On Point

by J. Clifton Slater

  “In that case J-Pop, I’ll let you go,” Uxue said. “Ask around for the Striker Instructors quarters if you want to catch up. I would like to hear about the Strikers’ at Construction station.”

  “Miss the action?” I asked.

  “Lieutenant, you have no idea,” Fire Dove admitted. “Training is fine. Good chow, plenty of sleep, and poker are all perks. The drawback is the nearest town is half a day away.”

  “I will come by after I sleep for a few hours,” I promised.

  We exchanged salutes and I staggered back to the VOQ. Once undressed, I tumbled into bed and fell into an exhausted sleep.

  ***

  Late in the afternoon, the nightmare of missiles and Heart plant domes in ruins woke me. I got up and dressed. Then, I slung on my holster rig and checked my forty-five. After the dream, I felt the need to be armed. Once the Clan strap rested comfortably on my shoulder, I pulled on the leather coat and went outside to catch some fresh air.

  From the sidewalk, I glanced over the Striker Training post.

  Single story concrete buildings flanked wide streets. The roofs, being only slightly tilted, caught a thick blanket of snow. I assumed they were as sturdy as the concrete walls. If not, the weight could collapse the roofs.

  In back of the last row of buildings, an outdoor training area with an unusual confidence course occupied the space. Nets stretching from the ground were attached to a set of high poles. The rope webbing spanned the distance to another set of poles. There, individual poles stepped up even higher. On the far side of the high poles, tiers of ropes connected the poles to lower and lower poles. It was unlike any confidence course I had ever run. Much higher with several impossibly high single-strand bridges, it seemed unmanageable.

  Behind the confidence course, a domed building, also of concrete, stood almost as high as the tallest of the confidence course poles. That roof, as well, held a blanket of snow.

  A dump truck with a snowplow mounted on the front cleared a single lane down the center of the street. I had to crawl over the piles of snow to reach the plowed strip.

  The cold, clean air refreshed me as I strolled down the street wondering where the Striker instructors were billeted. It would be nice to look up Fire Dove and spend a few hours talking about mutual acquaintances. But, the streets were empty. I kept going seeking a live body so I could ask for directions.

  At the corner of the last buildings, the snow plow turned leaving a pile of snow blocking the street. Over the mound and further from the buildings, a small shed sat almost covered in snow. The shed wasn’t interesting. Three shuttles sitting on the landing pad were. Blown snow banked on one side leaving the opposite sides clear on two of the shuttles. The third shuttle rested on top of the snow showing it had recently arrived.

  While I was looking at the shuttles, a sailor came out of a building. She walked carefully across the sidewalk and climbed over the piles of snow. Finally, she reached the plowed strip where I stood.

  “I’m Lieutenant Piran,” I said knowing she couldn’t see my flight suit or rank under the coat. “What’s with the shuttles?”

  “Two are rated for atmosphere only, Sir. They’re our training ships,” she explained. “The other shuttle arrived this morning. Her undercarriage is all shot up. Command will probably add her to the training fleet.”

  “All shot up?” I asked. “From where?”

  “She’s a Glynis Gavin flight asset,” the sailor stated. “Got caught in the initial attack on the Battleship’s screen. They took the pilot and five passengers out in ambulances before the lockdown.”

  “When did the attack happen?” I demanded.

  “About thirteen hundred hours, yesterday,” she said. “Sir, if there’s nothing else, I only have a few minutes to grab some chow before I’m needed back at the com center.”

  “Go and thank you,” I said. I returned her salute and she hustled up the street.

  Yesterday, the Marines in the mountains around the Druid valley had activated their rocket batteries around the time the Battleship made contact. I took a last look at the shuttles, walked to the mound, climbed it, and made for the door the Sailor had used.

  ***

  “You can’t be in here,” a Navy Lieutenant stated. He stood beside a Marine Lance Corporal blocking my way. “This is a restricted area.”

  “I’m a Senior Lieutenant and a Striker pilot. Believe me, I have the proper clearances,” I informed him. “But I understand you folks are busy. I wouldn’t get in your way.”

