The Firestorm Conspiracy

by Cheryl Angst

  Kree lost track of time as he trudged after the grumbling males. Fortunately, their constant complaining made following them easy. He plodded over a low rise, eyes and mind light years away from the track in front of him, and almost stumbled into the busy clearing. Startled back to the present, Kree crawled under some brush and crouched with his tail wrapped around his legs.

  A hive of activity filled the clearing. Vehicles and avians moved among portable shelters, and Kree watched as younger males unloaded boxes and moved them into the temporary nests. The threesome he’d been following disappeared from view, and a cold fear crept up his spine until he caught sight of them standing at the entrance to a shelter on the far side of the clearing. The prone form of his hatch-mate shifted on the ground, and Kree sighed in relief.

  Kree moved around the perimeter of the encampment, surprised by the lack of guards and security devices. Definitely not military.

  He propped himself against a tree trunk and set to watching the nest where they’d taken Grock. Despite being exhausted and out of his depth, Kree kept a silent vigil for his friend.

  * * * *

  A quiet grunt followed by a splattering sound brought Kree out of his dream. He whipped his eyes open and found himself less than a meter away from a large avian using the edge of the forest as a latrine. Hardly daring to breathe, he prayed the male would return to the encampment without noticing him. His hopes were dashed when the avian glanced his way and let out a startled chirp. “'Sculdan’s testicles, boy. What are you doing lying about next to the latrine?”

  “I, uh,” Kree looked wildly about, calculating his chances of escape.

  The male narrowed his eyes and asked, “Are you one of the new cart boys? The ones we brought up to haul the gear?”

  Kree nodded. Telling the truth would get him killed, he was sure of it.

  “Let me guess,” the male said as he moved to stand over Kree, “you got splattered last night with the others, stumbled out to relieve yourself, tripped, and passed out in the latrine.”

  He nodded.

  The male shook his head. “Well, I suppose a night in the latrine is lesson enough on the dangers of overdoing the alcohol. You won’t be doing that again anytime soon, will you?”

  Kree shook his head.

  “Come on.” The male offered Kree his hand. “Let’s go get us some breakfast. You’ve got a lot of gear to haul today.”

  Kree gulped and gingerly accepted the help up. He twitched as the male inspected his appearance. He closed his eyes and waited for the bullet shot. When nothing happened, he opened his eyes to find the other male smiling at him.

  “Your nest-mates won’t be happy with your aroma, boy. You’d better find some new clothes before getting into the breakfast line.” He moved back toward the camp and called over his shoulder, “Go see Perwee in the main tent. Tell him Trillip sent you. He’ll get you some proper gear.”

  Kree took stock of his disheveled clothing. Covered in twigs, dirt, and a smattering of guano, he didn’t look all that different from the other avians moving about in the pale dawn. He squared his shoulders and walked toward the main tent. He’d just infiltrated an armed paramilitary encampment.

  Not too bad for a desk pigeon.

  He smiled as he set off in search of clean clothing.

  Chapter 36

  The closing hatch cut off the view of the hangar beyond. Within moments the door would be sealed, ready to take the crew into the cold, harsh depths of space, through the planet’s atmosphere, and onto the land below. As the light from the hangar faded, the interior lights rose to compensate for the creeping gloom.

  John lost sight of the top of Rebeccah’s head several moments before the door sealed with a hiss. The crew were silent, overcome by the reality of their mission. No more training simulations; no more run-throughs or rehearsals.

  Each crewmember’s cheeks flushed with excitement. Some smiled; others bowed their heads in thought. Several prayed. Locked in their own worlds, they rehearsed their parts in the coming mission. They trained to work as a team--a team of thinking soldiers. Reality often ended up being nothing like the simulation, and these fine young men and women had learned how to take their training and apply it to changing situations. They trusted each other with their lives, and each one intended to keep that trust.

