Sixteenth Watch

by Myke Cole

  “Don’t answer,” Oliver radioed Ho.

  “I do speak Chinese, ma’am, if you want to make this realistic,” her XO radioed back.

  “You keeping quiet is extremely unrealistic, I’ll admit,” she replied, “but indulge me for now.”

  Ho responded with something in Chinese that Oliver thought sounded like gǔn dàn. The tone definitely indicated it was a curse.

  The head boat’s aft thrusters lit up.

  “Chinese-flagged vessel,” Okonkwo said, “your engines have come online. Maintain station keeping and state your intentions. Do not get underway or we will fire upon you.”

  “Not with a field of habs as a backstop,” Chief said.

  “I know, Chief,” Okonkwo said, “just following protocol.”

  “Well, now you said it,” Chief chided. “BM1, get to that elevation fast. I want the sun for a backstop.”

  “Roger that, Chief. Everybody hold on.” The smile was evident in Pervez’s voice as she punched the top thrusters and the small boat dropped. Oliver’s stomach lurched as the bow swept up, and she was suddenly seeing the distant sun where the Moon’s hab-studded surface had once been. The autocannon lost track, the barrel wrenching down as McGrath swung it back to its target – the head boat, rising up into view once more as Pervez fired the belly thrusters and arrested their descent so suddenly that Oliver felt her hardshell jerk hard against her restraints.

  “There you go, Chief,” Pervez said.

  “Very well,” Chief said, toggling to the hailing channel personally. “Chinese-flagged vessel, you have failed to respond to multiple hails by the United States Coast Guard. Heave to and prepare to be boarded.”

  “Here we go,” Ho radioed Oliver.

  The head boat’s aft thrusters engaged with a sudden flash of blue-white and the head boat leapt forward.

  “Hot pursuit!” The tiniest hint of excitement crept into Pervez’ voice. “Engaging.” The longhorn leapt after the head boat, accelerating fast enough to press Oliver back in her seat. Oliver glanced at the instrument panel – thirty knots and accelerating.

  Chief scanned the radar. “Negative contacts, clear space. Do what you need to do, BM1.”

  Pervez didn’t respond, and Oliver knew it was because the woman was already doing it. She felt the vessel buck as Pervez punched the throttle and the longhorn surged forward. Oliver had been hoping to put the crew in the same position she and Ho had been in when they’d pursued the six-pack in their rickety launch, but the longhorn was a far more capable boat than the launch, and Pervez immediately began to gain on the head boat. “Shit,” Oliver radioed Ho, “they’re gonna fucking catch you. Have you got any more juice in that thing?”

  “It’s a longhorn, ma’am,” Ho’s voice was mildly tense with excitement. “It’s not like it has a nitrous tank.”

  “OK. Well, let them have the garbage now.”

  “You sure? They’re a lot closer than we were back at…”

  “They’re not going to get any farther away!”

  “Aye aye, ma’am.” No sooner had Ho spoken than Oliver saw the head boat’s gear pods flash, discharging what appeared to be a flickering silver pebble at this distance, but that Oliver knew was the same compressed garbage pod that Fraser’s boat had launched at her back outside OTRACEN.

  Oliver had been stunned at the time, but Chief didn’t bat an eyelash, recognizing the radar signature immediately. “Deploying trash pods.”

  Oliver glanced at the instrument panel again. They were making forty-five knots now right at the top of the longhorn’s safe operating parameters. Being hit by the trash pods would surely damage the boat. She swallowed sour panic at the thought of all that could go wrong.

  But her crew wasn’t fazed. “I see them,” Pervez said. “McGrath, scatter them.”

  “Negative, maneuver to evade them. I don’t want you shooting in…” Chief began.

  “I’m operational commander on scene, it’s my call,” Pervez said. “I’m not losing speed. McGrath!”

  “I got you BM1,” McGrath said. The autocannon swiveled, kicked silently on the bow. Oliver could feel Pervez executing perfectly timed controlled burns to compensate for the recoil. Oliver knew the longhorn’s Target Acquisition System made the shooting easier, but the speed with which he acquired and drew down on the pods was still impressive. Two shots for two pods – the steadily growing silver balls flashed orange and burst apart into a scattering of what looked like silver foil.

