Vengeance of Sukesh: John Mason (Legend of John Mason)

by Barbara J Robertson

  “Permission requested to advise Admiral Mason, Admiral Hanson,” Mason asked. “She has a right to know, Admiral; please.”

  “Of course. Just go, and God be with you, John,” she said, realizing she might never see him again. She knew what the Joint Chiefs would ask of him, another impossible task, probably deadly, with less than favorable odds he might succeed. She silently said a prayer to God for Mason’s safe return, her first prayer in over a year.

  Mason went to his quarters, grabbed his already-packed gear bag, and called Admiral Mason. She met with him in her private office immediately. “Admiral Hanson gave me the day off because she thinks I’m going to be called up.”

  “Called up for what, John?” She innocently asked.

  “To attack SS4, and get the Inspectors General and their team out of there. And retake the space station from Sukesh.” He sat in silence, looking at her. She flew straight to Colony III with him, realizing the ramifications of his information from Admiral Hanson. They picked up Victor and John David early. Mason tried hard to be his usual self for them, but the warrior inside him was gearing up for battle. Every smile Rachel smiled, every look she gave him; he wanted to remember. Every giggle little JD made, and every facial expression from Victor, he held in his memory. Mason knew this was the real deal coming up.

  They returned to their apartment, and put the boys down for their naps. Rachel took his hand, and led him to their bedroom. Their lovemaking was incredibly passionate, like there would be no tomorrow. Today was all they had, and they would enjoy each other as fully as possible, satisfy each other completely, and hold on for dear life itself, praying Mason’s wrist comm link never sounded. After much romance, they lay naked in the evening’s fading light, holding onto each other, both wide awake.

  Rachel tried to look beyond the upcoming battle, and talked of their future back in Houston. Mason knew it was her attempt to focus on brighter days ahead, and happy times together. He made her laugh a time or two, as he held her in his arms, caressing her, playfully flirting and kissing.

  Their happiness was interrupted by his wrist comm link’s beep. Rachel got out of bed, so as not to be seen, and went inside the bathroom with its door wide open. Mason slipped into his robe and answered, “Major Mason here.”

  “Commandant Richardson here, Mason. As Admiral Hanson has made you aware, we have not heard from our Inspector General in three days. The team’s two fighters have made an unauthorized docking at SS4. You were put on alert by this body several days ago, Mason, and now you are being activated.”

  “What is your plan, Commandant?” Mason asked, turning up the volume for Rachel.

  “We have a strike force en route to SS4 as we speak. You are to rendezvous with the strike force, take control of SS4, and rescue our Inspector General’s team. The space station is vital to that sector of space. You are ordered to inflict minimal damage to SS4 infrastructure.”

  “What about casualties, Commandant?” Mason asked. Please don’t do the capture lunacy.

  “Anyone offering resistance can be dealt with as is most expedient. The armory at Mars Colony III is expecting your arrival. You will be outfitted appropriately. Take whatever else you require. You are to leave within the hour. Any questions?” He asked.

  “How many in the strike force and its complement of craft, Commandant?”

  “Four fighter squadrons. One destroyer and a battle cruiser are also en route, but don’t count on them making it in time. The war birds must take SS4, Mason. The cruisers will mop up and hold. Your fighter has already been refitted with twice the missiles and torpedoes, in addition to your laser cannons. Plus, the four Prime Marine fighters will each have the new particle disrupters, Mason. Use them only if absolutely necessary, with permission.”

  “Do the squadrons know we have the particle disrupters, sir?” Mason enquired.

  “Of course not. Any other questions?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Commandant Richardson out.”

  “John, what is a particle disrupter?” Rachel asked, highly concerned.

  Mason answered, “They are a different type of weapon, one that inflicts as much damage to non-organic material as a plasma burst. But, to organic matter, like a man, it is devastating. On human tissue, a particle disrupter beam is neutralized, or the host dies. I’ve heard of men amputating their own appendages to stop the beam. If we have them, so does Sukesh.”

  “How do you neutralize the particle disrupter beam?” She asked quietly.