  What if…

  John brushed the thought away. If he didn’t trust them he shouldn’t be with them. Worrying about the intentions and reliability of his crew would cripple him in a tense situation. They trusted him to lead and keep them safe, and he needed to trust in their training and abilities.

  “Transport One to Captain Thompson, we are about to clear the hangar.”

  “All right, folks, show time.” He monitored each soldier, watching as they activated their heads-up display. Upon activating his own, John had access to each soldier’s heart rate, ammunition supply, and global location. Using simple eye movements, John cycled through numerous menus, displays, and functional options. Contained within a contact lens, the HUDs allowed a soldier to remain in constant contact with the other members of his or her team.

  As soon as they landed, they would set their HUD to ambient surveillance, providing them with general information on air temperature, humidity, wind speed and direction, distance from objects, and compass orientation on a specific target. Their first target would be the rendezvous point. As soon as they reached the RP, each soldier would change the target to the transport, thus allowing any member to find their way back to the ship without error.

  Satisfied all the HUDs were in working order, John began his own personal routine. He closed his eyes, relaxed into his seat, and slowed his breathing. He cleared his mind of the jumble of thoughts surrounding the mission, and chose instead to focus on the recent changes in his life.

  He used to think about his wife and daughter, but after their loss, thinking of them prior to a mission only increased his stress level. He thought back to his life at the university. He imagined strolling through the forest, the soft crunch of the pine needles under his feet, the faint turpentine tang in the air, the gentle kiss of the mist as it crept between the trunks.

  Thoughts of walking alone in the woods always calmed him, yet today he found the exercise unsettling. He cast about trying to determine what caused his sense of disquiet, but everything seemed as it should. He realized with a start that the forest didn’t feel like home. The forest no longer served as a place of refuge for him.

  His change in perspective begged the question: where did he feel calm and relaxed now? The image of the Senior Officers’ Mess as the bridge crew ate their evening meal sprang to life in his mind.

  The clink of cutlery against plates and glasses underscored the chatter and laughter. John leaned back in his chair, smiling as he sipped the last of his wine. He watched his crew as they socialized during the meal. He participated in various conversations, chipping in a joke or two, but mostly he remained content to observe.

  “Listen here, Targersson,” Karenshikov spoke around a forkful of stew, “my people are going to kick your people’s butts at the next fitness challenge. Just because our focus is internal security doesn’t mean we don’t train hard.” She finished chewing and swallowed. “Your people are growing fat and lazy with inactivity.”

  “Please,” Targersson countered. “Your people are desk jockeys. My people are the ones out on the front line, risking their lives bringing in smugglers and containing rebellions.”

  “Yeah,” Rebeccah replied, “but the last rebellion you put down was when you ate too many chilli dogs and your stomach revolted.”

  Targersson scowled as the room erupted in laughter. John leaned forward and said, “What about the command staff? How do they usually do in the fitness testing?”

  Now it was Targersson’s turn to laugh. “We haven’t had a command staff entry in years. None of them are brave enough to go up against the other departments. Instead, they say they need to remain impartial, to be the judges of the c
ontest.” Several officers around the room rolled their eyes. John couldn’t tell if they were mocking the command staff for their weak excuses, or Targersson for his attitude.

  Either way, he wasn’t about to let the challenge drop.

  “Well this time things will be different. The command staff will participate. I’m in, and I’ll even captain the team.”

  The chatter ceased as everyone decided whether or not he was joking.

  Rebeccah spoke up from further down the table, “Count me in too, Captain.”

  The challenge had been issued, he’d accepted, and now his XO and several other officers joined in support.

  The senior staff agreed to schedule the fitness testing for the return trip, giving everyone something to get excited about on the way home.

  John’s thoughts returned to the mission.

  The rumble of the transport’s engines vibrated through the soles of his boots, setting the butterflies in his stomach to quivering. The vast majority of the butterflies were caused by nerves, but a few of them, the ones that made him smile, were caused by the realization that he was happy. Back in the UESF and serving on board a warship felt good.

