Battle of Hercules

by Richard Tongue

   “Sir?”

   “Get me a tight-beam, secure transmission with Captain Marshall and Ensign, ah…”

   “Zabek,” Orlova said.

   “Zabek. Immediately. Top priority.”

   “Yes, sir.”

   “Good work, Sub-Lieutenant, damned good work!” He started to pace across the room, nodding, “With that information we can launch a full-scale assault, get the data we want, and really hit those bastards where it counts!”

   A monitor lit up, and Captain Marshall’s face appeared on it, sipping a drink of water. A few seconds later, Ensign Zabek appeared on another monitor, floating in the middle of an empty room.

   “Sub-Lieutenant Orlova?” the Major said.

   Belatedly realizing what she was wearing, she gathered a sheet around her and plugged the datapad into a wall socket, transferring the information she had carefully tweaked out of the data to the others.

   “I’ve found the precise location where the signals from Hercules transmitted, down to the last meter. As far as I can determine, it’s about three levels down from the currently occupied area.”

   The Major broke in, “This is the break we’ve been waiting for. The location of a communications facility that will undoubtedly have the encryption key we need to crack open Hercules’ vault.”

   Nodding, his son said, “Excellent work, Sub-Lieutenant, especially given what you went through to get it. Ensign?”

   With a deep sigh, Zabek said, “Sir, I don’t see that we can make any real use of this information.”

   “We can launch a full-scale assault, immediately!” the Major said. “Prepare a mission plan.”

   “Major, if I am ordered to plan and launch such an operation, I will obey orders – but I will tell everyone who goes to have their wills updated first, because in my opinion, it would fail.”

   “We have better men…,” the Major began, but Zabek cut in again.

   “I lost three people taking the two levels we had, and that was as much luck as judgment. It could easily have been a lot worse than it was. Now you want an assault on a prepared enemy, an attack on a fully-defended and aware installation. It just isn’t realistic.”

   Captain Marshall nodded, “I have to agree.”

   Snatching the datapad, the Major said, “Hercules' crew can support your operations, Ensign, if it is simply numbers you are lacking.”

   “I wouldn’t try it with twice the men we’ve got, sir.”

   “There must be something we can do.”

   “There is,” Orlova broke in. “Ensign, didn’t we capture some of the enemy spacesuits?”

   “They’d pick up a space assault instantly; just pushing into one of their airlocks isn’t going to work.”

   “Did we?”

   “Three of them. The occupants didn’t need them any more.”

   “Are they damaged?”

   “Not seriously. Why?”

   “That’s the answer, then,” Orlova replied. “A full-scale assault is out of the question, but an infiltration might work. Three men, using the enemy spacesuits, head down into the levels and sneak in.”

   Over on Alamo, Marshall shook his head, his eyes widening, “That would be a hell of a mission, Sub-Lieutenant. A hell of a risk.”

   “I know that, sir, but it offers a better possibility of success. The rest of the espatiers can launch a diversion, make it appear as if they are trying an attack from another avenue, draw away the enemy defenses.”

   Zabek started to cautiously nod, “It might work. They’ve probably been waiting for us to try something, and certainly they’ve been poking at us enough.”

   “Can you spare three men?”

   “I think so. I presume this operation is to be launched at once?”

   “It is. If it fails, we’ll need time to think of something else.”

   The Captain leaned forward, “I want this to be volunteer-only, Ensign. I want that perfectly clear.”

   “If you can wait until I get over there,” Orlova began, but he cut her off.

   “You aren’t going, Sub-Lieutenant, and Ensign, neither are you. Nor is Sergeant Forrest.”

   “Sir…,” Zabek began.

   “I mean it, Ensign. No-one critical to the defense of the two levels we have is to go.”

   “Yes, sir.”

   “Get a mission plan to me in, say, half an hour. Operation to begin in an hour. Major?”

   “Captain?”

   “I think it would be an extremely sensible precaution for both of our ships to be at standby alert while the mission is under way.”

