Haven Ascendant

by Robert M Kerns

“Assault Elements, this is Alpha Leader,” the wing commander for their escort spoke over their op channel. “Be advised: we have detected the presence of targeting radar and lidar. LZ may be hot.”

  Lt. Commander Rodriquez keyed his mic, saying, “Copy that, Alpha Leader. May we ask you to handle any launch sites that announce themselves?”

  “The CAG did order an air-to-surface payload for part of our load-out, Assault One,” Alpha Leader replied. “I suppose we could launch a few if a hostile or two advertises themselves.”

  “We appreciate your sacrifice, Alpha Leader,” Rodriquez replied and switched his mic from the open channel with their escort to the public address in the assault bay. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, this is your pilot speaking. Be advised that our escort has detected the presence of targeting radar and lidar. There may be hostiles at the LZ, so we ask that you keep your seat-backs in their upright and locked positions until we land, and prepare for a heavy welcome. Thank you for flying the unfriendly skies.”

  The assault shuttles and their escorts broke through the heavy cloud cover, finding themselves in the middle of a massive thunderstorm. If they had been restricted to the Mark I eyeball, visibility would’ve been—maybe—six inches, except when savage lightning bolts lit the sky like high noon.

  “I wonder how the fleet is doing,” Lieutenant Mack Bertram—the co-pilot—said.

  Rodriquez shook his head. “That’s not our problem right now. Fly the mission. Worry about them when we’re back in black.”

  “Uh, Commander,” Lt. Bertram replied, gesturing with his right hand, “it’s pretty black around us right now.”

  No sooner had Lt. Bertram spoken than a bolt of lightning, five feet across if it was an inch, flashed right across the nose of the shuttle. The cockpit’s flare filters kept the pilots’ vision from being impaired, but it was still a startling experience.

  “You were saying, Lieutenant?” Rodriquez asked.

  “Roger that, sir,” Bertram answered, his voice far more cowed. “Wait till we’re back in black to worry about the fleet.”

  Rodriquez smiled at the young man’s reversal as he minded his board.

  Minutes later, the target appeared on Assault One’s sensor plot. Rodriquez switched his mic back over to the op channel and keyed it.

  “Assault One to all elements, I have the target on my scope.”

  Rodriquez hadn’t even released the mic yet when a flurry of dots erupted on the sensor plot, accompanied by the shrill squeal of the incoming missile warning.

  “Missile launch!” Rodriquez announced into the op channel. “Multiple missiles inbound! Going evasive and launching interceptors.”

  Sweeping his fingers over the touch-sensitive controls, Rodriquez fired off half-a-dozen anti-missile interceptors and killed the shuttle’s engines as he brought the nose down into a crash dive. Thank the stars the target facility was located in a hilly region and away from the cities.

  The shrill squeal ended when the interceptors completed their work, and Rodriquez keyed the commands to bring the engines back online just as he noticed his co-pilot’s hands getting a bit white-knuckled on the console. The engines engaged with no problems, and the assault shuttle leveled out a little over five kilometers above the deck.

  “You all right over there, Lieutenant?”

  “Y-yes, sir,” Bertram answered. “I think so.”

  Rodriquez grinned. “Shit, son; that was nothing. Get the CAG to tell you the story of Oriolis VI sometime. The Captain’s piloting makes mine look tame.”

  When Bertram slowly turned to stare at him with wide eyes, Rodriquez merely nodded, saying, “Yup. No joking.”

  Rodriquez directed his attention back to the op channel just in time to hear Alpha-Three report the final launch ending in a plume of smoke and a shower of debris. The up-side to the Surface-to-Air-Missile (SAM) launchers revealing themselves was that a couple of Alpha Wing were able to fly right over the target facility, their automated systems uploading high-res scans to the OpNet.

  Rodriquez switched his mic over to the local channel, saying, “Pilot to ExCom.”

  “Go for Extraction Command,” Colonel Deveraux—the new commanding officer of Haven’s embarked marines—replied.

