by J. L. Curtis
Impulsively, Randall hugged Fargo, tears in her eyes, “I never got the chance to thank you for bringing us home. I know you came by when the few of us that lived were still in the Med-Comps, but by the time we got out, you were already gone.”
Fargo was shocked as he read Randall’s thoughts. Professionalism, GalPat orders, tears, sexual attraction, sadness, unrequited love, and nervousness at seeing him again swirled through his head as he held her.
Shocked at the feeling of love from her, Fargo squashed that set of thoughts quickly, even as he felt drawn to her again after all these years. Not wanting to acknowledge it, he gingerly patted her shoulder so he didn’t touch her and get anymore thoughts, “It wasn’t by choice, Nan. By the time y’all were released by medical, I was already up on charges. The courts martial and drumming out was short, sweet, and terminal. I wasn’t even allowed to make a last visit to the troop bay. I was so persona non grata, the Corps even bounced my emails when I tried to send my well wishes.”
A cleared throat at the door made them realize they were still hugging, and they quickly separated, turning to the door. Major Ward stood there looking uncomfortably back and forth between the two. Randall, now fully back in her colonel persona, said, “Noah, Fargo was my company commander when I was a sergeant. I haven’t seen him in over thirty years. He taught me more about leadership than I ever learned in any schoolhouse.”
Ward nodded, “Now, it makes sense why you sent us down here and said for me to directly coordinate with Fargo.” He stepped to the desk and laid out a frag order, “Fargo, I’ve got my troops ready to jump off at zero three hundred local, as soon as your indigs start the ball rolling.”
Colonel Randall asked, “Y’all want to lay your plan out for me?”
Fargo spun the map around and using a pen, pointed out the locations where the Ghorkas would start the attack from, “Nan, er, Colonel…”
“Nan, please.”
“Nan, my indigs as the major calls them, are Ghorkas. All retired GalPat combat troops and of the one hundred I have, all of them are either E-eights, nines, or warrants. All of them are combat vets, and they have locally manufactured powered armor. They have spent the last seventy-two hours infiltrating to these three locations, and they’ve given us movement, security perimeters, guard locations, defenses and facilities use via LPI comms.”
“How did you get the info, and why weren’t they counter-detected?”
“It goes no further than this room, but we have access to Ferrets that were sent in with various tasks. The scouts went into power down mode as soon as any movement was detected in the valley. The Traders don’t fly anything out of the valley in the daylight, and use counter-grav at night, so there is no light signature or noise when they do launch. They know, well, thought they knew, there wasn’t a satellite system around the planet. That’s what gave us their initial locating information.”
Impatiently Randall asked, “What’s your plan tonight? You can backfill me later on the intel.”
Fargo and Ward exchanged glances, Fargo continued, “They’ve got two ships on the ground now. It’s a forward base for the Dragoons and Traders, and our plan is to hit them, take down comms, kill everyone, and raid the base for any information. After that, we’re going to crash one of the ships back into the facility and get a partial fusion bottle blow, destroying the facility.”
Randall looked at Ward, “You have any problems with that, Noah?”
“No ma’am. Fargo’s got a good plan, and we’re going to have six teams, one per bunker, in full armor. Go in hard, fast, and take them down.”
“How are you going to put your teams on the ground, and what about outbound comms?”
Fargo stepped in, “We’re going to use Hyderabad to jam the comms, and Ward’s folks will drop from her at ten k, allowing them twelve seconds to get on the ground, as our folks take out the defenses. Each team has the facility plans on their implants for their bunker, and their secondary targets. We’ve counted about a hundred personnel, and two to three Dragoons now at the site.”
Randall looked at Ward, “You look like you have reservations.”
“Can I speak to you privately, Ma’am?”
Fargo said, “Oh for God’s sake. I’ll go get coffee,” and stomped out of the room.
Randall rounded on Ward, “Noah, what is your problem?”
“I’m not comfortable with his indigs, and his so called intel. I’d rather wait until we can put our own eyes on the target. He’s just a local yokel now, and we’ve got a lot more advanced…”
“Major Ward, that local yokel, as you call him, has more time in combat than you have in the force. This is your first time to actually get in the field leading troops, and I’m beginning to wonder if you’re actually up to it.”
