“Captain?” Ensign Dole asked hesitantly.
“Yes, sorry, Ensign.” Jackson didn’t look up. “Your course plot is fine. I’m sending it back to you now.”
“Yes, sir … but … I had a question, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course, Ensign,” Jackson said.
“Sir, how will we … how do you … I mean—” Dole trailed off. Jackson looked at him and thought he understood what he wanted to ask given the young officer’s age.
“You’re wondering about the mission, about combat, and whether this ship and crew is ready where others have already failed,” Jackson said.
“Yes, sir.”
Jackson glanced around and saw everyone on the bridge now staring at him. He had to wonder when the hell he’d gotten so old. They were all just a bunch of kids. The question wasn’t necessarily appropriate given the time and place, and he’d have berated any of his other crews for it, but the wide-eyed looks he received stayed his gut reaction.
“If I didn’t think the Star and her crew were ready, I wouldn’t be sitting here, Ensign,” he said finally, standing to address everyone. “I’m many things, depending on the rumors you believe, but suicidal is not one of them.
“I know you have doubts, but believe me … when it comes time for you to do your jobs, you’ll put them aside. Think of those Marines and civilians on the surface of that planet, being attacked with impunity by a superior alien force. Imagine their fear and hopelessness. We can do something about that.
“We won’t be alone, either. The Star will be flying into battle with as strong an escort as you could ever want: The Ninth Squadron will go in first and Captain Wright will clear the way to the planet so that we can launch our shuttles and then escape. Have faith in your ship, have faith in yourselves, and have faith in each other.”
“Y’all better fucking listen to the captain,” a harsh voice barked from the hatchway. “You know who he is and know where he’s been. You do what he says and you damn well do it when he says it and maybe we all make it home from this mission.”
“Thank you, Chief Green,” Jackson said, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Against all odds he’d managed to talk the salty master chief into delaying his retirement and coming along with him for one last cruise. The old spacer was still an imposing figure and Jackson knew that despite his penchant for casual, often shocking profanity he would be a calming presence for the untested crew.
“My pleasure, Captain,” Green nodded, never uncrossing his massive arms as he surveyed the young officers. Jackson mostly believed what he was telling them, but either way they were flying the mission. The fact that the Darshik were allowing them the chance to stand and fight meant that this mission had a more significant impact than some of the hopeless last stands he’d witnessed against the Phage.
He did take comfort in the fact that Celesta Wright would be clearing his path. If nothing else he had faith in her. She wouldn’t let him down.
“What in the hell is this!?” Celesta snarled, throwing the tile down on her desk.
“New orders, ma’am,” Commander Barrett said, stoic in the face of his captain’s outburst.
“No, shit, Commander!” she said acidly. “What I want to know is why we’re being pulled out of formation right before the assault carrier is loaded and deployed.”
“I wasn’t told why, ma’am,” Barrett said, fidgeting uncomfortably.
“Spill it, Commander,” Celesta said with a sigh. “We’re in a secure office here.”
“When I saw that the Ninth was being pulled off the escort assignment I had Lieutenant Accari use his back channels to try and find out why,” Barrett said. Celesta fixed him with a flat look.
“Let’s not tiptoe around what our intrepid young OPS officer is doing, Mr. Barrett,” she said. “He’s pulling information by seemingly taking advantage of the infatuation of a particular young woman who happens to be the Chief of Staff’s aide and is willing to violate her oath to curry favor with him. I do not think we should be encouraging this for more than a few reasons.”
“Understood, ma’am,” Barrett nodded. “But … since the damage is done, would you like to know what he found out?” When Celesta just nodded once he went on. “You’ll be getting a secondary set of orders from Admiral Pitt. The Icarus is being pulled off the line and given a new assignment; the Ushin have made contact and want to talk.”
“The last time that happened it sparked off an interstellar war,” Celesta scoffed. “So we’re to escort another consular ship?”
