Battle Luna

by Travis S. Taylor

  Okay, so he felt a little stressed. “I wish they’d get on with it.”

  Coffman agreed, “Yes, sir. Meantime, I’ve automated ‘in queue’ notifications to all senders, and a ‘possible interference’ advisory. Which is true. We have interference.”

  That was clever, and just beyond Zeiss’s grasp of English. He was very fluent, but his German mind-set didn’t let him play words with the foreign language like that.

  “Just not a natural cause. Yes,” he noted.

  Coffman warned, “But, sir, within a few minutes, there are going to be angry queries, and I don’t know what to say.”

  “Yes. I’ll see what I can devise.”

  He turned to his private console and wired connection.

  “Crawford, update when you can.”

  Andre heard Zeiss’s order and replied, “I will, sir. We’ve finished prepping infrastructure. Now we’re waiting for commencement.”

  “I understand, Zeiss out.”

  He and his people waited, with every screen on every device split to show command input and the outside cameras.

  Crawford asked, “What’s their roll time from there, about ten minutes?”

  Godin said, “Ten minutes for us. They should take about twenty to be cautious, plus whatever threat protocols they want to use.”

  He calculated. “So, figure eight as a bare minimum if they go balls out, and we’re already five into that. Nominal thirty. Possibly an hour.”

  Godin agreed. “That seems reasonable.”

  “Okay. I could definitely use a sandwich.”

  Rojas put in with a grin, “The cooler has egg, chicken, cheese, mustard and peppers. Make your own damned sandwich, boss.”

  He grinned. “Don’t mind if I do. Anyone else?”

  Morton said, “Yeah, sure thing.”

  “Go for it. Make your own damned sandwich,” Andre tossed back.

  He would like some roast beef, but that was very scarce up here, and usually from a tank. Tank-raised meat did not taste like real meat, no matter who claimed so. They weren’t likely to get any from Earth this month, either. Chicken, turkey, tuna and salmon were their primary meat proteins, and lots of egg. The cheese also wasn’t great, being made from powdered milk fat solids.

  In the list of minor repercussions, the McDonald’s down the passage wasn’t going to have any burgers for as long as this lasted, only chicken.

  The mustard was okay. They made their own vinegar and grew their own mustard seed, among other spices. The bread was real, though with rice as well as wheat it was a bit crumbly.

  Still, he had a fresh sandwich and coffee.

  The coffee was okay. They grew that under lights, and it didn’t have anything like the complexity of Earth coffee, because they didn’t have the soil. It was hot and well made, though.

  Malakhar said, “Here they come. Three ArctiTraks, probably with ten each, twenty if they stuff. But I have no idea how much volume they’re using for equipment.”

  “Right.” He shoved the rest of the sandwich in his mouth, chewed, swallowed, guzzled the last quarter cup of coffee and turned to his console.

  For now, he had plenty of imagery. He assumed that would stop eventually. But he could clearly see the vehicles rolling around the cut in the ridge. They were in line, about five hundred meters separated.

  They stopped well back from Lock 1, and dispersed a few meters apart. Hatches dropped, and suited troops debarked, in tan pressure suits with rifles and small buttpacks under their oxy bottles.

  He said, “Remember, these are all space-qual troops, so they’re elite. Don’t underestimate any of them.”

  The troops moved quickly, rolling out what appeared to be a genny cart, and an oxy bottle supply. They were ready for an extended stay.

  In a few moments, three of the troops almost casually detached from the group and started moving zigzag toward the lock. Two more followed a few seconds behind.

  Rodin said, “Looks like a recon team first. Smart. They’re armed with G56 rifles and pry bars. I don’t see any other weapons or relevant tools.”

  Andre said, “Well, we can’t do anything until they do something.”

  For now, the outer lock wasn’t secured. There were advantages to having the troops inside where pressure and vacuum could be adjusted. He’d hoped for a larger element, but this would do.