  “With a laser. You can see the particle disrupter as an irregular beam, bright blue, like neon. You have to shoot the beam to stop it, or have someone shoot it for you,” he answered. Mason held her tenderly, stroked her back, and softly kissed her. She clutched at him tightly and cried. “Rachel, shhh… It’s going to be all right. This is what I’ve trained for my entire career. My job is to retake SS4. Your job is to be brave, take care of our children, and pray. Your job is much, much harder than mine, Rachel, so you must be brave. Be brave for Victor and John David. Be brave for yourself. And be brave for me.” He kissed her tears away, holding her tightly and caressing her. “My Rachel,” he said tenderly.

  Mason showered and dressed in his utilities. Rachel put her lounge outfit on. She put on a little make-up, and brushed her hair, trying her best to look presentable for his departure.

  “How long will it take you to reach SS4, John?” She casually asked.

  “Two and a half days. We’ll probably have midflight refueling, for real, this time. Then we’ll be able to hover around SS4 after we retake it, until the battle cruiser shows up. I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone. Could be several weeks, hopefully less. There will be a communications black out, I’m sure of that. So, no news really is good news this time. I will call you as soon as I can, Rachel.” He was dressed and packed, but not yet ready to go.

  Mason took her hand and went into the nursery. He placed his big hand on his sleeping baby, and closed his eyes for a moment. Then they went into Victor’s room. Mason knelt down, woke the boy, and said he was called on a secret mission. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, Victor. You have to take care of your Mommy for me while I’m gone, all right?”

  “Yes, I will, John Mason. I’ll take care of my Mommy. You take care of you. We need you. I love you, John Mason.”

  “And I love you, too, Victor.” They hugged and Victor kissed his cheek.

  Mason walked to the front door. “I’ll take a taxi shuttle from here, Rachel. Be brave. I love you now, and I will love you forever.” He held her tightly, and they kissed with great passion. He showed her his front pocket; he had taken her panties. “My good luck charm.” She laughed at him, and gave him a smack on his rump. “See you both very soon!” He kissed Rachel again, and walked out with his gear bag, waving his hand.

  They ran to the terrace and watched him get into a taxi shuttle. He looked up and blew them a kiss, got into the taxi, and sped off. Rachel spent most of the night studying the layout of SS4, its position in the solar system, and its weapons capabilities.

  XXIX

  The armory seemed deceptively calm as Mason walked inside. He was assigned two large duffle bags of various weapons, extra ammo chargers, and other defensive weapons. He sat those aside, took another big back pack off the rack, and went shopping. He grabbed a dozen flasher sets, a case of small incendiaries, a case of stun gas canisters, and twenty small breathers, each with three minutes’ worth of air. He picked a dozen hand shields, and two dozen kung fu blades of assorted shapes and sizes. He took a full body nano fabric suit, made of the same fabric his utility uniform was constructed of; it repelled laser fire, and also small to medium knives. Mason also picked up a plasma cloak. Very few knew how to use it, and even fewer could use it well; but he was a pro. Mason would blend into any background, and become virtually invisible.

  “You’re packing heavy today, Major Mason,” the crewman commented, carrying his gear bag and three bags from the armory up the aft ramp for him. Ma
son asked for a case of Cokes. They were loaded for him, and he closed the aft hatch.

  Mason got on his knees and prayed to the Man Upstairs, to watch over Rachel and the boys. He prayed for clean shots and a quick fight. He asked God to let him return to his family, in one piece, alive. He performed his pre-flight system checks. All 100%. He undressed, put on his extra nano fabric suit, put his uniform on, and then his flight suit. He was flying solo this time. This mission must be a success; if they failed to retake SS4, the ONE would have an easy path to Mars, Moon Base, and Earth. He must succeed.

  “Major Mason to Mars Colony III control tower. Ready to launch.” He got the all-clear, and lifted off, rising higher and higher above Mars Colony III. When he was outside the dome and clear, he launched like a rocket, and was at hyper-space six quickly.

  “Major Mason to Earth Command. En route to rendezvous point at prescribed coordinates. Mason out.” Two days to SS4; one and one-half days to the rendezvous. Twelve fighters per squadron; four Prime Marine fighters, the tip of the spear. He flew his course straight and true at hyper-space six. The next day, he was hailed from the squadron chief.

