Ghost Company

by Richard Turner

  “Clear as glass, sir,” replied Michael.

  Admiral Sheridan said, “As you’re probably going to need the use of your transport ship, I’ve personally assigned Captains Pheto and Sullivan to you. I know they expected to return to their old unit, but it’s being disbanded. This move will at least keep them in the fight.”

  “Sir, you’re not expecting me to break the news to them, are you?”

  The elder Sheridan smiled. “Welcome to command. They’re your people now, Major.”

  Michael’s jaw dropped. He hadn’t been expecting to be promoted.

  Killam handed the admiral a box with two golden oak leaves in it.

  “Here, let me take these bars off you,” said Cole as he stood to remove his friend’s old rank.

  “Dad, I don’t know what to say,” stammered Michael.

  “You can say thank you,’” replied the admiral.

  “Thanks, sir.”

  “You’re young, but not the youngest major in the task force. Captain Killam told me just before we landed that there are five majors younger than you spread out between the Army and Marine regiments under my command.”

  Cole shook Michael’s hand. “Congrats, Major.”

  “I’m not done,” said the admiral. “As I know you two won’t accept any honors for your service, I have decided to make Master Sergeant Cole a first sergeant.”

  Cole went to raise a hand to object. The admiral cut him off. “You two get a lot of leeway out of me, but refusing a promotion or appointment is not one of them, First Sergeant.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Cole, lowering his hand.

  Killam gave Michael the box containing Cole’s new rank for him to pin on his uniform.

  “Well, it’s been a pleasant visit,” said Robert Sheridan. “But as we have work to do, Captain Killam and I must get going. Please pass along my compliments to the kitchen staff for this fine meal.”

  “Will do, sir,” replied Michael.

  Killam said, “Major, one last thing. There’s going to be a staff brief two days from now on board the Intrepid. I’d like you and First Sergeant Cole to join us.”

  Michael nodded. “We’ll be there, sir.”

  Admiral Sheridan shook his son’s hand, turned about, and walked out of the tent surrounded by his security people.

  Cole grinned at Sheridan. “Well, Major, I guess you’re going to have to tell your better half that she and Captain Sullivan aren’t going back to their old unit and they’re working for you now.”

  “Couldn’t you do it for me? Tell her I’m sick or something.”

  “Oh, no way. I’m going with you. I can’t wait to see her blow her top and try to kill you.”

  Sheridan shook his head. “I thought it was your job to watch my back and keep me out of trouble.”

  “Yeah, but this will make up for you running out on me when I really got sick.” Cole held open the door. “Come on, Major. Buck up and do your job.”

  “You’re a masochist. You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  Cole chuckled. “You have no idea.”

  The sun was already high in the sky, scorching the dry, rocky ground, when a shuttle began its descent onto the camp’s landing pad. Sheridan and Cole were just coming back from a forced march in the desert with Komada’s people when they spotted the ship.

  “Staff Sergeant Celms, please greet our new arrivals and shepherd them to the mess tent where First Sergeant Cole and I will meet them after PT,” said Sheridan.

  Celms waved his acknowledgment and ran toward the shuttlecraft.

  The dusty, sweat-covered column of soldiers wound their way inside the camp and dropped their heavy packs on the ground. A couple of the newer defectors went for their canteens.

  “You drink when the officer says so,” yelled out Cole. His Kurgan was a bit rough, but the soldiers got the message and stopped what they were doing.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Sheridan saw Komada glaring at the inexperienced soldiers. He had no doubt that sterner language was going to be used when he and Cole were out of sight. After the cool down, the soldiers were dismissed. Komada led them behind their barracks for their morning prayers and a stern talking to while Sheridan and Cole strolled to the mess tent to meet the volunteers.

  The air was slightly cooler inside the mess tent. The two friends grabbed a couple of glasses of cold water before walking over to a table with five people sitting at it. One wore the uniform of a fleet crewman; the remainder were a mix of Army and Marine second lieutenants.

