by Marko Kloos
“They have to start pulling their weight at some point,” Colonel Drake replies. “And the Fleet wants to make sure they have the most experienced Avenger crew from our side along for the ride. Truth be told, I suspect we’ll be doing the heavy lifting if it comes down to that.”
“So where are we going, boss?” the CAG asks.
Colonel Drake looks around the table in silence for effect. Then he brings up another hologram and shunts it next to the first one until they slowly rotate side by side for everyone to see. It’s a star chart I don’t recognize immediately. When I finally recall the configuration of the system, I feel a surge of anxiety welling up inside my chest.
“We’re going to Capella A,” Colonel Drake says. “Back to the place where it all started with the Lankies, twelve years ago.”
There’s some murmuring from the other officers in the room.
“We’re teaming up with an inexperienced task force,” I say. “To go into a hot system that the Lankies have held for over a decade.”
“That’s what the Fleet wants us to do,” Colonel Drake says amiably. “You were there at Capella A, weren’t you? Back in ’08 when we made first contact?”
I nod. “I was on Versailles. We pulled up into Willoughby orbit and ran right into a Lanky minefield. Lost a third of the crew right there. And a bunch more on the surface. We had no idea what we were facing.”
“But now we do,” Colonel Drake says. “We have the experience and the gear. And we’re not going to roll into Capella with a blindfold on. It’s going to be a reconnaissance in force. With limited objectives in-system.”
“A hit-and-run raid.” Colonel Rigney leans back in his chair and folds his arms across his broad chest. “Are we going to engage in ground action?”
“That depends on what we see when we get there. But I think it’s pretty safe to say that we won’t be asked to reoccupy a colony the enemy has fortified for twelve years. Not even with a full regiment. If we do anything on the ground, it will be limited to targets of opportunity. We’re not set up for holding territory in a hostile system. The plan is to stick our heads in, kick some asses if they present themselves for an easy kicking, then get the hell back out.”
“They could have a hundred seed ships in that system by now. Could be we don’t get a chance to get the hell back out once we transition in,” I say.
“Like I said, we aren’t going to go in with a blindfold on,” Colonel Drake replies. “The Fleet has allocated a lot of recon assets to this mission. The stealth corvettes are going to precede us and map out the opposition before we commit the task force.”
“Any idea why we’re doing this now, sir? We haven’t had a tussle with the Lankies in four years. That may change if we start going out and poking beehives,” I say.
“We’re still at war with those things, Major,” Lieutenant Colonel Campbell says. “We can’t just hole up in the systems we have left and hope they’ll leave us alone. We have to press our advantage now. Before they figure out how to counter the Orions and the Avengers. Because if that happens, we won’t be able to cook up something new.”
“It’s a risk,” Colonel Drake says. “We’ll be committing a sixth of Earth’s operational Avenger force. If we don’t make it back out, and the Lankies decide to come back for a second helping, the rest may not be enough to stem the tide. Especially since the Mark IIIs are still on their shakedown cruises and Ottawa is going in for her first overhaul in a few weeks.”
“You podheads are usually more gung ho about locking horns with the enemy,” the CAG says to me. “I’m surprised to see the SOCOM guy trying to be the voice of caution.”
I look around the room to see that everyone at the table is looking at me and waiting for my reaction. A few minutes ago, the knowledge that I am the junior officer in the room might have intimidated me into acquiescence. But now that I know where we are going, I don’t have any reservation about giving voice to my experience, even if it means I may be stepping on the toes of the assembled colonels.
“I know that strategic deployments aren’t exactly my field of specialty,” I say. “And I’m not a xenobiologist. But I’ve been fighting these things on the ground since the day we ran into the minefield around Willoughby. And the only thing anyone knows for sure about them is that we don’t know much about them at all. Every single time we’ve faced them in a large-scale battle, they’ve managed to surprise us and blow our plans to hell.”
Colonel Drake nods.
