Sixteenth Watch

by Myke Cole

  “Firing those thrusters,” Okonkwo said, “that’s the toughest thing I’ve ever done as an engineer, ma’am. Never would have happened in a simulator.”

  “Look,” Oliver said, “this is on me, not you. Those MARSOC bubbas couldn’t have done better than you did had they been the first boat on scene back there. I picked a political fight and I lost. Me. Not you. That’s why this is coming down from on high.”

  Chief arched his eyebrows. “You going to be OK, ma’am?”

  Oliver waved a hand. “I’ll be fine. What you need to remember is that you went after that mission like it owed you money, and that’s all any commander can ever ask. Boarding Action is a stupid contest. It doesn’t mean anything. The mission is what matters, and no matter what happens when we finally get out there for the actual exercise, you should know that you ran that mission like no other SAR operators I’ve ever launched with, and I’ve pretty much launched with them all.”

  Oliver could feel emotions around the table running high, but she was shocked to hear big, near-silent McGrath biting back a sob. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said, paused to make sure of his composure before continuing, “we wanted to… we wanted to…”

  “If you’re about to say that you wanted to make up for Tom’s death,” Oliver said, “or Kariawasm’s, or Flecha’s, you know you can’t. That’s not how these things work, it’s not your job, and there’s no need. But I hope you can take some comfort in knowing that this is exactly what all of them would have wanted. All of you working together. All of you fighting to do the job.”

  The silence that followed was nearly as long as when she’d first come in, and Oliver looked at each of the crew’s faces, trying to see if her words were helping, unable to tell. At last Chief sighed, shook his head. “So, what do we do now, skipper?” Not your skipper, Oliver thought, not anymore.

  She pushed the thought away. If she wasn’t technically their skipper, she still had a job left to do. “What do you think we do?” she asked. “We get back in the simulator, out on the range. We train our asses off, and we win this thing.”

  Oliver spent a solid ten minutes staring at the receiver that night before returning it to its cradle without calling Alice. She couldn’t face the horror of admitting to her daughter that she had failed, both in her mission and in securing a future where they could be together. She lay on her side instead, her mind doing endless self-recriminating loops that banished all hope of sleep.

  When she reported the next morning, the crew was already performing boat checks. Without the need to wait for an alarm call, they could get underway for training evolutions just as soon as Oliver launched a boat for them to target. They nodded at her, smiling the smiles of kids who’d just gotten away with something, and Oliver spent a solid ten minutes looking around for anything different before settling on it with a start.

  Someone had taken the longhorn out to the pad and put it back into the fleet. They were performing checks on a sparkling new rhino.

  “Well,” Oliver breathed. “This is certainly surprising. You sure this won’t throw you off? Kind of late in the game to be switching horses.”

  “Yeah, well,” Chief said, “I figure there’s different ways to honor legacy. The truth is that Flecha would have loved the new thrusters. And there’s…” he turned to Okonkwo, “you’d say double the room?”

  “At least,” Okonkwo smiled.

  “At least double the room under the cowling to work. She’d have really dug that. And Kariawasm would have appreciated the more responsive control.” Chief looked at his hands. “So. It’s still honoring them, really.”

  “I’d say so,” Oliver swallowed the lump in her throat. “Not going to be too much of a lift for you, BM1?”

  Pervez shrugged. “Be cool to fly the latest and greatest.”

  “I thought you didn’t need all those ‘bells and whistles.’”

  “I don’t,” Pervez agreed. “It’s still skill in the end. And sure, it’s late in the game to be introducing a new element. But,” she looked up, locked eyes with Oliver, “we just took on the PLAN twice in one day and lived to talk about it, the five of us. What’s one more impossible thing?”

  “You’re not suiting up, boss?” Chief asked.

  Oliver shook her head. She thought of telling them Allen had ordered her not to, decided against it. Her own morale was shattered, but she could still preserve theirs. “Nope. I think you’ve had enough executive supervision for one tour. Time for me to fade back and let you roll on your own. I won’t be able to be with you on your runs at Boarding Action. Just cheering from the sidelines like everyone else. With a week to go, best start getting used to that, I think.”

