A World of Hurt

by David Sherman

  It was time for 34th FIST to go home.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The We're Here! invasion fleet, scattered over several light-minutes, emerged into Space-3 along the orbital plane, a couple of Astronomical Units out from Maugham's Station. The distance was beyond the incidental reach of most of the sensors of the planet's geosync satellite, which were faced in toward the planet anyway, and outside the observation cone of the outward facing sensors, which were aimed perpendicular to the orbital plane, the customary direction for starships to approach a planetary system. It was a reasonable direction from which to approach the pirate base. After all, Maugham's Station never detected the pirate vessels--unless, of course, the Maugham's Station government sponsored the pirates.

  As the fleet began its slow assembly, Admiral of the Starry Heavens Sativa Orange received the message from Captain Main of the deep space tug Annie about the arrival of the Confederation Navy's Mandalay-class Amphibious Landing Ship, Force, the CNSS Grandar Bay, and her embarked Confederation Marine Corps Fleet Initial Strike Team. The admiral had exclaimed, "We're going to land and wipe out the Confederation's little pirate den. Think they can mess with We're Here!, do they!"

  Neither the Broken Missouri nor the Heavenly Mary was orbiting at the geosync position opposite Maugham's Station's lone satellite. Based on the Broken Missouri's vector when she left Maugham's Station, Captain Main believed that she was back at the Rock. Likewise, the Heavenly Mary had left on a vector that could take her back where she'd come from--wherever that was.

  Four days standard after the amphibious landing force arrived in the evirons of Maugham's Station, the ships' captains again assembled in the wardroom of the Goin'on to be addressed by their commander. Again, two captains stood back to front in close physical contact. Their neighbors, though fully aware of the intimacy of their contact, ostentatiously ignored them; except for Captain Main, who hadn't been present at the previous assembly.

  "Ladies and gentlemen," Admiral Orange began, once more standing partly in the wardroom's hatch and partly in the passageway outside it, "the Confederation Navy pirates are ignorant of our presence, and we are going to use that ignorance to our advantage. The fleet will divide into three task forces for the assault. The assault will commence twelve hours standard, after the return of either the Broken Missouri or the Heavenly Mary." Behind him, Vice Admiral Toke, the We're Here! navy's chief of operations, displayed a chart, which most of the assembled captains couldn't see at all because of its position in the passageway, and none could see completely because Admiral Orange stood in the way.

  "Task Force One, code named 'Toke' and under command of Vice Admiral Toke, will consist of the dreadnought Groovy and both Freemont-class light cruisers, along with the destroyer escorts. Task Force Toke will board and take command of the CNSS Grandar Bay.

  "Task Force Two, code named 'Head' and commanded by Captain Head--who for the duration of this operation will be an acting commodore--will consist of the three Mallory-class destroyers." To his rear, Toke flipped over another chart. "Task Force Head's mission is to destroy the Confederation Navy string-of-pearls satellites and take possession of Maugham's Station's geosync.

  "Task Force Three, code named 'Crashpad' and commanded by Rear Admiral Crashpad, will consist of the four auxiliary assault-landing ships, infantry, and the heavy cruiser Goin'on." Admiral Toke displayed a third chart that nobody could completely see. "The Goin'on will initiate the attack by boarding and securing the pirate ship as soon as she settles into orbit. As soon as the string-of-pearls is secured, the two Mallorys that have embarked naval infantry will join Task Force Crashpad, which will then launch a combat assault planetfall and take the pirate base.

  "I will initially be with Task Force Crashpad.

  "Are there any questions?" Without waiting to see if there were, Admiral Orange stepped back out of the hatch, knocking over the easel holding the charts Toke had tried to display. Orange shot a glare at his N3. "I hope you aren't so clumsy when you take the Grandar Bay," he snarled. He marched down the passageway to his cabin and disappeared into it.

