Sixteenth Watch

by Myke Cole

  “Some marine. Maybe another student?”

  “No,” Oliver said, “that’s somebody special.”

  Ho shrugged, got to his feet. “Maybe he can get me a new PT uniform.”

  Oliver looked down at her own clothes, thoroughly soaked with the flop sweat she’d had just before she’d lost her breakfast.

  “All right!” Fullweiler said, “fall out for the noon meal. Don’t bother with showers.” He didn’t so much as glance at Oliver and Ho.

  Oliver grabbed the corner of Ho’s sleeve, wincing as she found it wet. “We are absolutely showering.”

  “Aye aye, ma’am,” Ho said, helping her up.

  They were late to the meal, but at least Fullweiler didn’t ask questions or make a snide comment. The mess hall was alive with traffic, and Oliver felt more at home as she saw that the Coast Guard sailors outnumbered the small knots of service members from the other branches crowded around the tables. She headed over to the officer’s mess and stopped short as a voice called to her.

  “Captain Oliver?” It was a deep, singer’s bass, smooth as polished mahogany, and she knew immediately who it belonged to.

  She looked up to see the man from the observation window standing in the flag mess. His rolled sleeves strained to contain arms that were thick around as her thighs. His head was shaved as smooth as his face, but the dusting of white in his eyebrows and the hard lines of his eyes and mouth made him of an age with her. A single star was stitched to the velcro tab on his chest. His name tape read FRASER.

  “Sir?” She turned.

  He gestured her to his table, taking a seat. “There’s no need for that. I hear we’re going to be the same rank in a few weeks. I’m Demetrius Fraser. Why don’t you and your aide join me?”

  Fraser waited patiently while Ho and Oliver filled their trays at the cafeteria line.

  “I really don’t feel like eating,” Ho said.

  “Pile it on,” Oliver hissed, “we’re faking it till we make it today.” She grabbed everything that looked starchy – bread, almonds, a banana, and a pile of saltines. Ho looked green but followed her lead.

  Fraser ignored their odd choice of cuisine as they rejoined him, and they sat in awkward silence for a moment, neither party clear on how to start. Ho, as usual, saved her.

  “I’m Wen Ho,” he said, reaching across the table to shake Fraser’s hand. “I’ll be Mrs Oliver’s XO when she assumes command.”

  Fraser smiled. “The real power behind the throne.”

  “Not the way Mrs Oliver runs things, sir.”

  Fraser laughed at that.

  “So, what brings you here, Demetrius?” Oliver asked. “I’m surprised to see so many marines here. I figured you’d have your own facility.”

  “We do,” Fraser said, “but it’s not adequate to the training needs and the guard has been kind enough to assist here.”

  “Are you… training here, sir?” Ho asked.

  “No,” Fraser said, “though seeing you are, I’ve got to admit I feel more than a little showed-up. That’s A+ leadership right there. I thought I was some kind of hero just for stopping by to check on my people. Those are my lambs you’re training with. I command the 32nd Marine Expeditionary Unit. We’re with 11th Fleet. MARSOC is attached to us for their ops out here.”

  “So, you’re the Navy’s boarding teams,” Oliver said.

  “In a pinch,” Fraser said, his smile not reaching his eyes, “we’re here to keep you coasties honest.”

  Oliver smiled back, genuinely liking him. But that didn’t mean she trusted him. At his rank, everything was political. Why is he talking to me?

  “So,” Fraser said after another awkward silence, “do you mind if I ask why you decided to enroll in this course?”

  “I’m taking charge of SAR-1,” Oliver answered.

  “Sure, but are you planning to personally go on boardings?” Fraser’s smile broadened.

  Oliver’s dropped. “You’re goddamn right I am. You can’t lead people if you don’t know what the hell they’re doing.”

  Fraser’s smile left his mouth and transferred to his eyes. “You should’ve been a marine. Look, I agree, but life in micro-g is hard on a body. Aren’t you worried about the bone density loss?”

  “Aren’t you?”

  Fraser frowned. “What makes you think I go on boardings?”

  “You lead marines,” now Oliver smiled, “so surely you’re doing it by example.”