  “On your feet, people,” said Cole. “Show some respect.”

  The new officers rushed to their feet.

  “Good morning. My name is Major Michael Sheridan and this grumpy fellow is First Sergeant Cole,” said Sheridan. He took a seat at the table. “Please sit down.”

  Everyone joined him.

  Sheridan drank back his water in one gulp. “Now before we begin, I’d like to know what you were told about this new assignment.”

  “Sir, I was told to report here because I have a working knowledge of the Kurgan language,” replied the crewman. She was slender with short blonde hair and blue eyes. To Sheridan, she looked to be no more than nineteen years old.

  “What’s your name, Crewman?”

  She blushed. “Sorry, sir. My name is Crewman Melissa Jones. I am an intelligence analyst.”

  “That would explain why you know Kurgan,” said Cole.

  “And the rest of you?” asked Sheridan.

  “Sir, I am Second Lieutenant Benjamin Lowassa, and I majored in Kurgan at the academy,” said a young black man.

  “What is your military occupation specialty?”

  “Sir, I am an infantry officer. I was on my way to the One Hundred and Fiftieth Regiment when I was told of my new assignment.”

  “How long have you been out of the academy, sir?” asked Cole.

  “Less than a month, First Sergeant,” replied Lowassa. “It’s the same for all of us. We graduated together.”

  “Okay, for the rest of you, tell me your name and your specialty,” said Sheridan.

  A redheaded woman said, “Second Lieutenant Kathleen Robinson, combat engineer.”

  “Sir, Second Lieutenant James Morgan,” said a man with short black hair and broad shoulders. “I’m also an infantry officer.”

  The last person to speak was an Asian woman with eyes so dark they looked black. “Second Lieutenant Masami Kadina. I am a fire support coordination officer.”

  “Are you also trained in aerial close support and space-to-ground fire co-ord?” asked Sheridan.

  “Yes, sir. It’s mandatory training now for my specialty.”

  “That’s good news, because I can assure you it wasn’t like that when this war started.” Sheridan stood. “Okay, people, I’m not one for speeches so listen up. What your individual assignments will be is still to be determined. Rest assured; by the end of the day it will all become clear to you. Until then, Staff Sergeant Celms will look after you and help you get settled. Are there any questions?”

  Jones raised her hand.

  “Yes, Miss Jones.”

  “Sir, before coming in here, I heard you speaking Kurgan to those soldiers. Are we here to help train people to act like Kurgan soldiers?”

  Sheridan smiled. “No. Those are Kurgan soldiers. Welcome to the camp that doesn’t exist.”

  After a quick shower and a bite to eat, Sheridan and Cole sat down in their tent to discuss the way ahead.

  “Sir, Miss Jones is an analyst and our only non-commissioned officer so far,” said Cole. “She doesn’t have the training nor the rank to train up a platoon of Chosen soldiers.”

  “I agree,” replied Sheridan. “I’d still like to keep her to work as a member of the company headquarters. I have a call scheduled with Captain Killam at noon today. I’m going to ask him to promote her to second lieutenant.”

  “She’s fleet, sir. Don’t you mean Ensign?”

  “You know what I meant to say.”


  “Sir, I think it would be advisable to also ask him for a dozen NCOs. It doesn’t matter if they can speak Kurgan. We can spread Komada’s English-speaking soldiers among the newer Chosen deserters to help translate what is being said. If we want these people to learn to think for themselves, they’re going to need to see what a well-trained sergeant can do when his officer isn’t present to give orders.”

  Sheridan smiled. “Now that would be a refreshing.”

  Cole feigned being insulted. “Ha-ha, sir.”

  “Just kidding. I’d be dead ten times over without you.”

  “Sir, I think it’s time Komada quit his sermons and earned his pay.”

  “How so?”

  “There’s enough Chosen soldiers here to form four platoons and a headquarters. I say we give that task to Komada. He can decide who goes where as long as he spreads out his English speakers. We might as well let him decide on his squad leaders as well.”

