MissionSRX: Ephemeral Solace

by Matthew D. White

  * * *

  “All personnel are secured,” the command deck operator announced once both ships were in place and accounted for.

  Commander Fox breathed a sigh of relief before changing his focus to the rest of the mission. He now had forces on the surface, in the air, and was planning to leave them for Earth. Grant better have some answers, he thought.

  The door at the rear of the bridge opened and his executive officer walked in, closely followed by Grant and the platoon sergeant from the surface mission. All three saluted and the XO spoke for the group: “Captain Clark, Sergeant First Class Mason, and Private Grant reporting as ordered, sir.”

  Grant was an enigma. He wore the single stripe of a private on the sharpest flight/armor suit Fox had ever seen despite a layer of grime. On top of that, he had the favor of the force commander back on the surface. Conversely, Mason appeared as he would have expected a veteran combat soldier to look: dirty and exhausted but possessing a calm energy enough to cause enormous damage should the need arise.

  The commander returned the salute and replied with authority, “Gentlemen, welcome aboard the Flagstaff!” Looking between the two men, he continued, saying, “I know you just got here and the mission is already underway, but I think you owe me an explanation. This operation is far outside of any regulation I’ve encountered.”

  Grant nodded. “I understand, sir. It was my idea. If you can humor me, I’ll fill you in on everything I need.”

  “Please,” the commander said, gesturing, “follow me to the briefing room.”

  He led the way off the bridge.

  Grant only had a minute to process the room. The captain’s control station was at the rear-center of the room with about ten technicians operating additional workstations against the wall on either side. The rear of the room was shielded, but about two meters from the wall the ceiling gave way to a massive hemispherical plate of glass giving a view of the ship’s leading dorsal battle station and infinite space beyond. Mars gleamed red in the distance, no bigger than a marble at arm’s length.

  He followed through a heavy blast door behind the deck and down a hallway to the apparent briefing room. The room was shaped again like an elongated circle with a horseshoe conference table. The commander took his seat at the front and his XO to the right. Grant and Mason took two empty seats to the left while the superintendent sealed the door and, in like manner, took his position.

  “Now, Private Grant, please educate us.”

  “Well, Commander,” Grant began, turning his chair to face the senior officer. “The job on the surface as I’ve understood it has been completed. I don’t think anyone has a perfect explanation as to the Aquillian’s presence on Mars, but in any case, they’re done for. I found a few things troubling. They were supported by another very advanced race that we have no record about.”

  Mason nodded. “That’s correct; we lost a few soldiers to them. I’ve never seen an alien fight as hard as they did.”

  “I believe it is part of the contingent that got the drop on our weapon shipment back home. On top of that,” Grant said, “we’ve had zero contact from Earth since we arrived. I don’t think it’s completely indicative of a problem, but regardless it is worthy of investigation.” The commander nodded slightly but didn’t move. “If I’m wrong, we can turn around and finish the op. I won’t stop you.”

  “I don’t think you’re in a position to demand anything but we can support you,” he said, turning to the others. “Clark, prep for the jump. I want all forces ready for assault one hour before arrival. I’ll make the final call.”

  The XO nodded. “It will be done.”

  Fox continued. “The rest of you are dismissed. I’d like to talk to Private Grant alone.”

  They two men waited in silence while the rest of the audience left, and then the commander leaned forward.

  “You don’t remember me?”

  Grant shook his head. “Should I?”

  “You were given command of the Crimson Elite during the First War, weren’t you?”

  Grant nodded.

  “Well, Commander Prime, you should remember me.”

  Grant laughed, and then turned his face serious. “Of course I do. Lieutenant Commander Fox, Gordon Troy. Assault pilot for First Recon. Forty-nine air-to-air kills and a commission as frigate captain. Two campaign commendations and a Spacefarer’s Cross with Valor Device as of a year ago February. I remember you perfectly; I asked you to join me. Remember, I have a photographic memory.”

