by Trent Falls
A lighter hue of the gold tint covered the half-visor of Private John Carn’s tactical helmet. The cut of his battle fatigues were a light tan with a few brown accents. His M-10 assault rifle, ever ready, was set barrel-down between his legs as he sat in the rack of yet another Kestrel.
John, at the time of the Battle of Anshan City, was nineteen years old. The events on Phaedra were still years away.
John was in one of six Kestrel assault carriers flying in a line formation over Anshan City. Three Redwing gunships, larger versions of the Kestrels, flew along the same path. The transport vessels and gunships moved relatively silently over the beaten and scarred city. Low-noise jet thrusters and repulse projectors held each ship aloft and moved them relatively quickly over the gold glass and white concrete towers.
John looked out of the open side door of his Kestrel just as the gold glass face of a massive edifice swung by his field of view. A few months ago he would have been mesmerized by the sight of a 60 story glass tower a few dozen or so feet from the open door of a Kestrel. Now, the wonder had all but faded. The glass panels had been cracked and shattered. The concrete had been riddled with bullets or chipped away to the rebar. The once beautiful white and sandstone plazas, sidewalks, and elevated walkways had been stained by blood and soot. That morning, trail of faint smoke rose into the sky in the distance at the edge of the city.
The war had been going well for the EEF. The Xen had been all but driven from Surya Prime. The Earth media was even projecting that the planet would be secure for commercial travelers in six to eight months. John was in the 8th EEF Battalion; Echo Squad. Their mission that day was to secure a forty story mixed use building that was allegedly being used by the Xen resistance.
As both sides were human and of mixed ethnicity, it was very difficult to tell friend from foe. Enemy combatants and refugees looked very much the same. The only certain difference was that EEF Marines, Soldiers, and Pilots all wore uniforms. The uniforms also served to make them a target.
“Okay,” a burly black EEF Marine sitting across from John spoke out in a loud deep voice. His voice was audible in their helmet speakers. “We’re about ten clicks out from the target. I want everyone to keep a sharp eye out for ambush. Space is tight in some of these buildings.”
The muscular black EEF marine was Tom Lefebvre, John’s Sergeant in Echo Squad. The other six Marines around him were an ethnic and gender mix.
“Above all.” Lefebvre continued. “This is a Level 5 ROE situation. Rules of Engagement are that everyone in that building has been designated an enemy combatant.”
John turned his head over to look at his Sergeant. He swallowed hard at the instructions on the ROE.
“This is a kill box! Anyone you encounter who isn’t wearing an EEF uniform is an enemy combatant and should be met with lethal force. Prisoners may be taken after the fact once we’re confident the building is secure. Is that clear?”
“Oo-rah, Sergeant!” the Marines yelled out in unison.
John took a deep breath and tried to relax for his last few peaceful seconds. He knew no one would be taking prisoners. They were there to kill them all.
The Kestrels fanned out once within the last half mile of Arkaday Center, the target building. Arkaday Center consisted of a tall forty-two story tiered tower, clad in gold glass, standing over a wide square commercial pedestal plaza. It looked like Rockefeller Center in New York only with much larger windows.
Keeping the Kestrels out in a surrounding line was bold; a true testimony to how the EEF were confident in their air superiority. At about 800 yards, they were well out of range of any small arms fire. It was highly unlikely that the resistance fighters or any remaining Xen had any laser snipers. Still the possibility was always there. Most missile or rocket weapons could be dealt with by the Kestrel and Redwing countermeasures.
“Carn!” Sgt. Lefebvre boomed.
“Aye, aye, sir!” John snapped to attentiveness.
“You got a pair of seventy x rangefinders, right?” Lefebvre asked.
“Aye, Aye sir.” John replied, reaching into his pouch just behind the right side of his back.
“You got a good line of sight on the tower?” Lefebvre asked. “Get some eyes on it for me.”
