by William Cray
For the last two hours, Flight Captain Peligrew watched the returns on his scope at his sensor station. When it appeared, the signal sent a jolt of panic through the base staff. Alarms and warnings had sounded, initiating a series of long forgotten protocols and procedures that had to be looked up by most of the operations staff in the Depot’s operations center. Some had to be told what it meant.
It was Intruder sign, and it was broadcasting its snake charmer’s chant below them. Within minutes of picking up the signal, a series of small sharp confrontations had broken out on the surface that raged into an all out fight as Habitation Dome 11 erupted into a battlefield.
Peligrew patrolled the sensor station, manned also by Petty Officer Martes who was woken from a well-deserved rest. Peligrew continued to split time looking at the Alpha scope, now displayed on the central holographic monitor, and looking over his shoulder for his senior officer, Colonel Cochrane.
Cochrane had known something was going on. First the H-Band, then the fast attack, and now this. At a minimum something had tipped him off. He had to have known. Cochrane was on the leading edge of something big, but he had disappeared on a skiff with a female VIP hours ago and now Ops was demanding answers.
“Give me the imagery of the antenna again, Martes.”
“No changes. Still broadcasting on the same frequency ranges.”
“What about the orbital arrays?” Peligrew checked the positioning of the small military satellite network that orbited Mars. He could order them repositioned if needed.
“No new tracks on the H-Band, sir.”
Adding to the confusion, there was a fast attack still lurking out there somewhere. They hadn’t had a good track on it for over eight hours now, but Peligrew knew it hadn’t left orbit. Fast Attacks relied on stealth and speed, but this one had violated the first rule of Fast Attack 101. They had been detected entering an orbital track within a multi-band spherical coverage sensor net. The Hang Man’s Noose is what the Fast Attack skippers called it. You couldn’t slip out of orbit again without revealing your presence to the sensor network. Making orbit inside the net was the signature of a good driver… a ballsy one… but getting out was nearly impossible unless you were ready to rattle enough cages to slip the noose and escape. Either way, the people you were hiding from would get a shot at you unless you took them out first.
He monitored both sensor networks. One was spiking violently… the other ominously silent. Individually they were concerning enough. Together, it seemed that something bigger was about to happen.
His com unit beeped in his ear like a stave, jolting him from the sensor read out. It was Operations. The Admiral wanted to see him.
John Cochrane entered the command center, passing through the security door, past the posted guards that checked his identification against a list they carried tucked under their loaded assault rifles. The guard was a young Navy type, issued a weapon and told to guard the doors. John Cochrane doubted anyone inside the command center had ever experienced the ruthlessness speed of an Intruder directed attack. The guard standing at the door, checking ID’s was just as likely to turn on everyone in the room. But he followed procedure, no matter how maddening, and within a few moments of being checked over at least three times, he was granted entry.
The technicians and officers in the operations center watched their consoles and ready-stations. Others watched the main viewer, now locked onto the swiveling night image of the Stratospire maintenance ring, displaying the Intruder device. Under the visible spectrums, it was invisible except for a few distortions around its edges. It was deceivingly inactive, revealing nothing of its purpose under the cloak of the Tri-Lum dispersion field. Anne Braiselle was still hours away from reaching it.
He turned to the command center’s spectrum analysis cell, seeing Ensign Yancy and Petty Officer Martes at their stations, monitoring the Alpha wave. They had tapped into a communications line below and were listening to the sounds of panic during the battles raging under them. The pops of gunfire and calls for help, could he heard through their earpieces.
A young staff officer intercepted Cochrane, directing him to the operations conference room in the hub of the command center. He glanced over and could see the depots most senior officers clustered in the small room. Cochrane nodded to the young Lieutenant then continued to the sensor station.
“What’s the situation Ensign?”
Her voice seemed a pitch higher as she outlined the situation.
“Relax Ensign. We are a long way up. Those towers have a limited reach. We will get plenty of warning if there is a threat to us.” Cochrane turned to PO Martes. “Martes realign the H-Band antennas. I want to you scan the length of the Stratospire from the maintenance ring, up to us. Make sure there are no more arrays we haven’t spotted.”
