MissionSRX: Ephemeral Solace

by Matthew D. White

  Grant led the way back up the winding walkway encircling the facility.

  “What did you find?” one of the miners enquired.

  “Alien base,” Grant said with authoritative precision to the point but not offering details. “The shaft dropped into a crevice that opened up to a series of squared hallways. I followed it to… shit, a gaddamn arena. Room looked like The Coliseum. The bastards had a position on me so I had to run.” RUN! He heard the word again. “I got to another hallway and followed it blindly with them behind me until I found a bigger cave and you dropped in. It was pure luck. If you had made it thirty seconds sooner, you would’ve hit me instead!”

  Scott smiled grimly behind his visor. At the very least it was a quiet affirmation of his contribution. He didn’t have a clue what the soldier had been babbling about, but something still drove him to tag along.

  23

  Fox opened his radio channel to the surface. “Major Kael, I’m not sure what you’re seeing down there but we’ve got some disturbances up here.”

  “Come again,” was the static-filled reply.

  “We’ve got some disturbances in space. They’re a way’s out but don’t get too comfortable. We might have more company incoming. All the ships are already on alert.”

  “Ha,” Kael chuckled. “These things are a freakin’ joke. Tell them to keep coming; we’ll take good care of ‘em. Just don’t let them nuke the station.”

  “Roger that. Out.” Fox turned off his mike and leaned back. Despite being put through the ringer, the ground guys always found a way to make light of terse situations. It must have been a requirement for the job.

  He stared over at the stats for his first civil transport on the ground. They had logged civilian survivors into the hundreds and casualties into the thousands. He shook his head. What a waste. What could they possibly want?

  The Aquillians were vanquished. They couldn’t hope to have a future, could they? Fox thought. But what was more troubling were the reports of strange new aliens more formidable and battle-hardened.

  Looking back at the main radar map, he watched several more perturbations flicker in and out of existence. They were halfway to the asteroid belt but even an Aquillian ship could make up the distance in little time. His thoughts immediately came to rest on his crew.

  Maybe that was the difference. The soldiers on the ground relied on each other in combat to be sure. Up here, he had the final say in every operation; one of which could end up with a hull breach and five hundred members of his command left floating home. It was a different kind of stress.

  * * *

  Major Kael watched as the group approached from the far end of the concourse. He hadn’t moved far from the south barracks. He had taken a few expeditions through the hallways to pick up survivors, but the carnage left in the alien’s wake could only be stomached for so long.

  The soldiers at the dig site had tracked a thick, grimy cow path of bloody footprints from the barracks’ doors to the airlock and the triage point. They hadn’t started on the dead yet but it would eventually need to be done and Kael wanted to put that operation off as long as he could. Maybe the Corps would consider pushing it a klick south and installing a new pod.

  “You took your sweet time getting back. Did you lose anyone?”

  “No.”

  “No.”

  Grant and the squad sergeant both radioed back the same response simultaneously.

  The sergeant kept talking. “There were twenty waiting on the other side of the wall. We got the drop on them, and then Private Grant took out five more down in the mine. You won’t believe what he found.”

  Kael retracted his visor once the group was close enough to speak face-to-face. “Do tell.”

  “Old tunnels, wrecks, corpses,” Grant said. “The remains of an alien base. It must be hundreds of years old.”

  “Does it pose a threat to us?” Kael pressed.

  “I can’t say for sure but I don’t think it’ll break us. I don’t know what they were looking for but they didn’t find much so far. It didn’t give them a tactical advantage. Nothing there looked operational.”

  “Well, that’s not the worst news I’ve heard today,” Kael replied. “I think this can transition to recovery before too long. We haven’t encountered any more resistance up here and we’ve uncovered a few groups of survivors.”

  “Actually, sir, there’s something else I’d like to discuss with you,” Grant added.

  The major looked back. “What’s that?”

  “I need to get back to Earth. I need the battleship to get there.”

  “Off the table; we don’t have the authorization. Why do you need to get there now?”

  Grant took a deep breath. “They’re in danger. So are we. They’ll need our help.”

  Kael’s brow furrowed. “How do you figure? We’ve received no distress calls from Corps Headquarters.”

  “What have you received?” Grant asked, standing his ground.

  The major turned away and spoke into his radio. “Commander, what was the last transmission from USC/HQ?” He waited for a reply, and then turned back. “The only one was the attack authorization when we reached orbit.”

  “They’re jamming us out,” Grant said in explanation. “The deployed forces in Sol Bravo are a week away at best. Think about it, sir. The most capable quick reaction force just got pulled to Mars. It would explain the random attack.”

  “Or maybe they’re trying to learn our capabilities,” Kael said. “Judging by this cluster, I think they learned their lesson.”

  “Trust me; it’s worse than you think,” he stated again. “I need a ship. I’ll take the colonists back and whatever forces you can spare. You said it yourself; you’re only doing clean up here. I’ll get these guys medical treatment, and if you still need help, we can be back in a day. You can have the gunboats and support ships launch for ground protection until we return.”