  Chief opened his mouth to say something, but the head boat was growing rapidly in the longhorn’s front window, and Pervez yanked on the joystick. “Hold on! I’m gonna bring her in hot!”

  “Jesus!” Chief reached up and grabbed the handle as the longhorn’s bow rose and they lost visual on the head boat.

  “Uh, boss?” Ho radioed. “I think you guys are about to crash into us.”

  “I know,” Oliver said.

  “You going to say something?” Ho sounded worried.

  “Nope. I’m observing… ugh,” Oliver said as Pervez hit the topside thrusters and the longhorn sped forward with its bow still raised. Oliver could see her eyes flashing to the radar and the plotter, flying entirely on instruments. She was grinning like a wolf.

  “Okonkwo! Get ready on the nipple! Hang on!” Pervez called. “We’re gonna give ’em a little bit of a bump!”

  Okonkwo grabbed the controller for the longhorn’s nipple and Oliver could feel the deck vibrating as the motor extended it from the longhorn’s belly. “Fifteen yards!” Chief called. “Ten! Two!” The longhorn collided with a boom that shook the boat, sending Oliver rattling in her restraints again.

  “Okonkwo!” Pervez called.

  “I’ve got it!” he called back just as the boat shuddered as the nipple gained traction on the head boat’s tow fender. “Soft dock!”

  “I can feel that!” Pervez growled. “Get your ass down there and start cutting!”

  Okonkwo shot her an irritated glance, punched out of his restraints, and reached under his seat for the cutting gear.

  “Check our drift,” Chief said. “We hit them pretty hard. Mark your head and let me know our speed and course.”

  But Pervez was already out of her restraints and drawing her paint gun. “We’re going to have hard dock in a second, Chief,” she raced to follow Okonkwo as he dragged the cutting gear down into the longhorn’s belly.

  “That’s OK,” Chief’s voice was petulant, sarcastic as he bent over the plotter. “I’ll do it.”

  McGrath had grabbed a duster off the rack and was falling in behind Pervez. The boat shuddered again, and Okonkwo pulled the nipple’s manual lever and locked them on. “Hard dock!” he radioed. “Venting atmosphere.” There was no atmosphere to vent, but Oliver made a mental note that the engineer was going by the book. “Outer hatch is open.” A moment later, Oliver could see the sparks of Okonkwo’s torch cutting into the head boat’s inner hatch. She unbuckled her restraints and pushed off the bench, letting the micro-g take her gently down onto the nipple behind McGrath.

  Okonkwo’s cut was near perfect, a long rectangle just big enough to admit a single boarder in their hardshell. He slowed as he made the final, descending cut. “You guys ready?”

  “We’re stacked,” Pervez said, not looking behind her. That either means she implicitly trusts her team, Oliver thought, or she’s not paying attention.

  “They’re coming through, Wen,” Oliver radioed. “You ready?”

  “Yeah. They better not kill me.”

  “They’ll just hurt you real bad, most likely,” Oliver radioed back. “You should be able to see the final cut now.”

  “I see it. Here we come.”

  As Okonkwo made the last cut, Ho kicked the section from the opposite side, shearing it off the hatch and sending it tumbling into the boarding team. Okonkwo shouted, thankfully with his radio toggled off, and dropped the cutting torch, stumbling back into Pervez. Oliver could see Ho and one of the head boat crew leveling their paint gu
ns at the newly created opening, lining up their sights to fire on the…

  Oliver could feel the deck shudder as McGrath stomped down his spider boots to give himself a stable platform and let loose with the duster. With the TAS, McGrath had easily nailed the garbage pods. Without it, he did just as well. Two targets, two shots. Ho caught the first one full in the face, went reeling into his shipmate. McGrath racked the duster’s slide and fired again, this time at the tiny glimpse of the crewman’s helmet not covered by Ho’s tumbling body. He hit the target square on. The training beanbags were loaded with half-charges. A full charge would risk damaging a hardshell’s integrity. But even with half the powder, the beanbags packed enough punch to send both Ho and the crewman on their backs. Oliver could see the remaining two crew inside the longhorn backing away with their hands up.

  “Ow,” Ho radioed to Oliver, “that was unpleasant.”