  The captains remained standing, looking expectantly at the commanders of the task forces to tell them where to assemble for their briefings. Or, failing that, to tell them when to expect orders. Vice Admiral Toke, Rear Admiral Crashpad, and acting Commodore Head, for their part, stood in the passageway, looking at each other uncertainly. Except for the three charts Toke had been instructed to prepare for Admiral Orange's briefing, none of them had heard anything about the assault plan before the breifing and none of them had the foggiest notion of what they were supposed to do next.

  Captain Main was the one who broke the silence.

  "Adm'ral," she growled. "D'any o' ya have plans, or do ya want us to help ya make some?"

  Vice Admiral Toke, after seeing the other task force commanders look away from her, realized that as the senior officer present, she was the one who had to answer Main's question. She cleared her throat before she spoke. "Ah, yes, ah, Captain Main. That's an excellent idea. The captains for Task Force Toke, please remain in the wardroom. The captains for Task Force Head, assemble at the fore end of the passageway, and Task Force Crashpad at the aft end. You and your respective commanders will immediately commence drawing up plans for your phases of the operation." She moved the easel out of the way so the captains for Task Forces Head and Crashpad could get by, and looked expectantly into the wardroom.

  "Adm'ral," Captain Main said before anybody could leave, "some of us captains ain't bin assigned to task forces. Wha'da we do?"

  Toke blinked a couple of times. Oh yes, she realized, the supply ships and tugs hadn't been assigned to task forces.

  "Ah, Captain Main, ah, I think for the time being, ah, until further disposition the, ah, remaining ships will form Task Force Four, code named 'Main.' If you would be so good as to assemble your captains someplace out of the way and begin drawing up plans..." Her voice trailed off. She didn't know what to tell Captain Main and the captains of her "task force" what to plan, and she hoped Admiral Orange wouldn't get furious when he found out a "Task Force Main" had been formed without his permission.

  Captain Main hesitated for a moment; she was to command a task force? She was a mere ensign. Not only did all three of the supply ship captains outrank her, but one of the other tug captains was also senior to her. She looked at them. They all looked away.

  "Aargh," Captain Main finally said. The order for her to be in command had been given by a vice admiral. Who was she or the other captains to question her? "Ya heard the man. Le's go find a place we can figure out what we're doin'." She bulled her way through the assembled captains, and the other captains of Task Force Main meekly followed in her wake.

  Successful combat commanders strive to plan for the unexpected so they can seize any opportunity that arises--or at least so they don't get caught in a situation where they can't respond effectively to enemy action. They do this because they know full well that their plan, no matter how detailed and how good, probably won't work at all once the first shot is fired. Sometimes events totally obliviate the original plan even before the first shot is fired. What it boils down to is, generals (and admirals) don't often win battles with the brilliance of their plans, but they can most assuredly lose them.

  As for the plan devised by Admiral of the Starry Heavens Sativa Orange, well...

  "Admiral? Admiral, sir." Commander Moon Happiness, captain of the Goin'on, stepped closer when Admiral Orange didn't respond to his urgent voice and shook his shoulder. "Admiral, wake up, sir. We have a situation, sir." He shook the admiral's shoulder more vigorously. "Sir?"

  Lieutenant Shroom, the Goin'on's doctor, rushed into the cabin and shouldered Happiness aside. "Sorry, sir," he said rapidly, "but he insisted on a sedative. You can't wake him that way." The doctor opened the top of the admiral's sleep shirt and exposed his shoulder. "I have to give him a stimulant," he explained. He quickly applied an injector pad to the admiral's bare shou
lder, then stepped back.

  Happiness didn't need the hint, he'd already stepped away from the admiral's bunk.

  In a few seconds the stimulant reached the admiral's bloodstream. When it did, he abruptly sat up, flailing his arms about and shouting incoherently. After a moment he realized where he was and who was present. He fixed Happiness and Shroom with a baleful stare and roared, "What is the meaning of this?"

  "Sir, we have a situation," Happiness said.

  "We most certainly do, Captain!" Admiral Orange said threateningly.

  "Sir, the Grandar Bay is retrieving her string-of-pearls."

  "You think a maintenance problem on an enemy ship is a good enough reason to wake me up?" he bellowed incredulously.

