Star Force: Secession (SF13)

by Aer-ki Jyr

  As she watched out the window, arms crossed over her chest against the chill of the air in her nightgown, another dropship was on approach to one of several pads…this one a Canadian vessel, bringing in yet more relief supplies that Star Force wasn’t willing to supply. They’d held Armstrong responsible for part of the war and had slapped a 5 year ban on them, which was small in comparison to the 50 year ban they imposed on the home States. They hadn’t handed down the permanent military ban though, and Armstrong had been allowed to keep its National Guard forces, though it was restricted from producing or procuring warships until the 5 year ban had ended, which wasn’t an issue for them, given the fact that they didn’t have any.

  The Canadians had immediately stepped forward and offer their assistance, first with relief supplies and then an offer of a trade agreement. That was still floating around the Senate, but they should have the final details ironed out within a few weeks, she hoped, because Armstrong wasn’t exactly self-sufficient and had been relying on imports for a decent percentage of its economy.

  They were better off, however, than most of the other recently seceded colonies now sprinkled across Luna, as well as the largest. That size, Amy hoped, would sustain them long enough to get through the Star Force ban. If they could last those five years then the Star Force Lunar markets would open up to them and they’d have the option of buying everything they couldn’t produce at decent cost. Until then they were going to have to make do with Canadian trade, along with a few startup ventures to try and add some more diversity to the limited industry they possessed, namely foodstuffs, with the recent blockade pointing out their deficiency in that economic category.

  She knew Harrison was also trying to work out a deal with the Australians and a few others, but nothing had come of it yet. After only two weeks of independence she knew not to expect too much too soon, but to her altered sense of time nothing was happening fast enough. She felt a sense of relief each time a Canadian dropship arrived, knowing how badly those relief supplies were needed. Most of the city/colonies had been able to loosen their rationing, but they still had no stockpiles to draw from, so they had to be very careful to make use of what they were being given…something that most Armstrongians understood intimately. They’d learned the hard way how important logistics were and didn’t intend to be caught off guard again.

  Amy looked down at her hands, noticing how the flesh around her tendons had begun to fill in again, but she hadn’t completely shaken off the skeletal look. Her strength had been returning though, and with it the headaches had begun to go away. She didn’t want to think about what would have happened if they’d waited another week…or two. The looks of her fellow colonists haunted her the most from those last days before the first Star Force dropship had arrived to start removing the soldiers and ‘accidentally’ left a stack of crates behind, filled with foodstuffs.

  Two days later the first of the Canadian dropships arrived and began the regular supply runs, marking the end to their part of the blockade, though it was apparently still in place for the Brits and Japs. She didn’t want to think about their colonists either, but she couldn’t help herself. How much worse off were they? How much longer could she have lasted if help hadn’t arrived?

  Part of her wanted to curse Star Force for the blockade, but another part blamed the home countries for abandoning their Lunar colonies. They knew what Star Force was going to do after Mars, yet they still dragged their feet until Star Force left them no other choice but to surrender…and not for their wellbeing, but for their own political necessity.

  Maybe cutting off ties with Earth was a good thing, above and beyond mere survival. A fresh start, perhaps, where they could avoid repeating the mistakes of the past. She hoped for as much, but feared for the worst. As a State they were new and under-populated, and that didn’t bode well for their future as an independent nation. They had to grow, and grow fast in order to survive. Half a million people was the size of a subsection of a major city back on Earth, but up here they had to supply the entire workforce, government, police, scientists, doctors, etc…not to mention birthing the next generation.

  Armstrong had a great many challenges ahead of it, and as the Governor liked to point out, had a great many opportunities on the other side of those challenges if they could get through them. She knew he was right, but the critic in her kept imagining ways that it would all fall apart before they even got half that far…and what was worse, was she was probably the one that was going to be right.

  She’d do her best to make independence work, but the politic had shifted so drastically that no one could truly predict how future events were going to play out, and that uncertainty was palpable throughout Horizon, as well as over on Dawn, her representative city/colony.

  Amy turned around at the sound of her apartment door opening, but stayed at the window in her living room, waiting for her husband to walk in.

  “Long day?” she asked, noting that he was two hours later than she’d expected.

  “Very,” he said, walking up from behind and wrapping his arms around her tightly as they both looked out the window. He lifted one arm off her midsection and pointed at the landing Canadian dropship. “They’re keeping us busy at the docks.”

  “Thankfully,” she added.

  “We’re winning this one,” he said confidently, kissing her on the cheek. “I’m going to catch a shower.”

  “Hurry,” she prompted.

  “Won’t take long,” he promised, heading off into another room.

  Amy let out a long breath, beginning to feel a little bit better. Her husband’s positivity always made her feel more at ease. She wished she could keep him around her throughout the day.

  Her eyes fell back on the landing pads and watched as the boxy dropship set down on its spider-like landing legs.

  “We are winning,” she agreed. “But we’ve got a long way to go before we’ve won this one.”