“No, ma’am,” Barrett said. “If Accari’s source is accurate we will be the consular ship. The Icarus will fly the flag and carry the VIP all the way to the rendezvous. Alone.”
“Well isn’t that just wonderful,” Celesta said through clenched teeth. “And who will the dignitary be?”
“No idea, ma’am,” Barrett said. “Since there are only two ships left in the squadron and the Icarus is being pulled, Command has decided to re-task the mission to the 508th in Fourth Fleet. Three Intrepid-class destroyers.”
“Very well,” Celesta said, forcing a calm exterior. “Please stand down the crew until we get these new orders.”
“Aye aye, ma’am.”
This wasn’t good news. Captain Wolfe was counting on her to make sure the Aludra Star could make it down to Juwel unmolested and reinforce the defending Marines and militia. Despite the matter being taken completely out of her hands, she felt like she was letting him down.
Her anger deepened as she read through the guts of the new orders and realized she wouldn’t even be permitted to warn Wolfe that the Icarus wouldn’t be there. A strict com silence order had been imposed as an operational security measure. Obviously CENTCOM was worried about potential leaks regarding such a delicate mission before they could get her ship prepped and on the way. There was no way for her to warn him that the Ninth was being pulled, nor could she reach out to the Fourth Fleet skippers to give them all the pre-mission planning her staff had already put in. She understood the reasoning for the precautions, but it was still galling.
“Bridge, this is Captain Wright,” she said, waiting for the computer to chirp, indicating the intercom channel was open.
“Go ahead, Captain.”
“Inform Flight OPS I will require a shuttle to take Commander Barrett and myself to New Sierra Platform within the hour,” Celesta said.
“Aye aye, ma’am.”
“So … cut the bullshit. What do you make of this?”
“I don’t think it’s a ruse, Mr. President,” Franco Sala said after a moment’s thought. Sala was the Director of CENTCOM Intelligence Section, formerly the Central Intelligence Service when it operated under the old Confederate charter. The reorganization brought the CIS’s formidable assets under the umbrella of the new United Terran Federation’s military command structure. Sala, a tall, willowy man with dark eyes and an olive complexion had been brought over to resume his old post for the sake of continuity, but President Augustus Wellington didn’t trust or even particularly like the man. The former senator had to admit, however, that the sneaky bastard knew his business.
“So why, after they led our taskforce into a trap meant to wipe it out, are they coming back with hat in hand?” Wellington asked. The President was leaning back in his overstuffed office chair and looking worse for wear as his inner circle briefed him on the latest developments.
“Based on our post-mission analysis of the data from the com drone Senior Captain Wright rigged to return from that Darshik system we suspect they may have betrayed us under duress,” Sala said, steepling his fingers. “When she destroyed that dormant Super Alpha in what was likely a somewhat misguided effort at revenge, we clearly saw from the Jacobson drone sensor feeds that the Darshik ships immediately turned on the Ushin ships in that system.”
“Admiral, do you agree with that assessment?” Wellington asked.
“All but the part of Captain Wright’s actions being misguided,” Fleet Admiral M
arcum said from where he sat opposite Sala. “Celesta saw an opportunity to inflict serious psychological damage on the enemy and took it. I commend her initiative and without her misguided actions we’d not have any of the data the director used in his recent analysis.”
“We’re not here for a dick-measuring contest,” Wellington growled. “Sala, I have no interest in cheap shots at our field commanders couched as hindsight analysis. Wright made a call under duress and cut-off from the chain of command, it’s what she’s there for and I agree with her snap judgement. Marcum … control your killer instincts; we don’t have a lot of time before Ambassador Cole will be here and the Icarus is on her way.”
Ambassador Cole had been the original diplomat sent to negotiate with the Ushin. His personal ship had been destroyed in the battle over New Sierra but he’d managed to get to a lifeboat along with about half the John Arden’s crew; he wasn’t recovered for nearly a full week due to all the debris and wreckage in local space. Despite the ordeal, he’d insisted that he be allowed to continue his work with the new alien species. The President had a fairly neutral opinion of Cole, but since he had nobody better in mind for the job he allowed him to retain his position.
