MissionSRX: Ephemeral Solace

by Matthew D. White

  Conversely, there was little they could do about the ammunition. Since the ship never officially entered production, the rounds Grant had carried for it before never met full rate production, so he’d be using the standard loads that were produced by the thousand. It would be sufficient, he surmised, especially since he had used them before and had expected to keep using them into the future.

  The exhausted security officers had been minimal help, but at least it got them out of harm’s way before they lost their minds. The engineer was struggling to stay coherent during the entire operation, and Grant was glad to see him find his way back to the cabin before they got ready to leave. Once again, he was out before they were even airborne.

  Grant half wished he could sleep so easily. Everything ached from the lack of sleep, constant action, and dozens of shots undoubtedly deflected by his armor. His chest still burned and he hoped the stress would pass before his body failed again.

  The team in the bay quickly lashed their payloads down, and the pilot took them into the sky without delay. Once again the sandy brown light reflecting through the cabin gave way to black. For a ship made for quick drop-offs, it could certainly make good time within the atmosphere, which was incongruent with its outward appearance.

  They made straight for the Flagstaff and the pilot dropped their shuttle straight on the deck across from Grant’s waiting ship. The chief was the first down the ramp, beaming when he saw the fighter. “Wow! It looks better than ever!” he exclaimed, with a clap of his hands. “Commander, I don’t think you could have done any better.”

  The superintendent was already waiting for them to arrive and waved the group over to the inner equipment bay. “Welcome aboard!” he greeted enthusiastically. “I’ve got half of the aft bay cleared out for you.”

  “Thank you, sergeant,” Robins began, “this should be enough space for us to work.”

  “Very good, as long as you know what you’re doing. It was all my guys could do to keep it flying. It’s not exactly a standard design.”

  The chief nodded. “That’s why we’re here.” He watched as the team pulled its equipment from the shuttle. As animated as the superintendent was, Robins got the feeling he wasn’t normally this outgoing. It wasn’t his style. If anything, it was far more likely the other man didn’t want to be bothered with the additional work and was just as satisfied to have an extra dedicated crew. Whatever he wanted to call it, the arrangement worked well for the chief. He was more than happy to oblige.

  His first step would be to get the logs from the ship and find out what the engineers had done. Without delay, Robins unhooked a small cable from the display on his arm and plugged it into the nearest data port on the trailing edge of the left wing. The screen flickered to life and began scrolling through the pages of previous modifications.

  “Co—Private Grant, I think you underestimated the amount of changes they made to your ship,” the chief stumbled. “We can still handle the job, but some of these parts are custom-fabricated. I don’t know how we’d do much better.”

  “I know you’ll do the very best,” Grant replied, approaching the ship alongside Robins. “Hopefully I won’t do much flying with it, but I’m not about to leave that to chance.”

  The pair looked up at the glistening red surfaces towering above their heads, nearly in awe as to the vehicle’s immensity. “I can’t believe you found it,” the chief remarked. “I thought I’d never see either one of you ever again once we hit Earth’s orbit.”

  “That makes two of us. We can reminisce later, but right now I’ve got to catch up with the guys on the ground,” Grant added, looking out through the open bay, across the ocean far below, and to the network of oil rigs rotating in the distance.

  “Of course,” Robins acknowledged, following Grant’s gaze, “it’s incredible they thought they could take Extortion.”

  “I don’t think they expected us, but I also can’t conceive that they thought they could hold it,” Grant surmised.

  ***

  Minutes later, Sergeant Mason watched as the shuttle landed back on the deck of North Rig carrying Grant along with a handful of security officers. He hoped they got everything they had gone for, since he was still patching up civilians with the assistance of the ship’s medical staff. The former were finally showing signs of life as the shock wore off, but as he could understand, most stayed silent.