   “Agreed. I’ll make the arrangements over here.”

   “Good. Alamo out.”

   “Hades out,” Zabek said, and the two monitors cleared, leaving the Major alone with Orlova once more. She reached down to the box, picking up a grape; it didn’t even feel right, cold and hard, but she popped one in anyway, and even managed to show a diplomatic smile.

   “Tastes good, sir,” she said.

   “No need to be diplomatic, Sub-Lieutenant. I already ate one, remember.”

   She smiled, “I’ll pass around the box on the bridge.”

   “That I will look forward to.” He perched himself on the foot of the bed, then continued, “I take it you still believe that there is a traitor among my crew?”

   “I’m afraid I do, sir.”

   He nodded, “I think I may reluctantly be forced to agree with you. Your attempts to call the bridge were blocked, and I haven’t been able to trace it.” Shaking his head, he continued, “To think that people I have served with for a decade, that anyone…” Looking back up at Orlova, he said, “I’m man enough to admit when I’ve been wrong. I’m admitting that now.”

   “I thought Captains didn’t do that?”

   “Not in public. I’ve tightened all security restrictions, and posted guards where I can, but we’re so short-staffed at the moment that the coverage is about as far from complete as you could want – nevertheless, it should help.”

   “I agree, sir.”

   “Good. If you are fit for duty, I’m going to want you on the bridge right away to get the crew fired up; I’d like to squeeze in a couple of combat drills before the alert if we can manage it.”

   She looked down at her gown, then up at the Major, “Do you mind if I get changed first, sir?”

   “I positively insist.” He picked up the bag on the floor, and tossed it to her. She reached inside, pulling out a red jumpsuit.

   “Sir?”

   “I know it’s not as smart as that Triplanetary garb you’ve been used to, but I had the fabricators prepare you a real uniform – though I managed to fix the computer to give you the right insignia.”

   She picked up the material, running it through her fingers, and smiled, replying, “This will do fine, sir. I’m honored.”

   “That’s fine, Sub-Lieutenant. I’m glad to have you on Hercules.”

   Nodding, she replied, “It’s a pleasure to be here, sir,” and much to her own surprise, she meant it.

   “I’ll let you get changed, and see you on the bridge shortly.”

   “Aye, sir.”

   He stepped out of the room, and Orlova pulled the jumpsuit from the bag; she had to admit that it was rather more sensible than the uniforms the Triplanetary Fleet issued – or those the Martian forces were wearing now, if it came to it. Simple, wartime utilitarianism, a suit that would work well in zero-gravity, festooned with pockets, her name and rank emblazoned on a patch over her right breast. A glistening silver pin on her shoulder, the mark of her rank in Triplanetary service, was the only echo of her now-ruined Triplanetary uniform.

   She easily climbed into it, smiling; this was actually comfortable, and she wasn’t feeling the urge to itch anywhere. Looking at herself in the middle, she nodded, but there was something missing, something different about it.
Finally, she noticed the assignment patch on her arm; she’d been wearing an Alamo patch for so long that she had almost considered it a standard feature of the uniform, but this had the Hercules logo boldly showing in its stead.

   Stretching carefully, not wanting to undo any of the doctor’s work, she walked out of the sick bay, switching off the lights behind her, and walked down the corridor to the elevator. A technician from Alamo, still wearing his usual uniform, did a double-take when he saw her, snapping a salute at the last minute as she stepped through the door, tapping a button for the bridge.

   The elevator stopped and the door opened, Carpenter walking in. Orlova waved her arm down her side, showing off her uniform, and her friend shook her head.

    “You’ve gone native, Maggie.”

   “Major’s idea, and a good one if I’m going to be here for a while. What are you doing here?”

   “Heading up to report that I haven’t found any evidence of Neanderthal crewmen.”

   Orlova blinked hard, then replied, “I’m sorry, I must be having some aftereffects from the explosion. I could have sworn…”

   “You heard me right. All the details are in Lance-Corporal Cooper’s after-action report.”