  “Alpha Wing uploaded high-res scans of the target to OpNet,” Rodriquez said. “Thought you might like to know, ma’am.”

  “Good call, Pilot,” Devereaux responded. “Appreciate it.”

  Rodriquez switched back to the op channel.

  The two assault shuttles dropped into the courtyard of the military prison amid a hail of weapons fire from various emplacements as the escort wings settled into their air cover and superiority phase. Devereaux left two squads on each assault shuttle: one squad manning the assault shuttle’s weapons and the second securing the shuttles. She personally led the primary extraction team.

  The two extraction teams—Blue for primary, Gold for secondary—entered the facility and proceeded to their specific objectives. Gold Team’s part of the plan involved destroying the on-site generators and feed lines from the local power grid and locking down all security stations. Blue Team was to take the shortest path from the courtyard to the cell block where their extraction targets were being held and evac them to Assault One.

  Of all the adages passed down throughout Human history, few are more time and experience-tested than ‘No plan survives contact with the enemy.’

  The point marine on Gold Team turned the corner that should have revealed the facility’s generators and walked right into what looked like a heavy weapons squad. That worthy didn’t yelp in surprise (the first reaction that came to mind); he did, however, drop straight to the muddy grass, announcing over the team channel, “Contact front! Contact front!”

  The firefight between the lead elements of Gold Team and the Coalition heavy weapons platoon was short-lived. The point marine saw to five of the enemy himself, taking three hits in the process, as his comrades moved up to engage.

  Gold Team’s commanding officer, Captain Shara Chakrabarti, arrived within seconds of the final Coalition soldier falling and took in the scene. She nodded and reached out to offer a commending shoulder tap to the point marine.

  “Good job,” Captain Chakrabarti said. “Excellent quick thinking. How’s your armor?”

  “Left arm holding at ninety percent, rear torso at eighty,” the point marine replied.

  Chakrabarti nodded. “Very well. Remember the regs; if any section of your armor drops below fifty percent, sound off and rotate to rear guard.”

  A lightning bolt lit the sky, and the facility lights around them flared to extreme brightness. Chakrabarti was just starting to shout, ‘Run,’ when the surge from the nearby lightning strike reached them. It sparked from the facility to the two closest armored marines, one of whom carried the explosives for the generators. The other carried the remote detonator.

  Chakrabarti returned to awareness and pushed against the bone-deep throbbing ache across her entire body, forcing herself to stand. She saw her team arrayed around the blast point in an expanded form of the classic death flower, and she breathed a sigh of relief when she saw several of them start moving. Three of her team, though, would never move again, and one of them was the point marine she’d just commended.

  At least one part of her objective was complete. The generators were little more than scrap.

  “What do you mean it’s empty?” Devereaux almost growled.

  She hoped Gold Team was having a better time of it than they were. The facility’s security force must’ve been holding some kind of drills, because Blue Team had engaged in a running firefight all the way to the target cell block, only to find the cell block devoid of occupants. At least the facility’s power was down now. The security force didn’t seem equipped for blackout conditions.

  “Colonel,” the point marine almost hissed across the team’s channel, “I don’t have a stutter. Nobody’s here, sir.”

  “Somebody find a…damn. They alrea
dy cut the power. Nobody’s searching the database now.” Devereaux deactivated her mic and took a couple seconds to express her frustration in the most eloquent profanity she knew; fortunately, the armor was sound-proof. Then, she took a deep, calming breath and keyed her mic. “Okay. Fan out in fireteams. Search door to door, and sound off when you find them. Everyone have pictures and biometrics of our targets?”

  Every member of Blue Team answered in the affirmative.

  “All right. Go.” Devereaux turned to her fireteam and gestured for them to head out.

  Twenty minutes and six firefights with security forces later, one of the fireteams found the targets in the section of the facility used for solitary confinement.

  “Assault One to ExCom,” sounded over Deveraux’s comms circuit.

  “Go for ExCom,” she replied.

