Conflict: The Pythan War, Invasion

by DK Williamson

  “You want me to get’em on the horn as soon as possible?”

  “Yes. Tell them something that’ll dazzle them. Sweet talk them, just do it before the missiles start flying.”

  Lieutenant Turner stepped onto the command deck, his left arm in a sling. “I have just the thing to do that,” he said. “Authentication codes.”

  Tark arched his eyebrows and smiled. “You been pulling your weight, lieutenant. It looks like you really are serious about becoming a salvor,” he said.

  The Coalition had the upper hand in the Prouste system, at least for the time being, which allowed the Cassiopeia and the Franklin, along with her charge, to pass through to the navigation lane that would take them to the Daley system.

  The skipper of the lancer sent to confirm the Franklin’s identity and verify the claim they were hauling a captured Pythan vehicle could only shake his head and wonder what more oddities lie ahead in this war. The Pythan prisoners from the boarding party were transferred to Coalition control.

  The Franklin arrived in the Daley system twelve hours later, and was directed by Space Forces to continue on to the Erving system, one of the core Coalition systems and the Franklin’s home station.

  A message torp had been jumped to Erving and word had already spread of the first capture of a Pythan vehicle.

  With the Joursto attached, Franklin could not make station at Pier’s facilities, so they were sent to Erving’s main station, largely taken over by Space Forces. This was the same location where they were to be officially transferred to Space Forces control.

  Every portal, hatch window, or observation dome on the station was filled with faces belonging to people looking to see a Pythan space combat vehicle, and there was a small herd of Space Forces officers at the hatch to greet the Franklin’s crew when they exited the vehicle.

  “Welcome home,” said a Space Forces two-star general who was the first to offer his hand to Tark. “I am General Lindstrom. I command the division the Franklin belongs to, and I can’t begin to tell you how proud we—“

  “Until we get transferred into Space Forces, we belong to Pier Space Salvage, general,” Tark said. “As does that Pythan slag heap out there.”

  The smile that was on the general’s face faded.

  “Before you go spouting off about the war or Space Forces regs, forget it,” Tark continued. “I know salvage law better than most any lawyer. That vehicle belongs to Pier. I ain’t saying you can’t have it, but you’re gonna have to pay,” Tark said with a smile. Most of Franklin’s crew did as well, save for Lieutenant Turner who grimaced and tried to avoid attention. “The Price of Piracy Act. Look it up.”

  Lindstrom had an expression on his face that would have made most observers think he had smelled something bad. He looked to an aide who was busily working a datapad.

  “I’m afraid he’s right, General,” said the aide. “We’ll have to get someone from the Judge Advocate General’s office to—“

  “Fill out a Release of Impounded Vehicle form, submit it to the Coalition Space Committee on Equitine, they’ll appoint an arbiter to determine the value of the prize, you pay unless you appeal, in which case another arbiter will decide whether or not to alter the prize. If they do, then you pay that. Upon receipt of funds, the vehicle is yours,” Tark said. “Pretty simple.”

  The group of Coalition officers stood silent and blinking in bewilderment.

  Tark smiled again. “I’ll call the company, see if they’ll release it to you after you submit the forms. They’ll probably figure you’re good for the money.”

  He turned to his crew and gestured. “Let’s see if this place still has a bar!” he said as he led the group away, Turner going along trying to avoid eye contact with the Space Forces brass.

  General Lindstrom watched the group pass out of sight.

  “We’re bringing people like that into Space Forces,” he said flatly.

  “Yes, sir. Technically they’ll be civilian auxiliary,” said one of his aides. “Space Forces, but only for the duration of the conflict.”

  “That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

  “They captured a Pythan vehicle of war in space, sir. Civilians, in a tug, just scored us a huge PR victory. They might be a little… unorthodox, but I think we just might need them.”