Martes nodded, manipulating controls. “Keep me informed if you find anything.” Cochrane said before he headed for the conference room.
The confused collection of officers crowded the tiny room. As the doors slid open, raised voices and heated discussions poured out of the room, flooding into the main command center. Crewmen turned from their stations to look at the commotion coming from their senior officers.
Cochrane entered the chaotic room. Rear Admiral Holteski sat in one of the few chairs, trying to moderate the furious exchange between the station’s Operations Officer, Captain Wilhunt and his assistant. Wilhunt had his head buried in a holographic display, showing various Commonwealth ship positions spanning all the way out to Saturn. A countdown in the lower left corner displayed the arrival time of the Emperor Hyperion, one of the FTL transference ships, still months away from the system. Wilhunt scoured the massive ships manifest for any usable military assets that were still somewhere in deep space and would never arrive in time.
Peligrew leaned against a console as others in the room discussed evacuation plans and counter attacks in turn, each dissecting the errors and merits of both ridiculous ideas. Wilhunt would occasionally declare the names of vessels that could assist with whatever plan they were discussing as if this were some massive fleet action on the high seas from centuries past.
Peligrew saw Cochrane enter and just shrugged his shoulders.
Rear Admiral Holteski, finally seeing Cochrane enter, rose from his chair, making his way over as the gibbering men in the room quieted when the Admiral squeezed past them. Wilhunt continued to bore into his display, thinking everyone was finally listening to him, unveiling his master fleet engagement plan. “Fury could be in orbit in three days and Sea of Tranquility another day after that. That would give us…”
Holteski fired off at Cochrane, finally quieting Wilhunt as he realized the Battle of Phobos Depot wasn’t the current subject.
“Where the hell have you been Colonel? We have a crisis here.”
Cochrane nodded, “I am sorry sir, but I believe I may have some answers.” Everyone in the tiny center turned in anticipation, even Grand Admiral of the Fleet Wilhunt.
Cochrane added, “It’s sensitive information sir, perhaps just yourself, Captain Wilhunt and Peligrew should be briefed.”
Holteski nodded, turning to the others and dismissing them. Cochrane waited until the door closed before beginning.
“Flight Captain, I talked to Yancy and Martes a few minutes ago. Is there anything additional you can tell me about the fast attack we spotted yesterday?”
Peligrew shook his head, no, and Cochrane turned to the Admiral. “Sir, I have information that there is an Intruder event taking place on the surface. I don’t know the scope or the purpose of this incursion, however my information leads me to believe there is one, possibly two Intruders at most on the surface supported by an unknown number of people under their control.”
The Admiral cut him off, showing signs of stress in his voice. “That is pretty fucking obvious Colonel.”
Cochrane continued, “Three days ago I met with a man whom I served with during the Vendetta. He was a
black suit. Special Ops. He informed me that he was part of a team that had arrived on Mars to hunt down an Intruder in New Meridian City operating out of the Radiation Exclusion Zone. Two hours ago I met with a second member of his team who arrived at the depot on a Commonwealth military flight. Right now she is attacking down through the Stratospire in order to destroy the antenna array.”
Wilhunt jumped in, “Just one?”
Cochrane nodded, “All the members of her team are highly specialized and trained for this operation. As I said, I worked with them during the Vendetta.”
Peligrew looked back at the main board, the view of the maintenance ring on the display. “Why didn’t fleet let us know?”
“This is an Imperial operation I believe, directed by the Emperor. If Imperial Intelligence thought there was a risk, IMI would not necessarily inform us, or even the Commonwealth for that matter.”
“The fast attack…” Peligrew said, leaning back against the glass in realization, “that makes sense now.”
Captain Wilhunt looked over at Peligrew. “What about it?”
Cochrane answered, “I believe that is our real threat. If things get out of control on the surface, I believe the Fast Attack is here to make sure the situation does not spread across the planet. They could be tasked to sterilize the city in case of the worst.”
