by Gary Beller
Chapter 13
Tuefelhund set out from FOB Ka-Bar six hours after the initial briefing, moving spinward along the front lines to meet up with the UCSS Majestic. Majestic was a Navy Fleet Carrier, one of the largest ships in the entire coalition navy, and more than twice the size of the Teufelhund. Colonel Kristen McQueen’s VMF-99 transferred over in short order, and the Carrier turned away back to the war zone.
Teufelhund, it turned out, was a natural choice for being assigned to the Special Operations Task Force. A Flint River class Light Cruiser, she was actually a hybrid ship, trading some of the weapons similarly sized ships such as Atlantis carried for far more generous flight deck and hangar space, the Flint River class had originally been looked at as a sort of white elephant; The thirty ships that had been built between 2150 and 2157 had proved to be less than successful as either cruisers or carriers, but war experience showed them to excel as escort warships and supporting smaller scale planetary assaults.
Teufelhund’s commanding officer, Colonel Daryl S. McMillan, was proud of his odd little ship and her crew. His ship specialized in supporting Marine Special Operations, and had achieved quite the track record in the last year. As proud as he was of his ship, he was prouder still of his younger sister, Kate.
“First Sergeant now, Kate?” He asked, hugging her.
“Yes Sir.” She said, smiling brightly.
“You don’t have to call me sir, Kate, I’m your brother for God’s sake.” He admonished.
“So, how’s the family?” She asked him.
“Good. We got refitted for a few weeks, so I got the chance to take some leave. I actually heard from Dad about what happened on Tyrannia VII to you guys. I was just glad to hear you were okay.”
“It was nasty business…” Kate said, sitting down with her brother to explain what happened.
Two decks below, Ben was sitting in his stateroom catching up on his paperwork when a knock came from the door. “Enter,” He said, not really looking up.
“Can we talk?” A soft and welcome voice said from behind him. Ben turned around to see Ashlie standing there. “Sure.” He said, standing up, and offering her his chair, while he sat down on his rack. “Ahh….What’s up, Doc?”
“I wanted to check in on you. Consider it a house call.”
“What?”
“This is the first time you’ve been back on an actual mission since you were wounded. As a part of this team’s medical detachment, I wanted to make sure that you are okay, not having any lasting side effects that might compromise you in the field.”
“Not trying to pull a coup on me, are you?” Ben laughed. There was a thump at the bulkhead behind Ben as he said it. “Of course, they put Kristen and Lizzy next door….” He shook his head, referring to Colonel McQueen and Major Hansen. They were the one known exception to the no-fraternization policy the Marines enforced fairly sternly. Somehow Praxis never got around to objecting to Kristen marrying her executive officer.
“Should I tell them to keep it down for you?” Ashlie laughed.
“Good luck with that. Kris outranks even me, I can’t tell her to do shit.” Ben said, making Ashlie blush. He noticed she did that a lot lately when he was around. “What about you?”
“I’m good, no complaints really.” She said.
Ashlie came over and sat next to Ben on the bed. “Look there is something that’s bothering me.”
“What’s that?” Ben asked, turning to look her in the eyes.
“You know….about my issues….” She said, “You know I’ve been seeing a therapist for it…”
“Yeah, you need to talk about it?”
“Well, she recommended I talk to you…” Ashlie said.
Ben leaned back against the bulkhead at the end of the bed, when the one next to him knocked again. He pounded his fist on it, and yelled “I can hear you!”
“They’re not helping any,” Ashlie giggled.
“No, I suppose not.” Ben said. “So what’d the therapist tell you to talk to me about?”
“Well, she really just said that while we’re deployed to talk to you. I know Chief Mason is probably better trained to serve as a stand-in psychologist, but you made sure my issue isn’t in my personnel file….And frankly it’s more a matter of personal comfort. I know you, I’m comfortable with you.”
“Okay,” Ben said. Ashlie had been diagnosed during her teens with hypersexual disorder, but because of doctor/patient confidentiality, it hadn’t been disclosed to the Navy. Her personnel file, while including numerous citations for valor and exceptional performance, also had several letters of reprimand for misconduct, all of which were related to her disorder.
