“Long-term it would be a health hazard, although if you are on this moon more than one day a Bosphuraq missile is more likely to endanger your health. The dust will be an irritant to your throat, lungs and especially your eyes, I suggest you breathe through your nose and use lubricant eyedrops. If needed, the team can close their helmet faceplates and breathe filtered air without depleting your suit oxygen reserves.”
“Breathing filtered air would also take care of the odor,” Smythe nodded and swung his faceplate down, eyeclicking to instruct the suit to pull cabin air through the filters. His own eyes had been watering, and even he had become a bit dizzy from the unique stench of the Bosphuraq. He nodded permission for the team to seal up their helmets. “It is rather, rank in here,” he admitted. A good leader considered his team’s personal comfort an important factor in combat readiness. “Drivers, move when you are ready. Everyone, sit on the floor and brace yourselves, from what I saw of this crawler, the ride could get bumpy.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Everything went fine for several hours, nothing even remotely interesting happened. The crawler traveled along its assigned route, with Skippy managing the stealth field and sensor feeds from the crawler so the alien base saw only what we wanted them to see. The crawler stopped at the appropriate sensor stations for the appropriate length of time, with Skippy making the stealth field radiate images of two Bosphuraq knuckleheads getting out at each sensor station and do whatever they were supposed to do. He even made the fake images screw up and waste time like the real crew did, causing the base duty officer to yell at them to get moving.
Smythe began to have hope the mission would only suffer one serious setback, when the screw-up fairy woke up from a three-day-weekend drunk with a whopping hangover and decided she needed to visit her special kind of magic on someone.
The crawler had easily rolled down the hard rock of mountain ridge, and the drivers had the throttle wide open to get the vehicle across the floor of the valley below. Skippy had warned them that the shallow valley had a deep accumulation of dust and it was standard procedure for the Bosphuraq assigned to the moonbase to speed through the valley like a snowmobile crossing a short length of open water. The dust in the valley was deep enough to come halfway up the sides of the crawler and was not packed down tightly in the low gravity, which was why the interior of the crawler was nearly empty. After the first set of crawlers to travel that route had bogged down and got stuck in the dust, the base commander had ordered all nonessential equipment stripped out of the vehicles to lighten their load.
The STAR team’s crawler, moving at an alarming speed that jostled the team trying to hold onto anything on the smooth floor of the cabin, shot down the last foothill and splashed across the dust filling the bottom of the valley, wallowing and sliding but making it across to begin climbing up a ravine on the other side. That ravine lead up to a shelf where the crawler would need to turn right to follow the crest of the ridge where the last three sensor stations were located.
The trouble at first showed itself as nothing more than a slight side-to-side wobble of the treads, requiring a slight adjustment in the steering. Then the crawler began slowing down while climbing the still-gentle rise, requiring slightly more throttle. Then more throttle was needed and the craft began fishtailing and the treads slipped. Finally, no amount of throttle could keep the crawler moving forward, because it had stalled.
“Sir!” Nunnally shouted from the cockpit while beside him, Grudzien tried alternating power from one tread to the other. “We’re stuck!”
“Cut the throttle!” Smythe shouted, standing up and moving toward the cockpit. “We’re just churning dust, we will overwhelm the stealth field. Skippy, what is wrong?”
“Working on it. I do not understand, um, heh heh. This is kind of funny. Well, not funny, exactly. Interesting. Um, it appears the problem is mass, or weight. Your team is too heavy, Colonel Smythe. Your team, their suits, and the two stealth generators, they are making the crawler sink into the dust that has slid down the mountainsides here.”
“This ravine is also filled with dust?”
“Technically the word ‘ravine’ implies the terrain feature was cut by water, as in the term ‘riverine’, which of course-”
“This is not an Oxford geology course,” Smythe’s reserve was becoming depleted. “The crawler is not capable of climbing up this hill?”