  While Armstrong was beginning to recover and make the transition to independence on Luna’s surface, Star Force was busy in orbit, picking off British and Japanese cargo ships one and two at a time, increasing the pressure on the two nations who still refused to surrender, pressing their internal wars on captured or contested facilities while digging their heels in on captured territory. Their navies, no longer having to contend with what was left of the American fleet, began redeploying to new positions while supply ships moved in with additional troops and supplies, but not to contest the Lunar blockade, leaving their remaining colonies to their own fates.

  Unwilling to let them dictate the course of events, Star Force began gearing up for a final confrontation. Either they’d bait the two nations into fighting them directly, which would be suicide on their part, or they’d slowly cripple their supply lines and force them into submission.

  8

  July 8, 2109

  With the supply shortage worsening for the British and Japanese colonies on Luna that hadn’t been able to declare independence, locked down as they were under the presence of both nations’ militaries, Star Force finally decided to put an end to the stalemate and launched a lightning fast strike against all locations simultaneous. More than half were taken off guard as dropship after dropship arrived in the wake of Archon saboteur teams that snuck into position and disabled aerial defenses.

  With Star Force troops pouring into the colonies while bypassing the few separate military bases that remained, the malnourished troops on station surrendered in droves, either unable to put up a decent fight or simply unwilling to do so. With the defenders neutralized, dropships of relief supplies were brought down and the captured colonies, now deemed Star Force property, were more than grateful. Even the military bases eventually caved to the inevitability of the situation, surrendering without a fight over the next few days, save for two Japanese holdouts that required some prodding, but even when those bases were hit the resistance disappeared quickly, as if all they required was an excuse to surrender.

  Wi
th the last of the enemy troops on Luna secured the blockade was officially ended…with the ships that had been holding position in orbit of the moon redeployed to assist in the ongoing confiscation of the British and Japanese supply fleets, with Star Force picking up two or three ships a day on average.

  Both nations were able to assess the situation and could see that they were running out of time. When the first of their orbital refueling stations was confiscated by Star Force they mutually decided it was time to surrender in order to retain what remained of their infrastructure, agreeing on a date while leaving themselves a few days to tidy up loose ends.

  “Move along…keep moving people!” a British soldier yelled over the din of the crowd at one of the hundreds of docking ports along the frame of Habitat Block 16 that held dozens of British cargo ships, as well as a few warships pressed into service as personnel transports to assist with the mass evacuation of the American prisoners. “Stay in line and keep moving forward.”

  Ryan Branson, a retired physical scientist, was one of the captured colonists in line, drifting forward with a small backpack of personal items and two hands full of grandchildren. His eight year old grandson on his right and his six year old granddaughter on the left. Both were shaking with nerves, and even Ryan had to admit to a level of apprehension. The British hadn’t told them where they were going, just that they had to evacuate the station. He hoped they were being returned to American soil, but it could just as easily be a transfer to a prison camp somewhere in orbit. All he knew is they had to stick together and try to survive, and right now that meant staying in line and boarding the ship ahead.

  They’d been in line for more than three hours, but his grandchildren had been troopers and hadn’t complained so much as once. They kept quiet and by his side, as he’d asked. He knew they had to be tired from standing so long, but fortunately the last hour had been in the zero g docking ring, allowing them to float in place as they scooted along via wall railings. As it was, his grandson was propelling them all along with his tiny grip on the rail, and doing a good job of it too.

  “Hold up!” the soldier said, raising a hand for emphasis as the lines stopped…with people drifting into each other until they got their momentum checked.

  Ryan bumped into a large man in front of him when he stopped all too quickly.

  “Pardon me,” he muttered, pulling his granddaughter back up against his side.

  Up ahead of them the airlock door closed and the docked ship began to detach.

  “They’re full,” the Brit announced. “Stay put until the next one arrives.”

  “We were so close,” his grandson complained.

  Ryan smiled. “Just means we’ll have our choice of seats on the next one.”

  Fortunately they didn’t have to wait long, and within six minutes they were moving again. About twenty people up the line and they arrived at the airlock where the Brit was overseeing the loading, taking a head count on a small datapad.

  “Single file,” he ordered as the threesome got to the head of the line.

  “Hold on,” Ryan told his grandson, “and go in front of me. Ellie, same thing, but go behind me,” he said, twisting his torso so his hands reached out in front and behind him. With his foot Ryan pushed off the lip of the airlock and propelled them all through the narrow corridor and into the umbilical. They floated through, bumping off the walls as his grandchildren were unnecessarily twisting about, but a firm hand landed on his shoulder on the far side, checking his momentum.

  “To the left,” another British officer said, pushing Ryan that direction.

  His grandson reached out and grabbed another railing, pulling them along in line as Ryan pushed off against the floor to help him steady their movement. They rejoined the back of the line as they were herded through several corridors until they came to a gravity transfer zone, floating up into a moving round room with two doors spinning around slowly.

  “Ok, you know what to do, right?” he asked his grandchildren. “We have to catch the door. Feet first.”

