by Casey Herzog
As soon as the Admiral had finished reading off the names on the list, he ran his hand over his jowls. “Cohorts are permitted an hour free period to mourn and pass on condolences as they wish. After that, please return to the duty roster. Cohort commanders, please assemble outside my office in ten minutes time for an emergency briefing.” The Admiral didn’t bother lingering on the stage, marching off with the other chiefs of staff like the whole ceremony had been a massive tax on their time.
With the funeral, for want of a better word, completed, the crew began to mingle. It was an unnatural experience. It was so rare that they were able to interact as a whole group that they almost didn't know how to act. Peter watched as the crew formed distinct huddles, not straying away from members of their own division. The exception was Jupiter and Saturn. Those divisions had fought and bled together. It had to have forged a deeper bond between them, not least because they had both lost people.
Peter watched the Commander of Saturn Cohort. He remembered their last exchange on the Orion. She had warned him then of the need for vigilance in all things. Now, she had lost two members of her own division. It did not seem fair to him that all her hard work and caution was not enough to save her people. He had thought to wait for her, offer condolences en route to the commanders meeting, but he was quickly intercepted by Minerva.
“You doing alright, Peter?” A very direct question, but at least she was trying to show consideration.
Peter nodded. “I'm doing alright. Wish there'd been more effort with the service though.”
Minerva nodded, lips drawn tight as she looked over the scene. “I know what you mean. I can't say I like funerals, but it all felt a bit rushed. When mother...” she trailed off for a moment, ran her hand over her bald head and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. When she spoke again, her voice was quieter. “Mum got a proper funeral; so did everyone who died in the Mars Station attack. Our people deserve the same thing.”
Peter nodded. He held out on his next question but found he couldn't keep it bottled up inside. “Was it hard, having to do another one?”
Minerva's guard seemed momentarily lowered, and Peter felt like he had been given the briefest glimpse beneath the shell she had built. Her eyes glistened with the prospect of tears, but she managed to stave them off. Rubbing the sleeve of her uniform across her face, she caught herself and re-affixed her more determined face once again. “Don't worry about me Peter, this service is supposed to be about them.” She inclined her head toward the members of Jupiter and Saturn. Several were crying, a few seemed to mill about like restless zombies.
Alphred, who had gone over at once to offer a very professional condolence to the leaders of the two cohorts, had started walking in their direction, and Peter braced himself for a return to work. “Peter, Minerva, we ready to step out to this meeting?”
Minerva straightened her back, the act always making her tower high above the other people in the room. “Ready as I'll ever be, Commander. Did you have any forward intel? Do you know what this meeting is about?”
Alphred nodded. “Yeah, I know.”
Peter waited for his commander to answer, his expression dulling when he realized Alphred was deliberately holding back the information. “You know the meeting is in seven minutes, it isn't going to make a difference.”
Alphred sucked in his cheeks. It was never easy for him to abandon protocol, even on the little things. “Mission deployment. Admiral Gayle wants the Unity to pursue the Secessionists across the system. Most of them escaped on shuttles from the Galileo. He wants to follow them and deny them the opportunity to regroup and form a second offensive front.”
“A good tactic. I'm sure the crew is eager to retaliate for our losses.” Minerva wore a thin, grim smile and Peter wondered which losses particularly she was referring to: the loss of their crewmates, or the more personal loss of her mother.
“We won't be joining in the pursuit. Jupiter Cohort will take that honor. From what little the briefing notes suggested, all other cohorts will be dropped off on the four Galilean Moons to keep them secure.”
“Guard duty?” Minerva's voice was loud, louder than she had meant it to be.
Alphred shot her a stern glare. “It's not our business to question the Admiral. In any case, we do not know how the Jovian people feel about the war. There's a high chance there will be Secessionist sympathizers wherever we end up stationed.”
This seemed enough to satisfy Minerva. She desperately wanted to be making a difference in the war, specifically by thinning the Secessionist herd. Peter would not admit it, but the thought of sitting out the fighting in the system to act as caretaker for a colony was a pretty good deal.
