by Black, Alan
Trooper Singletary saw her enter the room and shouted, “Commander on deck.”
Before anyone could make a move to stand, Misha called out, “As you were.” The APES were not an outfit that held to a lot of the old-style rigorous military traditions. No one marched about. No one saluted. No one ever jumped to attention and formations consisted of milling about in the general area of the meeting. Still, it was polite to stand when a higher-ranking APE entered the room.
Misha said, “Okay people. I am sure most of you know who I am by now. But, in case you have been asleep, or you have just joined your squad for the first time, Third Cans is gone. Enough said about him. Got me?”
Misha nodded at the chorus of ‘roger that’.
“Good. Deuce Vark, are we all present?"
"Yes, sir," Aardmricksdottir called from the back of the training bay where her squad stood. "Some of us are going through a rough detox, but physically we are all here."
Misha nodded. "For the record, I am Third-Level Commander Hamisha Ann McPherson. As of today, I have taken command of the 1392nd. I am given to understand that a high percentage of the 1392nd are rookies. So, in case you haven’t figured it out, I will tell you, this unit has been a shithole. And that ends now. There are to be no questions, comments or suggestions, unless I ask for them. I am not in the mood to go into combat with a group of mush-for-brain clowns. I am not in the mood to die on some gods forsaken unnamed planet because someone in this room has had their head stuck where the sun don't never shine." Misha momentarily paused before continuing. "We are now under deployment orders. If you expected to get a transfer or to retire, then tough luck, that pig has gone to market. We are in this together. From this point on we get it right and we get it right the first time.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the first order of business is to correct an error I made. Trooper Tuamma Ottiamig, where are you? Come up front, trooper. You come up here too, Trooper Singletary."
A very tall, slender young trooper from Misha’s squad stepped up. "Tuamma Ottiamig, sir." Singletary stood quietly next to the young man.
"Very good, Ottiamig," Misha smiled to put the man at ease. Speaking so everyone in the training bay could hear, "Upon my arrival today I stepped into what should have been my squad bay. Instead, I stepped into enough Treemer crap to fertilize my Grandma's garden for years to come. If you have ever been around when a Treemer lets loose you would know why the locals on New Nippon call them gas-gaggers. I found contraband, including smut, snuggles, snifflers and snowberries. Said contraband has been rendered less than useful. I believe Trooper One Singletary can verify the entire stock of goods has been properly destroyed?"
"Yes, sir," Singletary replied in a carefully modulated voice.
"Good. I don't know who those items belonged to nor do I care. Everyone understand me, clean this garbage out before any of the seconds or I find it. Woe betide the fool who thinks he knows a better hiding place than I or your seconds. Please return to the squad, Trooper Singletary."
Misha continued. "Further, I found items, both legal and illegal stored in breakable containers. People, this is a mobile unit, emphasis on mobile. We will drop our mobile squad bays into combat with us. They will become bunkers, pillboxes, tanks and personnel carriers. Have you veterans forgotten combat?" Misha shouted, "No breakables, dammit. I don't want to be walking around on broken glass the first chance I get to climb out of my combat suit. Clean it up and I mean clean it up everywhere."
In a calmer tone, Misha said, "In my haste to dispose of the aforementioned items, I damaged a musical instrument belonging to Trooper Ottiamig. I wish to rectify that error." Misha handed the Ottiamig the box Spacer Morin had bought for her. The young man unfastened the buckles and brought out a brand-new flute.
"Sir," he stuttered, staring at the flat shine of the platinum instrument. "This is too nice. It is much better than the one that was broken." He looked up at her and said quietly enough so only Misha could hear, "I don't expect any special favors because of my family connections."
Misha replied just as quietly, "Trooper, we both know that your Uncle Kema is my direct supervisor. I don't give a fart in a windstorm about that. It doesn't have a thing to do with it. I broke the old one. I got you a new one as good or better. I take care of you. You take care of me. Uncle Kema can take care of both of us as he sees fit."