  He typed my name into a screen and asked to see my officer’s tab. Then without a word, he quick walked down a corridor. The Marine saluted and waved me through. I followed the Lieutenant.

  The hallway ended at a large room with desks full of communications specialists. Everyone wore headsets and watched active screens. They were all feeding the main screen mounted on a far wall. If we were on a warship, I would identify this as Combat Control. But we weren’t, and they didn’t have direct access from the Glynis Gavin’s Combat Control Center. I could tell by the comments from the officer at the front of the room.

  The officer was a Navy Commander pacing relentlessly back and forth firing off questions.

  “What does Command station have on that Constabulary flight,” he bellowed. “Someone give me an update.”

  A group of red dots on the wall screen flashed to new positions.

  “Better, thank you. How about the Transfer station?” he asked. “Give me more on our Bricks at the Glynis Gavin’s defensive screen?”

  Blue blocks, in no order, blinked on and off. After each cycle of blinking, the blocks moved back and forth on the big screen.

  “Good, stay on them. Where are those Fighters attacking on the left flank?” he demanded.

  The communications center was building a real-time view of the battle from various sources. By gathering information from the Glynis Gavin, Command station, Transfer station, planet Uno based installations, and possibly scout ships, they were building a more complete map of the fight around the Battleship. Someone in Command was getting this feed as well as others, and merging them to form a true picture of the battle.

  I tuned out the Commander as I didn’t have a frame of reference for the symbols or for the sources. It was fascinating watching the ebb and flow of the battle on the screen. The jerky updates began to make sense and I focused on the lines of Navy and Constabulary ships.

  Chastising myself for my lack of caring, I began to see the reality of the screen. These were my fellow pilots fighting and dying in space while I leaned against a wall in a warm room and watched as if it were a video game. My attention went to the front of the room when the Commander shouted something for a third time.

  “Where is Jumbo Three?” he repeated the question. “Who has a beam on it?”

  When no one made an update or offered a guess, the Commander pointed at the Lieutenant who had checked me in.

  “Priority. Fine me Jumbo Three,” he ordered.

  I wondered who or what was Jumbo Three. On the board the Constabulary Carrier moved leaving a stream of small warships in its wake. Then, a larger enemy ship moved away from the Carrier’s flank.

  “Jumbo Two has moved to a defensive position,” someone at a desk announced.

  On the screen, an enemy ship jumped from one location to defend the aft portion of the Carrier. I realized Jumbo was the designation for the Constabulary Escort ships.

  No one knew what happened to Jumbo Three or where the Constabulary Escort was located. It struck me as strange that flights of Fighters and Gunships were tracked but a large Escort ship had just vanished.

  “Where is the battle taking place?” I asked when a specialist got up to leave the room.

  “Out near the Galactic Divide,” he said while brushing by me.

  The battle was far enough away that the citizens of Uno probably didn’t know a major naval engagement was taking place in their sector. I couldn’t do anything in here except get more frustrated about
being stuck on the ground.

  I stood upright and marched away from the communications center, down the hallway, and out of the building.

  ***

  The Sailor who had answered my questions earlier came from the direction of the mess hall.

  “Two more questions. Where are the shuttle pilots?” I asked. “And where are the Striker instructors billeted?”

  “We don’t have any pilots assigned to the post, Sir. They bring them in for training cycles,” she answered. Then she pointed diagonally across the training compound. “The instructors are on the far side. In the last building before their playground.”

  I watched her climb the piles of snow, cross the sidewalk, and disappear through the door into the building. Then I turned and stared at the shuttles. The battle was far out in space and there was nothing I could do to get into the fight.

  My search for Fire Dove’s quarters was about to recommence when I located Jumbo Three.

  ***

  I couldn’t see the Constabulary Escort ship. It was the missile that streaked into the ground on the far side of the training post that let me know. Somehow, Jumbo Three had sneaked away from the battle and made it to an orbit over planet Uno. Another missile exploded beyond the shuttle pad, again harmlessly, in a no-man’s-land.