  Fox crossed his arms. “I thought you were a psychopath, looking for suicidal troops. From what matriculated I don’t think I’m too far from the mark.”

  The demoted senior officer shook his head. “Believe what you want. I got the job done. Earth would be missing a few more cities if we didn’t get there.”

  “Regardless, you’re not winning friends here. What did you see in the mine?” he said, switching conversations on a dime.

  Grant knew there were times he could keep things to himself. This wasn’t one of those. The commander most likely had more than enough dirt on him already. “A vision.”

  “A vision of what?”

  “The next war.” He said, his voice trailing off. “I worked with some signals analysts back on Earth. They were looking at an electrical burst during the last Strike. It matched one they saw when our convoy was attacked. It was a beacon to the new aliens we saw today. This is all part of a larger, coordinated attack.” Grant paused to collect his thoughts and choose his words. “We trailed them into the mine, and I found the remains of an old alien installation. I’d hate to bet on it, but I’d say it was one of theirs.”

  The Commander Prime might be insane, but he hadn’t yet been proven wrong about anything. “You have a bigger plan, yes? How do you see this unfolding?”

  “I was told to run and that is what I will do. I want the clearance and orders from Space Corps Command to leave the system.”

  There was no denying the soldier’s audacity. “You’re really telling this to the commander of the ship you plan to mutiny?!” Fox roared.

  “I know; I know. If our positions were reversed, I’d call me crazy, too, but I believe you’ll see for yourself that this is the only way.”

  “The only way, huh?” Fox asked, gritting his teeth and leaning back in his chair. “How do you figure?”

  “I can’t say exactly, but I’ve seen it happen. This is going to be far worse than anything we’ve faced before.” As he got no response, visual or audible, Grant continued, “How much of the fleet is still deployed to Bravo and Charlie?”

  Fox debated internally before speaking, knowing he’d be proving the soldier’s point. “Almost ninety percent.”

  “It’s the perfect time. What’s left to stop them? Bravo is a week away. Charlie is beyond that. We’ve been out of contact for two days.”

  “Commander, you’re needed on the bridge.” Captain Clark’s voice cut through the room. He sounded strangely concerned.

  “On my way,” Fox replied and stood. “Well, I hope you’re wrong and this goat rodeo isn’t a colossal mistake.”

  The pair left the room and made straight for the command deck. Clark spotted them before they got through the door. “Major Kael is on the line from the surface.”

  “Put him through,” the commander said. “This is Fox.”

  “Sir, it’s Kael. We just found a pocket of at least forty aliens barricaded in the south dig under the labs. We didn’t know they were there until we breached the door. I don’t know how long we’re going to be able to hold them off!” As his voice trailed off, the crack of gunfire echoed in the background.

  Fox spun back around instantly meeting Grant with a steel gaze, both understanding the gravity of the situation.

  “You can’t go back there,” Grant stated with machine-like precision.

  “Bullshit! You’re not about to tell me what to do on my own damn ship!” Fox shouted. “You’ve got no say on this bridge! My responsibility i
s to him, not you!” he said, gesturing to the red marble off in the distance through the screen.

  “Don’t do it,” Grant countered. “It’s a diversion and the last mistake you’ll ever make!”

  Fox balled his sweating fists and turned to the radio. “Major, I need an honest assessment; can you hold on without us?”

  The line filled with static for several seconds. “Not sure. If they don’t try and assault us with everything they’ve got, probably a while longer. Look, you need to go. We’ll keep them in the lab until you can get back.”

  The commander shook his head. “I can’t leave you like this.”

  “Yes, you can!” Kael said. “We’ve been through worse. Get the job done. We’ll be waiting for you.”

  The communication channel closed. Fox looked across the faces waiting for his direction. He addressed Grant once more: “Since you’re the expert, can we risk dropping crisis teams from the gunboats?”