“Which brings up another point, Mr. President,” Sala said. “Do we really feel that sending a warship sends the best message?”
“I think it sends the perfect message.” Wellington’s eyes bored into Sala’s. “And not just any warship and any commander … the same ship and captain that eluded their trap and bloodied their nose. The Ushin will know before negotiations even restart that we do not trust them and as far as the Terran Federation is concerned we are on wartime footing and it is they who need to convince us otherwise.”
Sala just swallowed hard. “Very bold, sir,” he said finally. “I assume you have a contingency plan if this provokes the Ushin and we find ourselves in a two-front war?”
“There are no contingencies in this war, Director Sala,” Wellington said quietly. “It’s all or nothing. We don’t have the reserves to play games and I’m not giving the Ushin another opening to screw us like they did the last time. Now … let’s get down to the guts of this. Cole needs to know exactly what he’s being empowered to offer and what he needs to turn down flat. That is the reason you were summoned and you’ve wasted enough time before we’ll have to sell this idea to whom I’m certain will be an unenthusiastic Captain Wright.”
4
“Message is authenticated, sir,” the com operator said over his shoulder. “Command is verifying that a drone made it through and sent a valid update.”
“Is Command saying whether they’re going to disseminate the information to the forward units?” Major Baer said, resisting the urge to roll his eyes in front of his troops. CENTCOM had been trying to get com drones into the system for weeks and the Darshik had shown that they were quite adept at knocking them down before they could broadcast their payload to the planet. The fact they couldn’t get resupplied and reinforced was bad enough, but the com blackout had an especially demoralizing effect. It was heartening to know that CENTCOM hadn’t given up and was still at least trying to get a message to them.
“It’s coming in now, sir,” the operator said, surprising Baer. “It’s listed for your eyes only … here.” The young enlisted man handed over a secure tile from his gear bag, the screen already flashing a green circle where Baer had to press his thumb to provide a biometric reading. After that he entered his ten-digit authentication code twice and was then rewarded with a text only message from Colonel Rucker himself, the Marine officer leading their cut-off detachment.
At 0350 GST we received a full transmission from an inbound com drone before the Darshik blockade destroyed it. CENTCOM is sending a relief fleet to stabilize the ground campaign and take back contested space within the Juwel System. We expect the first combat elements of this convoy no earlier than two weeks from receipt of this message.
I have also learned that Captains Celesta Wright and Jackson Wolfe will be commanding two of the ships being sent. I take this as a good sign that CENTCOM takes the threat here seriously and does not intend to withdraw and allow the Darshik to secure their hold on this planet.
Disseminate this information to your Marines as you see fit. This will not be an easy time waiting for relief assuming that Wright and Wolfe can make it through the blockade at all. For now we will continue to fight the enemy directly, but I want all my officers to be planning ahead in case we need to dissolve into the population and continue operations as a guerilla force. Carry on, Marines.
Col. Rucker
“Good news, sir?” Baer turned and saw Sergeant Willy Barton leaning against the wheel of one of the few armored personnel carriers that had made it to the surface and was now serving as a mobile command post.
“It’s not all bad news,” he said, forcing a smile. “CENTCOM got word through the blockade … they’re sending a relief convoy.”
“They’ve sent two so far, Major,” Barton said. “It hasn’t helped so far.”
“Well now Fleet is sending their top guns,” Baer said. “Captain Wolfe and Captain Wright will be leading the relief convoy.”
Barton whistled, pushing off the APC’s wheel. “I doubt Fleet would risk those two unless they were certain they could get through … not for one colony planet out near the Frontier,” he said. “The PR nightmare alone if both were lost is something I don’t think the new Federation government can afford.”