  The general scowled. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  -(o)-

  Interlude

  The Land Forces Military Police Corps. Hated by many—perhaps even most—in the Land Forces, and loved by few. As much as they were disliked, nearly all, including many within the MP Corps, misunderstood them even more.

  Misconceptions aside, MP units that served with ground forces in the field had to be extraordinarily versatile, a jack-of-all-trades and a master of them all, if an MP wanted to survive that is.

  The Military Police serving on Clark, in the Horse system, were part of a force quickly deployed as a defense against possible Pythan attacks. The Pythans had not attempted a ground invasion on Clark, but the activity in the Black near the planet said the Pythans were interested.

  Until an actual attack occurred, the forces on Clark continued to train and prepare defenses. During field exercises, it was very common for the military police real world mission to bleed into the training mission. Sometimes there was no difference at all, and sometimes training missions carried their own kind of danger.

  . . .

  An Easy Job Really

  “An MP huh?” a young civilian man said to a Land Forces soldier guarding an access gate. “That’s an easy job I’d bet.”

  Corporal Jan Bishop had heard that line or similar comments so many times in her three years in service she’d lost count.

  “Sure it is,” she replied with an irritated smile. “Why don’t you enlist and try it for yourself?”

  “Uh, maybe I will. What do Military Police do exactly?”

  That was a new one for Jan. Most people thought they knew the role of the MP, and virtually all of them were wrong.

  “It would be easier to tell you what we don’t do.”

  “Okay. What is it MPs don’t do?”

  “Nothing.”

  The man blinked a few times. “I don’t get it.”

  “That’s okay. Hardly anyone does, including some MPs.”

  “Huh?”

  “It’s complex. You want the quick version?”

  “Uh, okay.”

  “In part, the manual says, ‘The Land Forces Military Police Corps is responsible for the safety and security of all Land Forces personnel, property, and equipment. They are also responsible for the safety and security of all Coalition civilian personnel and territory, neutral military and civilian personnel or territory, or enemy military and civilian personnel or territory, who fall under Land Forces jurisdiction.’”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means MPs are responsible for anyone or anything that falls under Land Forces control. Military, civilian, or enemy, we have to keep them safe and sound from any and all threats big and small, whether they be foreign, domestic, or alien.”

  “Alien?”

  “If they ever show up, yes, alien.”

  “That all sounds like a lot of work. How do you do it?”

  “You want the honest version?”

  “Uh, I think so,” the man said uncomfortably.

  “We make the impossible possible. We perform minor miracles. We do things no one else can do, and do you know what we get for all that?” Bishop asked, eyebrows arched over intense eyes.

  The man shook his head.

  “We get criticism and shit. Barely a thank you, rarely a pat on the back or an attaboy. Hardly a soul is aware of how we did what we did, they simply take it for granted that an invisible army of MPs materialized from somewhere and did what was necessary, never realizing it was just a handful of stupid idiots who were dumb enough to volunteer to become MPs that performed a real life magic trick. Hell, most times even the MPs themselves might not kn
ow how they pulled it off.”

  The man was taken aback, partly because of the tall MP’s diatribe, but mostly because of the crazed look in her eyes that grew in intensity the longer she spoke. He’d seen the same look in an uncle’s eyes as he recounted his harrowing experiences as a young Space Forces soldier.

  “I need to get back,” the man said glancing away. “Nice speaking with you.”

  Jan smiled. “Have a nice day.”

  “Why are the good looking ones always crazy?” the man muttered as he walked away.

  Jan caught movement in her peripheral vision and turned to see Corporal Washington, a fellow MP, approaching with an amused smile on his face.

  “You still trying to explain what it is we do to the great unknowing and uncaring masses?” he said.

  She looked skyward and sighed. “Yes.”

  “Were you successful this time?”

  “What do you think, Wash? No,” she said.

  Washington laughed. “My grandmother once told me that there are certain things that can never be learned through words, only by experience. Giving birth was her example. Most any woman that has experienced that has an understanding of it all, and those that haven’t been through it ain’t in the club. I’ve never given birth, and barring a miracle I’m not likely to either, so I’ll never know what she knows. She’ll never know what it is to be what we are.”

