“And what about the most interesting man in Harmony Base did you want to talk about?” Benchley placed his elbows on the desktop and leaned forward, trying to at least appear interested. He already knew Andrews was going to try to get Mulligan off the mission. Andrews could be a very persuasive young man when it suited him, and Benchley knew his rationale would be sound. He found himself confronted with two possible responses. The first option was to explain his decision to the mission commander in a way that he could break down and digest, which would have been a tough thing for Benchley to do even if he wasn’t running on fumes. The second was to just shut Andrews down right away. He was a company grade officer, and he was mostly still a receiver of orders, not an issuer. Benchley decided to opt for expedience.
“Sir, you know some of the personal history between Mulligan and—”
“Everyone needs to get over it, right now.” Benchley kept his voice even but stern. “I’m aware of the conflicts between Mulligan and your wife, and I obviously consider that friction to be survivable. Both Mulligan and your wife have skills that might be needed—therefore, they go. Anything else?”
Andrews blinked. His overall expression did not change, but Benchley could tell his response had caught Andrews flat-footed, and the SCEV captain didn’t know what to do. Benchley was pleased when the other man decided to press on. Mike Andrews had stones. No other SCEV commander would run right back to the line after being shoved back.
“He might have the appropriate ratings, sir, but he’s not one of us. He’s going to get in the way, and he’s going to be stepping on everyone’s air hose the entire way out and the entire way back. In my opinion, he poses a substantial risk to this mission’s success.”
Benchley leaned back into the confines of his chair. “Under normal circumstances, Andrews, I’d agree with you. You know I’d never assign Mulligan to anything other than a training mission to keep his ratings current. That man’s wired pretty tightly, but he’s a consummate professional in his field, and he just might very well be a force multiplier in this circumstance.”
“Sir, I don’t get it. He’s a Green Beret. Those guys ran around blowing stuff up and making a lot of people fall over dead. How can he possibly add any value to what we do? Please, sir, help me out here.”
“Army Special Forces was about a lot more than ‘blowing stuff up and making a lot of people fall over dead,’ Captain. There’s a specific heritage of service embodied by that branch, and part of that heritage involves making substantial personal sacrifice. Mulligan hasn’t forgotten any of that. Hell, he’s probably been waiting for the past ten years to bang some of the rust off those old skills of his. The non-killing ones, I mean.”
“Uh … sounds great, sir, but—”
Benchley held up a hand. “But nothing, Captain. He’s going. Sorry it’s a personal inconvenience for you, but do us all a favor and figure that shit out, all right?” Benchley looked at Andrews significantly, and he knew his expression alone would have been enough to tell Andrews he’d run out of altitude on this one. “You get where I’m coming from on this, Andrews?”
Andrews brought himself to attention as smartly as he could. “Yes, sir. I get where you’re coming from. Sarmajor Mulligan’s on the roster, and that’s how it’s going to be. I’ll get everything squared away, sir.”
“Outstanding, Andrews. Simply outstanding. Anything else?”
“No, sir,” Andrews said woodenly.
“Then get some rest, Captain. Colonel Walters tells me the rigs will be locked down within the hour, and that your mission jumps out at zero eight hundred tomorrow. That gives you five hours of rack time. I suggest you make the best of it.”
“Roger that, General.” Andrews saluted. Benchley sighed at the unnecessary formality—he was seated, after all—but he got to his feet and returned the salute. There was no need to piss Andrews off any more than he already had. He would have his hands full in the field, and Benchley needed him as focused as possible. He watched as Andrews slipped out of the center, defeated, then sank back into his chair.
***
“Mulligan’s going,” Andrews told Rachel later as he held her in their darkened quarters. Aside from the commotion of ongoing repairs, the base seemed unusually quiet; the customary noises of working machinery that moved air and water and powered lights were mostly absent, and Andrews thought the void made the darkness a bit spooky.
“Benchley wouldn’t talk with you about it?” she asked after a long moment.
