by Tori Harris
Although he was the most experienced combat veteran assigned to the platoon, Rios was the only Marine who had not received extensive training in the new, “universal” version of the combat EVA suit. Priding himself as (by far, in his opinion) the toughest man in the unit, he would never, under any circumstances, admit to being afraid of anything at any time. So it was with no small amount of irritation that he was forced to overcome a brief feeling of apprehension as he followed his squad at a dead run off the aft flight apron to begin a brief free-fall through the chilly morning air ten kilometers from Terran Fleet Command Headquarters.
Chapter 16
TFS Theseus
(10 km from TFC Headquarters landing zone)
“The Marine squads are away, Captain,” Reynolds reported. “Flight deck secure.”
“Thank you,” Prescott replied. “Lieutenant Lau, are we in range of Admiral Sexton’s beacon?”
“Yes, sir. Our drop zone is just inside the beacon’s maximum range, but that can vary quite a bit, particularly in weather like this. It doesn’t have a lot of power, so with all of the electronic countermeasures in place on the Headquarters campus, we may not be able to isolate the signal until he’s pretty close to the LZ.”
During the discussion between Admirals Sexton and Patterson the previous day, the two officers had considered various methods of communicating with Theseus during her approach. Handheld comm devices were generally useless anywhere near HQTFC, but Sexton had nonetheless agreed to try one of the small signal beacons sometimes used by spec-ops Marine units to mark their position during an extraction mission. Roughly the size of a small pocketknife, the device had a battery life measured in years rather than hours and a transmission range of approximately ten kilometers. Whether it would be useful for today’s mission remained to be seen, but the beacons had already saved countless lives in the field by eliminating situations where would-be rescue teams passed repeatedly within a few hundred meters without ever seeing their target.
“Understood,” Prescott replied. “I doubt there is much to see yet, but please show us a combined sensor feed of the area around the LZ.”
Lieutenant Lau issued a series of commands at his console, after which a detailed overhead view appeared on the right side of the bridge view screen. The landing pad itself was centered on the left edge of the video feed, bordered by the wooded area immediately to its east, and then finally ending with the common area and rear of the Judge Advocate General office building just over five hundred meters away. As usual, the imagery was produced using a wide variety of data sources. Everything from existing satellite imagery, to blueprints retrieved from TFC archives, to live sensor feeds were combined by the AI to produce the most accurate, real-time view possible. At the moment, however, there was little if anything displayed that would give the impression of live data. In fact, the image looked like nothing more than a static, overhead view of the area surrounding their landing zone.
“Are we getting any data from the Gurkhas or the Marines’ EVA suits?” Prescott asked, immediately chiding himself for allowing a hint of impatience to creep into his voice.
“Yes, sir. We’ve got good data feeds from all twenty-eight Marines and both Gurkhas. The LZ is obscured by cloud cover and heavy fog, so that’s enough to defeat the optical sensors. Throw in some heavy electronic countermeasures, and we’re just not detecting much of anything at the moment.”
“Hmm … well, it doesn’t surprise me the suits aren’t picking up anything. Their sensors are optimized for short-range tactical combat. They tend to receive most of their data from other sources rather than act as a source themselves, in fact. The Gurkhas, on the other hand … I honestly did not realize that our Headquarters ECM systems were this effective. We’re displaying infrared data as well?”
“I’m afraid so, sir. Based on what we’re seeing so far, I’m wondering if we will also lose the Marines’ data feeds once they reach the perimeter of the campus.”
Prescott sat back in his command chair, taking in a long breath and commanding himself to relax before continuing. “Alright folks, I realize we’re not talking about a hot LZ in enemy-held territory here, but I’d still very much prefer to avoid going in blind,” he stated flatly. “Recommendations?”
“Captain,” Lieutenant Commander Schmidt interjected, “I know our mission profile has us holding here until the Marines secure the LZ and our guests, but if we position the ship so that we have a direct line of sight, I’m betting our sensors will stand a much better chance against the countermeasures. The closer we get, the more we should be able to see.”
“Ensign Fisher, do you think you can move us any closer to the LZ without attracting too much attention?” Prescott asked.
The location of the drop zone had been selected to minimize the number of people likely to notice the Theseus while the two Marine squads went about the business of locating Admiral Sexton’s party and escorting them safely to the landing zone. While keeping a six-hundred-and-twenty-five-meter-long destroyer concealed only a short distance from several heavily populated areas was perhaps the most futile of exercises, her low altitude, the time of day, and the current weather conditions were all working in their favor at the moment.
“We’ve got good terrain masking behind this ridge line, Captain, and the fog is helping quite a bit as well. There is a solid cloud deck at about five hundred meters, though. I think if we get back above the cloud cover, we can go ahead and start heading in the direction of the LZ. I doubt anyone on the ground will notice us unless they know exactly what to listen for.”
“Excellent. Do it,” Prescott responded.
Marine Squad “Savage 2”
(On EVA approach to TFC Headquarters landing zone)
“Rios, Jacks.”