Ward drew himself up stiffly to attention, “Ma’am, I can get the job done. If you will excuse me, I need to get my troops ready.”
“Fine, dismissed.”
Fargo came back with two bulbs of coffee, “What the hell was that, Nan?”
Randall accepted the bulb with a nod, “Ah, Ward is a fuck up I got foisted on me. He’s managed to avoid combat by kissing ass, pulling embassy duty, and staff duty as a liaison with his politically connected brother-in-law. He was sent out as a relief for my good major, who was due to rotate out.”
“Ah, one of those. Kinda noticed that on the initial briefing last week.”
“Yeah, I got told to square him away, get him in combat, or document enough fuck ups to kick him out. I hate pushing him off on you, but the troops are damn good. I figured he’d be nothing more than a figurehead, and wouldn’t be dumb enough to not take your advice.”
“Well… Shit, Nan, he didn’t fight me, per se, but he was always questioning every damn part of the plan, but never offered any options that didn’t involve KEWs[4].”
“KEWs? You’ve got to be kidding me!”
Fargo shrugged, “Nope, he wanted to use a cruiser, not a destroyer, a cruiser, to hit the site with a KEW before we even went in. He doesn’t like indigs, even though they are all retired GalPat CSMs, for Christ sake!”
Randall growled, “Do you want me to replace him?”
“Nah, if the troops are as good as you say, they’ll keep him out of the way, and hopefully out of trouble.”
“Would you object if I go along as an observer?”
“Observer, or as Sergeant Randall?”
Randall colored, “I’ll go wherever Captain Fargo leads. How’s that?”
“Nan, if you go, would you please stay on the bridge? And not let the troops see you? Anything else, and you know they’ll think you’re checking up on them. Captain Jace would be happy to have you there.”
“Yes sir, I’ll be aboard at zero one hundred,” she said with a smile.
***
Captain Jace welcomed Colonel Randall onto the bridge of the Hyderabad, and sealed the hatch saying, “Colonel, before we man up, there is something you need to know.” He handed her a data chip, “Please access this with your datacomp. It will require your access codes.”
Randall took the chip with a raised eyebrow, but plugged it into her datacomp. It ran a routine, then blinked into what she recognized as a higher classification background, and asked for her access code. Randall looked hard at Captain Jace, “What is this? And why do you have it?”
Jace shrugged, “My orders. And you should have adequate clearances to review them.”
Intrigued, Randall entered her access. The screen changed once again, and stepped to a STAR 3 access. Randall muttered under her breath, and entered that code. The screen finally displayed the data.
STAR 3 SECURITY LEVEL
DISSEMINATION STRICTLY FORBIDDEN
REF GALPAT INTEL INST 7843, SUB C, SUB E, PARA 21
IAW REF HYDERABAD DESIGNATED REMOTE INTELLIGENCE GATHER UNIT 3AC4R. AUTHORIZED ALL NECESSARY SUPPORT WHEN/IF REQUESTED. NO RECORD TRAFFIC OF ANY SUPPORT TO BE REPORTED. NO RECORD OF SHIP EMISSIONS TO BE MADE/FORWARDED BY ANY GALP
AT UNIT IAW REF.
ANY NOTIFICATION OF SPECIAL MISSION CAPABILITY NOT DESIRED/REQUIRED. COMMAND LEVEL SUPPORT DATA TRANSMISSION TO GALPAT INTEL PRIORITY ONE.
S/GEN PAREET HILTON, GP INTEL 00
STAR 3 SECURITY LEVEL
DISSEMINATION STRICTLY FORBIDDEN
Randall looked up in amazement, “Why?”
Jace replied, “You will see some things tonight that will not make sense. You will see systems activate that no civilian ship should have, or even know about. It’s just easier if I do this now, rather than later.”
Randall ejected the data chip and passed it back to the captain, “So, I hear nothing, I know nothing, and I see nothing, right?”
Jace smiled, “Yes, ma’am. That would be preferable.”
Raid Time
Fargo came out of the administration building at zero two hundred, walking slowly toward the ship, thinking he’d rather be anywhere than here. At least I’m not in charge. No decisions I make are going to impact anyone other than me. If I screw up, I’ll be the only one paying the price. Yanking his mind out of that track, he jerked back to the computed avenues of approach, battle plan, fallback if things weren’t as expected, and the scout’s positions and responsibilities.