  “Aye aye, ma’am,” Chief said, turned to help Okonkwo seal his helmet. Okonkwo tried to do the same for Pervez, but fumbled the thumb tabs, knocking her helmet askew. Oliver saw the tremor of annoyance ripple across her features, dissolve just as quickly.

  “Sorry,” Okonkwo said, trying again.

  “No worries,” Pervez’s voice was barely above a whisper, but Oliver still heard it.

  Through the window, Oliver saw Ho and his crew of roleplayers launch, their longhorn rising up off the pad before engaging aft thrusters and heading out past the cutter launches. A moment later, SAR-1 followed. She settled herself behind one of the terminals and watched the mission logs scroll by, trying to figure out a way to get back to the Moon post-retirement. She could take out a personal loan? Start her own mining stake? Maybe Alice had made enough money to… All the thoughts came to the same dead end. Individual berths on the space elevator were the province of the super rich. Heavy lift rockets were even more expensive. Without government-backing, getting to the Moon would be impossible.

  She needed something else to think about, so she picked up the receiver and radioed Ho on his private channel.

  “What’s up, boss? We’re almost in position to start the evolution.”

  “This is going to sound weird, but… they’re all acting… nice.”

  “Nice.” Ho sounded skeptical. “Nice, how?”

  “Like, they’re treating one another… like I always hoped they would. Back when I first got here.”

  “Okaaaayyyyy,” Ho drawled.

  “I’m serious, Wen. It’s like someone flipped a switch. What the hell happened?”

  “Can’t you tell? They’re trying to win, boss. They want it because they know you want it. And they don’t want to let you down.”

  It was a moment before Oliver could speak. “But why now? I wanted it from the moment I got here.”

  Ho was quiet for a while before radioing back. “I guess, when you first got here, they wanted to make up for Tom, for the shipmates they lost. They wanted to do that for you and you told them they couldn’t, and they finally know you’re right.

  “So, now they’re doing this for you, instead.”

  Boarding Action’s ground facility was housed, in a development that surprised absolutely no one, at 11th Fleet headquarters on the edge of the Kepler Crater. The Obama was decked out in red, white and blue bunting that Oliver thought made it look like some kind of oblong Fourth of July picnic table. Its bays had been cleared of small boats to make room for the various competitors crowding in for docking, each one freshly cleaned, waxed and flying service flags from their mastheads. Oliver spotted the other four armed services, at least a half-dozen local police departments, and a host of other federal agencies with “close-quarters” missions – the ATF, FBI, State Department Diplomatic Security, Department of Energy Security Forces, she even saw a Postal Service boat.

  “What they heck are they doing here?” she asked Ho.

  “You know, mail fraud. Sometimes the bad guys make a run for it and don’t consent to a boarding.”

  “Man,” Oliver breathed. “Everyone’s in on the action.”

  “They made it through qualifiers, ma’am,” Chief said. “We should take them seriously.”

  “We absolutely should,” Oliver agreed.
<
br />   A flashing light made Oliver wince, but a quick glance confirmed it was just another camera crew. They swarmed around the Obama, darting in and out between the boats, shooting every team from every angle. Okonkwo gave a salute that turned into a wave as the camera’s spotlight swept across his helmet.

  “Well, I guess we’re famous now.” She was grateful she couldn’t hear the roaring crowd or the announcers she knew were in the temporary sound stage they’d built at 11th Fleet, no doubt already predicting MARSOC16’s imminent victory.

  Still, it was a stirring sight. The camera lights played across the hulls of the gathered regatta, dancing on the waving flags, the glowing running lights, the bright orbs of the mastheads. Oliver felt the same stirring in her heart that she’d felt when she’d participated in the parade of ships into New York harbor during Fleet Week, standing behind the bow gun on one of the Defiance Class boats escorting the Coast Guard cutters in, underway bow to stern down the channel, flags fluttering in the May breeze. “A fleet underway sure is a sight, isn’t it?” she whispered into the radio.

  “It sure is, ma’am,” her crew came back.

  Ho put a gauntleted hand on her shoulder, radioed her on a private channel. “Well, boss, we made it. What do you think?”