   “That sounds like interesting reading.”

   “I’m hoping to get a ride back over to Alamo; I just missed the doctor’s shuttle.”

   “That was fast work,” Orlova said, shaking her head. “You’re probably stuck here for a while, we’ll be going to alert stations soon. We can certainly use the extra hands, though.”

   “For what?”

   “Guard duty.” At Carpenter’s expression, she continued, “I’m quite serious. We need someone to keep an eye out for sabotage, and I’m going to be too busy to do it myself. I’ll have a word with the Major, but for now, head down to engineering and keep an eye on things.”

   The doors opened, and she stepped out onto the bridge. Nelyubov was sitting at Tactical, and she walked over to her station, placing her hand on the back of the chair.

   “I’ll take over now.”

   Nelyubov looked up, frowned when he saw the uniform, then looked over at the Major, who nodded.

   “Very well,” he said, standing up, the chair pushed back. “It’s all yours.”

   She took her place on the bridge, the displays and panels shifting around as her presence was registered, and started to run the now-familiar series of systems checks. Major Marshall stood up, walking over to her station.

   “What say we see what this crew can do, Sub-Lieutenant?”

   “Aye, sir.” She spoke into a panel, “Tactical to crew. Stand by for simulated battle drill in one minute. Report to your battle stations.”

   Curry leaned over from her station at the helm and smiled; returning the gesture, Orlova turned back to her console and started to load a drill program. A trio of enemy frigates should be a nice challenge for them...

  Chapter 18

   Cooper carefully positioned himself against the wall, the dart held high in his hand as he peered at the magnetic board. Knight was doing her best to distract him, pulling faces; her last shot had been woeful, and it was looking likely that she’d end up pulling the midnight watch at this rate.

   With a careful flick, he tossed the dart, putting a slight spin on it as it glided smoothly across the room. There was a genuine art to throwing a dart in zero-gravity; the slightest movement of air could have a serious effect on its trajectory, sending it spinning far away from the board, but Cooper thought that he had worked out the pattern of the air circulators.

   Orlowski urged it on, flying close by the dart as it dived for the board, then turned with a thumbs’ up sign as it hammered into the bulls-eye, well above Knight’s previous shot. The best shot so far, but Knight had one last chance to retaliate. Before she could have her throw, Ensign Zabek drifted into the compartment, looking across at the board.

   “God, Knight, are you ever going to let him stop hustling you?”

   “I’ll get him this time, ma’am.”

   “No you won’t,” she said, shaking her head. “All off-duty troops report to the control room at once.” The officer drifted off down the corridor, leaving the rest of them looking at each other.

   “Think we’re being pulled out?” Kelly said.

   “We haven’t finished transferring fuel yet,” Orlowski replied. “If we were under attack, I don't think the Ensign would be inviting us in for a chat.”

   Turning for the door, Cooper said, “Only one way to find out,” and pushed off down the corridor. The others followed, five shapes drifting over the defenses they had laboriously constructed, kicking against walls to correct their drift. A gaggle of conversation was taking place up ahead; Forrest and the recently-promoted Roberts were corralling Third Squad down from the other direction.

   Zabek stood in the middle of the babble, holding a datapad. Cooper caught a look in her eyes that he had never seen before, a look of resignation. She cast her gaze down to the floor before turning up to look at the men, suspended from the ceiling with an outstretched hand.

   “Right, listen up. We’ve got a new job, and this is a big one. I need three volunteers for a high-risk mission behind enemy lines.”

   “Is it important?” a wag from Third asked with a smirk.

   “It comes right from the Captain,” Forrest said. “That important enough for you, private?”

   Cooper pushed forward, nodding, and raised his hand. “I’ve not got any plans for tonight I can’t break.”

   With a sigh, Orlowski followed his friend, shaking his head, and said, “If this clown’s going, I’ll have to go with him.”

