The battleship’s captain surrendered after only minutes of the onslaught, in an attempt to save his crew.

  The Bull Run continued to slug it out from point-blank range while other ships continued to fire into the stricken battleship. As it began to communicate its surrender, the damaged ship exploded and tore in half. The Bull Run tried to put distance between them.

  Second Squadron had less luck, and the cargo ships began to disappear after only three had been stopped. The Dixie ships were hard pressed to avoid firing into the cargo ships as they began to take fire. To avoid major damage and possible loss of life to any captives, their only option was to return fire on the ships’ actual gun positions.

  Admiral Toutant-Beauregard sent a communiqué on all channels to the enemy. “This is Admiral Pierre Gustave Toutant-Beauregard. I commanded the fleet that destroyed your fleet at Earth. Surrender now, and you will not be harmed. If you resist, you will be destroyed, with no mercy shown. Signal your intentions now, or I will destroy all ships in two minutes.”

  Unclaimed lands, planet Dixie

  30 October 2128

  Lieutenant Semmes couldn’t stop sweating and his legs were starting to ache. He realized that he must be close to running out of water. Then he realized that the old man and the captain were humping full-sized packs, whereas he and his scouts had only light loads. Not only were the two of them keeping up with his scouts, they seemed annoyed by the slow pace being maintained.

  The scouts ahead all dropped down into the weeds, becoming invisible. Scotty kept his head down, waiting for some type of signal, when he heard the rush of water from the river. He had been pushing himself because of the slight he’d felt from the lieutenant. Looking behind him, he saw that Sam looked like he felt, and he immediately regretted what he’d put her through for the sake of his pride. She smiled at him and gave a mischievous wink. Scotty smiled back and returned his attention to the front as he wiped the sweat from his face. The superman effect he’d experienced when he first arrived on Dixie as a result of the planet’s lower gravity was gone, and the heavy pack he bore was making him miserable.

  “The river is clear. We’ll cross one at a time, and after everyone is across we’ll stop to resupply on water and have a meal. Let’s try to get moving twenty minutes after that, so take care of anything you need to do. Then we’ll continue to the vehicles and be on our way,” the lieutenant whispered loudly to everyone.

  Scotty felt the frigid water against his boot-clad foot as he stepped into the river. The farther in he waded, the deeper it got, until eventually he was holding his carbine above his head and the water reached his chest. When the water started to become shallow again, he took one last opportunity to quickly dunk his head under the water and enjoy the chill.

  Lieutenant Semmes
was on the bank and offered his hand to pull Scotty up the deep bank of the shore. Scotty took his hand graciously. Once up on the bank, he turned to watch as Sam started to cross the river. She had strapped her shotgun across the top of her pack and was using a walking stick to help steady herself against the river’s current. At one point she lifted the stick and jabbed it into the water ahead of her, then resumed using it to finish crossing. When she got to the riverbank she lifted her stick with effort and flipped a huge fish up onto the bank.

  “Lieutenant, do you think we would have time to cook that?” she asked as he absently held his hand out for her to grab.

  “Ma’am, I don’t want to have any fires, but I’ll clean that for you and put it on ice in the vehicle. It’ll make a nice dinner.”

  Twenty minutes later the patrol made it to the vehicles. There were five in total, and as Scotty watched the scouts remove the camouflage netting, he thought the vehicles looked like dune buggies with their bodies made of metal tubing. Each one had a roll bar with a mounted weapon. Scotty could distinguish that two of them had heavy machine guns and two had automatic grenade launchers, but he was confused as to what the last one was. He turned to Sam, nodded toward the device, and shrugged his shoulders with a questioning look on his face. “Just a laser,” she replied.

  Lieutenant Semmes divided the patrol up among the vehicles. The first and last vehicles had the two young scouts: one to man the machine gun from the back while the other drove. The second and third vehicles each had three scouts: one to drive and two to man the automatic grenade launchers. The lieutenant rode in the third vehicle. Scotty rode shotgun in the fourth vehicle and Sam manned the laser from the backseat.

  The patrol started out at a slow pace over the pristine forest land. Scotty was glad to have the pack off his back and a cool breeze in his face. Despite the danger of discovery at any time, he found himself fighting sleep. Checking back on Sam, he saw that they had given her goggles. She was strapped into the laser and bounced with every rut and patch of uneven ground they rolled over. He tried to remember how long Semmes had said the trip would take as he fought the tiredness.