  “Squadron Chief to Major Mason.”

  “Mason here. Is that you, Colonel Swenson?”

  “You bet your ass it is, Mason. ‘Bout time you showed up.”

  Mason reported, “Time to formation: one hour twenty-three minutes, Colonel.”

  Swenson stated, “After formation, we’ll engage mid-flight refueling at half standard speed, then to hyper-space six for the duration. Do you copy?”

  “Copy that. Mason out.” So, Colonel Sweetie was here, too. She was the top Prime Marine war bird pilot. The Joint Chiefs meant business this time. Their mid-flight refueling went smoothly, and course and speed were resumed. They would make SS4 in six hours.

  Admiral Mason dropped her children off at day care and went to work. She never slept a wink. She cried until she was all cried out; now, as she walked down the corridor to her office, she was getting teary-eyed again. She had to be strong. She refused to give in to weakness. She would not grieve for a man who was still alive.

  The Admiral held her staff meeting, and read her reports, as usual. She would wipe off the red Martian dust from her bookshelves if that’s what it took to keep busy. At noon, they all broke for lunch and went en masse to the officers’ mess hall. Admiral Hanson was seated alone, working on her com tablet.

  “Mind if I join you?” Admiral Mason asked.

  “I was waiting for you, Admiral Mason. How are you?” Admiral Hanson asked with a genuine, concerned voice.

  “Just peachy. And you?” She replied cynically.

  “The same. It’s always easier, being the one deployed. The one who stays home has the most difficult job,” Hanson said.

  Admiral Mason said, “My husband said that, too. Any news?”

  “Not a word, and that’s good. They will be at SS4 tomorrow. They’ll kick ass, retake the space station, and hold until the destroyer or battle cruiser shows up to take all the credit. They may be home in a week or two,” Admiral Hanson surmised.

  “Sound like you’ve been on one of these,” Admiral Mason said, looking at her friend.

  “Not against the ONE of course, but against pirates and subversive elements of society. I volunteered for this raid, but was told to back off. Your Great Vault Project is too important, Admiral Mason,” Hanson disclosed. “The Space Marines have this assignment.”

  “Major Mason has a lot of field experience, but this is only his second skirmish in his war bird. If his boots were on the ground, perhaps I would worry less,” Admiral Mason admitted.

  “His war bird is a formidable weapon, Admiral Mason. As a Prime Marine, he will not be in the larger skirmishes, but he will be the first to strike. Hit and run, we call it. Much safer than being pinned on the ground, in most cases,” she explained.

  Admiral Mason asked, “When can we expect to hear something?”

  “Maybe in a few days. If worse comes to worse, and they have to blow SS4, it will be weeks. But I doubt that will happen. They hate to destroy infrastructure. Your best bet is just keep busy. Feel free to come talk any time. If I hear anything, I promise to let you know, Rachel.” She stood to leave the officers’ mess.

  “You’re very kind, Esther. I appreciate your courtesy,” Admiral Mason said.

  The fighter squadrons were in range of SS4. The Squadron Chief hailed SS4, with the request to speak with the Inspector General. No reply was forthcoming. The request was re-sent; still no reply. The game was on.

  Mason’s tactical screens and weapons control screens came alive. His missiles automatically armed; torpedoes showed ready to fire. Colonel Swenson spoke, “Squadron Chief to Prime Marines. Your attack plans have been loaded into your navigational and tactical computers, weapons armed and ready. Your targets will show…Now. You will increase speed to maximum on my signal, and fire only upon my signal. After delivering your payload, rendezvous at these coordinates and hold. Any questions? Good. Make ready on 3-2-1. ENGAGE!”

  Mason’s fighter changed course to follow the new coordinates as he goosed it to maximum attack speed, staying in tight formation with the other three Prime Marine fighters. Colonel Swenson was the lead, two other fighters flanking, and his war bird took the rear position. His target was the central plasma torpedo array. The fighters flew like a spearhead, straight on at SS4, engines at maximum, streaking on target. This was the real deal.