  From distinct installations, our missiles shot for the sky. One, two, three launched and I watched as the flames pushed our response into the evening sky. I kicked at the snow bank in futility and started to turn away.

  Missiles make a roaring sound as boosters propelled them at ever increasing rates of speed. Rockets, on the other hand, whoosh as they go to full burn the second they’re launched. Plus, missiles are sent one at a time. Rockets, especially defensive rockets, are fired in clusters. It took seconds for the rockets’ whooshes to reach my ears from the top of the mountain.

  By the time I located them, the rockets intercepted an incoming missile. It detonated over the Druid valley. My nightmare was coming to life. The Constabulary had targeted the Heart plant domes, the Druids, and the children.

  Before I realized where I was going, I leaped the snow mound at the end of the street. My feet kicked the snow out of my way as I headed towards the damaged shuttle. The Constabulary had threatened the Clan homeland and they must die.

  Chapter 17

  I may have been angry but I wasn’t stupid. Or I might be, I thought, as I crawled under the shuttle. My collar scooped up snow and the cold wet mixture was forced inside my flight suit. The melting slush on my chest and upper back forced me to fight off the discomfort. In the fight, I again found the Druid mind. I calmed and was able to ignore the snow while I inspected the undercarriage.

  No rounds had hit the shuttle. But, it had been close to an explosion. Tumbling plates of alloy from a nearby exploding ship had ripped gashes in the shuttle. Although long and deep on the exterior, both slashes closed to only a meter-long narrow crack. By the time the pieces reached the interior deck plates, most of their velocity was dissipated. I could only assume the passengers had suffered exposure unless someone was standing exactly where the pieces broke through the flooring. I’d know for sure if I found blood on the inside.

  The shuttle was serviceable. I could seal off the cabin from the cockpit. Of course, I’d need to unseal it when I reached Jumbo Three. Hopefully there would be an extra vac suit stored on board.

  I crawled out from under the shuttle and bumped into a pair of boots.

  “I’m taking the shuttle to the Constabulary Escort ship,” I bellowed as I pushed to my knees. I was bent over and pulling snow from behind my neck. “Don’t even think about stopping me.”

  The owner of the boots said in a conversational manner, “We wouldn’t think of it, Lieutenant Piran. As a matter of fact, we’ve been searching for you.” Then he shouted, “Fire Dove! I believe we’ve located J-Pop.”

  I looked up at nine Strikers in full combat gear standing around me. The tenth, Sergeant Iñaki Uxue, came jogging up from the direction of the communications center.

  “We were listening to the com feed in our quarters when the first missile hit,” Fire Dove explained. “I started strapping on my armor and weapons. The other instructors asked why. They pointed out there was no way to get into the fight. I pointed out that Senior Lieutenant Piran was on post. If there was a fight in progress, J-Pop would be heading towards it.”

  “The cabin isn’t air tight,” I reported as I stood. “It’ll be too cold even if you had enough rebreathers. Besides, there’s a chance I’ll be killed before reaching the Escort ship.”

  “Pay up, Rhubarb-Pie,” Fire Dove said to a huge Striker standing on his right.

  The Striker reached into a pocket on his combat vest and pulled out a fist full of Pesetas. He handed them to Fire Dove.

  “He didn’t believe me,” Fire Dove stated as he shoved the bills into his vest pocket. “We’re all going after that Escort ship. Alright people, let’s mount up. J-Pop, you fly, let us worry about sealing the breach. We brought plenty of air curtain and duct tape.”

  ***

  The shuttle lifted as it eased forward. The cold heavy air gave gravity a slight advantage and forced the oversized ion cannons to work harder. But the shuttle’s designers had allowed for planet side duty and the cannons won.

  I nosed up sharply and adjusted the angle for a rapid exit from the atmosphere. Once the air thinned, I reduced power to the lifting cannons and fired up the smaller thrusting cannons.

  “Do the Marines know you’re flying through their free-fire-zone,” Fire Dove inquired.