  “Kid can shoot,” Oliver radioed back. She could see the remaining crewman behind Ho raising his hands, getting on his knees. “OK, looks like your guy is compliant.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Ho said. “Your team has the vessel secured.”

  “Outstanding. Call the ENDEX.”

  A moment later, the klaxons began whirling, washing the tight confines of the nipple-gangway in shimmering red. “ENDEX ENDEX ENDEX,” crackled through their radios.

  Oliver turned to head back to her seat and saw Chief holstering his paint gun. “In case anyone is interested, we were clear on our drift.”

  “Save it,” Oliver said, “we’ll discuss it in the hot wash.”

  “Absolutely, ma’am. Just give me a word in private with BM1 first.”

  “Negative,” Oliver said, “we’re a contubernium. We are going to air the dirty laundry together.”

  Chief kept his eyes straight ahead as he turned back to his chair, but not before Oliver saw his mustache twitching through his helmet. Sorry, Chief, she thought. This is too important to let you do it your way.

  The silence on the road back was so uncomfortable that Oliver was grateful when Ho radioed her on a private channel. “So? What do you think?”

  “I think we’ve got a problem,” she said.

  “Seriously? I’ve never seen flying like that in my life. Shooting either. MK3 cut through the tow fender like he was carving hot margarine.”

  “No argument. As individuals, they’re best-in-class.”

  Ho paused before replying. “I see what you’re getting at here.”

  “They’re going to have to get the hell out of each other’s way if we want to win this thing, Wen.”

  “And that’s the impetus behind your whole contubernium schtick?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Guess you’ve got your work cut out for you then.”

  “What’s this ‘you’ business, XO? You’re on the hook for this, too.”

  Ho’s sigh was audible as he cut the connection.

  They hot-washed in the BMF just beside the executive pad. Chief insisted on doing post-run boat checks, even though Oliver would have preferred to let the incoming duty crew handle it. Oliver guessed he needed the familiar routine to clear his head, and decided it was best to leave him to it, though the waiting frustrated her.

  When they were finally done, the crew gathered around a work bench. Someone had clearly been checking autocannon loads, judging by the smell of propellant and the pooled stains of gun oil still faintly visible on the plastic. “OK,” Oliver said, “hot-wash. How does everybody think we did?”

  Pervez smiled. “We caught the fleeing vessel, neutralized a hostile crew, all without a single casualty or any damage to the longhorn. I’d call that a big win.”

  Oliver nodded, biting back a retort. “Everyone agree with that?”

  Chief shook his head. “No way. We discharged rounds when we could have evaded. Crew abandoned the helm without checking drift. We weren’t properly stacked on entry. All of that would have cost us points.”

  “I guess,” Pervez countered, “but in a real evolution, we would have all come home safe. Isn’t that what matters?”

  “Not when we’re training to win Boarding Action,” Oliver said.

  “With respect, ma’am,” Pervez said, “Boarding Action is about seeing who is the best at conducting boardings. Why should we heave-to on their arbitrary rules? That isn’t how things get done on the 16th Watch.”

  “Do you know what’s at stake here?” Oliver asked.

  “The guard’s never won a Boarding Action before…” Chief began.

  Oliver shook her head. “This isn’t about bragging rights, Chief. The Navy is pushing to edge us out of ops on the 16th Watch. They want the Moon on a war footing. They want to be the executive element for things like quarantine runners and scraps between miners. They want Lacus Doloris again. And again. And again. And the President is listening to them.”

  “How is winning Boarding Action supposed to help with that?” Okonkwo asked.

  “How is Boarding Action supposed to help with that, ma’am,” Chief corrected him.

  Oliver gave an exaggerated shrug. “Boarding Action is, in a development that none of us could ever have predicted, big TV. Twenty million viewers in the US alone last year, I think? People pay attention to it.”

  “So, ma’am?” Pervez accented the honorific ever so slightly with a glance at Chief.

  “Come on. Don’t pretend you haven’t seen the viral videos of Admiral Donahugh wiping the floor with the old man.”

  “I don’t use social media, ma’am,” McGrath said. “Shit’s bad for you.”