  “I think,” Oliver said, “that I’ve never missed Tom or my kids so much in my entire life.”

  “Have you told Alice yet?”

  “I just… I can’t bring myself to make the call, Wen.”

  “It’s OK,” Ho radioed back. “Don’t think about it now. I know she’ll understand when you’re ready to talk to her.”

  Oliver’s throat closed, and she couldn’t respond.

  “So,” Ho deftly changed the subject and gestured to the team, who were running through system checks yet again as they prepared for clearance to dock with the Obama, “what’s the verdict, boss? Can they win?”

  Oliver was surprised to feel herself smiling. “I don’t think it matters anymore.”

  “Maybe they’ll surprise you.”

  The small boat in front of them dipped its bow, fired its aft thrusters, and began to drop down toward the open bay. “We’re on deck, everybody,” Chief radioed. “I know the actual competition hasn’t started yet, but you can bet your asses the cameras will be all over us as we tie up, so everyone look smart, and we do it by the numbers. Save the edgy stuff for when we need it. Don’t let the attention make you squirly.”

  “Aye aye, Chief,” the crew replied.

  The Obama’s open flight bay looked like a giant roll-top desk, its accordioned bay doors lifted all the way up, the long teeth of the boat jetties sticking out like a collection of loose pens. Nearly every one of them had a small boat tied up, the crews in their hardshells going over their post-mooring checks with a seriousness and alacrity she was certain they never showed any other time. The reason was apparent. The space swarmed with camera launches, the spotlights sweeping and intersecting and splitting apart until the bay looked as if it were in the midst of a sparkling snowstorm.

  Pervez sighed. “Christ. No pressure.”

  “We’re good,” Chief said, “just pretend they’re not there.”

  The bay shimmered with camera lights. Oliver could see where most of the Obama’s crew off duty had come to crowd the railings to watch the boats come in. Pervez turned to look at Chief. “How do you propose I do that, Chief?”

  Chief laughed. “Imagine they’re all naked.”

  “I didn’t think it was possible to make it worse,” Pervez said, “but I guess that’s why you’re the Chief.”

  The laughter went on for a while, but when it finally ran itself out, Oliver noticed they were still in a holding pattern. “Did we miss the signal to tie up? I feel like we’ve been here forever.”

  “No, ma’am,” Pervez said. “We’d have seen one of the controllers waving us in.” She pointed at the controllers, floating in their hardshells in the micro-g, EVA maneuvering packs around their waists. They held lighted wands to guide the boats to their jetties, but these were currently still.

  “I don’t get it,” Oliver said. “It looks like everyone in front of us is tied up. What are they waiting for?”

  “Dunno, ma’am,” Chief said. “That is kinda weird.”

  “How’s the line behind us?” Oliver asked.

  Chief looked at the radar. “Long enough that they shouldn’t be wasting this much time. I wonder what’s…”

  Oliver saw three Navy small boats streak past them, guns out. They weren’t flying their flags and their aft thrusters were burning, pushing them hard down to the surface. “Where’d they come from?” Oliver asked.

  “Next bay over, ma’am,” Okonkwo said.

  “That’s got to be their ops bay,” Chief said. “They probably keep that one up for alert status while all of us are tying up here.”

  Oliver felt pinpricks of worry blossom in her lower back and slowly work their way up her spine. “But wouldn’t they be on alert status to guard the event?”

  “I’d imagine so, ma’am,” Chief said. “This is definitely a security concern. Bigger than the Super Bowl.”

  “What the hell is…” Oliver began, then froze.

  She could see the MARSOC16 boat, the first into the bay, an honor reserved for the returning champions, and tied up front and center at the jetty closest to the airlock that led into the Obama and the impromptu press room beyond. The MARSOC16 team was racing down the launch, hardshells on. Fujimori opened the hatch, and Koenig rushed inside. Slomowicz jogged behind them, tapping a plastic tablet that probably was their boat check sheet.

  Pre-launch boat checks. They were getting underway.

  Two more Navy boats streaked past them, heading down to the lunar surface. Then two more.