Misha changed her tone loudly enough so everyone could hear. "Please note Trooper Ottiamig's new flute has an unbreakable case. I don't know how much longer we have at Heaven's Gate. Get the right kind of case if you have legal items you don't want broken. Ask your second if you don't know what type of case to get. That is what they are there for. However, all passes are canceled, so you will have to order it over the net and get it delivered. We have a very short time before we leave station, so put a rush on it. Throw the breakable out or put the item in permanent storage if you do not have or cannot get a case.
"Everyone fall out to your squad bay for immediate inspection." Misha stepped sideways away from the hatch to let the rush of bodies sweep past.
Chapter Ten
Misha sat quietly in the back of Kiirkegaard's main briefing room. The room was full of AMSF officers and a few senior enlisted men and women. Britaine was at the dais shuffling through data on his glass-pack, apparently waiting for precisely 1700 hours to begin the mission briefing.
Misha didn't mind the delay. It had been grueling since her speech in the training bay. No one in her command slept while she completed inspection after inspection. She inspected squad bays, munitions lockers, general stores, medical supplies and every piece of APE equipment she could find. A flood of down-checked items and gig tickets buried her new unit.
She demanded perfection from her seconds who in turn demanded perfection from their squads. Misha knew there were grumbles over some of her nitpicking, but she knew even the slightest mistake, missing item or bolt out of place could cost a life. Misha had called a general work stoppage while she went to Britaine's briefing. It would only be a few days before this unit dropped into combat, but it wouldn't matter how ready they were if her troopers were too tired to fight.
Misha watched the clock on the bulkhead slide to 16:59:59. Britaine cleared his throat to speak, but before he could get a word out, Misha jumped up and shouted, "Colonel Britaine, Third-Level Commander Hamisha McPherson of the 1392nd Allied Protective Expeditionary Forces presents her command as ready for deployment." Satisfied she had met the conditions of her AMSF contract, Misha sat down. Britaine was fuming. Misha stifled a chuckle. She knew it was childish, but if the man wanted to fight with her, then she would give him a fight. She would not belong in the APES if she was inclined to be any other way.
Britaine's voice cracked with anger at his first word, but he spoke clearly. "Thank you, Third McPherson. I am sure the entire spacecraft is relieved to know you are all accounted for. However, the rest of us have other considerations on our minds."
Looking theatrically around the room, dropping his glass-pack into the slot on the podium, he called up a view of the Heaven System. The podium generated a flat holographic image like a marker board or a slide screen hovering in mid-air. Marked on the view was the name of each planet, moon and base. A large red arrow pointed toward the fourth moon of the eighth planet in the system.
He said, "In order of activity, the Kiirkegaard is to assemble at Heaven System Point 17A to join a flight wing under General Gurand. Assembly is to be completed for departure in four days. However, each spacecraft has been ordered to reach 17A as quickly as possible. I have already alerted operations to prepare us for departure ASAP. For mission security reasons, I have ordered communications to shut down all outgoing traffic." Britaine reached up and tapped the holo-image. The podium registered his hand's interference with the image surface and signaled his glass-pack to call up another view. At first, the view encompassed all Allied Space and its buffer zones. A large blue arrow pointed to the Heaven System. A red arrow pointed to a system in the
buffer zone between Allied System and the neighboring Tartar System.
"Altec," said Britaine. The name blazed into red on the view. "This is our destination. Normally, Altec is only three jumps from Heaven. But, because of operational security, the flight wing will make four jumps to allow us to enter the Altec System from other than a direct line of flight." His glass-pack rotated the view, showing four quick successive jumps into the target system.
Britaine continued, "From 17A, it is four days to the first jump. This will allow time to clear heavy traffic around Heaven Three and give the flight wing time for form. We will have one day between each jump through the C1973 and C201 unpopulated systems. Each of these jumps will require no less than one-day standard to re-gather the wing before the next jump. We will then have a very short delay in the Gagarin System to drop off our Marshal’s Service passenger, Sergeant Gan Forrester and wait for the remainder of General Gurand's wing to arrive from various locations. The time delay in Gagarin is unknown, but it is one quick jump to Altec after that.