  The soldier wasn’t much for negotiating without threatening, but Kael saw his logic. He keyed the radio again. “Commander, I need you to land a shuttle on the west platform and take a load of passengers back to Earth. Launch your support ships for over-watch.” He paused. “No, there’s no authorization but I don’t care. I don’t like being out of contact for this long.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Grant replied, his statement taking on a sarcastic tone at the end.

  Mason approached from the landing bay. “I didn’t just hear what I thought I heard, did I?”

  “Yes. You’re going, too. Take third and fourth companies with you.”

  “You can’t be serious. How is this in any way legal?” the sergeant asked, showing signs of irritation. There was nothing in their mission briefing describing an extra jump to Earth. Any experienced soldier could tell it was a reckless maneuver that put them all at risk. That a veteran ground force commander went along with it was even more disconcerting.

  “Hey, I just saved you guys from walking into a meat grinder! How about you give me a little consideration?” Grant said, his voice raising a few decibels.

  “I am. And you’re out of your gaddamn mind!”

  “Enough!” Kael shouted, silencing the rest of the group. “We’re out of contact from command. Commander Fox and I have the authority to act in their stead. As Private Grant pointed out, I see a legitimate concern.” He pointed to Grant and said, “You’re clear to go.” To Mason he said, “Take two companies and escort him.” He turned again to the crowd of colonists that had taken up arms. “You’ll go along with him. Get cleared by Fleet Medicine and if you’re found fit for duty you have my authorization to return to the fight should you so choose.”

  Grant turned back to the colonists. “I’ll meet you at the shuttle in the air. First, I need to get back to my ship. I’ll come in to dock once we’re clear of the planet.” He left without another word.

  Kael looked back at Mason once Grant was out of earshot. “Something happened down in the mine. He completely changed.”

>   “He looked like he saw a ghost,” Othello said, speaking up. “I pulled him out of a borehole and he was nearly in shock.”

  “You still don’t think this is a mistake?”

  * * *

  The briefing room’s audience stood and came to attention as Lieutenant Commander Fox closed out the planning session. There was no griping or complaining, and he didn’t let them catch a hint of his unease.

  Every officer there led a highly capable team of crew members well suited for the mission. The gunboats were capable of making long strikes by themselves so a day to a week spent doing orbits above Mars would be a walk in the park. Hopefully, they wouldn’t get too bored.

  The captains filed out of the room, around the horseshoe conference table, and back through the double-walled doors. White lights illuminated the space uniformly from arrays built into the ceiling but it didn’t completely mask the evolutionary past of a naval vessel.

  Every wall was covered with metal service panels with strips of sound-absorbing foam intermixed with wiring diagrams, location codes, and general warnings. The flooring was built from textured metal tiles a meter square that were set with bolts to the frame above the subfloor. Every chair was attached to the frame in a similar manner.

  The holographic map in the middle of the table showed the base on Mars about the size of a fist and still animated ships gliding gracefully in orbits above. As power was cut, it disintegrated into a blank, smooth tabletop.

  The superintendent held back while the rest filtered away.

  “Master Sergeant Miller, do you need something?”

  The veteran noncommissioned officer looked over his manifest one more time. “Sir, a shuttle and a few hundred passengers are easy enough to take. Hell, we’re able to carry forty times that many.”

  “Easy enough.”

  “But what about the other ship? They requested docking for a fighter double the mass of an SR-1. No armaments or HAZMAT declared.”

  “We carry SR fighters all the time.”

  “Where did this one come from?”

  Fox sighed. “The guy who requested the mission, he’s the one you need to ask. I want to say it’s a next-gen prototype but I don’t know much more.”

  “I’ve never heard of one-off units getting sent into the field like this,” Miller said, probing again.

  “I don’t think you need to worry about it. He flew it on the way out here and did pretty well; took out a couple dropships on his own. We just need to get it on board and strapped down. We shouldn’t need to do any other maintenance. The ground crews at home can take care of that.”

  “Roger that.” The sergeant didn’t press the issue any further. “I’ll make it happen,” he said and took his leave.

  * * *

  The guy who requested the mission. Fox thought, wondering about the name. He had heard it before, but where? It couldn’t have been during the last campaign, could it?

  Fox considered the operation in silence for a few more moments before touching the communicator button on the table connecting him to the bridge. “Have we got a response from Command yet?”

  The executive officer quickly responded, “No, sir. We’ve sent hails every five minutes but we’ve got nothing back.”

  An uneasy calm came over him. Before he concerned himself anymore, Fox reflected on his situation. He had the command of one of the most powerful ships in the species’ fleet. He could have just as soon pulverized half the Martian surface as launch an invasion. The Aquillians were vanquished. If a couple stragglers pulled off shit like this for the next few years, it’d only be postponing the inevitable.

  The entire experience almost made him laugh. It almost seemed unbelievable that he was commanding such power. Opportunities didn’t come the way of no-name cadets from deep in flyover country. And yet, here he was.