“He talked to me. Well, more like I listened to him talk, but that’s what it came down to. Mulligan’s on the roster, and this is what it’s going to be.” Andrews kissed her neck tenderly, breathing in her smell. Even though she hadn’t had a hot shower in the past day or so, she still smelled great. “If it means anything, I talked to Mulligan as well. He doesn’t want to go either, but he has to roger up and do what he’s told.”
Rachel said nothing.
“We just have to get through it, babe. We get those supports and get back here so the lights can be turned on again, and that’s all there is to it. Mulligan isn’t important, and he’s not going to do anything to screw this up. This is his home, too.”
“Let’s get some sleep,” she said finally. “We have a long day tomorrow.” She turned away from him and faced the wall, presenting him with her back. Andrews sighed. He knew why she was pissed, but there was nothing he could do about it.
“Good night,” he said.
She didn’t answer.
7
“We seem to be spending more time here than usual,” Jim Laird said when Andrews stepped into the vehicle ready bay. It was already full of people, most of them standing around and waiting. Spencer looked agitated, and it didn’t take a social scientist to figure out why. When Mulligan had said the rigs were frozen, he hadn’t been kidding; armed guards had kept the SCEV maintainers and crews away from the waiting rigs.
“Okay, what’s the SITREP here?” Andrews asked.
Laird pointed at the waiting SCEVs. “Rigs are frozen, and no one goes near them until you give the word. You’re the mission commander, so both assets are under your operational control.” He sniffed and crossed his arms over his broad chest. “They wouldn’t accept my authority to grant the crews access, so we were waiting for you. I was about to have you paged over the intercom, actually.”
Andrews checked his watch. “Hey, I’m a half hour early.”
“Yeah, I’ll make sure you get a commendation for that.”
Andrews ignored Laird’s slightly pissy tone. “Oscar, are you in charge of the guard detail?” he asked one of the sentries. He was a tall, broad-shouldered staff sergeant of Hispanic extraction, and his dark skin was covered with a slight sheen of sweat.
“Yes, sir,” Oscar said.
“We’d like to access the rigs now, and start the pre-launch checks. Any problem with that?”
“Negative, Captain. You’re good to go, sir.”
Andrews waved to the waiting maintainers. “Let’s get it done,” he said.
“About fucking time,” Spencer groused.
“Orders, man. I got orders,” Oscar told him. “Major Alexander gave ’em to me, but you know where they really came from? Mulligan, man.”
“Ah, screw him,” Spencer said testily.
“Yeah, good luck with that,” Oscar said. “He’ll rip your little wiener out by the roots and slap you across the face with it.”
“Spencer, knock off the shit and do your job,” Andrews told him. He asked Laird, “All essential personnel present?”
“Waiting on Mulligan. And your wife, actually.”
“She’ll be here in fifteen. We don’t need her or Mulligan for the vehicle checks, so let’s get started.”
“Hooah.”
The maintenance crews went to work making the final checks. Andrews made a quick walkaround of SCEV Four, checking the various sight gauges and ensuring the fluid levels were right on the line, the tires were in proper condit
ion for an overland hike, the infrared turrets were clean, and the heavy duty shock absorption system was in good repair. He had no problem shouldering maintainers aside so he could crawl into the inspection spaces and put his own eyes on target. Getting his hands dirty was never something he’d been afraid of, and within minutes they were covered with grime and grease. He removed several axle bellows and checked them for any residual grit from the rig’s last trip, and he was happy to see they were as clean as if the rig had just rolled off the assembly line. Crawling out from beneath the vehicle, he glanced over at SCEV Five and saw Laird doing the same thing, and just as aggressively. Good. While he’d known Jim for as long as he’d known anyone, he’d never crewed with him before, and he was glad to see the broad-shouldered officer was as dedicated to mission prep as he was.
Andrews took some time to clean as much of the grime from his hands as he could before climbing the short stairway to the rig’s interior. There was no need to make it any dirtier than necessary just yet; there’d be plenty of time for it to get messed up during the mission, and he preferred to keep the living and working spaces as pristine as possible.