John did. He was second man in from the side door on the right rear row of the Kestrel. He pulled the tan colored binoculars up to his eyes. They were small but powerful. He could see the tower as though he were only a few feet from the fixed windows of the outside. The thought that a sniper might take a shot at the reflective glint of his binoculars ran horrifyingly through his mind. The feeling faded fast, though, as he realized the range, that the windows of the tower were fixed and couldn’t open, and that there was a high wind at that altitude. Even the best Xen sniper would have a really tough time hitting him from that distance.
“Whatdaya see?” Lefebvre demanded. “Thirty second floor. Ten down from the top.”
It took a while for John to focus in on the right floor. He could see only vague outlines through the gold tinted glass. “Shit.” John muttered to himself. He needed to use filters. He toggled through a number of RGB filters until the reflective glare of the gold glass was reduced.
Inside the building he could see several people moving within. It was like spying in on someone in a hotel, only the guests were in a disheveled state. He could see two men hurrying back and forth. One seemed to be wearing a leather jacket. The other man looked like he was wearing a Xen uniform. In another window a man was urging another man to get back. Then the curtains were snapped shut.
In another window a man was holding an assault rifle. Behind another window stood a woman with what looked like a submachine gun.
“Got ‘em sir. Looks like a dozen or so unfriendlies with small arms. Maybe a few RPG’s.” John scanned around with the binoculars. “I’ve got a few on the roof too. Fifty cals. Maybe a short-range repeating laser or a dazzler. Maybe a few street sweepers.”
“You copy that sir?” Lefebvre spoke into his helmet.
“Copy that Sergeant.” The voice of Lefebvre’s boss, Captain Yeung, replied in a Midwest accent. “We’re reading the same on Command One. I’m taking my Redwing high. Our laser snipers are already on the fellas on the roof entry. We got the loudspeakers up. We’ll give them a few minutes to respond and surrender.”
“Copy that, sir.” Lefebvre replied in kind into his helmet mic.
The message soon followed over a loudspeaker and a directed audio projector. The projectors were aimed at the windows so they would reverberate and convey the same message as the loudspeakers.
“Xen resistance fighters!” Yeung’s voice boomed loudly over the loudspeaker and through the air. “We have your building surrounded. Surrender immediately or we will be forced to take control of your building by force! You have two minutes to comply.”
Yeung’s voice was also wideband and wide range, meaning that it was transmitted over a number of frequencies and formats so that someone inside might have a better chance of getting the message. It was even focus-projected into an air duct so that it would reverberate in the air conditioning vents and be heard.
Carn continued to look at the gold hazed windows, looking for anything new or out of the ordinary. A few people inside seemed to be running around. In a flash of movement, he saw a man run into a room and grab what looked like an assault rifle, then bolt away down an unseen hallway.
“I repeat. This is Captain Oscar Yeung of the Earth Expeditionary Force Marine Corps. I am ordering you to disarm and stand down. Surrender your stronghold or we will kill you! You have one minute and ten seconds to comply.”
The wait seemed like an eternity. John lowered his binoculars for a moment, looking down the side of the tower. The gold glass windows of Arkaday Center flowed down the concrete face into the tiered roof. A dozen or so air conditioning units were set on the roof far below, as was a broad solar panel and a concave plate communications dish.
“Sarge! Twelve o’clock low!�
� John noted aloud.
Sergeant Lefebvre got up from his seat and walked over towards John in the cramped compartment. Holding one of the overhead grab bars, Lefebvre looked over the open side door to see the communication dish below.
“Yup!” Lefebvre nodded in agreement. “That’s probably why they’re here. Probably another one on the penthouse roof.” The Sergeant noted aloud. He then toggled his com using the buttons inside the right panel of his helmet. “Lieutenant! Sergeant Lefebvre. We got a comms array just below us.”
There was a pause of silence briefly.
“Copy that, Sergeant. We got it.” Yeung’s voice replied. “Good eye.”