  Seeing the terror on their faces chilled him to the core. Even though the civilians had only spent days held in captivity, he thought of what it must be like to liberate a labor camp after untold years of agony and torture. Momentarily, Mason wondered if he would be able to do such a thing, but pushed the idea away; of course he could do it. There wasn’t a single soldier in his company that he wouldn’t trust to carry out such a mission. It would be a highlight of their calling to save those unfortunate souls.

  Their calling, he mused. What greater life could there be than to save the lives of others? It made everything else worth living for. From his right, the miner approached from the shelter of a shuttle bay.

  “Thanks again for the lift from the south side,” he began. “Between us getting tore up on the bridge and climbing through all creation, I don’t think we’d have made it back.”

  “The commander brought in support just in time. Did you find any surveillance data?”

  “Damn straight,” Othello answered bluntly, “we dug four micro-servers out of the security station that should have something worthwhile. The bigger question I’ve got is about this thing.” He unclipped a black, metallic object resembling a pistol without a barrel from a clasp on his chest and handed it over to the sergeant.

  “I’ve never seen anything like this before,” Mason replied as he turned the device about.

  “Me neither, but from what I can tell it’s what those shitbags used to kill themselves. It liquefied their skin.”

  Mason pushed it away upon hearing Othello’s words and held it at arm’s length. “Jesus! Don’t say that after you let me touch it!”

  Othello laughed. “Just don’t touch the trigger: it deploys a barb out the front. That’s the part I wouldn’t dick around with.”

  The sergeant shook his head and handed the weapon back. “Just get it secured in the armory when we get back onboard. I don’t want this thing floating around unescorted.”

  “Don’t sweat it; I won’t let it get in the wrong hands,” Othello confirmed, and replaced it on the carabineer. “I hope it’s not that much longer,” he added as Grant approached.

  “I wouldn’t worry about that; I saw their group on the horizon. Give them a couple minutes to pull in and we’ll be able to move the civilians over. Done and done!”

  “We need to get back to Mars,” Mason turned the conversation, stopping Grant short. “I know you’ve got your plans, but I’m not about to leave half my gaddamn battalion for dead with lord knows how many civilians.”

  “They were dead the second we lifted off,” Othello interjected.

  “Don’t you start too!” Mason pointed at his face. “I don’t need you backing him up!” Stress and exhaustion were clearly evident in his words and every line on his face.

  Grant pushed the sergeant’s arm down. “No, it’s alright,” he replied, “I was never going to leave them for dead. There’d be no living with ourselves after that. Did you really think I’d leave them?”

  Mason was silent, so Grant continued. “We gave Kael the best handoff we could and we left him and your soldiers with control of most of the station. I don’t think their loss would be acceptable right now.” Grant switched to his radio. “Commander Fox, we’re just about set down here. How soon until we’re cleared to leave?”

  “You’ve got ten minutes to hang tight until headquarters lets us go.”

  “Excellent,” Grant radioed back, and turned to Mason. “Can you have everyone on board in eight?”

  Mason nodded.

  “Good. Oh, give me a hand inside,” Grant asked, gesturing Othello to foll
ow him into the dormitory.

  “Sure, what do you need?” he responded, and entered the compound behind the soldier. “Holy hell!” he exclaimed at the first sign of the carnage.

  Grant nodded. “The whole building is like this,” he said, pointing out the individual rooms to either side of the hall.

  “Shit. They weren’t even this bad on Mars.”

  “I don’t think they had as much of a plan over there, or their focus was elsewhere. Did you see anything like this back there?” he asked the miner, pointing toward the executed workers and massive chrome metallic saw.

  Othello shook his head, moving the saw aside with a single finger. “No, can’t say I did. All they did over there was shoot us.”

  “That’s what’s so disturbing. There were no Aquillians here at all. It was all these things in black.”

  “Maybe it’s the difference between units? A mix of Aquillians and these things might operate differently than one or the other alone. Maybe these were something special.”

  Grant considered the possibility. “Could be. We probably don’t give them enough credit for having a mix of strategies.”