As the cohort commanders entered the briefing room, their eyes fell immediately to the array of maps and date pads strewn across the table. Clearly the Chiefs had been hard at work in creating their plans. The stack of dirtied coffee mugs and rings on the table top were testament to how many hours they must have put into formulating their strategy to secure the Jovian system.
Since being made to sit in on the Gallileo’s mission with Saturn cohort, Peter had tried to keep a low profile at meetings. This was always easiest to achieve when all the cohort commanders were summoned to a meeting with the Chiefs of Staff. As the others filed into the room, Peter made space for them slipping further and further back until he felt the press of the office wall. Here, hidden behind Minerva’s tall frame, he was sure to remain out of sight and, hopefully, out of mind.
This angle did more than protect Peter from gaining unwanted attention from the Chiefs of Staff and Admiral Gayle. Being tucked away at the back was also the ideal vantage point for taking in the mood of the other commanders. Invariably, the will of each cohorts’ commanders filtered down into their subordinates, so it would be interesting to see how each person there present would react to the orders.
“What do you mean, ‘guard the Galileo’?” The Commander of Uranus cohort made air quote marks as he threw the Admiral’s words back at him. The others in the room were tense and quiet. Even the Chiefs of Staff didn’t raise their voices to object to her insubordinate attitude.
Admiral Gayle closed his eyes and took a long sip from his cup of coffee. The show of calm he gave was a clear sign that he would not be moved by piques of emotion. “I do not think there is anything overly complex in the order Commander Mason.” The old man shot the commander a glance that seemed to Peter almost like a challenge. The Admiral was old, but he had a presence at times that made him still appear utterly formidable when the need arose.
Commander Mason Armstrong buckled under the pressure of that stare and backed down. “No, Admiral. Sorry, Admiral. Uranus Cohort stands ready to serve as you deem fit.”
The Admiral nodded, putting his cup back down on the table. Leaning back in his chair, he tented his fingers and let his eyes wander over all the commanders in turn. “I know how you all must be feeling,” he said at last in a soft, almost parental voice. “This is the first time we have taken casualties for our mission. We were fortunate on Mars that the Secessionist cancer had not taken strong roots. You all have my sympathies for the loss of your comrades, our shipmates, but we cannot make that loss turn us from our duty. We must regain control of the Jovian system, and that involves consolidating the outposts, stations and moons we control so that the Secessionists are denied use of them. The war in this system can and will be won simply and cleanly, always ensuring the least amount of danger and risk to ourselves and to the people of the Jovian system. Am I understood?”
Peter felt very much like a child receiving a lecture from a disapproving principle as all the commanders were forced to give a weak willed, “Yes, Sir.”
The Admiral smirked, something obviously having tickled his humour. After taking a deep, cleansing breath, he continued to talk them through the strategy. “Saturn Cohort will hold the Galileo and we will begin new orbiting arrangements so that the fleeing Secessionist forces will have trouble returni
ng to retake her. Commander, Mason,” the Admiral looked to the boy he had just admonished once more. “Your cohort will be placed under the direct command of the Chief of Communications and the Chief of Navigation. Your cohort has proven your skills at interpreting complex data and coordinating ships and supplies throughout our simulation exercises this last year. You will be entrusted with ensuring the Jovian system’s mining operations continue to run smoothly and that supply lines operate in such a way that the Secessionist forces cannot intercept or receive them. Our aim will be to cut them off from food, water, fuel and all other necessities so they are forced to surrender.”
“Yes, Admiral, Uranus Cohort will see to it.” Mason seemed to have regained some of his vigor following the Admiral’s compliment of his team. Pride was a simple way to get the commanders on track, and Mason seemed slightly smug as he accepted the role he had seconds earlier disdained.