  “Don’t mean to jiggle your elbow, Colonel,” the pilot began, “but Beta Wing just reported a rather impressive convoy headed our way.”

  “Beta Wing will have to take out the convoy,” Devereaux shot back. “We just found the targets and do not have a route out that’s verified secure.”

  “Roger that, ExCom,” the pilot replied. “Will advise Escort elements we need more time.”

  Devereaux didn’t bother to respond. She turned to check the status of her people and the targets and saw the targets exiting their cells wearing the night-vision equipment Blue Team brought for them.

  “We good?” Devereaux asked.

  “One of the targets has a sprained ankle,” a marine answered.

  Devereaux fought the urge to growl. “Fine. Carry that one. There’s a convoy on the way, and we really need to move.”

  Blue Team egressed the facility without further incident, and the torrential rain promptly soaked the targets to their skin. Gold Team was already back aboard Assault Two, casualties included.

  Devereaux flopped into her seat and started strapping down once all of her people were secured, the assault shuttle shuddering through take-off around her. This certainly hadn’t been the most auspicious start to her tenure as CO of Haven’s marines, but Devereaux was grateful the losses were as minimal as they had been.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  En Route to Gateway

  Cole’s Day-Cabin, Haven

  1 February 3004, 16:23 GST

  “Hey, Srexx?” Cole asked as he leaned back against the sofa.

  “Yes, Cole?” Srexx replied via the overhead speakers.

  “Did you manage to get anything from Coalition Alpha?”

  “I managed to obtain a considerable amount of data from that dreadnought before it went into an emergency power state and ceased all functions beyond those of basic necessity. Before you ask, yes, the first data I obtained was the ship’s navigation logs.”

  Cole smiled for the first time since leaving Musilar. “Excellent, buddy! Where’s the Coalition capital?”

  “It appears to be Carnelon, in the former Carnelian Bloc, but I shall copy these logs to Garrett for an independent analysis to confirm my findings.”

  Cole laid his head back against the sofa, smiling. “Well, that’s a bit of a hike from Beta Magellan, but it’s good to know.”

  “May I ask a question?” Srexx said after several moments of silence.

  “Of course, buddy. Ask me anything.”

  “I find myself in a state I have never before experienced. Over the past couple of days, a small but non-zero percentage of my compute cycles has been accessing and scanning all available records of the people we lost in Musilar, specifically what information exists regarding who they were as people. Is this behavior aberrant?”

  Cole sighed. “No, Srexx. I’d say it’s one way you manifest sadness. The casualty list has been weighing on me, too. I can’t help wondering if they felt the goal in Musilar was a worthy one.”

  “What criteria is used to evaluate whether our goal in Musilar was worthy?” Srexx asked.

  “It’s all subjective, Srexx,” Cole replied. “I’m afraid there isn’t a rubric somewhere for us to consult that will allow us to quantify how worthy a goal Musilar was.”

  “That…seems inefficient and imprecise.”

  Cole chuckled. “You have no idea, buddy. You really don’t.”

  The hatch chime rang.

  Cole didn’t really feel like seeing anyone at the moment, but that moment had been extending since shortly after leaving Musilar and seeing the initial casualty lists. With a sigh, Cole pushed himself to his feet and ambled over to the hatch. When it opened, Cole found Sasha looking back at him.

  He smiled and waved her inside, saying, “Hi. Please, come in.”

  Sasha nodded and stepped into Cole’s day-cabin. Cole led her over to the sitting area and returned to the sofa. Sasha sat on the sofa with him.

  “So, how have you been?” Sasha asked.

  “I’ve been okay,” Cole said, adding a shrug.

  Sasha leaned her head toward her right shoulder just a bit and raised an eyebrow. “Sure you have. No one’s seen you in two days. Only Srexx’s word and the dispenser records have kept us from coming in here to make sure you’re not dead.”

  Cole heaved a sigh. “Yeah. I guess I have been laying low the past couple days.”

  “It’s time that stopped,” Sasha said, her voice firm. “Come on. We’re getting dinner.”