“Your concerns are justified, Major. But trust me when I tell you that I have absolutely no interest in biting off more than I can chew. We have our mission parameters. But we decide the execution every step of the way. If it looks like we’re in over our heads, we are heading for the back door.”
He looks at the other officers in the room.
“If any of you have misgivings at any point, I want you to bring them up to me right away. I don’t intend to run this operation from the top down. You are all in charge of your own shops. Any command decision that’s not an on-the-spot call, we sit down and make sure that Fleet, SI, and SOCOM are on the same page. If you see that we are about to do something stupid, don’t hold back your opinion. I have specialist department leaders for a reason. The Fleet gave us the mission, but they’re leaving the ‘how’ up to us.”
The commander changes the holographic display to a side-by-side star chart of the solar system and Capella A.
“We’re going in with two carriers and their combined battle groups,” he says. “That’s a lot of firepower. More than we’ve ever thrown at the Lankies. But that doesn’t mean we have to use all that ordnance. We are sneaking into one of their neighborhoods, and I intend to tread as softly as I can.”
“If sneaking is the objective, we can send one or two stealth corvettes and get just as much intel,” Colonel Pace says. “Maybe more, because they won’t see the stealth ships. We show up in their backyard with two battle groups, they may not go about their daily routines. They’ll just throw everything they have at us.”
“Did Fleet Command tell you what they hope to get in return for risking two Avengers?” I ask.
“We can do the recon with the stealth corvettes, that’s true. But they won’t be able to do anything other than sneak and peek. If they come across any targets of opportunity or immediate threats, they’ll have to make the run back home and call for reinforcements,” Colonel Drake says. He magnifies the chart of the Capella A system. Willoughby, officially charted as Capella Ac, is making its orbit around the parent star, but unlike the smaller map projection next to it, the Capella chart offers no up-to-date tactical information. It’s as empty as an instructional hologram in astronomy class.
“Four years since our last major contact,” Drake continues. “Command wants to see what they are doing out there, why they haven’t made any more excursions into human-controlled space. Did they pack up and run? Are we going to walk into an empty system? Or are they biding their time and assembling a few hundred seed ships for the next invasion wave? Four years may be nothing to them. Like taking a quick breather in between rounds.”
He pokes his finger at the planet we called Willoughby, once home to a settler colony of ten thousand people, and occupied Lanky territory since the year I joined the Corps.
“We need to get a feel for their posture,” Colonel Drake says. “And command wants us to take their pulse right there, where it all started for us. In the place they’ve had under their control the longest. If their stance is defensive or avoidant, the stealth corvettes will do the job just fine. But we’re taking in the two Avengers in case they’re not defensive or avoidant. If we have a sudden need for big guns, we don’t want to have to send for them from out-of-system and hope for a timely delivery.”
He looks at me and nods.
“You are right, Major. We don’t know much about these things at all. But we know they’re still out there. And if we want to be prepared for the next time they come into the solar system in force, we
have to find out more about them. Otherwise we’ll just keep being reactive, adjust our tactics to theirs, hope we’ll always come up with a last-minute fix when things get tight. It’s time to turn the tables, let them react to us for a change. That’s what the Fleet hopes to get in return for risking two Avengers.”
“I am not disputing the logic,” I say. “Or the need for the mission.”
“I’m sure Fleet Command will be relieved to hear that,” Lieutenant Colonel Campbell says with a smile that’s dry enough for me to see dust coming off it.
“We’ve come a long way in twelve years,” I continue. “And we know the Avengers can hold their own. I’m just saying that we need to have as many emergency exits as possible when we stick our necks out into their turf.”
“You worry about the SOCOM mission,” the XO says. “We will take care of the tactical aspects of the task force deployment. I know we lack your experience in direct ground combat, but we’ll try not to blunder into a trap at full throttle.”