Inside the command Redwing, Captain Yeung sat in a central chair looking out ahead at the Arkaday Center. The Redwing had a fairly large flight deck for a transport vehicle. The pilot and copilot sat just in front of him and recessed a few feet, allowing Yeung to see over their heads and out the broad, wedge framed canopy. The Redwing was designed as a gunship with a three main “bridge” crew. Yeung had a number of monitors to his left and right, along with two screens that showed the tactical layout of the building and his battle plan.
Yeung keyed back on the private communication channel.
“All units weapons hot. Be aware there are absolutely NO missiles or grenades to be used at all in this operation! We want to eliminate the hostiles, not bring the building down around us.”
The Marines on the six Kestrels and the three Redwings complied with the order. Door gunners on the Redwings readied their automatic mini-cannons. Two Redwings had a side door gunner equipped with an armature-mounted high-powered sniper rifle. The sniper’s leaned into their weapon sights, taking aim on a selected gold window.
The machine gun turrets in the nose of the Kestrels took aim on the building. John’s transport had a laser cannon mounted to its underside as well. The laser canon swiveled to lock in on its target.
A fresh Marine in the next Kestrel hovering in the air pulled his M-10 rifle up to his sights.
Another Marine smacked the back of his helmet. “You’re out of effective range, stupid!” The Marine sitting next to him chided the green Marine.
The new Marine lowered his weapon.
“I repeat. This is Captain Oscar Yeung. Surrender immediately or….”
Yeung’s words were cut short. A resistance fighter in tattered grey and brown clothes appeared from behind an air conditioning unit. The resistance fighter pulled a mobile missile launcher up to his shoulder, targeting a Kestrel.
The missile launcher got a quick lock. The missile shrieked out of its launcher and streaked towards the Kestrel.
A topside-mounted laser countermeasure sent several beams out at the oncoming missile in a fraction of a second. Once locked on the small missile, a focused beam fired into the missile, destroying it only a few yards away from the targeted Kestrel. The surviving Kestrel rocked in midair as it hovered, but sustained no real damage.
“Alright, that’s all we need.” Yeung’s voice came in over everyone’s helmet coms. “Prepare for attack on my mark.”
John kept his eyes trained on the gold windows with his binoculars.
“Three, two …”
John focused on one of the windows for a moment. The curtains of the window flew open. Between the curtains stood a little girl, probably four years old, holding a teddy bear.
“Sir.” John’s voice called out waveringly.
“…one.”
Behind the window, a panicked mother pulled the child away and shut the blinds.
“SIR!” John’s voice was desperate. His hands kept an iron grip on his binoculars.
“OPEN FIRE!!!!”
The mini-cannons on the Kestrels and Redwings opened fire. The sniper triggers were pulled. The laser cannon under two of the Kestrels fired focused blue-white beams into the building.
Window shattered.
People died.
John’s eyes shot open. He was paralyzed in bed with fear, as though he was gripped by sleep. The images of the Arkaday Center attack continued on in his head. He wept. He rolled over in his bed and cried. He had been able to cut off his emotions back then, but he was paying it all back in spades over the course of his life.
After a while, John got himself together again. He slowly realized where he was. He was in bed, fully clothed. God knows how he had fallen asleep. He had been up sick with Julie gone. Upon remembering her, the thought of the child didn’t leave his memory.
He couldn’t take any more and jumped out of bed. He walked over to the sink and turned on the tap, scooping up water to clean the sweat from his brow and neck. The air conditioning cooled his skin. He breathed deeply, facing down to the sink as he held a soaked right hand to the side of his face.
The visions were still there, but only faintly.
John took a deep breath and walked out into the living room. The condo apartment felt so completely empty without Julie. It was a horrible feeling.
“Home. Any messages.” John called out.
“You have no messages at this time.” The detached voice of an automated female replied.
“Curtis Long.” John called out.
Curtis Long was the ESF Agent assigned to watch over him. Long was stationed off-site, likely in a van somewhere in his neighborhood or at a listening station. Long, no doubt, had him under surveillance. John imagined Long working at some elaborate workstation, multitasking between watching him, scanning the net for Julie, and watching the eyes in the skies, namely spy satellites and UAV recon aircrafts.