  SS4 began firing at them from all their laser cannons. “Shields on full. Targets in range in five seconds,” Colonel Swenson said. “Prepare to drop shields and fire in 3-2-1. Fire at will!”

  Mason launched two torpedoes and four missiles at SS4’s central plasma torpedo array, but they were destroyed by SS4’s defensive fire. One of those SS4 plasma torpedoes was launched at his war bird. “Mason, shields on full, take evasive maneuvers. Plasma burst on your tail,” Swenson alerted. He raised his shields and initiated the evasive maneuvers, but that blue torpedo stayed on his tail, matching every turn and bank with him, and closing. The auto-evasive maneuver programming was taking him farther away from the squadrons intentionally; if his fighter was hit, only his would be destroyed.

  Mason closed his eyes and centered himself, and said a quick prayer. “Permission to use manual override for evasive maneuvers,” he requested.

  “Granted, Mason. Better get him off your tail quick,” Swenson warned. Mason pulled straight up and banked a hard left, heading straight for SS4. He steered the fighter quickly right, up, down, left, turned, rolled; whatever he did, that bloody blue torpedo matched him. It was much better than missiles. He would have lost them by now. It was closing in on him fast.

  “Mason to Colonel Swenson. Heading into original target. If any of you can take a crossfire shot at that torpedo for me, now is a good time.” He held his breath, lowered his front shields and fired again at the central plasma array: dead hit this time. As he pulled up and away, his fighter was rocked by the torpedo behind him exploding. The flash momentarily blinded his bionic eyes.

  “Mason, I just saved your ass. Now rendezvous at the prescribed coordinates. Nice shot,” Colonel Swenson said.

  The four Space Marine squadrons began exchanging fire with SS4, like so many bees buzzing a hive of fire. Although SS4 had two dozen short-range fighters, only four launched into the battle from the station. They were destroyed within seconds.

  While the Prime Marine warbirds hovered, new orders came over Mason’s comm link: “Dock on number 7. Lockdown. Do not board. Engage Vector E, Lone Wolf.” He checked the authorization codes with Earth Command. The orders were authentic. This new order was not part of the original mission. They just ordered him to commandeer Engineering Command Control - “Vector E” - without directly boarding the space station. And the “Lone Wolf” wording meant they were sending him in alone. Time for a long spacewalk during a laser cannon fight. Tiptoe through the laser blasts. No problem.

  “Acknowledging Vector E. Heading
for Dock 7,” Mason said, and flew around the right flank, then to docking area seven on SS4’s backside. His shields held against the oncoming laser fire, as he locked his fighter down. He unbuckled, and donned his space suit quickly. He gathered his weapons belt and side-arm and put them on, along with four extra ammo belts crisscrossing his chest, taking care not to hamper his air supply. He double-checked his helmet and suit’s pressurization seals; all tight.

  He grabbed his stuffed backpack, and took what he wanted from the two duffels he was assigned in the armory, consolidating the weapons into the smaller duffel. He prayed for God to take care of Rachel and his family. He was ready to dance with lasers.

  The traitors would be expecting him to enter through the Dock 7 air lock. But Mason opened his fighter’s top hatch and hoisted his ammo bags up, then himself. He ordered the fighter’s hatch closed, and repressurized the cabin. He fastened his only tether line onto his fighter, and pushed off towards the top of the SS4 outer hull utilizing his suit’s mini-thruster jets. The jets only had three minutes thrust capacity, so he used small bursts of thrust.

  Mason grabbed a hull handle with his one free arm, and caught himself. He climbed up the row of handles to the top of the docking site, and released his tightening tether line. He needed to climb much higher to reach engineering, along the outside corridor spoke from the docking site to the main hub. Mason switched the duffle and backpack to his other arm, and continued his long climb, untethered. One wrong move and he would be space junk, fodder for the laser battle happening all around him. He briefly looked at the battle between the fighters and SS4’s laser cannons, and decided it was best to ignore it; to do otherwise would have preoccupied his mind too much. He needed to stay focused on his task to survive and carry out his mission. His duffle bag jerked on his shoulder, a glancing hit on its side from a laser.