  The moment hung in the air until Fraser broke it with a bark of a laugh. “That I am.”

  Oliver punctuated the exchange by popping a saltine into her mouth and forcing herself to chew.

  “Look,” Fraser said, “I’m not dumb. You’re the officer they brought in to make sure your team goes all the way in this year’s Boarding Action.”

  “So, what if I am?”

  “I hate to disappoint, but it’s not going to happen.”

  “You’re so sure?”

  “I am,” Fraser jerked his thumb at the table in the enlisted mess where Oliver’s classmates were eating. “These are marines. We suck at losing.”

  “I dunno,” Oliver said, “I’ve been training with marines all day. They’re capable, but so are coasties.”

  “No doubt, but you’re training with my ground pounders.” Fraser pointed out the thick glass of the mess window at the stretching darkness of space. “What do you see?”

  “Nothing,” Oliver says.

  “That’s right,” Fraser says, “because the Marines Spec Ops Command’s Orbital Training Center is on the other side of the Moon. That’s where we train the team your people will go up against. You won’t see them until it’s game time.”

  “Good,” Oliver said, though she wasn’t feeling good at all, “we like surprises.”

  “Not this one, you won’t,” Fraser’s smile returned, feral.

  CHAPTER 5

  CHINA CLAIMS WEAPONS DISCHARGE THAT STRUCK NAVY PURSUIT CRAFT DUE TO “TECHNICAL MALFUNCTION.”

  Mons Pico / Earth date – Wed, February 27 / 16:07 hours

  Chinese People’s Liberation Army Navy spokesman Wu Peixin stated yesterday that this morning’s incident where a PLAN vessel fired on a US Navy craft in pursuit of a US-flagged quarantine runner was “a regrettable technical malfunction.” Peixin added that, “it is not China’s policy to engage foreign flagged vessels in our Exclusive Economic Zone. However, we remind the United States that the presence of military vessels in Chinese space greatly increases the risk of regrettable accidents like these.” 11th Fleet’s Vice Admiral Augusta Donahugh responded with a statement this afternoon. “The United States Navy will not tolerate hostile fire while we engage in legal hot pursuit operations authorized by extant maritime law. Navy gunners are authorized to return fire and otherwise take whatever measures are necessary to protect US sovereignty and ensure the safety of their crews.”

  LUNAR SHIPPING NEWS

  “Soooo?” Alice’s voice was so much clearer this close to the Moon’s surface. “You made it two whole weeks!”

  “Well, it’s like I always keep telling you.”

  “Don’t date anyone in the military?”

  “The other thing.”

  “The only way out is through.”

  “That’s it! But I won’t lie, it’s just been hors d’oeuvres so far. We’re starting the tacpro round.”

  “Mom, acronyms.”

  “It’s the practical portion. We’re doing simulated boardings.”

  “Cool! That sounds like fun.”

  “Yup, just me and a gaggle of fifteen year-old marines. Total blast. How are you holding up?”

  “I’m OK. Nothing much changes here.”

  “Honey,” Oliver said, “I’m your mother. You act like I don’t know that ‘I’m OK’ is code for ‘I am not OK.’”

  “I don’t want to go on about it, mom. I’m just still finding my feet here. Figuring things out. I’m a big girl. I’ll get it done.”

  “Is it the distribution n
egotiations? Maybe I can…”

  “No, mom, you can’t. Even I know you’re not allowed to do outside work, especially when you’re about to become an admiral with responsibility for shipping in the lunar port.”

  Oliver felt her stomach do a loop. Alice was right, of course, but it did nothing to quell the involuntary response in her body – her revving heart, her tightening muscles. She remembered sleep-training Alice, having to lie awake in the next room and listen to her daughter cry out for her, Tom stroking her hair and telling her it would be OK, Alice is fine, babe. She’s really fine. But her body didn’t care. No matter what her mind believed, her body knew that Alice was not fine, that babies who were fine did not cry like that, that she had to save her daughter now now now now now.

  It took Oliver a moment to be able to speak. “How long are you good for? Can you make it until I finish this tour?”

  “I’ll be OK, mom. Just focus on your promotion and winning this thing.”

  She is not OK. “I will finish this tour, and then I will come and help you. I promise.”