"At Altec we will deploy the ground forces aboard Kiirkegaard onto Altec Four and then the real work of taking on any space bound Binders found in the system will commence." Britaine smiled in Misha's direction, so she smiled back. He wouldn't get to her making digs about the work given the APES. He had just told her she had at least nine standard days to work with her new command. That was more than she had reason to expect.
Britaine said, "Update your glass-packs on the relevant Altec info. In conclusion, I have already ordered the flight office to prepare for 17A departure."
Speaking into the comm unit on the podium, he said, "Flight office? Execute take off now."
Misha shouted, "What? Dammit, Colonel." She tapped her comm unit and all but yelled, "1392nd, prepare for flight departure now." She barely got the words out of her mouth before the spacecraft lurched backward, tilted rapidly and then seemed to lurch forward. Normally, the antigravity units could adjust and smooth the ride, but operations must have dialed them down so they could feel the motion. Almost everyone in the briefing room was seated and felt no more than a little bumpiness, but a female chief master sergeant standing in the back of the room was knocked off her feet. She scrambled up without a word and dusted herself off. A nearby junior-grade major started to get to his feet to help the chief, but she waved him back down.
From the panicked looks and frantic calls, it was clear Misha had not been the only officer or senior enlisted who had not been let in on Britaine’s plans. She wondered if the man was this uncommunicative with everyone or if he enjoyed being the only one in the know. Not telling your own officers about such a move was likely to get people hurt.
Misha knew most of her APES were sacked out because of the work stoppage and probably wouldn't even wake up. Even so, she also knew the armor repair techs had decided to use the training bay to disassemble and repair a few of the massive combat suits. It was likely to be a mess with pieces scattered everywhere. And anyone not sitting or lying down would be tossed around.
Britaine smiled, "What's the matter, McPherson? I thought APES were always prepared. Besides, our contract only specifies I have to give you notice of departure. It doesn't say how much notice, does it?"
Misha smiled back coldly, "Not a problem for me, Colonel Britaine. It is your vessel. It is your business if you want to treat it like an amusement park ride."
Chapter Eleven
The rest of Britaine's briefing was the dry dull business of various departments reading through canned speeches about department preparedness. She was only interested when the female chief master sergeant and the junior-grade major from intelligence tried to give an update on possible Binder activity in the Altec System. Britaine listened with ill-concealed impatience through the major's portion, but cut the chief short in mid-sentence. He ended the briefing with a command to put anything else on the general command net for review later.
Misha headed toward her day office. She intended to make use of what little downtime was left to read through any deployment orders and the attendant data blizzard that normally followed. Just as she was passing the AMSF medical bay, Gan Forrester stepped through a hatch. She avoid knocking him to the deck again only by quick maneuvering on both their parts.
"Damn, Misha," he said with a smile. "We've got to get our schedules coordinated. You seem to be making a habit of trying to knock me on my butt."
Misha smiled back. "They didn't build this transport with much elbow room for petite women like me. Are you coming from medical? No damage from our first collision, I hope?"
"No, no, no. I am bruised, but I'll live. It was my own fault anyway. I should have been watching where you were going. I was helping a crewman who slammed into a bulkhead when we left the station. It is just a broken collarbone. We do not have a very happy bunch of spacers on this craft. There seems to be quite a number of bumps and bruises with a few broken bones here and there."
"Really? I know Britaine didn't give the APES much warning, but I would have thought he would have at least alerted his own crew."
"I haven’t quite figured our good captain out. I may be wrong only having known him for a short while, but he seems to like the sense of power that comes from being the only one who knows what is going on. It must be more than a little frustrating being subordinate to that man. Still, I am sure if Britaine told his own crew, then your boy and girls would have picked it up through the rumor-net. You have got a couple of good second-levels on your team. I hear that Jackson and Takki-Home regularly sit in on various enlisted crew briefings. Besides, as commander of the ground forces, you have access to any broadcast Britaine issues to the crew."