  “I didn’t say it was for sure.”

  “I know, but I wanted your perspective. I’d have asked that engineer, but I think he’s pretty much tapped out. I wish we had more time to study them.”

  “Do you want the armor? I picked up a bunch of parts from the suicides on the other rig. They’re in a case in the one shuttle.”

  “Good thinking!” Grant nodded in approval. “That might help immensely.” He paused and checked his watch. “It’s that time.”

  Othello picked up one of the saws and flexed the long blade between his hands. “Ready.”

  “If you think you’re taking that, I don’t care. Just take it out the north door: we don’t need to be traumatizing the civilians any more. They’ve been through enough.”

  “Fine by me; this is coming along. Who knows? Maybe I can return the favor sometime,” he added slyly.

  Grant let the comment ride as they climbed aboard the closest shuttle. They lifted off alongside the others just as the Earth Corps troops landed by air on the far side of the platform, ready to take on the world.

  “Just in time,” Othello remarked. “If we hadn’t been here, how long do you think it would have taken them to get their acts together?”

  “Without us, I’d say at least another day, maybe two,” Grant surmised. “They wouldn’t have saved a damned one of ‘em.”

  “I’d say it was worth it. Won’t the general be pleased?” the miner asked rhetorically.

  “He should be, but I doubt he’ll show it. I still asked him for a huge favor.”

  “I still don’t get your plan.”

  “I’ll try to break it down for everyone as soon as we get clear. Trust me, I’m not doing you any favors. I wish there was another way.” Grant’s statements were intermixed with uncomfortably extended periods of silence.

  Their transport shuddered as it slowed down near the Flagstaff and prepared for landing. The mix of gravity and atmosphere made the gentle drop on the cramped battleship’s runway even more hair-raising.

  “Grant I need you on the bridge,” the order radiated through Grant’s helmet.

  “Sounds like the commander is already pushing to launch.”

  “I’d call it that,” Grant remarked, and jumped to the deck, immediately breaking into a light jog as he exited the landing area.

  He took the stairs up to the bridge two at a time and kept the pace down the wide upper hallway which still showed signs of the battle before. Commander Fox saw him at the door and waved him forward.

  “Hurry up, we’re burning daylight. Starlight, even,” the senior officer announced.

  “We’re all on board and waiting on you.”

  “I know. We’re already ascending.”

  Grant was briefly surprised by Fox’s sudden zeal. After the comment, he focused on the movement of the ground under his feet. Now that he was no longer running, he could feel the gravity field shift. “What, no dragging your feet?”

  The commander swallowed the comment. There were more important things to deal with, “General Raley is expecting us to rendezvous with the Lexington before we depart for Mars.”

  “That’s not unprecedented. Did they say what he wanted?”

  “Just a quick debrief, but I don’t want to keep our guys waiting any longer than we need to. Gather the squad leaders and everyone else you think has something to add to the report, and be ready for a quick in-and-out with him.”

  Grant nodded. “Can do,” he confirmed, and opened his radio. “It’s Grant. We’ve got a quick audience with the general. Mason, Othello, Allen, O’Hare, Ryan, Robins, stage at the upper forward airlock in five minutes!” He looked back at Fox, “You coming too?”

  “Of course. We’ve got the whole transcript recorded, but I can add details from the air perspective if needed. I think it went better than I had expected.”

  “Didn’t have much faith at the outset?”

  “You could say that,” Fox responded. “Raley wouldn’t have thrown the job to us if it wasn’t a tough one and if Earth Corps wasn’t already bitching about taking it,” he added, rounding the large display table in the middle of the room. “XO, you have the ship. Dock as ordered.”

  Scott looked across two rows of bunks at Sergeant Allen, who sighed and struggled back to his feet. “I’m glad I didn’t take the armor off yet,” he remarked.

