by A P Heath
It was an old design, two rings the second larger than the first, set above a cylindrical body that he knew housed the station’s three loading bays.
With his right eye he looked back along the troop compartment. Twenty-one marines of First Company sat belted tightly into the transport couches along either side of the compartment.
Opposite him was his First Lieutenant, Sylas Mentrim and to his left was the Sergeant of 1C1, Inchin Mathers.
Captain Titus Lanad considered himself privileged to lead the men and women of First Company. His promotion to the position of First Company Captain had come in unpleasant, if not unexpected, circumstances when his former Captain had been killed on a sortie against one of the numerous pirate clans that plagued the inner system.
Lanad had taken charge of the operation when he saw his commander fall and had led his marines to take the bridge of the pirate flagship, Cryptsus. With the main power of their flotilla in the hands of the Deorum, their enemy had been left with no choice but to surrender.
After that his captaincy was all but assured, save only for the ever uncertain outcome of the Captains’ Test.
There were still nights now that he woke in a cold sweat, the
shadowy memories that shaped his nightmares dissolving in the light of his consciousness and leaving him feeling sick and dizzy.
Lanad knew the memories of his Test had been wiped from his mind, like out of date information in a data bank. Just like those data banks though, there would always be scraps of data left behind, tiny slivers of those memories that floated in the dark waters of his subconscious.
The exact nature of the Captains’ Test was a closely guarded secret, known only to the very upper most echelons of Command and Lanad was not yet allowed a seat at that select table. He knew only two things; firstly, all would-be captains underwent the test.
It was more than tradition; it was vital, required as much for the position as the skills to command, the strength to face their enemies and the obedience to follow orders without question. Secondly, the Test had scarred him, both physically and mentally. The physical scars were easier to hide, the mental ones harder to see.
Every captain had to take the test, not all of them were strong enough to pass.
The lights above him flickered and died, leaving him in almost total blackness before the entire compartment was bathed in red light.
“One minute to destination.” The pilot’s voice was on an open comm to every marine aboard.
The harnesses on each couch in the troop compartment lifted as one, allowing the men and women of 1C1 freedom to stand and ready for disembarking.
The drop ship would come in nose first, as long as they didn’t encounter enemy fire on the final descent. The whole cockpit section would rise on its support arm to allow the fore evac ramp to drop and the marines to deploy rapidly.
There was another ramp in the aft for hostile deployment, covered as it was by the rear mounted assault cannon.
“One minute to destination.”
Lanad sent to his other sergeants; Koras Deneminjic and Augustine Johs, in the second and third drop ships.
“Johs, establish a beach head and rally point in the secondary bay and report confirmation. Deneminjic, follow us in.”
Both sergeants responded almost immediately.
“Yes sir.”
“Yes Captain.”
“Lieutenant Cassini, hold at the reserve perimeter and maintain combat readiness. If there’s need for you I want your marines on station in sixty seconds.”
Aitkin’s reply came as quickly as the other sergeants.
“We’re holding at reserve perimeter Captain. Call if you need us”.
Lanad allowed himself a brief smile and looked across to meet the eyes of Lieutenant Mentrim.
“Lieutenant,” He said, speaking out loud rather than through the comm link, “Lead the Oath.”
Lanad liked to speak to his marines with his natural voice whenever he got the chance. The comm link was efficient and unmatched for tactical value in combat, but to look another in the eye and speak only inside their head always felt cold to him.
Lieutenant Mentrim nodded, “Yes Captain.”
He rose from his couch and turned to face the marines lining the compartment.
“Marines!” He barked, “Ready for drop in forty seconds. Check weapons and sound off.”
One by one the marines of 1C1 called out their readiness to deploy, ending with Sergeant Mathers.
Satisfied, Mentrim stood at attention, his hands clamped by his sides, back straight.
“The Oath begins.” He called out.
The marines stood to attention, facing each other in pairs along the length of the compartment. Captain Lanad stood with them. Lieutenant Mentrim stared straight ahead as he launched into the Marine’s Oath.
“I will bear my allegiance to the Deorum and none other,” the rest joined in on the first word, speaking in unison.
“I will protect her people, her faith and her honour with my
words, my deeds and my life.”
The volume of each voice began to rise, filling the space around them with the words they’d sworn when they joined the Six Companies and swore again every time they were bound for combat.
“I will question no order and forsake no duty.”
Sergeant Mathers had his eyes closed, squeezed tight as his voice boomed. Lieutenant Mentrim upped his volume further, the rest following suit.
“I am her sword, her shield, her son and her protector.”
Lanad could feel his blood pumping harder. The words so familiar, said so often and yet still they held a torrent of emotion that set his heart beating faster; pride in his command, the love he held for his home.
The Oath was more than just something they said. It was something they lived, something they believed. The very foundation of what set them apart from the regular army and all the Deorum citizens they fought to protect.
“I swear my allegiance from this breath to my last breath.” He was shouting now, as were the others. The compartment rang with the echoing voices.
“Luna endures!”