“I wasn’t aware you were so politically savvy, Sergeant,” Baer said. “I happen to agree with your assessment, however. Please get your squad ready … you’ll be rejoining your platoon shortly. Help is still some time away and there’s still aliens to kill.”
“Aye aye, sir,” Barton said, his arm moving up slightly before he caught himself. While Baer doubted there were Darshik snipers hiding in the trees he was still thankful Barton had remembered not to salute him while so close to the front lines.
He watched one of his best squad leaders walk away with some sense of regret. It was important for his Marines to remain motivated and to have some sense of hope while they fought, but he feared that even if the relief convoy made it to Juwel the advance detachment would be long dead. Time was not on their side and the enemy was moving fresh troops in theater almost continually. But telling Sergeant Barton that would accomplish nothing other than to negatively impact his ability to operate in the field. Colonel Rucker had given him carte blanche with the information the com drone had brought, so for the moment he decided he would bias what he told his people in the direction of optimism.
If he were being honest with even himself he put no stock in the news that CENTCOM was dispatching two of its most infamous ship masters to free Juwel. The names were impressive, but he looked upon the reported exploits of Jackson Wolfe and Celesta Wright with a certain amount of skepticism. It was entirely possible, even likely, that the old Confederacy had inflated or fabricated these stories for morale or to deflect from an unpleasant truth. The next few weeks would tell whether these captains lived up to their vaunted legends or if another load of spacers was about to get blasted out of the sky.
“Where’s our local expert?” Barton asked as his squad milled around the bed of the large agricultural truck they’d been riding in. They’d taken the time to make some improvements as he could see hastily welded mounting platforms for their machine guns and some light armor added using what metal they could scavenge.
“He’s with Spencer getting some time on the ER,” Corporal Alejandro Castillo said from where he was holding up a steel plate another PFC was tack-welding to the truck. “We figured if he was going to be rolling with us we may as well take advantage of his shooting ability.”
“Thanks,” Barton said with a wave, using the hand to shield his eyes as the welder blew brilliant sparks away from the point of contact. The “ER,” as it was called, was the extended range version of the ST-22 standard infantry carbine. The weapon was officially designated the ST-22ER
and was designed so that it looked enough like its cousin that an enemy would have a difficult time picking out who were the designated marksmen in the squad.
As he walked towards the sound of weapons fire he reflected on how out of date the United Federation Marine Corps really was. Doctrine for their operations had been developed hundreds of years ago with an eye towards a conflict that had never taken place: humans at war with other humans. Now, with these aliens, it was all out the window. Things like not saluting officers near the front and disguising their own snipers seemed silly against such a foe, but tradition was a powerful, sometimes comforting force that they could grab onto in times like this. He was loath to admit it, but the Corps had really become little more than ceremonial and crowd-control troops over the centuries.
“Cease fire!” Barton nodded to the PFC acting as a range safety officer as the young civilian and one of his squads DMs safed their weapons and stood up.
“Emil, right?” Barton asked. “How’s the training going?”
“Just a slight learning curve for the modern optics, Sergeant,” the PFC said. “But he’s already shooting much better than he would need to if he was qualifying on the ER.”
“Excellent,” Barton said. “And you’re sure you want to do this? I’m not going to lie to you, Emil … this is going to be a dangerous trip.”
“I’m ready, sir,” Emil said, his mouth pressed into a thin line.
“I’m not an officer so don’t call me sir. Sergeant, Sarge, or Barton are all acceptable,” Barton said with a reassuring smile. “If you yell sir and it’s something important I’m likely to ignore you.”
“Yes, si—Sergeant,” Emil caught himself.
“You three police this area and then get back to the truck,” Barton said. “We’ll be moving out once it’s dark so it wouldn’t be a bad idea to try and catch a few hours of sleep and get yourself fed while we’re at the command post.”
Iron & Blood: Book Two of The Expansion Wars Trilogy Page 3