“No need for turf wars,” Colonel Drake admonishes. “I asked for input, after all. Let’s not tear into each other over voicing reservations. We’re all pulling on the same rope. If we screw up, we’ll all end up dead. Let’s keep that in mind.”
“Yes, sir.” Lieutenant Colonel Campbell stops her staring contest and looks at the projection in the middle of the table. “What is the timeline for this little field trip?”
Colonel Drake adds the icons for the combined battle groups to the plot and moves them toward the intersection of the two sector maps.
“We will rendezvous with the Jo’burg battle group in thirty-three hours, then proceed to the outbound Capella A transit point and commence last-minute replenishment operations. It’s a three-day ride from the rendezvous point. We’ll be in Lanky space in five days. How long we stay there will depend on what we find once we transition in.”
He shunts the battle group icons over into the empty sector map for Capella A.
“We’ll build in plenty of emergency exits,” he continues with a glance at me. “We are sending in the recon ships first. Once we get the all clear, the battle group follows. Washington and Johannesburg will stay in mutually supporting positions close to the transition point and deploy a recon network before we venture deeper into the system. If anything comes our way that we can’t handle with two Avengers, we turn around and transit back out of that system as quickly as we can spool up the Alcubierre drives. No heroics, no unnecessary risks. We have nothing to gain from losing even a single ship in that place.”
The colonel magnifies the projection and lets it rotate slowly between us to show the sector maps from all angles.
“Those are the parameters. Prep your departments accordingly. Give me a go/no-go by 1800 hours tomorrow. If there’s anything you need, anything that concerns you, bring it to me. Oh, and the deployment destination is classified from this command level down until we come out of Alcubierre on the far side. Command wants us to keep this one quiet. Quieter than usual, I mean.”
“Gosh, I wonder why,” Colonel Pace says.
“To give them time to tweak the message if they end up losing two whole battle groups,” Lieutenant Colonel Campbell replies.
“If we go in and kick ass, it’ll be a morale booster. If they kick ours, it may cause a worldwide panic,” Colonel Drake says. “But it’s harder to keep a lid on this if everyone knows where we went. Keep OPSEC tight on this. We don’t want a thousand people broadcasting our mission objective back home. It’ll be on the Networks before we even hit the Alcubierre chute.”
“A discreet mission,” Colonel Campbell says, wry amusement on her face. “With a sixth of the Fleet.”
“That is our script. And we will play our parts.” Colonel Drake freezes the map projection and gets out of his chair.
“Readiness reports by 1800 tomorrow,” he repeats. “Brief your section leaders but remember the OPSEC restrictions. I know it’s a pain in the ass, but those are the orders from above.”
“That’s going to really put water onto the rumor mill,” Colonel Rigney says. “By the time the platoon leaders brief the grunts, we’ll have two dozen wild-ass theories floating around.”
“Like I said, that’s the script we were given. Now let’s make sure we won’t bomb the play. Dismissed,” Colonel Drake says.
“XO, can I have a word?”
Lieutenant Colonel Campbell turns back toward me while the other officers are filing out of the briefing room after Colonel Drake.
“What’s on your mind, Major?”
I wait with my reply until the room is empty except for the two of us.
“You’ve been snippy with me ever since I reported in. Have I done anything to offend you? Because I know we have never met before I joined this ship. And I know the XO isn’t supposed to be all warm and sweet because you’re the enforcer for the commander. But I’m getting a little tired of taking heat from you without knowing why.”
She studies me for a moment with narrowed eyes.
“Snippy,” she repeats. “You think I am snippy with you.”
“I do.”
Lieutenant Colonel Campbell shakes her head and smiles without the slightest trace of good humor.
“I don’t think that’s a discussion you want to have with me right now, Major.”
“Try me. Just between the two of us. I know it has to be personal. Because I haven’t been on this ship long enough for you to get an accurate assessment of my skills.”
“Just between the two of us,” she says. “All right. Since you insist.”