As he approached the aft ramp, he noticed a short, thin spacer in a well-used shipsuit, talking with Captain Jace and Klang. Cocking his head, Fargo tried to place the man but failed, but he sensed ultimate confidence radiating from him. As he walked up, Klang twittered, “Ship of the Chief, it will be as you desire. Interrupt your commands I will not. Prepare the cargo deck for armor I will do.”
The small man replied, “That is acceptable. We will load four abreast. I will give you thirty seconds to lock the suits in before I start the next four in. I will need the starboard side open to the back hatch, and one soft suit in small available for me to use.”
Klang nodded as Fargo looked at the captain, then at the small man, “What’s going on here?”
Captain Jace said, “Fargo, meet Wallace, he is a Chief of ship, retired. He was sent over by Warrant Gupta.”
Wallace turned, coming almost to attention, “Wallace Hand, GalPat Master Chief COS retired, twenty years assault boat COS. Last duty station BATRON Nine. WO said you needed help, so Liz and I came down to volunteer.” Waving at the ship, he continued, “Liz is also retired, Chief Sergeant, comms and EWO. She’s up on the bridge getting set up.”
Fargo shook his head, “Uh, why…” Rubbing a hand over his scalp, he tried again, “Captain, are you willing to have… Uh, are you paying crew rates to him and his wife?”
Jace looked askance, “Of course, Fargo. I take no liberties with a crew person. And with the two Chiefs Hand aboard, I suspect our potential for mission success has just gone up.”
Fargo scratched his ear, “Okay. I… Chief, you weren’t here tonight, you didn’t see anything, and you did not participate in a raid, or anything else. Is that clear?”
Hand smiled, “In other words, I’m a mushroom, right? Just a night out on the town for me and Liz.”
Fargo nodded, “That works.”
***
Fargo stood off to the side watching as Hand loaded the troops onboard. His language and attitude made Fargo smile, if only to himself. Hand, in a command voice, said pointedly to one of the suits of armor, “Troop, if you scratch up my deck or get it dirty, I will have you out of your monkey suit and down on your hands and knees scrubbing my deck clean, is that clear?”
The troop mumbled his apology, carefully picking up his feet in the armor as he moved quickly into the locking clamps that popped up out of the deck. Fargo shook his head as he climbed the ramp and walked forward. Climbing upward, he got to the bridge and nodded to Captain Jace and Colonel Randall, and waved to Evie as he scanned the flight deck, noting an older woman setting at one of the consoles.
Jace said, “Chief Hand, Captain Fargo.”
She waved vaguely at Fargo, “Liz. Nice little setup, here. I haven’t seen a Mod Thirty board in a couple of years. You want selective or full band jamming as we come over the RF horizon, or the visual horizon?”
Fargo replied, “What’s your recommendation?”
Liz looked up, “Full band, of course, at the RF horizon. I’ll ramp up power as required when we get on top, need to make sure the tight beam laser is taken out, too. Are we doing a nape of the planet, or hot and high approach?”
Fargo looked at the captain, “I need to go suit up, y’all do what you think is best.” As he made for the door, he could have sworn he heard Randall snickering.
Back on the cargo deck, he saw another set of armor sitting in the front of the deck with his. This one was marked with subdued red crosses, and apparently only had one weapon, which looked like a breacher. Turning, he saw a slightly overweight, humming man doing a half dance as he laid out a full blown medical kit and med grav sled.
Fargo said, “You know we have a full Med-Comp on board, right?”
The man turned, “Yeah, but if I don’t do my job, they’re gonna be dead before I can get them up there. Who the hell are you?”
Fargo bristled, “Fargo, I’m the liaison with the local forces. Who’re you?”
“Grayson, K, senior sergeant, medic. Twenty years of this ship shit. I can do anything but crack a skull, and it comes down to it, I’ll do that too. Ten deployments, twenty-two operations, seventy-one saves. Things go to shit, just get outta my way unless I call for help, then get your ass where I need you. Hope you’re not freaked out by blood.”