“Unthinkable.” Holteski said, then the realization of the situation dawned on him, turning incredulity into shock, then horror. “With as much bad blood as there is between Mars the Emperor, he couldn’t order it. No crew would carry the order out.”
Peligrew again interjected. “If Old Cannis gives the order, or already has, it will be carried out. We can’t believe otherwise. Imperial Fast Attacks may not even be crewed by humans. There are rumors that the brains of dead or dying Imperial officers are integrated into them as system coordinators. Some officers in the Commonwealth Fast Attack community claim that planets deep within Rokon space were destroyed by Imperial Fast Attacks crewed by these cybernetic networks during the last war. That’s why we haven’t seen any signs of the Rokons for almost a century. Old Cannis exterminated them.”
Cochrane interjected as Peligrew started to recite a series of conspiratorial anecdotes he had cataloged over the years of hunting fast attacks, “Regardless of the rumors, Admiral, I feel we must support the team on the ground in any way we can. If they fail or, are not allowed to succeed, then the consequences for the people of New Meridian are dire.”
“Can we jam the Intruder carrier wave? Flood the Alpha band?” The Admiral asked.
“The station has a defensive countermeasures array sir, nothing that could disrupt the signal on the surface.” Peligrew added. “But there are several ships in the mothball fleet with offensive countermeasure suites. We could use station tugs to move one of them to the southern polar region but it would still take hours, maybe days to bring their jammers online.”
“There’s not time, and if that were a possible countermeasure, I believe those steps would have been anticipated and enacted by the team on the ground. This will be over in hours. One way or another.” Cochrane interjected.
“We should leave this alone Admiral,” Wilhunt interjected. “We don’t have orders and we don’t have the assets to hunt a fast attack. If this team the Colonel is telling us about is trained for this, we should seal this depot up like an E-suit and wait it out until we do have orders. If the city is under the control of the Intruders then what occurs on the surface is not our responsibility. We should wait for orders.”
Cochrane wheeled on him like a cobra, shocking the career engineer as the veteran combat officer of Commandos coiled. “Do you think for a minute Captain, that this rundown, inconsequential logistics depot, that just happens to be tethered to the city below us, is not tied to what’s going on down there? For god’s sake, the Intruder array was inserted right under our noses. Do you think that somehow that fact will be ignored? This station and its crew will be seen as complicit.”
Peligrew slipped in between them, getting between his boss and the paper pusher before Cochrane thrashed him.
“What do you suggest Colonel?” Peligrew said, using his hands to settle everyone down.
“We find a way to keep the fast attack at a distance.” He said. “Drive it off.”
Wilhunt shook his head, looking back at his display. “The nearest ship with a Type-nineteen H-band array is Fury and she’s three days out. It will never get here in time.”
Cochrane looked over at the Admiral, who seemed shaken by the entire news. He looked despondent and swimming in a shallow pool of available actions, none of which seemed viable to his logistics oriented mind.
Holteski had been surrounded by the minutia of the depot, and his closest advisors were engineers and administrators. Coming face to face with actual combat was beyond his ability to process. Cochrane could see it on his face. He could make decisions, but self-doubt was paralyzing him. Nine million lives below him were now counting on his ability to navigate the crisis and solve the dilemma of their imminent destruction or enslavement. He muttered to no one in particular like he had a mouth full of rice. Cochrane, not making out the confused garble, asked the Admiral to repeat himself, which he did, muttering with conviction, “I need to talk to fleet.”
Cochrane balled his fists, feeling his teeth about to break as he said, “If that’s all, sir.”
Cochrane walked out without waiting for permission, the glass doors revolving closed behind him, leaving the Admiral to his mull his incompetence. Peligrew followed behind him, glancing at the main board for any changes as he emerged. Just outside the conference room, Cochrane turned to Peligrew, who came up next to him, “What would a fast attack use to hit the city?”
“Shielded Bombs, armed with ITW’s. Why?”
“Bombs?” Cochrane asked. “Not missiles or a torpedo?”