  Lock 1 was designed as an outer pressure curtain against leaks, and slid like a hangar door. It was powered, but also had a rack and pinion for manual opening. The three-man element opened it manually and slowly, cautious in their entry. They cranked it about a meter, just enough for easy entrance. They certainly expected explosives or similar. They stood clear as it slid, then lurked back while making careful scans with a drone ball, handheld sensors and a sweep with an old-fashioned stick.

  That’s it. Come on in.

  Even inside a suit, that gesture from the leader was a shrug. The three stepped forward and in, holding an arc against potential attackers. They were aiming at the walls and looking silly, but he had to admit it was a valid stance to assume a threat from any direction. They even scanned overhead.

  Good enough. This stage was a combination of delaying and disorienting. Here was the first obstacle.

  He clicked the safety, then pressed the trigger button. Lock 2’s latch clicked, twisted, there was a hiss . . .

  . . . then Lock 2 slammed against its stops as ten atmospheres of pressure found an escape.

  The blast of air was mostly oxygen, which they could refresh from Lunar regolith. Nitrogen was too valuable, and needed for the hydroponics farm. All that mattered was the pressure front, which roared, hissed and sighed into the open lock and out into vacuum. The gust blew the first troop straight through the hatch, his feet catching on the rim and causing him to flail and tumble. He slammed into the two Ueys outside, and they all sprawled across the powdery road.

  The other two were a moment behind, buffeted and battered against the lip as the pressure inexorably forced them through as it escaped. One cartwheeled dramatically before bouncing on his helmet and sprawling in a long slide, like the ultimate base-steal in baseball.

  Andre wasn’t sure if they were injured from being blown across the moonscape. One may have strained a thigh as he bounced. All three were well outside, though.

  There was a seconds-long pause, before others rushed to their aid, with screening troops in front and responders behind. Very quickly, they all got back behind the cover of their vehicles.

  Andre could close the hatch and do this again, but then the Ueys might find another route, blow some seals, or otherwise cease engaging. The goal was to keep them here as long as possible.

  The open lock invited them to try again, this time to close the hatch as soon as they entered and proceed to secure Lock 2, which was just big enough for a vehicle to move in, then into the Maintenance Bay. That had nothing of relevance. The batteries and oxygen were in here now. The tools in Maintenance weren’t anything their ship didn’t have. And the Ueys had to be wondering why Lock 2 was still open, inviting, taunting them.

  That Middle Bay would mean the Ueys could only admit a small contingent, and would have to secure it to proceed, then the next. Then, the fifth hatch hastily erected inside allowed more bottlenecking, and the entire habitat was able to use pressure doors and curtains as additional setbacks.

  The delay was palpable and irritating, no doubt by intention. That was to be expected. Nothing here needed to be accomplished in seconds or even minutes. Hours, however, would run out even the oxygen supply on those support vehicles. It wouldn’t be terribly long before the invaders did something.

  “Is the second stage ready?” he asked. He knew it was.

  “Got my finger on the button,” Godin said.

  “Good. Stand by.”

  With two locks wide open and daring them, a larger contingent approached, skipping from cover to cover—boulders, a lip of melted regolith, the lock frame itself. This time, it was four armed in front,
and two guys with gear, presumably technical specialists.

  Everyone knew the Loonies had no weapons. Still, having been once caught, this element moved up slowly, with impressively even spacing, given that they had no experience in low G.

  They darted into the Outer Bay, slid against the wall for the Middle Bay, then skipped one at a time through Lock 2.

  Once inside, one of the techs slapped the hatch release, and nothing happened.

  He turned to look, slapped it again, then hopped over to the lock to close it manually.

  Once there, he realized that he lacked leverage, and waved for another to assist.

  It was then that the monitor found their commo frequency.

  “—take two of us. You brace me, I’ll push.”

  “Got it.”

  It wasn’t encrypted, but then, they hadn’t had much time.

  Nothing else useful was said, so Andre sat patiently while they closed and dogged Lock 2.