“Not with all of you aboard, no. The weight issue is why the birdbrains stripped out the interiors of their crawlers and also removed the side and roof racks. Which, hmm, is a fact I knew, and um, shmaybe I should have considered the effect of loading your team and gear aboard. Well, heh heh, we can all laugh about this some-”
“Beer can,” Smythe bit off each word, signifying the end of his patience. “If you say that annoying ‘well, heh heh’ one more time-”
“Oh, damn it, now I need a new catchphrase? What a pain, or, oooh! Hey, this is an opportunity for me to create a new catchphrase. Cool! How about something like ‘Shazam’?”
“The,” Smythe balled up his fists, the powered gloves prevented from crushing his own hands by the suit’s computer. “Catchphrase is not the problem. How can we fix this?”
“Um, well, it would help if you all got lighter.”
That time, Smythe had to count down from eight before he could speak rationally. How Colonel Bishop dealt with Skippy without the extreme temptation to toss the beer can into a star, Smythe had no idea. “Assume we cannot ignore the laws of physics, please.”
“Oh, in that case, um, let me think. It looks like you have to get out and walk, until the crawler reaches about eighty percent of the way up the ravine. To be certain, you will also need to remove the bodies of Tweedledum and Tweedledumbass, because you will need to have two drivers aboard and the dead guys are just, you know, dead weight. Hee hee, that was funny.”
“We can’t leave the bodies exposed on the surface.”
“Nope. You will need to carry them with you. Although, wow, that is a long way to walk. Getting up to where the surface is relatively free of dust is over nine kilometers. And, um, now that we know weight is a problem, there are two other locations along the crawler’s patrol route where it is likely to slip in the dust if your team is aboard. Wow, damn, you will be walking a really long way. Sorry about that. Uh, shazam?”
Walking a significant distance was not a problem because of the strain on his team’s muscles, it was a problem because there were no spare powerpacks for the combots. If needed, he could strip powercells from the two weapons platforms, to keep the chassis carrying the big stealth generator moving. Smythe studied the map projected inside his faceplate.
“Hey, I don’t want to rush you, but, um, you do need to hurry,” Skippy chided. “The base duty officer is already asking why the crawler is not moving, I am running out of excuses. Also, while we sit here, the treads are sinking deeper into the dust beneath you.”
Smythe impressed himself by remaining calm. The whole operation had been bollixed from the start. “Do you have a suggestion how we can-”
Frey rapped her armored gloves on the cabin wall to get the team commander’s attention. “Colonel Smythe? The dust here is three meters thick, according to the sensor under this thing.”
“Yes,” Smythe did not appreciate the interruption. “The depth of the dust will become a problem if the crawler settles to the-”
“No Sir,” she shook her head. “I think the dust is an opportunity. Can we just bury the dead guys here, under the dust?”
“Hmm,” Skippy mused. “That is actually a good idea. Eventually, their remaining body heat will cause a detectible heat plume on the surface of the dust, but by that time, you will either have taken control of the moonbase or failed entirely. So, no downside!” He chuckled.
“Good thinking, Frey. That relieves two people from carrying additional burdens, we still have the problem of the team and combots making an unplanned march of- Skippy, where could we safely reboard the
crawler?”
“That spot is thirty eight kilometers farther along the route, I am sorry about that.”
Thirty eight kilometers was too far for the combots to march and still have power for the assault on the moonbase. They were designed for short, violent actions, not as mechanical beasts of burden. If they could- Smythe realized with a start there might be another show-stopper of a problem. “The crater that surrounds the moonbase, dust there will not be a problem for our approach? We can’t travel as quickly as the crawler, nor can we let it go on ahead of the team, because the crawler is carrying our stealth gear.”
“Dust in the crater is not a problem, because the Bosphuraq built several roadways from the base to the lip of the crater. No, the only problem is in these mountains. Landslides have caused thick layers of dust to accumulate in what you call ravines.”