She folds her arms in front of her chest.
“You annoy the shit out of me, if you must know. Just between the two of us.”
“Any particular reason?” I ask.
She nods at the rank insignia on my shoulders.
“You’re an upstart, Major. I looked at your file when they assigned you to this ship. I know you’ve done well in the field. But you act like a noncom in an officer costume. Because that’s what you are.”
“You’re saying my rank is not legit?”
“I’m not saying it isn’t legit,” she says. “SOCOM pinned the stars on you. Then they saw fit to add the wreath. They can promote whomever they want. God knows they didn’t have much to pick from when we were on the ropes.”
She nods at her own rank insignia, the stylized geometric version they use on the teal-and-blue Fleet uniform, one horizontal bar with two round pips stacked above it.
“I only made lieutenant colonel two years ago. When you were serving with my father eight years ago, you were a staff sergeant. I was a captain. They promoted me to major a few months after he smashed his ship against that Lanky. Bumped me up in the promotion list, like they were giving me a consolation prize because of my dead father.”
There’s anger in her face now, but I know somehow that it doesn’t really have anything to do with me, so I resist the impulse to extend my own barbs in response. Instead, I let the XO continue without comment.
“I made major after ten years,” she says. “Made lieutenant colonel at the minimum time in grade, after sixteen years in the Fleet. Meanwhile, you went from staff sergeant to major in eight years.”
“I had the minimum required time in grade,” I say. “Even on a peacetime schedule.”
“That’s bullshit. On a peacetime schedule, you wouldn’t even have qualified for lieutenant. And you sure as hell wouldn’t be a major right now because you were just on a limited-duty officer billet to begin with.”
“You’re saying you doubt my qualifications?”
“Oh, I don’t doubt that you’re a good podhead. You’ve got the medals to show for it. But you aren’t a field-grade officer. I don’t care what the insignia on your shoulders say. You’re in charge of a company. The only reason you’re able to sit at the command table with us is the fact that the SOCOM company is directly subordinate to the skipper. But everyone else in the room is three command levels above you. Pace has a carrier win
g under him. Seven squadrons, a hundred and twenty spacecraft. Rigney is in charge of an SI regiment. A thousand grunts. The skipper has this carrier and everything on it. Forty-eight nukes, twelve Orions. Two and a half thousand personnel. And you? You’re responsible for sixty-eight people.”
She nods at the table between us.
“And you sit here with the rest of us and second-guess the deployment orders from Fleet Command. Like you’re qualified to judge that. You’re a grunt in command of a glorified half-strength company. You have a spot at the big table as a courtesy. Don’t think for a second your opinion carries the same weight as everyone else’s.”
I’m a little taken aback by the amount of vitriol coming from the XO, and I wrestle with my initial reflex to give in to my anger and go on the offensive in return. There’s nothing good that can come from a slap fight with the ship’s second-in-command. For a few moments, there’s a thick silence between us as I gather my thoughts for a response to this unexpected outburst of hostility.
“Tell you what,” I say. “If you can convince General Masoud to bust me back to sergeant first class, you’ll have my eternal gratitude. Please ask him to have me relieved. I’ll gladly go back to leading squads.”
Campbell shakes her head. “It was difficult enough to get them to send a replacement for Mac on short notice. I’m afraid we’re stuck with you. For better or worse.”
“Then I’d ask that you save your criticism for the first time I screw up on the job,” I say. “Give me the benefit of the doubt. Assume that I know my ass from a hole in the ground. You may want to consider that Masoud roped me into the officer ranks because he thought I was qualified. Or maybe because he hates me, too. Because I’ve done nothing but shovel shit since I got the job.”
The XO smiles and shakes her head.
“I don’t hate you, Major Grayson,” she says. “I don’t know you well enough for that yet. And I do hope you prove me wrong.”
She turns around and walks toward the door. At the threshold, she pauses and turns her head toward me again.