  Sheridan nodded. “We’ll give him until supper time to reorganize his people and then assign an officer to each one of the platoons. I doubt we’ll get the NCOs to help us before tomorrow morning, but at least we’ll have a start state.”

  “Sir, we’ve got to come up with a name for our outfit, and we’ve also got to stop calling Komada’s people Chosen. It’s getting confusing.”

  “He’ll never stop referring to himself or the others as Chosen citizens of the Kurgan Empire. He, nor the people with him, will ever swear allegiance to the Terran Federation. They’re still Kurgans, no matter what we call them.”

  “You’re the one with a degree in history and Kurgan studies, there has to be something we could call them without getting Komada’s back up.”

  Sheridan drummed his fingers on the table for a few seconds before saying, “Since we don’t exist, we’ll call ourselves the Ghost Company. As for the Chosen, since they’re not Marines I say we simply refer to them as soldiers from now on.”

  “Works for me.”

  “Come on, let’s fill Komada in on what we’ve decided and tell him he has until sixteen-hundred hours to organize his people into a something resembling a rifle company.”

  24

  “I’ve never seen so much security for a briefing before,” said Cole as he took a seat next to Sheridan in the back of the flight hangar. “There must be at least a battalion of MPs and special ops personnel guarding the hallways.”

  “Whatever my father was alluding to must be big,” said Sheridan. “We’ve never attended a mission brief in a hangar before. Just look around, there are enough admirals, generals, and senior enlisted personnel here to outfit a regiment.”

  Cole nudged Sheridan in the ribs. “So, how is Miss Pheto taking the news about her reassignment?”

  “At first, to say she was pissed would be putting it mildly. But after she spoke with some of her old friends, she quickly changed her tune. It would appear that her former squadron is being disbanded in the next couple of days and its people scattered across the fleet. She’s happy to still have a decent job and one which keeps Wendy by her side.”

  The noise in the hangar of a thousand voices began to die down as people took their seats. Captain Killam walked in and stood behind a lectern facing the crowd. He turned on a mic and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, Admiral Sheridan.”

  Everyone stood and quietly waited for Robert Sheridan to replace Killam at the lectern. “Please take your seats,” said the admiral.

  The light in the hangar dimmed. A holographic image of the Kurgan border appeared in the air above the crowd of senior officers.

  “Folks, the time has come for us to go on the offensive,” announced Admiral Sheridan. “The federation president has given the armed forces its marching orders to bring this bloody and destructive war to a close, and we will be leading the charge into Kurgan space. Over the next six weeks, the Sixth Combined Task Force is going to be substantially augmented by ships and units from the other commands in the fleet. When we begin Operation Olympic, I will have under my command well over three hundred fighting ships, to include three supercarrier and eleven escort carrier battle groups. Additionally, two Army groups will be formed around the existing Army and Marine divisions in the task force. In total, just over one million people will be participating in this operation.”

  A loud murmur ran through the crowd.

  “Captain Killam will continue with the technical portion of this briefing.”

  “Thank you, sir,” said Killam, replacing the admiral behind the lectern. A new image appeared. This time, it was of a star system deep inside Kurgan space. “Ladies and gentlemen, the picture you are looking at is of the Kallen solar system, and it has been selected as our objective. There are five planets in the system, two of which are gas giants. The three other planets are rich in resources. Kal-3 alone provides the Kurgan Empire with almost fifteen percent of its perlinium ore. The loss of these planets will cripple the Kurgan armed forces and should force the Kurgan High Council to sue for peace. Our mission will be to seize the three resource planets and hold them against any and all Kurgan countermoves.”

  “What is the estimated strength of the Kurgan armed forces in that star system?” asked General Denisov, the overall ground force commander. His Russian accent came on strong.