Ben had put the two together, and had recommended she see a Navy psychologist privately. Because the diagnosis, treatment or symptoms did not impair, in Ben’s judgment anyways, the performance of her duties, Ben had kept it out of her personnel file. He valued Ashlie as a member of 1SMU, and knew that a diagnosis of a mental disorder of any kind might cause the Navy’s Bureau of Personnel to revoke her qualifications for serving with the team.
“So, since we’ve been deployed, have you been keeping up with whatever techniques the therapist gave you to manage your condition?” Ben felt weird asking the question, because he was pretty sure he knew what the “techniques” were.
Ashlie giggled. “It’s been kinda difficult, actually, sharing a tent with three other women, including my First Sergeant….” She shook her head, “So I’ve been sneaking away during the afternoons when we’re not having training. I found a relatively isolated place.”
Ben took a deep breath. This was touchy territory, he knew, because of the highly personal nature of her condition. “You’re managing okay though?”
“Yeah. I briefed Kate, so she can explain my random absences.”
“Okay. I haven’t explained any of this to Sid or Rob, and if you want it to stay between the three of us, it will.” Ben said.
“Yeah…please? I really don’t know Major Dawn or Captain Grimes that well yet…I mean, Jenny Rickles doesn’t even know, and she’s my best friend.” She said.
“You talked to her recently?” Ben asked
“Yeah, I talked to her before we left Leatherneck. She says she misses everyone, and she’s not giving up the Corps, she wants to be back with the unit.”
“I’ll make sure to send her a letter and let her know once she’s cleared, if I have a spot open she’s in.” Ben said.
“That would mean a lot to her.” Ashlie said, leaning back against the bulkhead, but also sliding somewhat closer to Ben. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.” Ben said.
“How much do you remember, from Tyrannia?”
“Before or after the bomb went off?” Ben asked.
“After.”
“Just this searing pain in my throat, not being able to breathe… seeing the cracks in the face shield of my helmet, little red spots on the inside…and blackness beyond…” He paused a moment, “I remember the feeling that I was dying, the last things I would see would be a dark sky and a cracked face shield. Then I saw you, and everything goes fuzzy after that…there was some odd feeling in my neck, then in my chest and I felt like I could breath, but just for a moment…everything started going dark….then pressure on my chest and you yelling something at me. After that, it’s all a blur.”
Ashlie was both relieved, and at the same time, disappointed, that he didn’t recall what she had said to him. She slid over next to him and put her head on his shoulder. “All I knew was I couldn’t lose you.” Tears were welling up in her eyes. Ben wasn’t sure how to respond, he just put his arm around her and pulled her tight. “It’s alright, Doc. I’m still here…and that’s because of you.”
Ashley relaxed a bit with his arm around her. She looked up at Ben, and saw him looking out the porthole at the blackness beyond. She placed a hand on his cheek, turning his face towards her, and kissed him. He was caught momentarily off guard, but kissed her back.
It only lasted a moment, before the screeching of the ship’s alarm system cut through the moment. “Now hear this: All command level Officers report to CIC. All Command Level Officers report to CIC. All other aviation and ground combat personnel standby for orders.”
“Fuck me…” Ashlie said.
“Our timing really sucks, doesn’t it?” Ben said, grabbing his uniform shirt.
“Yes, yes it does.” She said, “I guess I’ll see you shortly.”
“Yeah.” Ben said, giving her a kiss on the forehead as he scrambled out of his quarters.
As he stepped into the corridor, Kristen McQueen was stepping out of her quarters, zipping her flight suit up. She must have been in a hurry, since there was just bare skin visible as she zipped up. “What are you looking at, Ben?”
“Nothing, Ma’am.” He said, snapping straight up, as he buttoned his shirt. “You guys could be a little quieter.”
“You could hear us?” She asked.
“Yeah.” He said, seeing Ashlie slip quietly out of his quarters behind them and hurry off towards the enlisted berthing.
Kristen and Ben arrived in the CIC, along with the Commanders of the two Raiders Companies, the Jumper Squadrons, and a Major from Delta Squadron. Colonel McMillan was standing at a plotting table and waved everyone in.