“Smythe?” Bishop interrupted Smythe’s dark thoughts. “I don’t want to be a backseat driver, but from up here, I have a different perspective. The crawler route is thirty eight kilometers, but straight overland to the reboarding point is only eight klicks. You can climb over this ridge here,” he passed the map to Smythe’s suit computer. “It’s too steep for the crawler, but you should be able to make it, and the combots can climb better than we can.”
“Give me a moment, Sir,” Smythe held up a finger though the Flying Dutchman’s commander could not see him. The map provided by Bishop projected a route up the side of the ravine near the bottom where it was still shallow, then up and over a ridge too steep for the crawler. He studied the map from a side profile, seeing several potential trouble spots. “Skippy? You will be controlling the combots, can they make the journey?”
“Hmm,” the beer can considered that notion. “The two regular combots will not have any problem going over that ridge. But the combot carrying the big stealth generator will need help in one, no, two short sections of the route. You can use cables to winch it up. Hmm, the only difficulty will be keeping your entire team under the coverage of the portable stealth field, they can’t be strung out in a long line.”
“Skippy,” Bishop asked, “the portable stealth generator needs to go with the ground team, there is no need to bring the big generator with them.” Smythe’s team had two stealth field generators with them; a small unit that covered only his team or a crawler, and a bigger unit that could temporarily envelop the entire moonbase. “The only problem I see is that if the people walking overland use the portable stealth generator, there won’t be a stealth field concealing the crawler. Can the crawler use the big generator? The crawler is carrying the big generator anyway.”
“No!” Skippy shouted. “Do not turn that big generator on until it is at the moonbase, it uses way too much power. The crawler really doesn’t need a stealth field, Joe. The last three sensor stations are located above where the crawler can access, so crews do not get out of the crawler unless they need to make repairs to the stations. All three of those stations are in perfect working order, so there is no need for me to fake images of two Bosphuraq getting out and walking around. The two drivers only need to keep the crawler’s transmitter turned off and follow the route until you meet them on the other side of the ridge.”
“Good, then,” Bishop’s voice reflected the strain of being forced to watch and wait while the STAR team carried out the mission. “Smythe, I think that takes care of the immediate problem?”
“Understood and agreed. Colonel Bishop, that is an excellent plan, thank you.” Smythe chided himself for not utilizing the resources aboard the ship sooner. “I hope we have used up our quota of bad luck for today. Team, we are getting out here, except for the drivers.”
Katie Frey was first to step off the back ramp, and promptly and slowly fell feet-first into the dust, sinking toward the bottom until her boots touched. Minerals in the dust and the static charge it held partly blocked the faint signals from the crawler, and the signal strength could not be boosted without being detected by the enemy.
Walking was impossible so she dropped to hands and knees and crawled blindly, feeling her way upward to the side, until the antenna atop her helmet was close enough to the surface to receive a signal. “I am uninjured,” she reported, and moments later her helmet rose back into vacuum. “Colonel Smythe,” she gently tapped dust off her helmet, “I think people need to get out on their backs or bellies, and swim to the, sort of shore.”
Smythe did not like that idea. “Frey, we are sending a cable to you, anchor it on a rock.”
One by one, the crew slid off the ramp, pulling themselves hand over hand along the cable until they were all out of the dust pool, except for Smythe. He popped the helmet seals of the two dead Bosphuraq and slid them into the dust, watching them disappear much too slowly. Then there was the problem of the three combots. “Skippy? You can get the combots to shore?”
“The two weapons carriers, yes. The one with the stealth generator is a problem. It is going to sink like a stone. I can probably control it at the bottom, but we need a backup.”
“Sir? I can walk back into the dust, get into direct contact with the combot.” Frey volunteered.
Smythe accepted that Frey was their only dust-walking expert. “Very well, wait for the bot to settle, don’t go in there unless I give the order.”