  “Sir, we will outnumber the Kurgans by five-to-one in ships and four-to-one in ground forces. It is our intention to rapidly defeat the Kurgan forces so we can prepare ourselves for the inevitable counterattack by the Kurgans to retake those planets.”

  “When does this operation begin?” asked Denisov.

  “Six weeks from today.”

  “That’s not possible,” blurted out a white-haired admiral.

  “It is and we’re going to make it happen,” said Admiral Sheridan, ending the discussion. He stood and looked out into the faces of the men and women under his command. “The staff under Captain Killam’s guidance are still going through the orders given to me by Admiral Oshiro. A formal warning order will be issued to you no later than noon tomorrow. Orders will follow three days later, which will leave you plenty of time to conduct your own mission analysis, prep your orders, and conduct rehearsals.”

  “Sir, the Kurgans aren’t fools. They’ll see something is up when the reinforcements start to arrive in our sector,” said a Marine general.

  “They won’t be joining us here in the Illum star system,” replied Admiral Sheridan. “Captain Killam is coordinating with Fleet Headquarters back on Earth just how and when our additional forces will join us. The plan we’ll probably go with will see the Fourth Fleet receiving the bulk of our reinforcements. This will draw the enemy’s attention their way, not ours. When we are ready to commence Operation Olympic, those forces will be cut to us.”

  “Sir, it’ll be difficult to conduct mission rehearsals with our forces split between two fleets,” said Denisov.

  “It can’t be helped. All of your higher level rehearsals will have to be done as computer assisted wargames. As all of you are aware, the Kurgans have agents spread throughout the fleet. Secrecy and vigilance are the keys to this operation. Only those that need to know should be told what our objectives are. If the enemy discovers what we’re up to they could rush reinforcements to the Kallen system, and we’d be in for the fight of our lives deep inside Kurgan space.”

  Killam took a step forward. “Recently, Colonel Wright, the former CO of the First Special Warfare Squadron, was on a secret mission inside Kurgan territory and was able to record the signature pattern of what could only be Kurgan jamming of our surveillance and satellite systems. That is how they were able to nearly cripple our forces with their surprise attack. Now that we know what we’re looking for, we’ll be able to avoid being jammed and made blind when we deploy into their territory.”

  In the back of the room, Cole leaned over and whispered, “Ten to one, we’re going in ahead of everyone else with no support or chance of relief until the rest of the Task Force arrives.”

  “We don’t know t
hat,” replied Michael Sheridan. “You always become pessimistic when we attend these briefs.”

  “Sir, even after they promoted you, you still don’t think you and I are expendable. Killam won’t hesitate to use us to achieve his mission objectives. Your father may be in charge of everything, but has never made sure you were safely out of harm’s way when the shooting began.”

  A colonel with a sour look on his face turned about in his seat and shushed the two Marines. Cole waited until the man wasn’t looking before giving him a two fingered salute. Sheridan had to stifle a laugh that would have drawn even more scorn from the senior officer.

  The lights in the hangar were switched back on.

  “I need not remind you this briefing is classified and should not be discussed outside of this room until the warning order is issued,” stressed Admiral Sheridan. “Even then it is strictly on a need-to-know basis.”

  Everyone stood as Admiral Sheridan walked out of the hangar accompanied by his close protection team. The instant the door slid closed behind him a raucous discussion broke out among the task force’s senior personnel.

  “Major Sheridan . . . Major Sheridan, please stay where you are,” called out a woman with a strong West African accent.

  Sheridan turned his head to see who was calling out to him. A second later, a slim, black woman in a Marine Corps uniform slid between two Army colonels and waved at Sheridan. He smiled and waved back. It was Major Onaedo. He was taken aback when he saw her using a cane to walk.

  “Congrats on your promotion, Major,” said Onaedo.

  Sheridan shook her outstretched hand. “Thanks. Please call me Michael or Mike. It’s your call.”

  “Okay then, Mike. You can call me Sarran.”

  “Good day, ma’am,” said Cole, shaking Onaedo’s hand.