Fargo replied, “Nope. Seen a bit in my time. You jumping?”
Grayson nodded, “How else to you expect me to do my job? These suits may be smart, but they ain’t that smart.”
Major Ward was the last suit to board, and Fargo and Grayson stopped as they heard the IC go off, “Troops are aboard. Ten minutes to launch. COS, close the hatch, please. Secure all loose gear. Approach will be nape, expect a few bumps and bounces as we ingress. Intent is to pop and drop from twelve thousand AGL, all troops check altimeters to two-two-one feet, mark. Set low limit one-four-three-three-seven feet for raid point. Drop altitude will be two-four-three-three-seven feet. Confirm DVARS on.”
Various responses came back in mumbles, “Doppler on, DV alt set…”
Fargo and Grayson scrambled into their respective suits, and Fargo settled into the routine of suit operations as he locked into the restraints and linked into the suit’s AI. Performing the suit’s BIT checks though Cindy, he completed the drop setting check on the Doppler system. Setting his radios to the bridge, command, troop, and scout’s channels, he heard Ward start into a drop brief for the fourth time. Tuning it out, Fargo took his pre-combat piss in the suit, wiggling around to get as comfortable as he could before it clamped down on him.
He was glad he’d gotten a suit fam and time to work with it prior to the op, as the Phantom II suits were more advanced than what he was used to, and the additional capabilities were interesting, to put it lightly. His was the only suit with a Gustav mounted in place of the 20mm, and he was looking forward to seeing how the new version worked.
***
After a good ten to fifteen minutes of bouncing up and down, side to side, Fargo felt his stomach drop as the radio spit, “Climbing, ramp coming down. Standby… Standby…” Suddenly his stomach was in his throat as the radio said, “Go! Green, go!”
Fargo looked up, driving his camera view up, and saw the green light over the aft ramp. He could also see troops ahead, moving as each rank unlocked. Twenty seconds later, he stepped off the aft ramp. Slanting right, as Grayson slanted left, he decreased the anti-grav to minimum and fell as fast as possible, trusting the suit to get him down in one piece.
Ten seconds later, he was in the middle of a pitched battle, as the scouts yelling, “Ayo Gorkhali,” as they continued to take out the remote sensors, laser transmitter head, and visible defensive weapons, micro jumping from their hiding places to the tops of the surrounding bowl to give them overwatch. As he sc
anned around, the hostiles in his HUD seemed to be melting away, as the assaulting GalPat troops took them out quickly.
Suddenly a new crop of hostiles popped up a third of the way up the side of the bowl, away from Fargo. Somebody yelled, “Reaction force up!” As the chatter threatened to overload the circuit, Fargo heard Captain Garibaldi, “Looks like Goons. Hit ‘em hard, boys and girls.”
Fargo, remembering his tasking, slid over to one of the ships currently grounded tail first, and used his IR and radar to scan the ship. Confirming it was cold, he moved toward the second ship, snapping a shot at a hostile that suddenly appeared in the mid-deck hatch of the ship. Seeing the armor recoil back into the ship, he grav jumped at the hatch, reloading and putting another round from the Gustav into the hatch and surrounding area. He reloaded the Gustav quickly, then scanned around.
Teetering on the edge of the hatch, he ensured the Trader’s armor was out of action. Then he used his armor’s manipulator to rip a section of the hatch open, ensuring the hatch wouldn’t pressurize. As he did, his HUD momentarily blanked as he heard, “Plasma cannon up, target,” on the Scouts’ channel. Launching from the side of the ship, he used the anti-grav to keep himself stable as he floated across the battle, waiting for the hostile carat’s position to unmask. The plasma cannon was firing down into the bowl, and apparently the Goons manning it didn’t see him.
Floating clear of the second ship, Fargo got a visual, triggering a Stingray missile as he lased the cannon’s emplacement. Too late, the Goons tried to respond, as they swung the still firing cannon in his direction. Killing his anti-grav, he dropped to the floor of the bowl, as the missile obliterated the cannon and its crew.
“Scouts on me,” Fargo broadcast on the channel, and pinged his suit location. Looking at his HUD, it looked like things were in sweep up mode, and there was no need for him or the scouts to get involved at this point.