The first two combots leapt athletically from the ramp toward the ravine’s side, landing with their sensor crowns above the dust, and Skippy barely needed to guide them splashing out of the dust. The last combot could not be risked with a jump, so it gently stepped off the ramp and sank rapidly. “Wait, wait,” Skippy cautioned as Katie set down her rifle, preparing to walk down into the dust over her head. “It’s slow but it’s working. I don’t want you in that dust unless it becomes absolutely necessary, your suit’s coolant radiators won’t work under there and you could overheat. The dust may clog your radiators, it has already affected your suit’s performance.”
As Smythe stood on the ramp, silently urging the proceedings to move faster, Skippy did his best to move the combot. It stumbled badly several times, coming close to tipping over, until its antenna emerged from the surface, prompting silent cheers from the team. When it carefully walked clear of the dust, Smythe clipped the cable to his belt and ordered the team to pull him away from the crawler. “Right,” he declared as he attempted to brush dust off the front of his suit. “Grudzien, Nunnally, get the crawler moving. Team, step away from the dust.” It was good that Smythe gave that last order, for the crawler’s treads churned up a rooster tail of dust before it lurched forward. Making steady and controlled progress, the drivers slowly increased speed as it climbed the ravine, until Skippy pulled the stealth field back and a true image of the crawler was exposed to the satellites overhead. No alarm was sounded, and the bodies of the two dead Bosphuraq remained firmly on the bottom of the ravine, buried under deep dust. Smythe got his team moving, with Skippy outlining the edges of the portable stealth field that protected the marching column from prying eyes.
Last to leave the crawler while it was stuck in the dust, Smythe was also last to reboard it at the rendezvous point. The biggest problem his team had encountered along the way was boredom, they reached the rendezvous point two hours before the crawler and had absolutely nothing to do until that vehicle rolled close enough for Skippy to extend the stealth field over it once again. Though only ninety minutes remained until they were scheduled to drive the crawler into its garage at the moonbase, Smythe ordered the team to take forty-minute powernaps in shifts. He knew the elite warriors did not want to miss any action, he also knew they had long since developed an ability to catch sleep whenever they could. Smythe, too, nodded off when it was his turn, being jostled awake much too soon.
It was much too soon, the clock in his faceplate showed only nine minutes passed since he closed his eyes. A soldier was kneeling next to him, gently shaking Smythe’s shoulder. “Sir, we have a problem.”
Smythe was instantly and fully awake. “What is it?” He asked the people working t
o assemble the big stealth generator in the cramped confines of the crawler’s cabin.
“I will not say ‘Well heh heh’ since that gets your knickers in a twist,” Skippy announced. “However, this is a story you will look back on and laugh at later. Um, if, you know, there is a later for you. It seems that, when the combot fell off the back of the ramp into the dust, we lost part of the big stealth field generator.”
“Lost?”
“It was there for sure when the combat got into the crawler the first time, and it’s not there now, so it fell out somewhere along the way. The most likely place we could have lost it is when the combot was under the dust, because it nearly tipped over several times down there.”
“You just now noticed it is missing?”
“I did not notice it is gone, the assembly team noticed. I am aboard the ship, remember? Huuuuh,” he sighed. “You monkeys are so careless with your toys.”
“Your sensors cannot keep track of-”
“My sensors could keep track of even tiny parts, though bandwidth through the microwormhole is restricted. The reason I did not keep track of every single nit-picky little detail is that I have a rather short attention span, in case you haven’t noticed. Really, this is your fault for relying on an absent-minded beer can to watch your vital equipment. What were you thinking?”
Smythe regretted that he could not even hit the beer can with a hammer, since the Flying Dutchman was safely far from the moon.
“Colonel Smythe,” Skippy sighed again. “I am disappointed, you should have given me a snappy retort.”
“I have your retort right here,” Smythe squeezed the stock of his rifle. “Why don’t you come down here and I’ll show it to you?”
“Um, thank you, but being down there sounds dangerous, especially around your team, so I will stay right here.”
Renegades (Expeditionary Force Book 7) Page 23