  Soldiers were stationed to every ship by regulation in case of attack by hostile boarding parties. The aptly-named crisis teams were usually only called on in emergencies, leading to most describing the assignment as ninety-nine percent boredom, one percent pure terror.

  “You risk the entire ship to drop the team, but that’s where the action is,” Grant suggested. “They’re your people; it’s your call.”

  Heavy weighed the rank on Fox’s shoulders. He turned to the communications officer. “Have half the boats drop their teams. Have them cycle as needed.” To the pilot, he said, “Set our course for Earth.”

  Grant nodded. “Thank you for making the right decision.”

  “Don’t make me regret it.”

  25

  This ship is way too big, Scott thought as he followed the other survivors off the battleship’s landing deck. The launch from the surface was far from restful and the engineer was fading fast.

  It was strange. He had spent how many dozens of hours racing around the surface at full power, but now a five minute walk was enough to shut him down. His body ached. The armor weighed heavy on his shoulders, waist, and legs. The metal floor looked so comfortable.

  The deck officer ahead of the group opened two sets of double doors. “Here’s the visitor’s quarters. Showers are at the end; mess is across the hallway.”

  Scott looked around as he stumbled over the threshold. Two rows of bunk beds lined the sides of the long room with small desks between each one. Ryan metal trunks were at the foot of each one.

  “Grab a bag,” the officer said, gesturing to a stack of black duffel bags beside the door. “They’ve got your linens, towels, and flight suits. The standard size should fit most but the ludicrously obese.”

  It’ll have to wait, Scott thought as he claimed a trunk, took a seat, and tried to pry off the armor that was still securely attached to his body. The seals between each plate were surprisingly tough, given how flexible they were.

  With difficulty, he released the gloves, pulled them off, and set them aside. His brain didn’t want any more to do with fine motor coordination and he couldn’t find the other releases. Scott was frustrated and angry at himself. Combat was but a distant memory a world away and all he wanted was sleep.

  One of the miners approached and dropped a bag on an adjacent mattress. Scott recognized him but couldn’t place the name.

  “Having some trouble?”

  Scott nodded. “It’s my first time in one of these, and I’m just trying to get the damn thing off.”

  “Stand up,” the man in the orange jumpsuit ordered and stepped up in front of him. “This’ll work,” he announced and grasped a small red ring no bigger than a centimeter across protruding from the armor above Scott’s sternum. He yanked the ring straight down and every panel released simultaneously.

  The suit crumbled into its component parts in a pile around his feet.

  “Don’t worry; it’ll take a couple extra minutes to reassemble but I can help you. You look out of place.”

  The engineer nodded again. “You can say that. I just want to sleep.”

  “You and me both.” The miner chuckled. “Are you feeling alright? The doc will probably be through in a bit.”

  “I think I’m okay,” Scott replied. “Crazy how we ended up back on a ship.”

  “No kidding. The one soldier has some kind of a plan in motion. I’m not sure how much he’s thought it out, but it’s good to get all of the survivors away from the action.”

  Scott wanted to see the pieces fall into place, but at the moment he had minimal concerns. The miner turned to walk away. “Hey, thanks for the help,” he said, and the two shook hands. “Scott Ryan.”

  “Othello Harris,” the miner said. “Get some rest. I’ve gotta check on the other guys who were with me, and then I’ll probably be out, too.”

  * * *

  The silence in the concourse was deafening. Aside from wafting smoke, nothing moved and time itself seemed in suspension.

  A pair of massive doors had opened up to the south labs east of the barracks. They had no power; the doorway itself gave way to darkness but that only added to the unease.

  Two scouts had gone in first and made the discovery. They only radioed a brief message about finding dozens of waiting aliens before they were torn apart.

  Six enemy bodies were piled at the entrance from their first assault. The humans responded quickly, so they didn’t get far before the others retreated. For now they were satisfied to wait.