"Excuse me?" Misha looked puzzled. "I know I am a new third, but I don't recall hearing that in any of my training."
"Oh, it isn't quite official. It really is an old backdoor trick from the early glass-pack programming days. Call up crew orders for any spacecraft you are assigned on and use pass-command control slash alt A. You’ll learn anything the crew learns. It sometimes takes a ton of reading, but you would be surprised what information gets dumped into open cyberspace."
"Sergeant Forrester-" Misha began.
"Gan, if you please," he interrupted.
"Gan, I am heading to my office. You just earned yourself a free cup of coffee."
"Can I get a rain check? I promised to stop by the intelligence shop after the command briefing to meet with Buzz and the Chief. By the way, weren't you intelligence during your AMSF tour?"
"You seem to know entirely too much. What gives?"
"Oh, nothing, my dear, it is just what an old data pusher remembers reading in the newscasts. Hero of Guinjundst and all of that, you know."
"No. I don't know. I've seen and read most of the drivel spouted about me. I don't remember any mention anywhere about what I did with my time in the AMSF."
Forrester smiled, "Well, what do you know?! Huh, I must have read it somewhere. I'll let you know if I remember where, is that okay? Anyway, with your background, you should stop by and meet with the intel pukes on this craft. They are the best duo outside of the Marshal's Service."
"I will do that, Gan. Thanks, but I need to spend some time with my squad."
"Ah, such are the pressures of command. Well, Misha, look me up if you have some time for a real sit-down meal together. I would like to hear your side of what happened on Guinjundst. I'll take you up on that free coffee, but I am buying the food. I have seen what you APES call rations and thanks, but no thanks."
Misha laughed, "I know what you mean. They are meant to keep you alive, but not fat. How about lunch since it is almost lunch time? I do have a few questions for you, too."
Forrester cocked his head sideways, like a bird checking out an unusual bug, "Lunch would be great, but I have been led to believe you will be dining with Britaine and his staff." At Misha's puzzled expression, he said. "Well, I am sure the invitation is in the mail. Let's plan on lunch tomorrow?"
Misha said, "You
are one strange man, Gan. How do you know about my lunch schedule for today?"
Forrester waved a dismissive hand, "Like I said, I am just a data pusher. My job is to gather information, collate it and put the reports together. I happened to see the mess steward's lunch list. It's no big deal. It is posted on the net. And by the way, I wouldn't mention finding AMSF data on the shipnet to too many AMSF officers if you know what I mean."
"All right, Gan. I'll buy that for now. Look, tomorrow morning I have scheduled unarmored hand-to-hand combat training and evaluations for my command. Stop by our training bay and we can do lunch together."
"Great," Forrester replied. "May I stop by early and watch? I am just a passenger, you know, so I don't have any other duties to get in my way."
"Better yet, come by even earlier and you can work out with us. It would do you good. I promise not to pit you against someone too tough."
"It is a deal for tomorrow morning. What time?"
Misha smiled. "Well, I am sure you will be able to find that out on your own. I will see you tomorrow morning."
Forrester pointed a finger down the corridor behind Misha. She turned and watched the approach of a pair of Kiirkegaard's security forces. The two stopped before her and came to attention.
"Sir," a sergeant, the shorter of the two, said, "Captain Britaine extends his compliments and requests we escort you to the captain's mess for midday meal."
Misha nodded, "One moment, please." As if speaking into the thin air Misha continued, "All seconds and Trooper Singletary?" The glass-pack relayed the comm quickly and she received a chorus of responses to her query. "Mr. Moraft, run a quick damage assessment on our takeoff. Comm my glass-pack with the data as it becomes available. Security rotations go into place per SOP. Everyone not on security takes down time. We will have at least nine days before the drop. That is not much time, but we need to be fresh when we get there. I will want bright and shining faces in the training bay tomorrow AM." Misha heard a chorus of ‘roger that’ from her comms. She continued, "I will be dining with Colonel Britaine for lunch. Good will among services and all that crap. Singletary, you make sure it is down time in our squad."