  “Striker Shuttle to Galactic Council Marine Corps defensive net,” I radioed. “Be advised a single shuttle is passing down range.”

  “We are aware of you Striker Shuttle. Striker Training Com has alerted us,” a voice responded. “Get some for us, Sir.”

  I twisted my head around the seat’s back and glared at Sergeant Uxue.

  “You told Communications we were going,” I stated. “Before even speaking with me.”

  “I teach the leadership course,” he replied. “Every good Striker Team Leader must know their peoples’ skills and weaknesses. And, they must anticipate a successful conclusion for all challenges.”

  “What’s my weakness?” I asked.

  Fire Dove didn’t say anything. He simply pointed at the forward view ports indicating where the shuttle was headed. I turned back to the controls as we prepared to leave the stratosphere.

  ***

  Once at altitude, I triggered a scan. Jumbo Three popped on the screen for two seconds before vanishing behind planet Uno. Based on the little information I collected with the scan and the impact strikes on the ground, I assumed the Constabulary Escort was in a high elliptical orbit.

  The elliptical track made sense for the warship. On the long outgoing and returning legs, the sides and face of Uno would be observable. Missiles fired from most of the planet’s surface were visible giving the Escort plenty of time to track and eliminate the threats.

  I swung the shuttle towards the southern hemisphere. My vessel couldn’t catch the warship on internal drive. It could, however, get a line on him if I circled around the opposite side of the planet. As we came around, I triggered another scan.

  The Escort streamed steadily on the outbound leg of its orbit. Using simple geometry, I adjusted for an intercept. The angle and position were basic, but the math for the short external evolution was anything but elementary.

  “Fire Dove. Strap everyone down,” I said to the Striker. “It’s going to be tight.”

  “Just like old times,” he responded before shouting to the others. “Crash protocol, buckle up, helmets on. When J-Pop says tight, he usually means paint scraping and alloy bending mayhem.”

  “It’s a shuttle,” someone called from the back. “How bad can it be?”

  “Did you not see Rhubarb-Pie pay up?” Fire Dove asked. “I’ve watched Lieutenant Piran trash three Constabulary Fighters with a Gunship. Of course, almost everyone in
the cabin puked during the dogfight. Now, care to put some Pesetas on who barfs first?”

  “No Fire Dove. I’m strapping in,” the same Striker informed him.

  “Lieutenant Piran, your Strikers are secure,” Sergeant Uxue announced.

  “Standby for an exterior evolution,” I warned. “And, an interior evolution before you can say Marine Corps, Ooh-Rah.”

  I checked my math and adjusted the nose of the shuttle to cut diagonally across the Escort’s track. If I ran the equations correctly, we’d intercept with the warship. If I was off by a second or two, the shuttle would crash through the Escort. Which might be alright with Navy Command as the Constabulary ship would be disabled. Mission accomplished, posthumous medals for the Strikers and, one math deficient Senior Lieutenant.

  With the altitude and attitude set, I ran up the internal drive and focused on the clocks and the power levels. When they balanced, a mushroom of yellow ions formed before collapsing to encase the shuttle.

  ***

  Three and a half seconds later, I dropped power to the exterior drive. The interior drive, which I hadn’t reduced, continued running in the red. I’d apologize to the ion technicians later. If there was a later.

  The view screen cleared and we were close to the Escort. Near enough for the warship to lob two rockets at the shuttle.

  “Impact, impact,” I shouted as I rolled the shuttle and nosed it on a course angling away from the Escort.

  The rockets sped by without exploding. I did wonder if the paint on the aft of the shuttle was blistered from their exhaust.

  Unfortunately, my evasive maneuver put distance between the shuttle and the warship. I turned us back on course thinking if I was on the Escort, I’d take advantage of the distance to vector in three rockets. There were no elusive schemes or pilot tricks taught in Navy flight school for avoiding three converging rockets.

  “Fire Dove, apologizes to you and your Strikers,” I said as rocket pod lids lifted and compressed air drifted out like smoke against the skin of the Escort.