  It was a high honor, but more than anything else, he was proud of the people who he served with and the ones who made it all possible. They made the ship run, and it was up to him to get the operation done. Fly, fight, and Win. He thought and pulled at the straps tightening his light armor vest. It was time to get back to work. It was time to find out what Mr. Grant was up to.

  24

  Scott was wrapped up in the whirlwind of excitement surrounding the day and gave no serious consideration to his safety until he stepped out of the enclosed landing bay. Stopping short, he gazed up at the sleek ship perched on the platform before him. It was the same model where he had been left for dead only a day prior. The sun was low on the horizon, casting a red, sinister glare across its skin.

  The irony gods must have found it hilarious. His compatriots didn’t share his reservations and walked around him to climb on board. It was more labor intensive than the infantry leader had made it seem. With dozens of wounded soldiers and civilians taking up the bay, they couldn’t land the ship inside and cycle the atmosphere. Instead, they passed through the airlock beside the bay doors five at a time and passed likewise into the ship.

  A few of the injured came aboard as well; at least the ones who could get into a space suit did. It was an interesting problem. More likely than not, severe injuries sustained by the soldiers made them immobile or at least unable to cross a vacuum to a waiting ship. Anyone wounded on a vessel under way had the benefit of an entire trauma ward.

  As he understood it, the suits were self-repairing against small tears and combat damage. Any type of puncture would disrupt the inner membrane, cause it to leak, and render it sealed. When he thought of it that way, it almost seemed as if they’d have a better chance of survival if they didn’t receive first aid on site and instead waited to be transported. One way or another, the problem deserved more attention.

  He let the issue tumble about in his head a while longer as he passed through the lock into the shuttle’s passenger cabin. Very similar to the one he ditched. The only differences were in the accessories. Being a Space Corps ship, weapon lockers and armor cabinets were installed on all the aft walls. The heavily padded passenger chairs had been replaced by palletized egg carton seating.

  Scott didn’t like his odds but lucked out with a seat on the end of a row with a clear line of sight to some side windows. The little bit of reddish-yellow light was better than nothing and helped him retain a sense of movement.

  The rest of the soldiers entered towards the end and filled in the remaining empty seats. Once they doffed their helmets, Scott could see the price of their victory. Every face was creased and smeared with sweat and grime. Eyes were bloodshot. Some of their hands still shook. Do I really think I can stand with these guys? The humbled engineer asked himself over and over.

  * * *

  Grant double checked the pressure to his suit before he cycled the northern airlock. The surface was nearly dark outside, and he checked each corner for alien surprises before he took a step forward. All clear. Grant worked his way along the cylindrical wall before striking out straight to where he had left his fighter the previous day.

  No lights from either the dig or the runway made it all the way to his position, so without his helmet he would have found himself running blind. The fighter was as he had left it and looked no worse for the light dusting of Martian soil now coating its exterior.

  Grant rode the access ladder to the fuselage, clamped his rifle down in the rack beside his seat and attached himself to the various tubes and cables inside. The glass above his head sealed with a hiss and the engines flared to life.

  Grant increased the power and pushed the ship effortlessly into the air. Through the radio, he could hear the shuttle operators going through their checks before liftoff. As the escort, he took his craft on a long, low orbit around the canyon looking for any surviving threats. All that showed on his scanner were the embers of the still burning wrecks he had taken out on the way in.

  His airspace was clear, so Grant increased altitude as the shuttle took off and rocketed straight up through the wisp of an atmosphere. The horizon quickly took on the curvature of the
planet as the ship neared low orbit. Pivoting his craft to an angle, Grant could just barely make out the scarred, barren landscape far below now bathed in shadows.

  He didn’t like having left half the force there but he knew better than to press his luck. The major was skilled in warfare, as were his forces, and Grant trusted their judgment. Plus, most of the fighting was over and done with. The only job they had left was policing the bodies.

  Far off in the distance, Grant caught the first glint of light reflected from their battleship. It quickly spawned on his radar display along with a number of smaller accompanying fighters and gunboats.

  The scattering ships passed by the shuttle and its solitary escort, likely not seeing either one, and made for their positions around the secured colony. Before him, Grant watched as the battleship grew in size to fill his entire view.

  A hundred deck guns jutted out at every possible angle of attack around the ship’s body while the leading docking bay opened to allow them to enter. There were numerous bays on the battleships, but rather than being carved through the center they were inset in what appeared to be shallow slits along the outer edge between the gun platforms. This made landing approaches extremely easy for smaller ships and allowed for multiple bays to be merged to service larger vessels.

  Two areas were already alight for their landings. Grant watched as the shuttle landed and was secured by the ground crew before taking his place as well. He powered down the fighter while releasing the canopy above his head.

  The pilot stood and was instantly struck by the contrast between the pair. Both the shuttle and his fighter were caked with red dust which looked completely out of place on the monochromatic deck.

  Every surface in the bay looked to be built of brushed, mirrored, diamond, stamped, or black steel, and everything was exquisitely clean. He saw no tire tracks nor oil stains; the battleship must have been out of the action for an extended period of time. The operational fleet had never been this polished while at war.