  "Sir, it looks like she's preparing to leave orbit."

  "What? Why didn't anybody warn me of this?" The admiral swung his legs over the side of the bunk and stood, looking around for his uniform.

  "Sir, we had no advance warning. I came to wake you as soon as we detected what she was doing."

  "Have either of the pirate ships returned?" Admiral Orange asked. He spotted his uniform and began pulling on the trousers and tunic over his sleep clothes.

  "Nossir. We don't expect the Broken Missouri for another week standard." Happiness didn't bother to mention that they didn't have enough information to know when to expect the Heavenly Mary to return.

  "Sound battle stations."

  "Sir?"

  "Have you gone deaf, Captain?" The admiral paused in buttoning his tunic to glare at Happiness. "I said battle stations!"

  "Aye aye, sir!" The Goin'on's captain spun about and left the cabin to sound battle stations, even though with the We're Here! fleet as far out of range of Maugham's Station and the orbiting Confederation starship as it was, he knew there was absolutely no need for anyone to head for battle stations for several days to come.

  "Incompetents! Why am I surrounded by incompetents!" the admiral muttered as he brushed past Lieutenant Shroom into the passageway. He used his fingers to comb his hair as he headed for the bridge.

  The ship's PA system blared out an ear-splitting klaxon, and a carefully modulated female voice crooned, "All hands, now hear this. Battle stations. All hands, battle stations."

  "Well, what are you standing around waiting for?" Admiral Orange demanded as he bustled onto the bridge. The members of the bridge crew were all sitting at their duty stations, waiting for orders.

  "What does the admiral want us to do, sir?" Happiness asked.

  "Stop the Grandar Bay from breaking orbit, of course!"

  Shortly, Task Forces Toke, Head, and Crashpad were heading toward Maugham's Station under inertial power. They were four days away from a contact position with the Grandar Bay, and even Admiral Orange knew the Confederation starship would probably break orbit sooner than that. The admiral began issuing orders to cover all contingencies.

  In the absence of any orders at all, Task Force Main followed slowly.

  It took a day and a half standard for the Essay to retrieve the string-of-pearls, and another half day for it to return to the Grandar Bay. The Essay docked in the starship's welldeck and was locked down, and its crew headed for their berthing compartment. Moments later the Grandar Bay's PA system commenced the final countdown to launch, and the mighty amphibious starship began her gracefully ponderous break from orbit. Her exit took her to planetary north, angled away from the sun. There was no rush. Commodore Boreland ordered a flight path that would take the starship four days to reach her first jump point. Three hours after launch, the commodore ordered gravity restored, and the off-duty crew and embarked Marines were permitted to leave their cabins and compartments. Shortly after, the galleys were in full operation and the first shift was called to the main mess halls. Most of the Marines headed for other open spaces. Boreland sent a steward to Brigadier Sturgeon and Colonel Ramadan with an invitation to join him in his dining salon for a simple repast.

  The mahogany dining table in Commodore Boreland's quarters was covered with a snow-white, damasked linen cloth. Four places were set at it. The commodore and Captain Maugli, the Grandar Bay's executive officer, were waiting for Brigadier Sturgeon and Colonel Ramadan when they arrived.

  "Gentlemen!" Boreland said, greeting the two Marines and shaking their hands. "I believe you both know Captain Maugli."

  "Yes we do, Roger," Sturgeon said. "Good to see you again, Zsuz." He shook Maugli's hand.

  "And you, Ted. Ike," Maugli said as he let go of Sturgeon's hand and shook with Ramadan.

  "An aperitif, gentlemen?" Boreland asked, and turned to a side table, where a bottle of cognac waited with four snifters. A nearby steward reached for the bottle, but Boreland waved him away and poured himself.

  "Gentlemen," Boreland said, when everyone had a glass, "to a strange mission well accomplished."

  "Strange indeed," Sturgeon said, lifting his glass. "Mission accomplished."

  "Mission accomplished," Ramadan and Maugli agreed, hoisting their glasses in toast. They savored the cognac's aroma and sipped. Sturgeon noticed it wasn't the same Corsican Special Reserve Boreland had treated him to following the Kingdom campaign. But neither was this as special an occasion.