  Fifty meters away, Kael lay prone behind a solid blockade. He became intently aware of his own breathing as he waited for the next attack. His soldiers were spread behind a dozen or so other boxes, crates, and cover in similar fashion, except for the one a few meters to his right getting patched up by the medic.

  “When the first team gets here,” he whispered into his radio to the soldiers still in the hangar, “get them up to the command post and find us another way into the lab or this will never end.”

  Asking for help with his job was the mother of disgraces for the veteran infantry commander. Having them come uninvited was slightly better. At least he didn’t feel bad about putting them to work. After all, they hadn’t been running through the funhouse all day, and it wasn’t like he would dare to pull his men off the line.

  They had already tossed in a dozen grenades and a few hundred rounds of ammunition without anything to show for it. The barrel of Kael’s rifle was still steaming from the last firefight. Everything had fallen apart so fast.

  Kael switched his radio over to the supply sergeant who was still over in the bay. “Are there any other armaments we could use to drive them out? Anything at all?”

  “There’s not much left that you haven’t seen. Standard issue but we didn’t have much time to pack.”

  “Well, keep looking,” the major said and peered through the scope of his weapon one more time. He scanned back and forth through the doorway trying to make out anything.

  “Hold on, sir,” the voice said a minute later. “I just looked in the security station over here. It’s got riot gear.”

  “Riot gear? Any tear gas?” Kael asked and waited while the sergeant dug through the boxes on the other side of the room.

  “There’re a dozen launchers and probably a few hundred rounds. All different types.”

  It was risky and unproven but worth a shot. Anything was better than sitting there on the defensive. “Are there any Seal-X rounds?”

  “Yes. Seal-X, tear gas, flares. All of it.”

  “Can you get the guns and rounds out here to us?”

  “Sure. There are bags with the launchers. We’ll fill them up and run ‘em over.”

  “Hurry. Add a box of each ammo type to each bag. Make sure you have the mags.”

  To his knowledge, no one had ever tried to gas an Aquillian, but there was no harm in trying. Besides, the security forces wouldn’t be quelling any colonist uprisings any time soon. Sure, they’d be wearing protective suits but that’s where the other rounds came in.

>   Seal-X was one of those military compounds borne out of necessity to do terrible things, like mustard gas, napalm, and quick-clot. Similar to agents used to clear vehicles, the substance was a quick-disintegrating gas that would eat through plastic and rubber fittings to burst environmental suits but not last long enough to cause permanent facility damage.

  By Kael’s judgment, the aliens had never encountered such an attack before and would likely be overwhelmed by their suits failing. Flares – or more accurately the giant magnesium fire starters – could destroy even more of their equipment. Tear gas on the top of that would surely cause a panic.

  He waited and watched as a few of his soldiers to the side ran loads of bags and launchers to his men on the line. The sergeant dropped one beside him before dashing off to the next position.

  “Listen up,” Kael said, “load two mags. I want everyone to put two rounds each of Seal-X through the door. Follow with four flares. After that, I want a full clip of tear gas.” Lying on his stomach, the major took his own instructions and carefully loaded two magazines worth of the shot-glass-sized cartridges. “Far left and far right, once we start, circle to the doors. When I call cease-fire, lock them in.”

  The commanding officer loaded up his first magazine and cycled the leading 40mm round to the chamber. Looking up and down the line, he had thumbs-up from each armed soldier. “All ready on the line. Fire!”

  Silence instantly escaped as a volley of high-power rounds shot out from the entrenched warriors. Curls of smoke followed their paths from around the concourse through the heavy doors.

  From the darkness beyond, Kael made out flashes of light from random shots as well as the fuses igniting their flares.

  “Loading!” he shouted, switching magazines and dumping gas rounds through the door. “Get ready to close it off!” the commander ordered as his two men got in position.

  Each pushed on the outside edge of their door even as shots continued to sear the air a meter from their heads. They didn’t see the single alien charge roll over the threshold.