“Okay, folks, we have our final intelligence here. Our recon mission managed to get pictures of their aviation facilities. They have two transports and a dozen fighters,” The Colonel paused, “So we’ll be stopping at the outskirts of the system to disembark Colonel McQueen’s squadron, then we jump in. Colonel, I want your fighters hugging out hull so you guys stay in our warp field bubble. We’ll be reverting to sub light dangerously close to the planet to get maximum surprise. Once we slow to sub light, the fighters will break away. Our particle cannons will destroy the orbital weapons platforms, while the kinetic bombardment cannons target the airfield first, then the air defenses. Once the air defenses are taken down, the Jumpers will deploy and drop the ground troops in.”
“The ground attack plan is still in effect?” one of the Raider Captains asked.
“Colonel Pierce?” McMillian said.
“Yes. As you can see, there is a courtyard here surrounding the central compound. Alpha Company, set up your perimeter there. That gives the bigger jumpers some room to move, and if necessary gives our QRF some room to get in if they are needed. Jumpers delivering Delta Squadron platoons will land right outside their entrances. Offload, breach, bang, and make entry. No delay, no mercy.”
Ben zoomed in on the target building. “The four small jumpers will drop 1SMU on the roof. We’ll cut the power to the ant hill, then make entry into the building from the roof. Sniper teams will remain on the roof to provide sniper cover for Alpha Company.”
“What does Bravo Company do, Sir?”
“Bravo Company will load onto their jumpers and orbit at 100,000 feet. If they are needed, they can get in quickly. If not, they can be back aboard the ship and their jumpers stowed below decks before the rest of the force gets back.” Colonel McMillian said. The Colonel looked around the room. “Everyone clear on what their units are doing?”
“Yes, Sir.” All the officers said.
“Very well, then. We will arrive at the outer edges of the system within the hour. Colonel McQueen, Major Rheems, prepare your ships. Everyone else gear up.”
Chapter 14
Tuefelhund slowed to sub light speed within 400 miles of the target planet, the dozen fighters of Colonel McQueen’s squadron staying in close formation until the distortion of the warp field dissolved into a clear view of the planet. Tuefelhund’s powerful eight-inch particle cannons opened fire on six different satellites, taking them down relatively quickly. As the fighters broke formation, the warship turned its fire to the surface of the planet.
Three twin-mounted turrets swung on their targets and opened fire. Each of the six gun barrels unleashed a barrage of thirty rounds per minute, targeting the airfield and the base’s defensive systems. On impact, the kinetic energy of the hundred-pound tungsten projectiles caused tremendous damage, setting off explosions in fuel tanks, munitions magazines, and weapons’ capacitors. The base’s air defense sensor arrays were also ripped violently apart by the high-speed projectiles.
On the Tuefelhund, The Marines waiting anxiously in their jumpers were finally given the green light for launch. First from the deck were the four small “Light Jumpers”, each of which carried six members of 1SMU. Following the smallest of the jumpers were six medium jumpers: Four of which carried members of the two Delta Squadron platoons, the other two fitted out as gunships to provide close, direct fire support to the ground troops. The last of the jumpers to clear the deck were the eight heavy-lift Jumpers. Each of these carried a full platoon from the two raider companies.
The jumpers formed up for atmospheric entry with the two gunships leading. The rest of the jumpers formed into finger-four formations, their spacing set relatively wide. Ben peered through the side window of his jumper to see the flashes as the projectiles from Tuefelhund continued to rain down on the enemy base. “Sweet mother of god, are they going to leave anything for us?” Kevin asked.
“At this point they are probably firing on anything that’s moving around down there, or anything that looks like it could have some defensive value.” Ben replied as the Jumper started experiencing turbulence entering the atmosphere. As the Jumper slowed and the head reduced, Ben could see through the Jumper’s forward windscreen that the fighters were engaging the enemy. He flipped is helmet’s comm system to the Fighter’s net, and listened in.
“One Flight, we have four bandits breaking high to run on those Jumpers. Form on me to intercept. Kitten 105, Kitten 109, Keep your targets tangled up down here.” McQueen ordered.