   The rest of the troopers looked around, all of them wondering who the third unfortunate would be, whether someone would select themselves or be selected. Finally, with a hesitant air, Kelly drifted forward from the crowd behind Cooper.

   “I guess if no-one else is going, I might as well.”

   Forrest gave Third Squad a withering look, then said, “Anyone not volunteering, clear out of here and start full weapons check. Don’t think you aren’t going to go to a party today.”

   He and Zabek remained as the rest filed out; Roberts tossed a smile at Cooper as she took the rest of Second Squad out of the room, heading for the improvised armory; evidently she had some idea what was coming up. They stood facing the three of them, and she took a deep breath.

   “What I’m about to tell you must be considered highly secret, whatever happens here today. You all know that we came out here principally to obtain the database from Hercules, information that will be critical to the survival of the Confederation in the wake of a Cabal attack. What you do not know is that whilst we have the data, we did not obtain the encryption key that will be required to read it.”

   The trio looked at each other, and she continued, “Half an hour ago, we obtained the co-ordinates of what we believe to be a communications facility, three levels below us in mutineer-occupied territory. We need that information, and the three of you are going to go and get it for us. Sergeant?”

   Forrest, nodding, continued, “During our assault, we obtained three functioning enemy spacesuits, and I think you apes will fit them well enough. You will infiltrate the facility, proceed to the communications center, and obtain the information we need.”

   “Do we have a layout?” Cooper asked.

   “No. We haven’t been able to put one together for you, so we have only a vague idea of the tunnels – but we do have the exact location of the facility you are aiming for. The priority is to transmit the data back to Alamo, then get out by any means necessary.”

   Orlowski sighed again. “In that order, I presume, Sergeant.”

   “This is a risky mission,” Zabek said. “I’m not going to hide that from you, and if you want to back out now, you can. It won’t be logged, it won’t go on your records, and neither Sergeant Forrest nor I will hold
it against you.”

   The look Forrest gave suggested that he might.

   With a smile, Cooper said, “I think we can handle it.”

   “The rest of you?” Zabek asked. At their silence, she nodded, saying, “Third Squad and the rest of Second are going to launch a diversionary attack down by the fuel tanks. You’ll infiltrate just up this corridor. We’re going to make as much noise as we possibly can, and I recommend you make as little as you can.”

   “Will do, ma’am. When do we start?”

   “Five minutes from now.” The three of them looked at each other, and she said, “The sooner we move, the sooner it’s done and we can get out of here. Good luck.”

   She drifted out of the room, followed by Forrest; the gruff old soldier paused at the door, turned, and saluted them before going after her.

   “What the hell have you got us into this time, Cooper?” Orlowski said, sighing.

   “Beats waiting around up here for them to attack us, Orlok. Come on, let’s go get suited up.”

   The three of them drifted across to the armory, a pair of sleeping compartments that had been secured by the expedient of stationing a guard in front of them; most of the weapons had been checked out by the time they got there, but Roberts was still standing guard over the remainder, as well as the three suits.

   “Do we know how these work?” Kelly asked, and the corporal shrugged.

   “I tried one on. Everything comes on automatically, life support and the like, but as to what any of the buttons do, your guess is as good as mine.”

   “It doesn’t matter,” Cooper said. “Unless things go really wrong, we’re not going to be wearing them in space. We can’t come to much harm drifting down a corridor.”

   “The glare filters are on, fortunately,” Roberts said. “If you keep the visors down, they won’t see you. Just remember that you don’t have any compensators, so if you fire a weapon, keep your back to the wall.” She started passing around pistols, and Orlowski looked up, surprised.

   “Don’t we get our rifles?”

   “They don’t look anything like the rifles the bad guys are using, Private, and it makes it a bit obvious. A pistol is a pistol, especially if it is stuffed inside your pocket. Besides, you’re meant to be infiltrating the station, not launching a full-scale assault. Make sure you’ve got plenty of tranq needles.”