  * * * *

  “Sir, the transport has entered the atmosphere.”

  Rebeccah glanced up from the report on her console and traced the path of the red dot representing the transport as it approached the landing zone on Cerces III.

  “Good. Keep monitoring the ship’s progress. I want to know of any deviation from the flight pattern, or if any avian craft comes within five hundred meters of our people.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Lt. Cmdr. Targersson, please have all your tactical units ready to launch. We are remaining on alert status until the transport returns.” She looked back at her console before continuing. “I need you to post a full squad of observers at the observation posts around the ship, and I want two flights of flyers ready to launch at all times. Have them rotate every hour to reduce fatigue.”

  Addressing the rest of the bridge crew, she said, “I want sensors operating at maximum capacity. Even though we’re obscured from passing glances, we’re not invisible. I want to see the other ships before they see us. I also want all communications nearby the planet monitored. Again, if someone is talking about us or the transport, I want to know.”

  “Commander?” asked Targersson. “Are you sure this is necessary? It’s going to take a lot of manpower to put personnel in every single OP.”

  She froze. Targersson had just questioned her orders in front of the rest of the crew. “Yes, Mr. Targersson, I’m sure. That is, unless your observers have a more pressing task? After all, they do get paid to man the OPs.”

  “No, sir,” Targersson replied, refusing to back down. “It just seems a waste to put everyone on high alert when there’s no sign of danger.”

  “And we won’t see those signs unless we’re manning the OPs,” Santiago countered, losing patience with him. The bridge remained silent as the crew hung on every word while pretending to ignore the entire conversation.

  She had to end things.

  “Lt. Cmdr. Targersson, would you please be so kind as to join me in the captain’s office?” she asked as she rose from the command center and moved toward the door. She hadn’t made a request and they both knew it. If he came along agreeably she would be willing to show lenience. He’d lost a close friend in the explosion, and she suspected he was still struggling to come to terms with the loss.

  “Sir--” he tried to stall.

  “Now, Mr. Targersson.”

  She walked into Thompson’s office, moved behind his desk, and whirled around to face Targersson as he entered.

  “Yes, Commander?” he drawled as he stood in front of her.

  Rebeccah stared at the insubordinate man standing across from her. At any other time, and any other situation, she would have been more lenient in her leadership style, but the last thing the crew needed, the last thing John needed, was a battle of wills taking place on the bridge.

  “You will stand at attention when reporting to a superior officer,” she snapped.

  His eyes widened, and he almost laughed. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I am, and you’d better be too,” she replied. “You’ve crossed a line here.” She placed both hands on the smooth surface of the desk. “I’ll say this one more time. You will stand at attention when reporting to a superior officer, Lieutenant Commander.”

  The steel in her voice must have penetrated his veneer of nonchalance because he bit off his reply and stood to attention. “Lt. Cmdr. Targersson reporting as ordered, sir.”

  She decided to throw diplomacy and courtesy out the window.

  “Mr. Targersson, your comments on the bridge were deliberate attempts to undermine my authority as commander of this ship. If you have questions or concerns regarding my actions you will address them to me in private. If not, then you will keep your thoughts to yourself.

  “I don’t need to remind you that we are in avian territory with no formal treaty in place to allow such an excursion. Our captain is on the planet below meeting with an avian agent who may or may not be what he says he is. Our duty lies in protecting the ship and her crew through vigilance and dedication. If you cannot perform your duties to the best of your considerable abilities, and that includes demonstrating loyalty and respect to your superiors, then you need to step aside.

  “Have I made myself clear?”

  She held her breath waiting for his reply. She needed his support to keep the crew together, but she wasn’t prepared to pay for it with the cost of her own position with the crew.

  Targersson appeared to take a moment to think about his answer before responding.

  “Aye, sir.”