  “Concur,” Oliver said, “but we also can’t ignore it. And public affairs will probably require you to create accounts on every major service once we get closer to Boarding Action.

  “Christ,” McGrath muttered to himself.

  “Look,” Oliver went on. “Nobody knows who the hell the Coast Guard is, and those that do don’t even think we’re a branch of the military. The President doesn’t pay attention to us because the public doesn’t pay attention to us. And now our Commandant has been directly and publicly called out. A win at Boarding Action could change that perception overnight. It would give the Commandant leverage. It could help us stay at the helm of domestic ops out here. You remember Lacus Doloris. You remember what happened when they put Tom and his gunboats into the game. It turned a squabble into a massacre. You remember that boat collision just before I got out here?”

  Everyone around the table nodded. “That was an accident, ma’am,” Okonkwo said.

  “It surely was, but it came this close to being a deployment order with us folding under 11th Fleet. I was there with the marines training in NCD/0G – they were ready for a fight. They wanted a fight. We came this close. And make no mistake, war with China here won’t stay here. It’ll come home. It’ll be in the South China Sea and the Alaskan shore. If we’re lucky it won’t go nuclear, but I don’t want to take that bet. Boarding Action isn’t just about a win for the service. It could be the thing that helps us literally save the world.”

  “Jesus,” Pervez breathed. “No pressure.”

  “This, right there, is the thing we have to overcome. This is what we’re going to be working on.”

  “What?” Pervez looked up, “Pressure?”

  “No, that attitude. You’re bemoaning the pressure on you. But it’s not about you. Chief–”

  “So others might live,” Chief said, “others. Not us.”

  Oliver blinked. “How did you know that was what I was going to ask you?”

  “Ma’am, I didn’t sail with you for long, but I sailed with you for long enough,” Chief wasn’t smiling, but Oliver could hear it in his voice.

  She turned back to the crew, crossed her arms across her chest. “Forget the pressure on you. Let’s start thinking of the pressure on everyone else. We’re not doing this for ourselves, or even for the guard. We’re doing it for the future of everyone. There isn’t a human being on the Earth or out here who won’t be impacted if
this little cold war turns hot.”

  “Respectfully ma’am,” Okonkwo said, “this isn’t taking the pressure off.”

  “Not meant to,” Oliver said. “The stakes are what they are. But it should help in one small way. A burden that affects all is shouldered by all, and many shoulders carry a load far more easily than one pair. What I saw out there today blew my mind. BM1, you are the greatest pilot I have ever had the privilege to observe on the sea or in space. ME3, I have never seen shooting like that in my entire life. XO didn’t have a chance to get on his sights before you put one through his eye.”

  Ho pursed his lips. “Thanks for that.”

  Oliver waved his comment away, went on talking to McGrath. “And the second shot was even more breathtaking than the first. You had maybe a two inch target zone and you planted it standing on a nipple-gangway between two drifting boats. MK3, I have never seen a cut that precise and that fast. And Chief, you kept your hand on the tiller no matter what. You made sure things were run by the numbers, and when your people pushed back in a contingency, you didn’t pull rank and turn into an asshole. You rolled with it, and gave your people the rope they needed to get the job done. That is what good leaders do.”

  “But,” Chief said.

  “But,” Oliver agreed, “it wasn’t good enough. And you all know that.”

  “Good enough to get the job done,” Pervez said.

  “The job is to win Boarding Action,” Oliver replied, “and that means you run completely by the numbers. It means you hit every reg in the book, while still performing at the same outstanding level you demonstrated today.”

  “And how do you suggest we do that, ma’am?” McGrath asked.

  “I’m not suggesting anything, ME3. I’m telling you that you will stop getting in one another’s way, that you will come together as a team. BM1, I understand that you are the operational commander on scene, but we both know that is reserved for serious contingencies when Chief is clearly fucking up something major. And that was absolutely not the case here. When Chief calls a shot, you are going to take it as called. Each time, every time. And Chief, you are going to put the hammer down when that doesn’t happen. We’re going to get all the butthurt that results from that out of the way in training so we don’t have to deal with it when we go live. ME3 and MK3, you are going to be part of that, managing up when BM1 tells you to open fire on garbage pods, for Christ’s sake. What the hell were you thinking?”