  “Love you, mom,” Alice made a smooching sound. “Get this thing over with so we can get you promoted and I can see you.”

  “Love you, honey,” Oliver said, turning off the connection and standing.

  She opened the door to the communications booth, stepped out into the passageway, and was almost knocked over by three coasties running past. She heard shouts from further down the hall.

  Oliver turned to look after them, felt a tap on her shoulder, and turned back to see Ho, panting. “You weren’t in your stateroom. Where have you been?”

  “I was talking to Alice. Jesus, Wen, you’re scaring me. What’s going on?”

  “Come on!” Ho was not a man to get excited without cause, and Oliver felt dread curdle in her belly as she jogged after him down the passageway. Ho took a sharp right and led Oliver into the enlisted coffee mess, so crowded with marines and coasties that Oliver had to wedge herself in alongside a mountain of a marine who was himself wedged up against the wall of freeze-dried coffee packets. All eyes were glued to a flat-screen monitor spread across the upper corner of the room.

  Oliver could see the logo of the Lunar 6 Network, the dominant English language channel across the Moon. She recognized Jennifer Hsu’s voice, the channel’s lead anchor, who Oliver had heard narrate her husband’s death to thousands of strangers at least twenty times. Oliver could hear Hsu’s training desperately trying to keep her voice even, to assert some kind of calm over the swirl of emotions she was clearly grappling with. “It appears both the US Navy and PLAN boats were pursuing the same quarantine runner.” The screen displayed what looked to be a civilian six-pack, a short-range hauler named for its maximum capacity of six passengers, burning hard through empty space high above the surface. “I’m… The Captain of the Port reports that the Navy and PLAN boats were unaware of each other’s position, and it is not clear why the vessel’s instruments didn’t pick up on the…”

  As one body, the crowd leaned in toward the monitor. The six-pack’s rear thrusters finally sputtered out, a sign that it had burned all its propellant and was flying on inertia now. An instant later, a US Navy small boat leapt into the frame, its own rear thruster burning bright, gaining on the fleeing vessel. AFT FLIR POD 6 – USS OBAMA appeared in the screen’s lower right-hand corner, indicating the source of the camera feed. Oliver felt her stomach clench, the dread rising up her throat and sticking there, until she found it hard to breathe.

  The Navy boat dipped its bow and dove toward the six-pack, skillfully pulling up as it closed, exposing its belly where the boarding “nipple” could latch on to the fleeing vessel’s tow-fender. “Oh, Jesus,” someone whispered.

  An instant later, another boat flashed into view, moving so quickly it was little more than a blur. It took the Navy boat broadside and both vanished in a bright orange flash. Oliver felt her jaw drop as she watched the screen, her hands making helpless circles. The orange flash pooled and oozed the way explosions did in micro-g, and from the debris she saw tumbling out of it, Oliver could tell there was nothing left of either boat bigger than a softball.

  Hsu was speaking again as the six-pack sped away from the wreckage, but it was so much buzzing in Oliver’s ears, the magnitude of what she was seeing overwhelming the coordination of her senses, forcing her to focus on just her sight – watching the tape for any indication that the other boat had been… But then the feed was looping, replaying in slow motion – the blur of the intercepting boat slowed down enough for Oliver to clearly see the Chinese star and anchor, the numbers 8-1 on its side.

  “Fuck this,” one of the marines was saying.

  “That’s some kamikaze shit,” another one added.

  “Those are the Japanese,” Oliver spoke before she could stop herself, “and it was also over a hundred years ago.”

  Heads swiveled to regard her, eyes narrowing.

  “With all due respect, ma’am,” one of the marines said, “that was fucking intentional.”

  “We don’t know that,” Oliver said, “there could have been an instrumentation issue. Maybe the PLAN boat was trying to herd them toward another vessel. There’s a million things that…”

  “Looked intentional to me,” Oliver turned to see Fullweiler standing behind her. “I’ve been running this school for four years. All I see is boardings. I can’t think of a single good reason for coming in that hot on a quarantine runner.”