Peter folded his arms and leaned his back against the wall as he continued to listen to the strategy. Jupiter cohort, of course, were given the honor of hunting down the Secessionist shuttles and taking the fight to the enemy on board the Unity. This could hardly be a surprise, considering the Jovian system was their responsibility, but Peter thought he heard Minerva let out a disappointed breath when the news was announced.
“Before we can begin the hunt for the Secessionist forces in the system, we must first bring the Unity to Europa. The ice moon will be the key to holding the system, and we will be relying on Pluto and Neptune cohort to keep a tight hold of that moon.”
Peter tried to resist smiling. This was good news. Even if Minerva would be unhappy, he could gladly deal with her bile if it meant playing security on a moon base. Before his imagination could get comfortable envisioning the babysitting job ahead, he was vaguely aware of Alphred stepping forward.
“Forgive the impertinence, Admiral. Pluto cohort, of course stands ready to serve as you deem fit and I would not dream of…“
“Please, just make your point, Commander.”
Alprhed bristled, no doubt surprised to be reprimanded for his politeness. Nevertheless, he continued. “From what I understand from the briefing notes, Europa base has not declared for the Secessionist cause. Why would we need two complete cohorts to hold her?”
The Admiral smirked again. “Why? Well, Commander, for starters you might wish to reflect on the fact that both your cohort and Neptune are still pretty green. You might have forgotten this, but you are only fifteen and your training is years behind that of Saturn or Jupiter.”
Peter didn’t know how Minerva would take that. Even he didn’t like to be judged for his age.
“Beyond this, we have our own concerns about the facility on Europa. Jupiter’s water and food supply come from the ice melting outfit and fisheries. As far as we can tell, the Secessionist forces on the Galileo were more than adequately stocked with supplies. What does that tell you, Commander?”
Peter’s lip drew thin as he looked to Alphred. “It means Europa was supplying them along with the rest of the system. They haven’t declared for the Secessionist cause, but they are still providing them with the essentials needed to survive.”
“Exactly correct,” the Admiral answered, giving a single clap. “Likely, the inhabitants of Europa are hedging their bets, trying to avoid being drawn into the conflict by placating both sides. “
“Or they have Secessionist sympathisers within their ranks.” Minerva spoke up suddenly, drawing all eyes in the room to her. Peter hoped it was just his imagination, but he thought he detected something like excitement in her voice as she considered the prospect of finding the enemy on Europa.
The Admiral gave her a long look, eyes narrowing as though trying to puzzle the Martian out. “Your cohorts will be given a more detailed mission briefing in due course, but you are there primarily to hold the moon and ensure the continued delivery of supplies through correct channels only to facilities and stations we approve. I am not interested in conducting a witch hunt for Secessionists on Europa unless they give us provocation to do so.”
“Yes, Admiral.” Minerva fell back into line.
As if suddenly bored by the meeting, or remembering he had somewhere else he would rather be, the Admiral stood from his chair, causing all the other chiefs to rise and salute. “Full mission briefings will be relayed to commanders within the next standard day. Pluto and Neptune cohorts will begin conjoined exercises and shift duties, I want your teams like this before you arrive on Europa.” As he spoke, the old man crossed two gnarled and bony fingers together for them to see.
The meeting adjourned, the commanders filed out in silence. The eldest cohorts, Jupiter, Saturn and Uranus took straight off, eager to return to their divisions and break the news. However, Alphred stalled on the corridor and Peter noticed the commander of Neptune and his cohort similarly loitering. Aside from competitive exercises and the fact that their work shifts coincided, the two groups really weren’t well acquainted. Commander Icarus Armstrong had an air of firmness and rugged resilience that Alphred often lacked. Short jet-black hair, gaunt sallow cheeks and piercing grey blue eyes lent him a look of severity that was matched only by the Chiefs of Staff and the Admiral. His two advisors seemed a little more approachable. His second, Lauren Stanwell, was a short and lithe little creature, shorter even than some of the members of Pluto Cohort; this, despite being a year older. Meanwhile, Icarus’ third was Dennis Redford. Redford had one of those faces you forgot the moment you turned your back on him. Brown hair, brown eyes, no distinguishing features to speak of. He could have happily been put up in a museum exhibit and displayed as ‘Typical male human.’ Just looking at the three, Peter could easily guess which of them dealt with the day-to-day minutia of cohort command. It certainly wasn’t Icarus. Icarus was a fighter, first and foremost.