  “And what exactly is it that we are?”

  “MPs. An elite and select group of people gifted with a very rare and special form of selfless stupidity, that’s what,” he said with a grin.

  “Thanks for clearing that up,” Bishop replied with an irritated look on her face.

  “The lieutenant wants to see you. I think he has a job for you.”

  “Great,” she said flatly.

  “Don’t get so enthused, Jan. I’ll take over your security post.”

  -(o)-

  “I need you to go take over a mission for Sergeant Haskins. He’s ill.” Lieutenant Slate said when Bishop entered the office. “He’s on the regiment tactical center security mission. They’re on a field exercise, but the security aspect is the same as if it was an actual combat deployment. You see—”

  “Hey, LT, Bishop’s an old hand,” Platoon Sergeant Grimes cut in. “She’s pulled the mission before. She knows the deal.”

  Lieutenant Slate was a recent graduate from the Military Police Officers Course and was still learning the job of platoon leader. On his first day in the unit, Grimes had told him, “Training is one thing, doing it for real is a whole different critter.” Slate was finding out how true that was. Leading fellow trainees in the officer’s course was very different from leading enlisted MPs, and as he was learning, enlisted MPs were a different sort.

  Bishop sighed. “I’ll turn in my ammo and get my gear ready. You know Haskins is just coming down with a case of field flu, right, sir?”

  The lieutenant looked confused.

  Grimes laughed. “He’s allergic to field duty, sir. That’s why I’m taking Bishop out to the tac center and going with Haskins to the hospital. If he’s faking, I’ll find something entertaining for him to do.”

  -(o)-

  As PSG Grimes drove away with Sergeant Haskins in tow, Corporal Bishop threw her gear into the security team’s MPPV, the Military Police Patrol Vehicle. The MPPV was a four-wheeled lightly armored truck that was designed more for mobility than for defensibility. Armed with a powered turret packing a 13mm heavy machine gun and a 30mm automatic grenade launcher, the MPPV packed a lot of punch for its size.

  Bishop adjusted the small capsicum spray cannister on her belt. We can’t carry live ammo during a training exercise, but this is better than nothing, she thought.

  “Hey! Corporal Bishop, I’m glad you’re the one taking over,” said a soldier as he approached from the gathering of command vans nearby. It was Private Martin, one of the three MPs Bishop would have on her team. “Haskins started bitching when we set out yesterday and never stopped.”

  “And I get to take over,” she said.

  Martin grinned. “Hey, Jan, I didn’t say it was a good deal for you, I meant it was good for Barnes, Plummer, and me.”

  “Any problems?”

  “Other than Haskins, just one. Some lieutenant from regimental headquarters staff keeps trying to get us to do odd jobs around the tactical center.”

  “Every damned time. That happens every damned time,” Jan said. “Master Sergeant Perkins out here?”

  “There’s a master sergeant goes in and out of the tac center all the time, but I don’t remember his name.”

  “That’s him. A good man to know if you end up on this mission again. He gets things done, and he’ll help keep assholes like the lieutenant you mentioned off your back.”

  “There’s the LT I was talking about,” Martin said pointing at a man walking toward the tactical center.

  “Man the radio,” Bishop said gesturing at the MPPV. “I’m going to go talk with the guy.”

  When Bishop pushed her way through the flap that led into the tac center access control point, she found the lieutenant speaking with Privates Plummer and Barnes.

  “—are worried about grizzards coming over from the marsh to the west. I need you two to head over there before dark.”

  Bishop cursed under her breath as she closed on the officer. “Sir, those two have a job to do here,” she said curtly. “This is their duty position, and you don’t have the authority to alter that.”

  The lieutenant scowled as he turned to look at Bishop. She saw his nametape read SNEAD. “What do you mean I don’t have the authority? I can give orders to anyone of lesser rank.”