  The one said, “I think the O2 controls are bollixed, too. We have to get inside the next one and try to pressurize from there.”

  “They can’t blow us out again, can they?”

  “No, we’re in vacuum and closed. But, if they try to overpressure us, you’ll need to be ready to inflate your suit to counter it, or you’ll be squashed from pressure.”

  Very good, dammit. It sounded like their technical expert actually knew physics.

  Ah, well, squashing them wasn’t the plan. Yet.

  The intruders moved forward, and one of them shot a load of gunk at the monitor camera, which didn’t matter since that camera was no longer in use and just a decoy. The camera Andre was watching was miniaturized and hidden.

  The Ueys’ pace was cautious, but brisk as they moved down the walls of the Outer Bay, then against the frame of Lock 2.

  Using hand signals only, they gestured, then shuffled into position and stacked.

  “Ready?” Crawford asked again.

  Godin grinned and said, “I am.”

  Right then, the Ueys swarmed across the threshold, crossing through each other, rifles out and sweeping.

  The moment all of them were within the frame, he snapped, “Now!”

  Godin tapped the key, and the second trap was sprung.

  Three strobes flashed at three different rates, at ten thousand lumens each. The flashes from two were short enough duration not to trigger faceplate polarizing. The other was just long enough. Between them, the troops should be disoriented with dazzling flash and dark fields of vision.

  As the light show faded, another burst of oxygen cleared out three tubes full of bouncy balls. In fact, they were roughly shaped lumps of super silicone gasket goop, formed and let set.

  With that pressure behind them, and in low G, they impacted like fists, then bounced away. Some careened around like billiard balls in a 3-D table and came back for a second thump. The dazzle, darkness and thumping had all six on the ground, struggling or unconscious.

  They were all clear of the frame, and Crawford punched for the hatch to close, locking them in.

  The door swung, then slowed and stopped.

  Crap. Yeah, the troops were inside, but a chunk of silicone was not. It was in the door track.

  Okay, the lock would have to stay eighty percent closed. It was just barely wide enough someone might squeeze back out. If they tried, he was going to let them. He had Lock 1 dogged now. That would take time to breach.

  And time was what the Loonies needed. Every minute here was a minute the Ueys weren’t inside, and were using oxygen. Their supply was much more limited.

  “Okay, do I leave the lock evacuated and force those troops to use their oxygen? Or pressurize it against another attempt at a breach?”

  Morton said, “We should have had someone ready to swarm them.” He didn’t sound accusatory, rather, embarrassed. None of them had thought of it.

  Andre replied, “Yeah, but no way to predict how effective that was going to be, and we can’t spare people for hand-to-hand against professional troops.”

  Godin suggested, “Leave it for now. We’ll watch outside for movement, and they’re consuming oxygen in there.”

  “Right.”

  The stunned troops recovered and rose slowly. Once up they looked around. One of them cautiously blocked the open lock hatch with his weapon, then turned around to see what the Middle Bay looked like.

  They chattered with helmets in contact, no radio. Smart.

  Then there was a transmission. “Command, we were attacked. We appear to have been pummeled with elastic projectiles causing minor injury only, and we were stunned. Sergeant Plexer has a damaged tank valve and will need extraction.”

  “We are unable to enter the outer lock. It has been sealed and barricaded from inside.”

  “What is your time frame for entry, over?”

  “Unknown, over.”

  “Crap. Lunar faction, if you are monitoring this frequency, we are in need of assistance. One of our party has a damaged oxygen supply and his helmet contains only a very short duration. Will you accept temporary truce and let him exit?”

  That was a tough one. Certainly, prisoners were useful, and treating them well would avoid escalating the situation, might help defuse it. But, admitting to having hacked their commo already . . . on the other hand, it wasn’t encrypted.

  “Andre, they sent that in the clear.”

  “Yeah. Let’s hold on a moment, though.”

  The NCO in charge called again. “Lunar faction, are you monitoring this frequency?”