A distant corner of Master Sergeant Rios’ mind registered the call from his platoon commander, but at the moment, he had his hands full. Having completed countless missions wearing previous versions of the EVA combat armor, he had developed his own personal list of settings and checks that he accomplished in near ritualistic fashion at the beginning of every mission. Although generally not recommended, and indeed beyond the skills of most of his contemporaries, one part of his routine involved using the suit’s neural interface to momentarily take manual control of the suit in flight. It was a reasonably quick method of testing virtually every major system at one time, and Rios always found that the mental discipline required put his mind in the required, almost Zen-like, state also allowed him to better focus on the mission.
With Theseus at an altitude of only two hundred meters above the terrain, the mission profile had called for a very brief free fall, after which the suit’s Cannae thrusters would engage to both arrest his descent and begin a high-speed, very low-altitude approach to the landing zone ten kilometers away. Accordingly, Rios had taken manual control immediately after jumping from the ship — and had been largely out of control ever since.
While any deviation from controlled flight at such a low altitude was potentially dangerous, the suit’s AI was unlikely to allow him to make a fatal error. Hundreds of thousands of times each second, the AI made minor corrections to prevent him from going completely out of control — much like a parent nudging a child from each side to maintain their balance while they learned to ride a bicycle without training wheels. Nevertheless, his uncharacteristically erratic flight path was being monitored with interest by members of his unit nearby, and by the suit itself.
“What the hell is your problem this morning anyway, Rios?” his EVA suit’s AI asked, using perhaps the least colorful language it had uttered since they had left the relative safety of Theseus’ flight apron. “The boss is on the line and you’re still flailing around like some kind of snot-nosed rookie. Here’s what we’re gonna do. I’m gonna fly for a while and you’re gonna talk to the boss. Then you’re gonna take a few seconds to pull your head out of your keister before you get us both killed. Then — if you think you can handle it — you can take
over again, kapish? Sheesh, kid, you gotta get it together before somebody sees you, for chrissake.”
The identity of the synthetic voice Rios used for his EVA suit was a closely guarded personal secret. First and foremost, he figured it wasn’t anyone else’s business, but he was also aware that far too many people spent far too much time looking for reasons to be offended. So what … he just happened to be of mixed Italian and Latino descent and also just happened to like the idea of going into battle feeling like he was an early twentieth century mafioso. What of it? What Rios had no way of knowing was just how unrealistic and stereotypical a portrayal the voice truly was compared to the real thing (sounding more like a poor imitation of Joe Pesci than the actual Charlie “Lucky” Luciano — the origin of the nickname he used for his AI).
“Yeah, okay, fine. Take over for a sec.” His flight path instantly stabilized, after which he breathed deeply for a moment before answering the lieutenant’s call. “Rios here. Go ahead, LT.”
“Hey Top, you doing OK over there? It looked for a second like you might be having a little problem with your suit.”
“Sorry about that, sir. No, I’m fine … just having some trouble with the neural interface. It doesn’t seem to want to respond like my old suit for some reason.”
“Alright, no problem, Sergeant. Oh, hey, you did have the AI import your old preferences and mod them for atmospheric flight, right?”
Muting his mic with a quick thought, Rios rolled his eyes and swore loudly at himself, knowing full well that this was indeed the problem. It was, in fact, a simple, but incredibly dumb oversight that never would have happened if he had not allowed himself to become complacent when running his armor’s pre-mission checklist. A rookie mistake to be sure, and because it represented a potentially serious safety issue, one that would have prompted him to cheerfully take the head off any member of his platoon if they had done the same thing (Lieutenant Jacks included). Worse yet, the fact that the LT had suggested a fix made it painfully clear that he had known what the problem was before he even asked. He had even been nice about it, which somehow added insult to injury.
“Rios copies. I’ll check the settings again, sir. Thanks.”
“You do that, Top,” Jacks replied with a tone of barely contained amusement. “We still have six zero seconds until show time, so you’re good. Jacks out.”
“Hey Lucky,” Rios said, addressing his AI again.
“Yeah, I’m right here. I already checked and the boss was right. It should be fixed right about … okay, it’s fixed.”
“Seriously? Mr. Super-Advanced AI, but you weren’t able to warn me about a simple setting?”
“Hey, what do you want from me? I did exactly what you told me, didn’t I? What, now I’m supposed to do what you meant for me to do instead? Get the hell outta here!”
Rios just shook his head, realizing that, somehow, there was a kernel of undeniable logic in “Lucky’s” comments.
“Alright, alright. You’re right, I screwed up. Now, give me a status update and let’s try the neural interface again.”
“All EVA systems nominal. Power level ninety-nine percent. Pulse rifle integration complete. On course for the LZ — ETA two one seconds. Manual control restored in 3 … 2 … 1 …”
Rios knew immediately that all was now well with his EVA suit. The improper settings had apparently even been preventing its synthetic musculature from completely conforming to his body, which he now both heard and felt taking place. Thinking back, he also realized that things hadn’t felt quite right, even before leaving the ship. At the time, he had foolishly chalked it up to the muscle fibers and armor not being fully “broken in,” and the fact that he should have known better made that realization all the more irritating. The good news was that his new suit now felt pretty much identical to his old one. The most obvious difference, of course, was that the old model was capable of “flight” only in the microgravity environment of space. This new one … came as close as he imagined Humans would ever come to turning a mere mortal into a super hero.