  "Have you ever seen anything like that before?" Boreland asked after a moment.

  Sturgeon answered, "Carnivorous plants? Several times. Predatory plants, a few times. But that method of carnivorous predation was new to me." He looked to Ramadan for further comments.

  "Humanity has encountered a few thousand carnivorous plants," the colonel said. "Most of them eat insectoids, a few specialize in small species of lizardlike animals, mammaloids, or small avians. Only a dozen or so have been found that predate on larger animals--such as H. sapiens. I've searched the literature and haven't found another incident where several species cooperate the way the flora of the hidden valleys seem to."

  "Then those life-forms are unique?" Maugli asked.

  "It does seem so."

  "Imagine," the Grandar Bay's executive officer said softly. Then, "You Marines sometimes go planetside, into places where you have limited information on local life-forms, isn't that right?"

  Sturgeon nodded. "Often times, as on Maugham's Station, we go in with no reliable information."

  "And every time you do, you risk running into something like that." Maugli shuddered.

  "Maugham's Station had some unpleasant surprises," Sturgeon said, "but I didn't lose any Marines, and that's the most important thing."

  Maugli shook his head. "I'm glad I'm a sailor, not a Marine."

  Sturgeon and Ramadan chuckled politely and sipped at their cognac.

  "Gentlemen--you Marines too," Boreland said with a smile when they finished their aperitifs, "seats, please."

  Two of the place-setting napkins were clinched with holders that bore navy emblems, the other two had Marine emblems. They were arranged so Boreland sat at the table's head and Sturgeon at its foot, with their number ones in between.

  As soon as the four were seated, a steward poured an ounce of white wine into Boreland's glass for his approval.

  "That will do nicely," the commodore said when he'd tasted the wine. The steward poured for all, and at a signal from Boreland, left the bottle on the table. An open bottle of the same sat chilling on a credenza. Sturgeon didn't recognize the label.

  "Gentlemen, a toast," Sturgeon said. "To our Corps and Confederation and," with a nod to Boreland, "our navy."

  "Corps and Confederation," Ramadan said.

  "Confederation and navy," Boreland and Maugli said.

  They drank their glasses half down. Before either number one could propose a toast, two stewards appeared. One bore a tray with four dishes on it, the other a tray with two small tureens. He set one down to Boreland's right front, between him and Ramadan, the other between Sturgeon and Maugli. As he put the tureens in place, the other steward began placing the other dishes in front of the diners.

  A light repast, indeed, Sturgeon thought as he looked
at the dish in front of him, unless it was a very large appetizer. The dish was a large salad plate, on which portions of three different salads of white meats, possibly chicken, were set, along with some sort of pasta salad, all over a bottom of mixed greens, split cherry tomatoes, and diagonally sliced cucumbers.

  "I first had this dish in an only slightly pretentious place called Curlie's, in the South District of Melbourne."

  "City or world?" Ramadan interrupted.

  "The world," Boreland replied, giving the Marine a questioning look.

  "On the direct paternal line," Ramadan responded to the unvoiced question, "I'm Australian. Melbourne was only known as the most important city south of the equator on Earth before a planet was named after it."

  Boreland nodded understanding. Given Ramadan's looks, he was no more old Australian than anyone else at the table; he looked to be a blend of the old racial types that had evolved before humanity moved into space and most came to realize that, despite superficial differences, all people were human. To be sure, there were those who decried what they called "the mongrelization of racial purity," but most saw that the helter-skelter mixing of human types and lineages strengthened the species.

  "But back to the salad," the commodore continued. "You have a sample portion of an Earth chicken salad, a piscoid salad from New Genesee, of all unlikely places, an 'indeterminate meat' salad from Boradu, and a macaroni salad from Dominion. But what really makes this salad worthy of being a main meal is the dressing." He reached out and lifted the lid from the tureen near his right hand. The dressing was a thick liquid of dark olive green in which darker flecks of suspended solids could be made out.