“Long here.” The young ESF agent’s voice answered over John’s living room com. “What’s up, Mister Carn?”
“Any news on my niece?” John demanded.
“Nothing yet, sir. Sorry.” Long replied. The young ESF agent seemed somewhat detached – possibly tired.
John looked over at the nearby clock. It was 6:15 AM.
“Anyone try to contact you, sir?” Long asked.
“No.” John exhaled. “Nothing.” He breathed bitterly.
“Agent Troy said he would be by your apartment this afternoon.” Long explained.
“I might be going out.” John replied flatly.
“He… advised against that, sir.” Long’s voice replied carefully.
“It’s still a free country, Long.” John replied to the empty room. “You can’t keep me a prisoner in my own home.”
“I understand, sir.” Long seemed lost for the right thing to say. “We’re merely considering your own safety.”
John smirked. Who the hell was this kid? John had survived the war and had been a marshal on a colony planet for eight years. His safety?!?
“Any leads on my niece, Long?” John decided to push.
“Nothing, sir. I’m very sorry.” Long seemed sincere. “I assure you we have agents out in the field all over the globe and out in the Sol planets looking for her.”
She’s not in the Solar System. John was sure of it.
“What’s your background, Long, if you don’t mind me asking?” John walked over to his kitchen. He grabbed a box of Cheerios off the top of his refrigerator.
“Me?” Long asked, immediately wondering what John might be getting at.
John pulled out a bowl from one of the cabinets then went to the fridge to retrieve a half gallon of milk.
“Your background.” John pushed as he made himself a bowl of cereal. “I’m sure you didn’t go from high school to the ESF.”
“Joined the Army at eighteen. Did one tour on Virginis Three. Another year on Fomalhaut Seven.”
“Fomalhaut Seven!” John exhaled in sympathy. “Planet snow-blind!”
“Yeah, man!” Long’s voice replied. “It really sucked! Virginis Three was pretty good though.”
“Yeah, really Earthlike. Stable.” John poured his cereal in the bowl, then the milk.
“From there I did an accelerated program in college and was recruited into the ESF.” Long continued.
John didn’t remar
k on this but found it noteworthy. He had met Long earlier that night. He couldn’t have been far into his late twenties. Troy had put a child in charge of babysitting him. Virginis Three was a cupcake planet. Fomalhaut Seven was remote. With the maddening glare of its snow-covered surface few rarely left the confines of their hardened shelters on the surface. It was maddening both with snow glare and the fact that nothing happened on that planet.
“I remember space.” John observed aloud. “I used to dream about it.”
John remained still, thinking of all the frightening images that cropped up in his mind from time to time from his time in deep space.
Long didn’t reply.
“Thanks Curtis.” John added finally. “I’ll check in with you in a bit.”
“Yeah man.” Long responded in a familiar manner. “Hang in there, sir.”
“You too.” John replied finally.
The transmission was cut on Long’s end. John walked to his PSA phone, which also served as a household remote. He made sure the com line was closed in the house. John then sat down at the dining room table just beyond the kitchen.
As he ate his Cheerios, he realized what needed to be done.
He already had a plan.
Alex Scoffield sat on the boarding ramp of his cargo transport. He was reading the manual on his new collision avoidance system. The Tequesta, as his ship was called, sat on the hot white tarmac of the West Delray Beach Municipal Spaceport. It was really a moderately sized airfield designed for small service transports used in and around the North America, into Low-Earth Orbit, and as high up as the local space stations.
Alex was a private contractor. Most of his customers were construction companies and engineering firms. His BAE SST-420 Explorer was a large shuttle transport, about the length of a large commercial airliner. The Explorer was a lifting body, much in the vein of the ancient X-30 NASA test vehicle for which it was designed after. The Explorer, however, diverged from the old X-30 design in that the row of main scramjets was split to allow for the broad loading ramp that Alex was now sitting on. The Explorer was also highly attractive to clients due to its dorsal line cargo bay doors, allowing for traditional space shuttle satellite launches.