The Peregrine shook with the jarring impact of a combat landing and the fore evac ramp dropped behind the Lieutenant.
Without a word he turned on his heel and disappeared down the ramp, confident his marines would follow suit.
Captain Lanad followed him out of the troop compartment and into the bright lights of the station’s primary loading bay.
His visor compensated for the changing light, dimming his view as he stepped out of the Peregrine’s forward hatch. The marines of 1C1 squad deployed in good order, fanning out to take up covering positions around the Peregrine as it fired its jets and lifted off.
Four levels below them, Lanad knew the marines of 1C3 were repeating this action in the secondary loading bay, as the second drop ship careened into the far left of the loading bay
to deposit the marines of 1C2.
Within moments the men and women under his command had assumed a cordon that spanned the full width of the bay, their weapons held ready.
The Peregrines were already returning to the combat perimeter, five-hundred kilometres out into the darkness of space. The integrity field that separated the inside of the station from the void admitted their armoured shells with barely a ripple.
The loading bay fell into silence. It was huge, easily capable of admitting a pair of Deorum freighters side by side. The forty-five marines arrayed around him looked tiny and lost in the cavernous space.
Lanad could see heavy loading machines, both manned and unmanned varieties, sitting idle and silent. There were crates and containers stacked against the three internal walls in piles twenty metres high. Another ten metres up the ceiling stretched back to the top of the massive integrity field spanning the entrance to the loading bay and keeping them safe from the freezing vacuum beyond.
Four lines of light, spaced at regular intervals, traced their way up the
walls and across the wide ceiling. In between the walls and ceiling were bare polished metal, reflecting the radiance and amplifying it to leave the entire bay basking like some sun drenched paradise from the old Earth stories or the beaches of Mars.
The inner most wall boasted two large bulkhead doors; one at either end of the loading bay.
Lieutenant Mentrim was already issuing orders.
“Sergeant, I want men on each of those doors ready to breach and your gattlers remaining here, in case we need to depart under covering fire.”
Mathers nodded in agreement as he turned away, relaying the orders through his comm link.
Lanad watched the squad move on their sergeant’s words, breaking formation to come together in stacked lines around each of the bulkheads.
Brill and Marillo, the marines chosen to stay in the loading
bay, relocated quickly to set up arcs of fire that encompassed both bulkheads, while careful not to leave themselves exposed.
Lanad had closed his comm to all but his officers and so watched the whole spectacle in almost complete silence.
It was an odd feeling; one he had encountered on many a mission. To know the orders were being given and received but not to hear a word spoken out loud; seeing the effect without hearing the cause.
Without the almost constant chatter of the comm link he heard only the clatter of the heavy weapons being set up, the pattering of armoured feet against the metal deck, the gentle background hum of the integrity field.
His gaze swept the great width of the bay, coming to rest on the silent form of a Deorum Peregrine. The drop ship sat empty at the far end of the loading bay, its fore ramp extended ready for boarding, but its engines left cold, unfired.
Why would they leave it behind? He wondered briefly before his attention was pulled back to the mission at hand.
Lieutenant Mentrim’s voice came through the comm.
“Ready to breach Captain.”
Lanad linked to Captain Timonny in the Tertiary loading bay.
“We’re about to breach the upper levels Captain,” he sent.
“Have your squads sweep the lower sub levels and report in.” Timonny’s comm link returned his confirmation, the other captain not deigning to answer the order with anything more than a signal.
Lanad knew Timonny begrudged him the captaincy of First Company and railed at receiving orders from another captain.
The command hierarchy was clear and within it Lanad outranked Timonny and all the other captains of the Six Companies, but he knew it still hurt the man when a situation forced him to acknowledge it.
Lanad left the comm link active but turned his attention back to Lieutenant Mentrim.
“We’ll take the first squad in together and move to the bridge Lieutenant,” He said, gesturing toward the marines lining the walls by each of the massive doors.
“I want a pincer sweep of this level before we move up and 1C2 is to follow us in and take levels six through eight.”
Mentrim nodded his acceptance and a second later both bulkheads opened with a metallic hiss.
On the left Sergeant Mathers ducked through the opening and into the corridor, just as Lieutenant Mentrim did on the right.
One by one the marines of 1C1 followed them out and into the station proper, their Captain striding purposefully among them.
FOURTEEN
Lord Admiral DeMarchek leaned back and took a moment to savor the view before him. He knew that most wouldn’t understand his attraction, but to him that made no sense.
Yes, there was labour involved, but what was something worth if it came too easily? And when it was done there was such beauty to be seen. So much intricacy; colours and hues, so very many mysteries to unravel and explore.
To look at the exterior seemed so simple, almost inane, but the complexity hidden beneath was wondrous to behold. It brought a tear to his eyes and even though he’d stripped away the veneer time and time again, what he found would never cease to amaze him.