  Refusing to show any weakness before him, yet desperately needing to sit before her knees gave out from under her, she replied, “Dismissed.”

  As soon as he left she collapsed into the chair and let out a shuddering breath.

  * * * *

  The transport swooped in low over the trees as the pilot searched for a clearing in which to land. The team in the aft compartment made their final equipment checks and grabbed their safety buckles for quick release.

  “Sir, I’ve found a clearing approximately six hundred meters to the northwest of the RP. I’m going to set us down there.”

  “Excellent. Inform the Firestorm of your plan and then give us a five second countdown to dropping the hatch,” John replied. He quirked his eyebrows as he addressed his fellow soldiers. “Let’s get this party started, shall we?”

  Eight excited faces grinned back at him. “Yes, sir.”

  The words hadn’t finished reverberating throughout the cabin when the pilot came over the intercom and said, “Hatch release in five, four…”

  “Go on one.” Captain Thompson released his safety buckle as the identical sound echoed around him. “We are a ‘Go’ on one.”

  “Three, two…”

  He was almost as giddy as a new recruit. His pulse quickened with the pre-mission rush.

  “One.” The hatch dropped with lightning speed.

  “Go. Go. Go,” he ordered as his team spilled out from the transport and took up positions covering the rear of the ship. Weapons ready and facing into the forest, they secured the immediate surroundings and put their HUDs to use gathering information on the landing site.

  “Sir,” Petty Officer Armstrong called. “I found what appears to be a game trail. It seems to head off in the direction of the RP.”

  John approached the soldier from behind, scanned the trail with his own eyes as well as his HUD and came to the same conclusion. “Excellent.”

  He opened a channel to the pilot. “Lt. Ryan, secure the transport. We are leaving the LP and moving southeast to the RP. Maintain flight readiness at all times.”

  “Aye, sir,” replied Lt. Ryan.

  He tapped Armstrong on the shoulder and said, “Get Sanchez and Kim on point and Henderson on rear. Let’s move
out.”

  Within seconds, the hatch was sealed and nine shapes drifted like smoke on the wind as they melted into the forest surrounding the landing point.

  Chapter 37

  Rebeccah focused on her breathing while waiting for her pulse to return to normal. Where had Targersson’s belligerence come from?

  When she’d served as the lead diplomatic officer they’d never once come close to a disagreement or argument on or off duty. He’d always been polite, if standoffish, and she believed they had a decent professional rapport. All that changed when she became XO. Now he was surly and withdrawn around her. He avoided sitting near her in the mess, and rarely made eye contact, let alone smiled. She’d chalked his change in behavior up to losing his friends, but now she had doubts.

  If he had a problem with women in authority he’d have to suck it up, because she wasn’t going anywhere.

  She smiled to herself as she tapped her fingers on the desktop. She realized she’d made a mistake when she gave command up so long ago.

  Rebeccah frowned as her thoughts returned to Targersson’s uncharacteristic behavior.

  She’d be damned if she were going to let--

  The proximity alarm brought Rebeccah out of her reverie. She flew out the door.

  “Report,” she called as she slid into the captain’s chair.

  “One of the OPs is reporting an avian vessel approaching--fast, sir,” said Targersson as he transferred the OP sensor display onto the viewscreen. “Neither the database nor the observers have been able to identify the type, but its size and velocity indicate a cruiser at the least.”

  “Prepare to leave the polar orbit. I want to get the planet between us and them. If they haven’t seen us, we’ll stay hidden, if they have, moving will buy us some time to pull a few tricks out of our sleeves.”

  “Aye, sir, leaving geosynch now.”

  Cerces III began to rotate on the screen as the Firestorm drifted away from the pole and toward the far side of the planet.

  “Launch the first flight of flyers and get them under our belly. I want them available when we meet this ship. Those minutes getting out of the hangar may be crucial. Once the first flight is out, scramble the second and have them on a five minutes to ‘Go’ state.”