  “You most certainly can give orders, lieutenant. Your rank cannot alter Land Forces regulations concerning security within Tactical Centers though. Two MPs must be on station at all times while there is secure material present.”

  “So MPs don’t have to obey orders from officers?” the lieutenant said, the scowl still on his face. “Is that what you are saying, corporal?”

  “Not at all, sir. All soldiers must obey all lawful orders, but when you start giving unlawful orders—”

  “You’re locking horns with Land Forces regs, LT,” interrupted a voice coming from behind them. It was Master Sergeant Perkins. “Not something you want to do so early in your career. The MPs aren’t part of our shop, sir. You have to let them do their job.”

  “I’m sure you’re right, sergeant,” the lieutenant said, obviously swayed by the old sergeant’s tone. “I’m concerned about the possibility of grizzards moving into the regimental area from the marsh to the east. A truck hit one yesterday and when the driver got out to check for damage, she got bit. The troops in the truck were trapped until someone scared the grizzards away.”

  “Good instincts, sir. Already taken care of. We’ve got a couple of observation posts out that way, LT. We’ll have plenty of warning if any of those monsters show up.”

  The lieutenant sighed, then smiled. “I guess I’ve proven my uselessness here.”

  The lieutenant left the center.

  Perkins smiled and looked at the trio of MPs. “Snead has a chance at becoming a decent officer, but the jury is still out.”

  “Thanks for the help, sergeant,” Bishop said.

  “Part of the job,” Perkins said with a wave of his hand. “Any more difficulties, give me a yell.”

  As the sergeant entered the command van, Barnes said, “I keep hearing people talk about these grizzards. What the hell is a grizzard?”

  Bishop brought up a display on the command screen on her left forearm. “Haskins should have relayed this to you,” she said as she sent a Land Forces directive to her three team members.

  In part, the directive read: Grizzards, and their impact on Land Forces operations on Clark. The grizzard is a large, thick-skinned, long-bodied, carnivorous crocodilian reptile similar to those found on numerous worlds. They can attain a length approaching ten meters and are known to be aggressive
. Stay well clear of marshy areas and do not approach grizzards should they be encountered. Contact chain of command or Military Police units for assistance.

  “What are we supposed to do about a giant lizard, Bishop?” Barnes said as he looked up from his command screen.

  Plummer laughed. “You didn’t get training on giant reptile disposal techniques?”

  Barnes glared at him. “No, I guess I missed that one.”

  Bishop shook her head. “Let’s hope we don’t have to come up with a crocodilian apprehension plan on the fly.”

  The next two days were uneventful. The four MPs rotated on and off the security station at regular intervals, they made regular communications checks with their platoon’s command post, and performed the dozens of other mundane duties that went with the mission. If it were not for the occasional officer who somehow felt that entrance protocols did not apply to them and the accompanying drama that went with it, things would have been quite boring.

  That was about to change. The regimental commander ordered all element leaders to assemble at the tactical center.

  When Jan Bishop entered the command van, she quickly discovered she was one of the few leaders who was not a commissioned officer, and the only enlisted soldier below the rank of platoon sergeant.

  The regiment headquarters element was going to perform a jump exercise, sometimes called a bugout drill. A jump was a rapid redeployment, one performed for numerous reasons, with the most common being: to move forward during a fast moving advance; to fall back if the tactical center were in danger of being overrun; or to move if the tactical center’s location had been identified by the enemy and may possibly be targeted for attack by artillery strike, air or space weaponry, or special purpose ground units.

  Headquarters units of battalion level or higher had concerns that tactical units did not when it came time to jump. Command vehicles and communications equipment had complicated setup and breakdown routines. Command units also had a great deal of secure data that had to be safeguarded, and because the secure data used in actual warfare was effectively the same as that used in exercises, the mission of keeping this data secure was the same in either case.