  Crawford said, “Let’s give him one more.”

  Almost a full minute went by, before the call came again.

  “Lunar faction, please respond.”

  He activated then keyed the mic and said, “UN element, this is Lock Control. We have your frequency. Please confirm, over.”

  “I hear you, Lunar. Over.”

  “What do you need?”

  “This incident has damaged the oxygen supply for one of my troops. Will you permit him to exit?”

  Andre waited several seconds, then said, “I think it would be better if we brought him in here. It’s faster, and we’ve got plenty of oxy in the habitat.”

  “Are you proposing to detain him as a prisoner of war?”

  Less of a delay on that. Diplomacy. “I’m not aware of any war. But if you are asking do we intend to keep him from re-engaging, then the answer is yes. And will he be treated humanely? Of course. We may eventually want to discuss damages and protocol violations, but that’s for Control to decide. I’m just the gatekeeper.”

  “Fair enough. How do we proceed?”

  He waited several more seconds. On the one hand, they might think he was either just a flunky or indecisive. On the other, it was all stall. A minute here, a minute there. Eventually it might add up to hours.

  “You will place your weapons in the next airlock for us to secure. You may then admit your troop and he will be allowed to remain, unharmed, until resolution.”

  The Uey sounded really suspicious as he asked, “Why do you need the weapons?”

  “We don’t intend to allow you to keep them. At this point you constitute a threat. You are asking for additional terms to that detention. You can argue, but your man has what, another minute or so in his suit?”

  “We have your word on his safety?” That did sound like a genuine question.

  “We have used the minimum force possible so far and intend to continue to do so. You have my word.”

  “And may we have your name?”

  Why not? “You first.”

  “Lieutenant Kasanga of the African Federation, detached to Operation Clarity.”

  “I am engineer Andre Crawford.” And now he had the operation name, which sounded like one of the randomly generated ones that didn’t tell anything.

  Kasanga said, “We will comply.”

  He cut communication. “Morton, Rojas, go get them.” He switched on to Central. “Mr. Coffman, I could use a medic.”
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  “Doctor Nik is inbound your way.”

  “Thanks.”

  He worked the controls and opened Lock 3A. The Ueys piled their weapons up, though he assumed they retained a hidden pistol or knife somewhere. The video showed them taking a good look, for whatever intel they could get. The plenum between 3A and 3B was just a connector without much of anything. It just allowed locking through from habitat to an unpressurized bay.

  It took long seconds to balance pressure and open the inner hatch—Lock 3B. Morton skipped in, grabbed the rifles, brought them back and started clearing the actions.

  Rojas manually slammed 3B. Andre started the evacuation process and stood ready to cycle again.

  Kasanga called, “Engineer Crawford, please hurry. His blood oxygen meter is reaching hypoxia.”

  “About five seconds . . . opening hatch.”

  The troop staggered in, and one other came with him for support. Reasonable. And why he’d disarmed them.

  He punched for pressure, hit the override and had the hatch motor work against the differential until it cracked seal. There was a whuff and a gust and there was breathing air from Bay 3.

  The second Uey twisted the helmet latch of the first, who gasped and started breathing hard.

  The door finished its swing, and Morton stepped through to greet them.

  “Welcome to the Moon. Precede me that way and through the open door to your right.”

  Crawford watched on camera, and saw the shadows down the passage as they approached, then them enter the other side of the fence in the equipment cage.

  Morton said, “Please sit over there and do not make any sudden moves.”

  The escort realized all four rifles were now in the hands of Loonies. He nodded and assisted his buddy over.

  “He should lie down for now.”

  Crawford agreed, “Yes, do so. Also, you will need to remove your harness. I see tools and equipment we could find troublesome.”

  The man didn’t argue. He helped his buddy lie back, then unsnapped his harness including his oxy bottle.

  Doctor Nik stepped in, glanced for approval, which Crawford gave with a nod, and let himself into the cage.