He lived for moments like this; moments when he felt like he could look at the universe itself laid bare before him. Every part of it pared back to its constituent parts and available for his examination. A smile creased the corners of his grey-blue eyes and pulled at the corners of his lips. There was nothing so invigorating, nothing so nourishing to the body and mind as this.
His service had seen DeMarchek travel the length, breadth and depth of the solar system and his advanced rank had allowed him to sample all the delights the culture of man had to offer, but none came close to the sublime joy, the pure serenity he felt in these most private of moments.
It was not something he was ever able to devote enough time to though. DeMarchek could feel the insistent pressure of his comm link pressing on his consciousness.
They were trying to reach him, trying to drag him from his pleasure and force him back to the grey dull world and its petty problems.
He’d been ignoring it for the last full minute. Any moment now they’d resort to the open comm in his office and if he didn’t respond to that a runner would be at his door.
The Lord Admiral could not be left uncontacted, he was far too important after all.
DeMarchek allowed the comm link to open and instantly the
voice of the comms officer on the bridge of the Pride invaded his thoughts.
“Lord Admiral, you requested notification upon arrival sir.”
The voice was professional, almost abrupt.
“First and Second Company marines are eight minutes out.”
DeMarchek returned his acknowledgement signal and sighed. He felt better, refreshed, but not entirely whole.
Three hours had seemed like so much time, but now it was gone and he wanted more. He always wanted more. He looked down at his hands. The dark slicks that covered them had dried to faded reddish brown streaks.
It was a sad reminder of how quickly the vivid vitality of life became just a drab faded shadow when that special spark was removed. There was blood on his lips as well; he could taste it rich and coppery and still wet. He rolled his tongue over it slowly, savoring each drop as it set his senses afire.
He would have to clean himself, not in the way that made him feel so good, but in the lifeless, boring way that those who couldn’t see this beauty would expect of him.
It was ten minutes later that Lord Admiral DeMarchek stepped from the trans-terminal and onto the bridge of the Pride of Luna. He wore his combat uniform; the long coat of deep red with black buttons fastening it down the right side and detailing at the shoulders, breast and seams picked out in white. It stretched down to his knees over his black trousers and thick black boots.
Red, white and black were the colours of the Deorum. White for the soil of Luna, Red for the human blood it had cost to change an uninhabitable rock into a home for billions of lives. Black was for the void of space and always underneath or behind the other colours to represent both the endlessness and everlasting quantity that was the universe as well as the Deorums’ right to conquer it.
DeMarchek shunned the Lord Admiral’s hat whenever he could.
It formed a part of both his operations and ceremonial uniforms and to his mind was appropriate for neither. It was tall, cumbersome and bright white from brim to tip. On the
occasions he had no choice but to wear it DeMarchek always felt it made him look like he was carrying some great illumination bulb atop his head.
Captain Strarsaan stood waiting beside her captain’s chair in the centre of the bridge. She saluted as he approached, raising her right hand, fingers held vertical and thumb tucked in, to her right brow flicking her hand forwards to a thirty degree angle; the Deorum salute.
Lord Admiral DeMarchek returned the salute, but where his captain had performed hers with precise, sharp movements, the Admirals reply was slower, almost lazy.
“The command is yours Lord Admiral.” Strarsaan said, gesturing to the empty chair beside her.
DeMarchek shook his head gently.
>
“It’s your chair Captain, so take a seat.”
He stepped beside her as she sat, resting his arm on the high back of the command chair, looking over the lower level of the bridge laid out before him.
The offer of the captain’s chair and the Admiral’s subsequent refusal was a familiar custom aboard the bridge of the Pride.
There wasn’t a captain in the fleet that DeMarchek would put out of their chair. It was a symbol of authority and needed to remain so for the ships captains when he wasn’t there.
He also preferred to stand when overseeing operations. It was a rare enough occurrence these days and standing let him feel free, it let him walk and turn and move however he liked.
All of it made his thinking clearer, made the experience stick in his mind better once it was done. For a moment he let the busy sounds of the bridge wash over him; comms officers spoke in low voices, displays beeped and buzzed with data.
“Status report Captain.” DeMarchek said softly. Captain Strarsaan tapped at the console that extended in front of her from the left arm rest.
“First and Second Company marines breached the primary, secondary and tertiary loading bays three minutes ago Lord Admiral. They have established rally points in each and entered the main body of the station. As yet there have been
no signs of resistance, nor any station personnel.” She finished the brief report, “Captains Lanad and Timonny are on open comms sir.”
“Thank you Captain.” DeMarchek replied.
He raised his voice, speaking into the open space of the bridge, “Captain Lanad, what’s your situation?”
There was a brief pause before Lanad’s reply came through the comm link. His voice filled the bridge, drowning out the background noise.
“We’ve breached the main body of the station Lord Admiral and set up rally points in the loading bays for evac under fire.” There was a strangeness to his voice, a breathiness that was unfamiliar over comms links.
It took DeMarchek a moment to realise Captain Lanad was speaking out loud rather than sending his message internally. It wasn’t a breach of combat protocol, but it was unusual enough to give the Lord Admiral pause.