  Oliver felt her stomach clench tighter. It was Fullweiler’s school, but these were the people who would be conducting boardings across the Moon for years to come. They had to understand nuance. They had to get control of their emotions. They couldn’t be getting out there spoiling for a fight. “I can think of a thousand,” Oliver said. “The chief one being that Chinese people don’t want to die any more than Americans do. A competent Chinese coxs’un isn’t going to deliberately incinerate their boat and crew just to… I can’t even think of what the reason could possibly be.”

  “China’s different from us,” Fullweiler shrugged.

  “I want all my marines back in quarters.” A deep, singer’s bass sounded from beside her, and Oliver realized the Marine she was wedged against was Fraser. “I want gear checks done and watch your tablets for recall orders. Comms dark for everyone and no more watching the news. Let’s go, people. Right now.”

  “Yes, sir,” the marines said in one voice and began filing out of the room.

  “Recall orders?” Oliver asked.

  “This could blow up very quickly,” Fraser said, “and if it does, I want my people ready. Please excuse me,” he turned to go.

  Oliver stopped him with a hand on his arm. “I’m sure you don’t want to start a war with China, General Fraser.”

  “Of course not,” Fraser said, “but it’s my job to be ready to finish one.”

  He left, and Oliver turned to Ho, but her XO had his eyes locked on the screen which had switched away from the news channel and was now reeling off an emergency message from OTRACEN’s watch floor. WARNING ORDER (WARNORD) 11FLT CO VADM DONAHUGH ALL HANDS GEAR CHECKS AND STAND BY TO DEPLOY. The words scrolled across the bottom of the screen in an endless loop, the room gone silent save for the sounds of thudding boots as the crew raced to comply.

  Vice Admiral Donahugh could command her marines, and Fraser had clearly anticipated this, but she had no authority to order the Coast Guard to do anything. The Coast Guard wasn’t subordinate to the Navy.

  Except in time of war.

  “Jesus,” Oliver said, turned and nearly shoved Fullweiler out of the way as she raced back to the comms booth.

  “Captain Oliver!” Fullweiler called after her. “We need to talk about getting the crew ready! I could use your help!”

  Oliver ignored him, fumbling up the receiver and connecting to OTRACEN’s watch floor. The watchstander had barely answered on the other end before she was speaking, using the full hammer of her impending rank, “This is Rear Admiral Select Ol
iver, I need USCG Ops Actual now, please.”

  “Aye aye, ma’am,” said the watchstander, and there was a brief click and then a long pause while someone at the other end of the line hunted down Admiral Allen.

  “Ops Actual,” Allen finally came on the line, “go ahead.”

  “Sir, did you see the…”

  “I see it, Jane. It’s a WARNORD, do not do anything yet.”

  “Sir, we don’t know what caused that collision, it could have been anything. We can’t let the Navy use this an as excuse to…”

  “No, we can’t. But they’re damn well going to try. I’ve got the old man on the other line, and he’s going into session with the joint chiefs in a few minutes. If this thing can be unfucked, we’ll unfuck it. Just sit tight and wait to hear from me.”

  “Jesus,” Oliver could feel her pulse hammering in her temples. “We’ve got to talk to the Chinese. We’ve need to deescalate this. OTRACEN is rigging up to deploy.”

  Allen sighed. “Christ. We’ve got to get control of this thing. Tell Fullweiler to get our people stood down, at least.”

  “Not sure he’ll listen to me, sir.”

  “If he doesn’t, tell him to give me a call.”

  “Aye aye, sir,” Oliver said, and hung up the receiver, turned to find Fullweiler standing in the hatch. He had his hardshell base layer tucked under one arm, his utility belt dangling from his fingers. “You should suit up, captain.”

  “Negative,” Oliver said. “You should stow your gear and wait for an OPORD from your proper chain of command.”

  “Captain,” Fullweiler sighed. “This isn’t what any of us want, but…”

  “Isn’t it, though? Because for someone who doesn’t want war, you seem awfully enthusiastic to get moving.”

  “We’ve got a WARNORD from–”

  “From a service that you’re not a member of. We fall under the Navy in a declared war and during no other time. I just got off the phone with Ops, and you are to stand down, and you are to stand down every coastie on this station until we have a better picture of how this thing is unfolding.”