Peligrew shook his head. “Best covert delivery system. Release them in a ballistic re-entry arc. Deploy decoys and countermeasures during reentry. Each warhead targets independently, then the FA slips away quietly during the grand finale. Anything else gives away your position and gets you killed when you are in the Hangman’s Nose like they are. Even maneuvering is dangerous,” Peligrew replied.
“Could we shoot the bombs down?”
“Not likely. They will be shielded against surveillance and we couldn’t even spot them until they hit re-entry. It would take about six hours to walk a counter battery unit down to that side anyway, even if we had any that were serviceable.”
Cochrane cursed under his breath. “What about its orbit. Could we force it out of position?”
Peligrew looked at him through slits, then his eyes seemed to focus in the distant chaos of the command center. After a moment or two, when the exercise in his mind resolved into an idea, he looked up at Cochrane. A thin-lipped grin wrinkled the corners of his mouth. He was back in his element, finding ways to fuck with Fast Attacks.
Parking Apron
Meridian Interplanetary Skyport
Outside Meridian City
Chief Flight Engineer Fisk gave a wide yawn, trying to shake the cobwebs out of his brain. The rapid pace of deliveries and drop offs of decon equipment and Territorial Guard troops from across the planet had stopped abruptly as some snag had brought the operation to a grinding halt just hours ago. Now he sat with his four-person crew in the temporary hanger facility next to his big Dauntless tactical transport. Dauntless Four-oh-one and her crew waited for the next mission. They were way past crew rest and were expecting relief, but one snag or another left them hanging. He took another sip from his endless supply of Jiri rations, trying to just stay awake until relief showed up or another flight came over the net.
The net squawked with requests and movement orders back into the trench. Things were going south in Hab-11. That much was clear. Some kind of evacuation had been ordered, but nothing came across the board with Four-Oh-Ones call sign. They could be airborne in m
inutes if the call came, but it seemed Four-Oh-One had been forgotten.
Flopping down in the seat next to him was Four-oh-Ones pilot, Major Sari, a veteran aviator with fifteen years experience in Dauntless transports. He knew every part and system onboard, and could keep the ship flying with gum, strikesticks and grip tape, but she could fly a Dauntless like a falcon on the breeze. They were a good team. The rest of the crew was less experienced, but that didn’t matter. Four-Oh-One was in good hands. They were bedded down, getting some rest.
“Anything yet Chief?” Major Sari asked.
“Nets on fire, but nolo bada for us.”
“The crew?”
“Sleeping it off but we’re cocked and ready to go if the call comes in.”
Sari nodded then leaned in, listening to the panicked calls on the secure com system. “What the fuck is going on in there?”
“No clue. Never heard anything like it.”
Fisk stifled a belch, saying “Field rations.”
He reached to pick up his water bottle sitting on the chair next to him. The crash of a thermos rattling against floor stopped him. Fisk turned back, seeing the Majors’ thermos rolling on the floor, emptying its steaming contents in a brown puddle. Fisk looked back up at Major Sari, who leaned forward in her chair, head in her hands as her eyes rolled back to the whites. She was having some kind of seizure. Fisk leapt up, reaching for her arms, to lower her onto the floor. Just as he started to call for help a blazing strobe seemed to burst into his mind, blurring his vision and collapsing him to his knees.
The pulsing whine of four giant engines starting up rattled the shelter. Navigator Ben Houseman bolted upright in his shelterbag at the noise, tipping over his cot in the process of jolting awake. Ben knew that sound anywhere and it was blasting the interior of the hanger with a reverberating warble as the engines of Four-Oh-One spun up to idle. He tried to climb out of the shelterbag while lying on his side, motioning like a caterpillar trying to escape its cocoon. The others in the room clamored up as well, some joining him on the floor in similar escape contortions. Houseman freed one hand and began ripping at the seals, pealing back the shelterbag from his body as the pitch of the engines changed again, whining louder and shaking the hanger. Several support crew bolted outside the room and into the hanger, letting the blow of the engines fill the air with toxic smelling exhaust.