“105 Acknowledges.”
“109 on it.”
Ben could see now the contrails of four Banor “Dart” fighters climbing away from the rolling, twisting dogfight several thousand feet below. In space, the Darts were faster and more nimble than the larger Bearcat fighters flown by VMF-99; in an atmosphere, however, their engines were significantly less efficient, giving them a much slower climb rate than the overpowered Bearcat.
Ahead of Ben’s jumper, the two gunships powered forward, putting themselves between the attacking fighters and the transport jumpers. Although not designed for air to air combat, in attack configuration, the Medium Jumper could be a formidable adversary, with a trio of particle cannons mounted under in a turret under the nose. Three more were mounted under the aft hull, and could be used defensively with good coordination between pilot and gunner.
As the Darts closed the gap, the two gunships began firing their forward guns. At extreme range, the weapons would cause little actual damage, but did have the effect of slowing the enemy fighters down long enough for missiles from the four pursuing Bearcats to be launched. Three of the four missiles found their marks, striking the enemy craft near their fuel cells, causing each of the three ships to expand into brilliant glowing balls of fire. One fighter managed to break hard enough to lose the missile, then turned back and fired a pair of missiles at the first target that presented itself to him.
Somewhere behind Ben’s jumper, one of the heavy jumpers took both missiles through the forward windscreen, and detonated in the main bay of the ship. Flames flew from the viewports and blew the doors off the ship before the expanding explosion finally ripped the craft apart. The fifty two Marine operators and crew of five were killed nearly instantaneously.
“Victor 601 is down, 601 is down!” came the panicked radio call from the jumper that had been off its’ wing. As the Dart came back around to fire its last two missiles, two Bearcats managed to get into shooting position on it, each Bearcat firing their rapid-fire particle cannons into the enemy fighter. The once dart-like ship was peppered with particle beams before its fuel tanks and weapons capacitors exploded.
“Victor 602, take lead of that fligh
t, 605 form up with Victor 1 flight. 606, take point on QRF and assume standby orbit.” Came the calm order of the controller.
With the threat to the jumpers now gone, the four Bearcats of McQueen’s One flight rolled back into the main engagement. A remarkably calm voice came over the comm, announcing his ship was hit. “Kitten 110, Bail out!” McQueen ordered.
“It’s not bad, 100, I think I can hold it,” Kitten 110 replied. Ben could see below him the fighter trailing smoke and fire, at least one of its’ three engines burning. Again the Combat Controller chimed in, “Kitten 110, come about on course One Seven Zero and bail out, will direct QRF onto your position for recovery.”
“Negative, Control,” 110 came back, “I’m good I th…” The rest of the word was lost to the sound of an explosion, as the fire reached the ship’s anti-matter fuel pod. In a flash, the fighter was vaporized by the massive explosion.
“Kitten 110, Control, please respond.” The controller called, and repeated twice.
“Control, Mini 401; Kitten 110 is gone.” Ben’s pilot radioed back to control.
“Say again, 401?” Control asked.
“110 is KIA.” The pilot repeated.
With the last of the enemy fighters taken down, the fighters began making staffing runs against the enemy base ahead of the Jumpers. Small arms fire came up sporadically at the fighters, as well as a few shoulder-launched rockets. The Bearcat’s countermeasures and maneuverability rendered the weapons useless, and the Satan’s Kittens Squadron’s exceptional coordination and teamwork made using such weapons virtually suicidal.
Finally, the Jumpers arrived at their target. In a synchronized aerial ballet of sorts, the 12 transports moved to their positions and offloaded the Marines. The Light Jumpers hovered just above the rooftop and their side doors slid open, disembarking their small load of six operators each, and then lifted off again. In turn, each of the jumper pilots called in when they had offloaded, and took off again. Ben directed his Marines into position. “Grimes, Roberts, cut the power to the Ant Hill.” In his ear, Ben heard the platoons on the ground below checking in. Second, Third, and Fourth platoons from Alpha Company, First Platoon from Bravo Company. Delta Squadron was stacking up and ready to make entry on Ben’s command.