Inside, Tony Choi and Leona Eklund were already conducting functionality checks of the environmental systems, and another technician still had the floor pulled up in the sleeping area, going over the last third of the transmission system. Andrews nodded to his crew, then looked past them at the technician servicing the tranny.
“Hey, Halderman. Make sure the holding tank has been emptied, all right?”
Halderman smiled. “You’re good to go on that, sir. Everyone is free to pee with abandon.”
“That’s what I wanted to hear, thanks.”
Andrews pushed himself into the cockpit and slid into the left seat. The rig was still running on external power, so activating the instrument panel was as simple as flipping a switch on the inverter panel. Chimes sounded as the instruments powered up, and the screens came to life as the rig’s array of computers booted. Once the power-on test was completed, a schematic of the vehicle appeared on the center display. He could see every panel that was open on the rig’s exterior, the status of every system, the level of every fluid reservoir—and he was happy to confirm that Halderman had been correct, the rig’s poop tank was reading as empty. The SCEVs were powered by a sophisticated hybrid powerplant, using two variable-speed turboshaft engines for propulsion that in turn charged an array of batteries that would keep the rig going for a couple of days in the unlikely event both engines shit the bed. Andrews ran all the pre-ignition checks but stopped short of actually starting the rig—even though there were at least two pre-positioned caches of fuel along their route, he had no idea if they were still accessible, or if they’d been raided in the war’s aftermath. In light of that, they’d need to preserve every drop of fuel in the tanks.
Spencer stuck his head inside the cockpit. “Hey, el Capitan. We’re good to go on the externals. I’m going to have them pull external power once you give the word. And the big guy is coming up now.” The crew chief pointed out the thick viewport windows.
Andrews looked through them and saw Mulligan sauntering toward the rig, a scowl on his face. The maintainers gave the big NCO a wide berth, wary of his foul expression.
“Take another walkaround, just to be safe,” he told Spencer. “I’ll let you know when you can disconnect the external power supply.”
“Roger that.” Spencer ducked out of the cockpit, and Andrews paged through the menus on the system display, checking off items that had been completed. A moment later, he felt a presence hovering over his right shoulder. Andrews looked up, even though he knew who it was. Mulligan looked down at him with eyes that were about as warm as a polar ice cap.
“Sergeant Major,” Andrews said by way of greeting.
“I see you weren’t successful in getting me pulled off the roster,” Mulligan said.
“No, I wasn’t.”
“Regrettable.”
Andrews pointed to the right seat. “I take it you remember the ignition procedures?”
“I’m not that out of it, sir.” Mulligan crouched down as he pushed himself into the cockpit and lowered himself into the copilot’s seat with surprising dexterity. Andrews was impressed. The cockpit was extremely tight, and the close quarters made taking a seat almost an exercise in gymnastic torture. That a man of Mulligan’s size was able to slip into the copilot’s seat almost effortlessly made it seem as though he’d spent a lifetime crewing on SCEVs.
“Something wrong, Captain?”
Andrews smiled and shook his head. “We’re good, Sarmajor. Maybe you can show Choi how to enter the cockpit like you did—it’s a pain in the ass when he kicks the center console and flips the radio frequencies.”
“I’ll make a note of it.”
Andrews slipped on his radio headset and, from the corner of his eye, saw Mulligan do the same. “Leona, are we buttoned up back there?”
“Roger, we’re secure throughout the rig,” Leona reported from the second compartment. “All floor panels are replaced and locked, and only crew are aboard at this time.”
“Roger that. Mulligan, bring the APU online, if you would.”
Without consulting the procedure, Mulligan reached to the overhead console and flipped two switches. From inside the SCEV’s belly, a groaning whine sounded. The rig’s auxiliary power unit came to life and, as soon as it began delivering the proper amount of current, the rig’s onboard computer shut off the external power supply. SCEV Four was now running on full internal power.
Andrews reached for the control column beside him and pressed the red radio button. “Five, this is Four. Are you guys ready to crank? Over.”