  “Yeah, could be worse,” Scott absent-mindedly added, rotating the helmet that had saved his life no less than five times in his hands. The paint was scraped enough to make one think it had been sandblasted with a shotgun. It could have been much, much worse.

  With concerted effort, he got to his feet and dropped his rifle across his chest once more. He was down to the last magazine, but the team didn’t have time to dig more out from the armory. On the other side of the room, Othello and Sergeant O’Hare stirred in a like manner. Othello made it halfway up before he started coughing blood.

  “You alright?” Allen asked at the sight of red beads on the floor.

  “Yeah,” the miner nodded and wiped the red liquid from his face, “shot number three just kicked in, so I’m feeling great!”

  Allen laughed and shook his head. Together the group meandered out of the bay, down the hallway, and back to the port-side airlock. Mason and Robins had filtered in from the bay where Grant and the commander were already waiting.

  Two-meter observation windows flanked the door, and the team watched the Lexington float into view out of the darkness and grow large enough to appear as if their faces were pressed against its surface.

  Looking between the soldiers, Fox couldn’t help but think they looked out of place on the ship: dirty, exhausted, shot to hell and bloodshot eyes. At least the next jump would afford them a brief reprieve.

  The port locked, equalized air pressure, and with a hiss, the heavy door swung out of the way. Grant and Fox led the way across the bridge between the vessels and back to the Space Corps command center.

  General Raley watched them enter from halfway across the room, beneath his massive floating model of the earth. Even at a distance, he looked nearly as haggard as any of the soldiers, but had an air of hope in his voice as he greeted them.

  “Grant! Fox! Gentlemen!” he exclaimed, “excellent job on Extortion! If I was stuck waiting for Earth Corps to get their act together, every one of the civilians would be in a bag.”

  “Thank you sir,” Fox said, accepting the acclaim, “but it wasn’t quite that easy.”

  “Of course. How was it on the ground?” He looked among the rest of the group’s faces.

  “They picked us up on radar a ways out,” Grant began. “I took a jetpack from the shuttle and picked up MANPADS rockets from a couple positions. I crashed on the central rig, and they considered me KIA while the rest of the team landed under fire on South.”

  “We took four teams forward, and
took the nearest set of buildings,” Sergeant Allen picked up. “We cleared the buildings on South, then moved on the bridge.”

  They continued the report up through getting separated and dropped in on by gunships and mortar teams, as well as the counter-attacks via the lower levels. O’Hare added his squad’s adventure in finding transportation and meeting with Grant on the north rig to catch the enemy off-guard. The report ended with the details of the barracks liberation and Othello’s observed ritual suicides.

  “That was very lucky,” General Raley declared, “Earth Corps would never have been able to handle this.”

  “I agree. If the team were lacking in any way, I don’t think they could have done it,” Grant concurred.

  “With that in mind, I thank you all for your service and assistance. I know you need to get back to Mars before this gets any worse, but I at least owe you this. Private Grant,” he started, standing up from the table, “I grant you clearance to escort the Flagstaff at your discretion for one Earth year. Your objective shall be of your choosing. However, I encourage you to do everything in your power to secure Earth’s safety until the rest of the fleet returns.”

  “As you command,” Grant replied.

  “Commander Fox,” he continued, “the Flagstaff shall remain under your direct command to execute proper orders from Jefferson Grant in good faith until the time or danger passes.”

  The commander saluted but remained silent.

  “Lastly, Private Grant, I’ve reserved the right to reinstate your commission with the United Space Corps.” He fished a slim black case from his jacket and passed it to the facing soldier. “Effective immediately, you are promoted to the grade of Commander Prime.”

  Grant accepted the case and opened it to reveal the same polished silver insignia he had worn a year earlier. “I thought you couldn’t do this.”

  Raley laughed. “The politicians can accept my decision or they can fire me, but I don’t think they have an option. Good hunting, Commander Prime,” he finished with a salute.

  The team of soldiers and civilians returned as best they could and made its way back to the ship.