  “Srexx found the Coalition capital,” Cole remarked as he allowed Sasha to pull him to his feet.

  “Naturally,” Sasha replied, pushing Cole toward the sleeping compartment that also held the shower. “If the data was on Alpha, Srexx could find it, but don’t think you’re going to distract me. Go shower.”

  The next day, Sasha came to Cole’s office. She entered and sat in a chair across from Cole.

  “Okay. People are responding to you. The mood on the ship is lifting, now that people have seen you out and about. So, we need to have a discussion. I don’t know if you’ve thought about it, but we should probably have some medals and decorations.”

  Cole nodded. “You’re right. Get Trask and Harlon, and ask Paol and Sato to conference in from Beta Magellan. We should have this worked out before we get back to Gateway.”

  Sasha stood. “Meet in the bridge briefing room?”

  “Sounds good.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Babylon Station

  Gateway

  8 February 3004, 15:57 GST

  Victoria strode down the corridor, Beth and Jameson straining to keep up with her. Mr. Coleson had said it was urgent she meet him in the conference room as soon as possible but remained annoyingly vague about why. She’d left a grieving wife whose husband had just succumbed to his wounds, and if Cole’s reason for summoning her wasn’t more important than that, there would be some choice words exchanged. She didn’t care how welcoming he’d been to her and her people. There were just some things a person shouldn’t walk away from.

  As she neared the hatch to the conference room, Victoria squared her shoulders, mentally preparing herself to scold Coleson for wasting her time. She slowed just enough for the hatch’s sensors to register her presence, almost storming into the conference room as the hatch irised open…and stopped so suddenly that her closest confidants nearly ran over her.

  No. It…it couldn’t be. He was supposed to be dead.

  A single tear escaped each eye and ran down Victoria’s cheeks as she whispered, “Daddy?”

  “Hi, Sweetheart,” Thomas Rainier said, his own eyes bright with unshed tears.

  Victoria crossed the intervening space in a blur and threw her arms around her father, clutching him tightly and releasing the torrent she felt within her. Beth and Jameson backed out of the conference room and took up positions on either side of the hatch, allowing father and daughter their privacy.

  “I thought you were dead,” Victoria whispered between sobs.

  Thomas held his daughter just as tightly as she held him and kissed her forehead just like he did when she was little. “I know, Sweetheart. I thou
ght I was, too.”

  After several moments, Victoria moved just far enough to look up to her father’s eyes, asking, “What happened? How’d you get away?”

  “I didn’t,” Thomas replied. “I was in a prison near the capital, scheduled for execution, when marines from Cole’s ship came for me. I don’t know how he found out I was still alive, but he brought a fleet all that way to pull us out and bring us here.”

  Victoria blinked. “He did?”

  Thomas nodded. “He did.”

  Victoria pulled her father into a tight embrace again, her head against his shoulder.

  “You did a good thing, Cole,” Sasha said, as she and Cole watched a video monitor showing Thomas and Victoria leaving the conference room together, Thomas’s arm around his daughter’s shoulders.

  “No, Sasha,” Cole countered. “We all did a good thing. There was no way I could’ve pulled that off by myself, and I need to be sure the fleet knows that. I just wish the cost hadn’t been so high.” After several seconds of silence, Cole nodded and said. “Okay. Let’s go. Our work here is done.”

  “She’s going to want to thank you,” Sasha remarked.

  Cole shrugged. “Seeing them walk down the corridor together was thanks enough. Besides…I’d like to have dinner with you again.”

  “I like the sound of that,” Sasha replied, grinning.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Babylon Station

  Gateway

  12 February 3004, 09:00 GST

  It was the largest space aboard Babylon Station. When Cole had requested it added to the design plans, several of Sev’s team—including Sev—wondered why Cole would want such a large open space. No one wondered now.

  People filled the space, sitting in neat rows for the most part. Each person had at least one family member with them, and in the very front row, a person sat with two children, a fourteen-year-old girl and her twelve-year-old brother.