  Oliver toggled the channel to the Obama’s control center, keeping the channel open for the crew to hear. “Control, control, this is US Coast Guard SAR-1. What’s going on?”

  No response.

  She toggled to SPACETACLET, called the ops center. She didn’t know if Avitable or Allen had sent the word down yet that she was relieved, but Allen had said he wanted to keep it quiet until after Boarding Action, so it was worth a shot. They might still obey her.

  “Ops,” Oliver recognized Baskin’s voice.

  “Baskin! It’s skipper,” she lied, “we’re trying to dock with the Obama and suddenly everything is on its head. Is there something going on?”

  “Yes, ma’am. There’s fighting on the surface.”

  “Fighting? What kind of fighting? Where?”

  “We’re not sure ma’am, but it sounds like…”

  “Baskin! Where!?”

  “Sinus Medii, ma’am.”

  Sinus Medii.

  Alice.

  “Baskin, I need coordinates. SAR-1 is inbound.” Oliver worked to keep the panic from her voice, “Who is the alert crew right now?”

  “SAR-3 is already patrolling…”

  “Send them my transponder signal and have them meet me on the surface.”

  “Ma’am, I…”

  “Coordinates in my plotter right now!”

  “Aye aye, ma’am.”

  “Boss,” Ho radioed her on a private channel. “You know you can’t…”

  “Yes, Wen, I know. And you know I’m damn well doing it anyway.”

  “I know you are,” Ho said. “Aaaaand, it’s Admiral Allen on encrypted. Seems like he knows you as well as I do.”

  “Fuck,” Oliver said. “Hang on.” She chin toggled over to the encrypted channel.

  “Jane,” Allen was already half-way through saying the syllable of her name when she picked up. “I know what you’re thinking, and you are to stand down, do you hear me?”

  “Sir, it’s–”

  “Jane, I don’t give a flying fuck what it is. You want to help, and you can, but right now, this is an international incident and weapons are hot and that is not your job.”

  “Sir, it is our j–”

  “No, Jane, it is not, b
ecause I have two more stars on my shoulder than you do and I am telling you it is not. Do you fucking read me?”

  Oliver swallowed. The images of Alice’s face, of her hab burning. Of Tom’s boat dancing in gunfire swamped her, making her feel faint. “Yes, sir,” she managed.

  “Good,” Allen’s voice softened. “Now, I need you over Sinus Medii with all the other SPACETACLET boats which are launching right now. Once this evolution plays out, you will do SAR and be on standby to provide a force multiplier if required by the Marines. The 32nd Marine Expeditionary Unit is the supported command for this, and you are the supporting, is that clear, admiral?”

  “Yes, sir. But can you please tell me what the hell is going on?”

  “It’s Doloris all over again, just in a different spot. Flare up between American and Chinese miners. I have no idea over what.”

  “Sir, we’re not interrupting Boarding Action over a flare up.”

  “We’re not, the People’s Armed Police responded, and the Medii police responded to their response. There was a shootout and the Navy got involved. It’s spiraling. Right now it’s a hab-to-hab fight in the mining camp.”

  “Holy shit, sir. Is it war?”

  “Let’s hope not. But if it is, it’s starting with the best. General Fraser is leading the team personally, it’s the best the Marines has to offer. Hopefully, we won’t be needed, but just in case we are, get down there and standby for orders. I’m on the SPACETACLET control floor. Commander Avitable is with me, but I will be commanding this operation personally. I, and not you. Remember that. You can reach me here.”

  “Aye aye, sir,” Oliver said, her stomach settling somewhat now that she had a plan of action.

  “Ma’am,” Pervez radioed, “I’ve got coordinates in my plotter from SPACETACLET control. It’s coded as a–”

  “Hot war, yes,” Oliver said. “We’re fighting the Chinese in Sinus Medii. Get us down there, BM1. McGrath, guns up.”

  “Aye aye, ma’am,” they said at the same time. The silence was thick as Pervez fired attitude thrusters and shifted the boat to starboard, angling the bow before firing the aft thrusters and setting them moving. No one said a word, but then again nobody needed to. Everyone knew where Alice lived.