Marine Squads “Savage 1” and “Savage 2”
(Over the landing zone)
“Savage 1 squad, hold position over the landing pad,” Jacks ordered as all twenty-eight members of his small but powerful force arrived silently at their target location, followed closely by their two, AI-controlled Gurkha assault shuttles. “Savage 2, split your squad into two sections, proceed three hundred meters north and south from the center of the landing pad, then move slowly east.”
“Savage 2 copies,” Master Sergeant Rios replied. The command interface of his suit allowed him to quickly designate the members of each new section of his squad and then assign their respective areas of responsibility. In seconds, his new orders appeared within each of his Marines’ fields of view, and the two sections headed off toward the north and south ends of the huge landing pad.
“Be advised that since we don’t have eyes on the target, neither does Theseus. We might also lose contact with the ship after we cross the boundary fence,” Lieutenant Jacks said. If there was one thing he hated during a mission, it was a bunch of unnecessary chatter on the radio. He had already been forced into saying more than usual on this op, but it couldn’t be helped. His Marine special operators were accustomed to operating in an “information-rich” environment, after all, but the unusual circumstances created by TFC’s countermeasures and today’s poor visibility had them going in almost blind.
“Savage 2 sections in position,” Rios reported from the northernmost group. “Moving east.”
Without responding verbally, Jacks commanded his squad to begin their sweep eastward at the same moment, adjusting the altitude of both squads to fifty meters as he did so. He had hoped to be in contact with Admiral Sexton by this time, or at least have acquired a signal from his beacon. So far, there had been no contact – no signal from the beacon, no thermals, nothing. Now, the young lieutenant monitored the sensor readouts projected in his helmet display intently as his two squads of Marines moved forward in a line stretching nearly one kilometer from end to end. It shouldn’t take us long to find them, he thought, assuming they’re where they’re supposed to be, that is.
The wait did not last long. Like many of the other electronic countermeasures designed to foil any attempts to eavesdrop on TFC Headquarters from the outside, the thermal masking systems formed a dome-shaped barrier surrounding the facility. As soon as the first Marine penetrated this barrier, the short-range passive sensor suite built into his suit instantly located and classified every Human (and Wek) signature on the campus. Fortunately, the tactical comm gear built into the EVA combat armor suits was specifically designed to penetrate even the heaviest signal jamming and still provide short-range communications between the troops. Each of the twenty-eight Marines was immediately presented with a comprehensive tactical plot of their battlespace projected seamlessly within their field of view. Their comm links back to Theseus, however, had now been severed.
Shit! Jacks thought, instantly ordering the two squads to halt as his mind raced to take in the situation unfolding on the ground a scant two hundred meters in front of him. He had literally gone from zero information to full situational awareness in an instant, and, unfortunately, there was far more going on than he had hoped to see. Focusing his attention on what he believed to be his targets, Admiral Sexton’s signal beacon was clearly visible — and apparently in his right front pocket judging by the pulsing red ovals projected in Jacks’ field of view. In spite of their masking devices, the AI also identified the two Wek by their distinctive bio-signatures as well as what appeared to be another Marine who was not wearing combat armor and carrying only his sidearm. All four of them were currently hurrying down a stairwell inside the southern end of the JAG Building.
Finding the admiral and his party, however, was no longer the problem … the problem was dealing with the forty-seven HQSEC troops taking up positions atop the building and just inside the line of trees to the west
.
TFS Theseus
(5 km from TFC Headquarters landing zone)
“Captain, we’re finally starting to get some data from the infrared sensors,” Lau reported from Tactical 2, although he need not have done so with the huge image on the right side of the view screen finally displaying some movement for the first time. “We shouldn’t put too much faith in what we’re seeing on the combined sensor view just yet, though, sir. The AI has the sensitivity dialed up to the max, so some of the thermal sources displayed may just be transients from the surrounding area.”
“Understood,” Prescott replied, nevertheless staring intently at the live feed on the view screen. “What do you think?” he asked, leaning towards his XO without shifting his gaze.
Reynolds cocked her head to one side and narrowed her eyes. “I don’t know what to make of that, actually. I’m not used to seeing the AI display raw sensor data like this, but my first impression is that it looks like an awful lot of heat signatures for that part of the campus this early in the morning.”
“Yeah, that’s exactly what I was thinking. Ensign Fisher … keep us above the cloud deck for now, but go ahead and get us over to the LZ as quickly as possible.” Prescott checked himself, realizing that “as quickly as possible” might well have an entirely different meaning for Ensign Fisher than he had intended. “Belay that. Please move us over to the LZ as quickly as possible while observing all applicable regulations governing our speed and altitude.”
“Aye, sir. Smartly and safely,” Fisher responded, smiling to himself.
“What, you didn’t want him to C-Jump us over there?” Reynolds asked under her breath while entering the necessary commands at her touchscreen to prepare the ship for landing.