Jim Laird’s voice came back a moment later. “Roger that, Four. Ready whenever you are. Over.”
“Roger. Light ’em up.” Andrews motioned for Spencer, who was standing outside just off the SCEV’s nose, to pull the external power cable. Spencer reached forward, unlocked the cord’s head, then removed it and held it up for Andrews to see. Beside Spencer, SCEV Five’s crew chief did the same thing and showed the disconnected cable to Laird. Andrews shot Spencer a thumbs-up.
“Crew, prepare for engine start,” he said.
“Ready for start back here,” Leona reported.
Andrews flipped the switch to start the rig’s first turbine engine. Since the powerplants were equipped with a fully automatic digital engine control—FADEC—there was no need to worry about the potential of a hot start, when fuel would begin to burn prematurely, causing a fire. The FADEC system managed the entire startup sequence, keeping the starter motor blowing cool air throughout the engine’s turbine section until the appropriate pressure level was reached and the fuel/air mixture in the engine’s compression area could be safely ignited. Once that happened, the engine spooled up rapidly. The turbine’s whine was clearly audible, even through his headset’s ear cups.
“Clean start,” Mulligan reported. “T5 is good, exhaust temperature’s normal.” Mulligan made the same report after the second engine had been activated and spooled up.
“Thanks. You good to go on the post-start checklist?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Thank you, Sarmajor.” Andrews glanced over at Laird’s rig. “SCEV Five, this is Four. Ignition positive. Over.”
“Four, this is Five. We’re operational on this side. Over.”
“Roger that. Break. Bay Control, this is SCEV Four. We’re about ready for departure. Over.” As he spoke, Andrews saw the maintenance crews packing it up, pulling their rolling tool chests away from the two vehicles. Fuel and power lines had already been disconnected and were being reeled up onto their spools. The two SCEVs were technically free to maneuver. From the corner of his left eye, he saw SCEV Five’s outer airlock door cycle closed. A slight but noticeable change in air pressure tickled his eardrums as his own rig was buttoned up. Once the airlock doors were closed, the SCEV became “inflatable,” meaning it was slightly pressurized to keep its interio
r clear of any biological or radioactive contaminants it might encounter while roving about on the surface.
“SCEV Four, Bay Control. You’re clear for lift one at your discretion, though we would appreciate it if you could expedite your departure. Over.”
Expedite our departure? “Well, I guess they can’t wait for us to get gone,” Andrews muttered.
“They’re having to burn more energy for the ventilation system,” Mulligan said. “The rigs running are dumping a lot of poisonous exhaust into the bay, and running the fans and scrubbers for more than a few minutes is a bit of a luxury they really can’t afford.”
“Ah, right. Thanks for that, Sergeant Major.”
“It’s what I’m here for, sir. Post-start checklist complete. Want to grade my work?”
Andrews glared at the bigger man, but if he was at all affected by Andrews’s irritated expression, Mulligan didn’t show it. If anything, Andrews thought he detected a ghost of a smile threatening to form on the big NCO’s weathered, Hollywood-handsome face. He remembered years ago overhearing his mother mention how Mulligan looked like a super-sized Charlton Heston, and he’d made it a point to watch one of the actor’s old movies. Sure enough, the resemblance was uncanny.
“No, we’re good,” Andrews said, turning away. “Bay Control, SCEV Four. Roger, we’re rolling now. Over.”
“Roger, SCEV Four.”
Andrews pushed the control column forward a quarter inch, and the rig slowly trundled forward, its big, knobbed tires rolling across the steel plank floor. A soldier with illuminated wands guided Andrews around the idling bulk of SCEV Five and pointed him straight toward the huge cargo elevator that would take the vehicle to the surface. As the rig rolled forward, following the yellow lines on the floor, the soldier saluted—the usual sendoff whenever a vehicle departed Harmony Base. Mulligan returned the salute as Andrews steered twenty-eight tons of composites, aluminum, titanium, steel, assorted plastics, rubber, and human bodies toward the waiting elevator.
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