“So, it seems we will be working together, Alphred.” When Icarus’ voice had dropped, it had dropped low, and he spoke almost in a low growl.
“So it seems.” Alprhed returned, his voice like a placid lake.
“We will have to draw up unit integration plans to ensure maximum coherency while on operations. I will have Lauren liaise with your second on that score.”
“Very well.” Alphred’s short, clipped answers troubled Peter. There was nothing particular in his voice that suggested disquiet, but it was not unlike the Commander to be so blunt in his address.
“While it will not be my intention to undermine your command, I trust you will defer to my seniority when it comes to it.” Icarus didn’t sound like he was asking a question, just stating an expectation. Peter didn’t have much of an impression of the Commander from their previous observances, but he felt certain now that they weren’t going to get along. He could only hope the other two in Icarus’ retinue proved easier to work with.
CHAPTER 7
As the last checks were made, Peter gripped his spear tightly. He couldn’t tell with the heavy gloves of his suit in the way, but he imagined his knuckles to be a pallid white. His only comfort was the knowledge he wasn’t the only one dreading the imminent combat operation. Next to him, Nisha Goswami was visibly shaking. Normally, the bulk of the EVA suit would mask such tremors, but the tip of her spear wavering from side to side in her grasp was a dead giveaway. Peter wanted to say something, to assure her that everything was going to be okay. He didn’t though. When preparing to enter a fight, words of reassurance seemed hollow and meaningless.
Silence reigned over the comms, and the only sound in existence was the sound of Peter’s own slightly laboured breathing. He told himself it wasn’t the nerves, but the heat of the suit that made him take such short uneven gasps. He thought to steady himself by looking to the viewport window. All that could be seen was a flat tableland of off white. Europa was a strange moon, almost featureless. No mountains, or even great craters gave definition to her surface. It was almost like someone had wrapped the moon up in a great white sheet. There was something soothing and tranquil about the place, and Peter ref
lected that, had he not been assigned to the Unity, Europa would likely have been his dream posting for deep space work.
Still, the tranquillity Peter felt when looking at the smooth ice moon was tinged with the knowledge that he and his team were about to spoil that serenity. His eyes shot back and forth between the spear in his hand and the pure white surface of the moon. His mind filled with pictures of bloody conflict and red blood being spilled on the virgin ice. It was not a great feeling, and Peter wondered why he had been so optimistic about securing the world.
The first problems had come when Saturn Cohort tried to hail Europa to inform them of the Unity’s arrival. The message was very clear and succinct: surrender operation controls to the Unity crew and obey orders until such a time as the Jovian system is secured. At first, the Europan miners tried to put forward arguments with the Unity. Peter and the other commanders were not privy to what was said during those negotiations, but they ended with Europa shutting down communications with the Unity. Though they had not declared for the Secessionist cause in words, their unwillingness to obey direct orders from the Unity, made them an enemy by default.
Admiral Gayle, though so often a calm and placid man, was not a person to be crossed. Peter reckoned a life spent leading men had made him unused to insubordination. As soon as the Europan’s ended negotiation talks with the Unity, he declared the taking of Europa station a military engagement, with all colonists on the moon to be considered hostiles unless proven otherwise.
More than a few members of Neptune and Pluto Cohort had been unduly excited. During meal times, groups would huddle together, discussing what the battle ahead would be like, whether records of it would make it in to the history books on Earth. Some particularly bold members boasted and made bets on how many kills they would rack up. These groups received stern reprimands from the Chiefs when they were caught, but that did not stop such individuals from whispering quietly amongst each other.