  Grabbing a long ladder/railing, Ryan released his grandson but held onto his granddaughter as he felt the first tiny pull of the centrifugal force as the railing ever so slowly pulled him sideways. He twisted around, putting his feet on the rungs and allowed himself to drift ‘downward’ towards the door, seeing his grandson already several rungs ahead of him. By the time they got down through the door to the floor there was barely a fraction of a g of artificial gravity, but it was enough to right themselves and allow them to walk very tenderly over to a nearby stairwell that the line of people was following.

  As they went down the stairs the gravity began to increase again, coming up to full strength when they hit the very bottom and were led to a large bank of passenger seats on what Ryan guessed was a commercial transport, raising his hopes that they were being returned to Earth or at least maybe to Star Force. He and his two family members were led to their seats and settled in.

  “I have to pee,” his grandson said after a few minutes.

  “Me too,” his sister echoed.

  “I think they’ll let us go after everyone gets seated,” Ryan said, hoping that was true. His bladder was full as well. “Just hold on a little bit longer, ok?”

  “I’ll try,” his grandson said, making a strange face.

  Thanks to the British insistence to keep the lines moving this bank of seats, probably more than 1000 strong, filled quickly, after which they were allowed to move around a bit, hit the restrooms and the nearby lounges, but they weren’t allowed to transfer between sections, which were kept locked down by a scattering of British troops. After another long wait they got the disembarkment warning, instructing them all to return to their seats before the ship disconnected from the station and began to move off.

  About half an hour into their trip the video screens shifted from entertainment channels over to an exterior view from the ship’s cameras pointing back towards Habitat Block 16, which snapped into a zoom enlargement as the Captain’s voice came over the intercom.

  “I know this is a bad moment, but I figured you’d want to see what was happening,” he said apologetically. “So you know, we evacuated everyone off the stations.”

  Ryan’s jaw dropped as he saw one of the stations inside the cube grid explode like a snowball smashing against a wall. Debris went everywhere, crashing into nearby stations as well as snapping the connective strips in that section of the cube. He recognized that particular station as module 54, which held an amusement park that he had often taken his grandchildren to.

  Suddenly another station detonated, then another a minute later. In succession each of the 125 stations held together within the cubical grid were hit by nuclear missiles being fired by the surrounding British warfleet in a slash and burn campaign being undertaken across Earth orbit. Every captured enemy facility that the British and Japanese possessed was being mass evacuated then nuked, denying Star Force the opportunity to confiscate or return what had once been West African, German, or American property.

  Within the day, all 21 Habitat Blocks that made up Nimbus were obliterated in the largest nuclear maelstrom in recorded history, utterly destroying the 54th American state.

  The British may have had to surrender to Star Force, but they were going to take one of the stars off the American flag before they did so…and that was one victory that Davis and his people couldn’t steal from them.

  When Paul got the reports of what the British and Japanese were doing back in the Fleet Command center on Venus he punched the console he was reading the report on, denting the synthetic trim and turning a few curious heads before he read down far enough to see the addendum noting the evacuation ships leaving prior to the nuking.

  The tightness in his chest abated somewhat when he read that, but his anger was still present. Even assuming they’d gotten everyone off those installations the debris field was going to expanding out into the traffic lanes, endangering both starships and stations until they could ge
t it all cleaned up. Adding to that was the fact that at least some of the debris was going to be radioactive, meaning Star Force had a giant mess on its hands. The Nimbus debris would be the worst of it, given the mass of those constructs, but there were hundreds of other captured stations tagged around the planet that had been destroyed in the British/Japanese purge of their war spoils.

  Paul loosely figured it would take 5 years at best to get it all collected, and over that amount of time it was going to spread far and wide and could be responsible for deaths long after this war came to an end…which was going to happen right now.

  Liam was still in the Mars micro-system, overseeing their fleet there, but Roger had transitioned back over to command of Earth’s orbital fleet along with the excess of warships no longer necessary in the belt or at Mars. The Draco had remained in the belt, being too massive to easily maneuver around the playing board, so Roger had transferred over to the Orion when the Lunar blockade had begun.

  Pulling up a message prompt on the console, Paul tagged the command ship as the intended target and routed the message to Roger’s personal account, then began typing loudly as his emotions bled over into the force he landed in his keystrokes.

  I just read the report. Try to confirm any casualties if you can. I don’t trust them to have gotten everyone off and we need to know who to lynch when it comes to it. I assume you’re already gearing up to hit them hard, so let me know if I need to transfer any more ships your way.

  As you’re depriving them of their ships, start taking away their stations too. Leave them with nothing in orbit. We have to send these bastards a message.

  Oh, and shuffle the evacuees you retrieve through the Nexus stations we have operational. I’ll arrange the rest.

  After that he sent messages to Greg and Davis, offering his input on the penalties the UK and Japan would be incurring, suggesting that they be kicked dirtside for at least the amount of time it took Star Force to clean up the mess they’d made in orbit.