“I see, sir. Thank you for the update.”
“You’ll need to be onboard the shuttle in four hours. Give your platoon plenty of time to make the journey down the drive shaft arm to the hanger on the nose of our ship.”
“Yes, sir,” Dean said.
“Don’t hesitate to let us know if we can help,” the Vice Admiral said. “But don’t depend on us either.”
“I understand,” Dean replied, thankful that the ship’s commander was at least being honest with him. “We’ll make you proud sir.”
“I have no doubt,” VA Duncan said. “What’s the callsign for your platoon.”
“We’re the Wolfpack,” Dean said with a smile.
“Excellent! Prepare your platoon, Captain. This is not a drill.”
Dean stood up, saluted, and then left the bridge. Back in the main corridor Dean was deep in thought. They needed a way to ensure that if the colonists did manage to jam the frequency of the shuttle’s remote pilot, they wouldn’t all be killed in a fiery crash. Instead of going to his platoon’s ready room, he went instead to the Operators control center. He found Lieutenant Owen and his Sergeant inside. Both men looked up in surprise as Dean entered.
“Captain,” Lieutenant Owens said, as both men stood up and saluted.
“It’s an honor to meet you, sir,” said the Sergeant. The name tag on his utility fatigues said Burnett.
“Likewise, Sergeant. Thanks for all your help today. I take it you’re monitoring things as we approach.”
“Trying,” Lieutenant Owen said. “There’s a lot of noise coming from the planet. Much more than we expected.”
“What does that mean for our trip down?” Dean asked.
“I won’t lie,” Lieutenant Owen said. “There’s enough interference that we could lose control of the Raptor.”
“I don’t want that to happen,” Dean said with a tight smile.
“Nor do I, Captain.”
“So what do we do to ensure that it doesn’t?”
“I have an idea about that,” the Operations Sergeant said. “But it will take some work on your end.”
“Name it,” Dean said.
“Go ahead, Sergeant,” Lieutenant Owen said, obviously relieved to have an answer.
“The shuttle operates on a specific frequency that we designate. But if that frequency gets crowded from ground chatter, the control of the craft can be compromised.”
“Ending in a fiery disaster I would rather avoid,” Dean said.
“Exactly. Well, there’s two ways to counter that. We can raise an antenna on the shuttle itself, but not until it’s through the planet’s stratosphere. If we mount it now it will just get burned off on entry.”
“So we raise the antenna,” Dean said. “Can I do that from inside the craft?”
“Yes, there’s a manual crank that will raise it,” Lieutenant Owen said, “but just raising the antenna isn’t enough.”
“Go on,” Dean said.
“You’ll need to match our frequency.”
“I thought you said you did that before the shuttle is launched.”
“We can, but the noise in atmosphere will be much louder than in orbit.”
“By noise, you mean radio interference?” Dean asked.
“Yes sir,” Sergeant Burnett explained. “If we lose contact with the shuttle, we would need to change frequencies.”
“But you won’t be able to do that from here,” Dean said.
“No sir,” Lieutenant Owen said.
“Worst case scenario, we’ll have to switch frequencies several times in order to get you to the ground safely.”
“Oh boy,” Dean said.
“It’s not all that complicated. The shuttle is built with a safety device that scans the various channels just in case it loses contact with the operator.”
“So what’s the problem then?” Dean asked.
“The problem,” the Sergeant explained, “is that with so much noise, the auto scan might take longer to find us on a new channel than it would take for the shuttle to reach the ground.”
“Don’t these things have an auto pilot or something?” Dean asked.
“Yes, if they don’t find a command frequency they are designed to land, but that’s only in a designated landing area,” Lieutenant Owens said. “Our fear is that locals are mixing in false signals with all their radio chatter.”
“So the shuttle can’t land itself or find your frequency before we crash?”
“That’s a strong possibility,” the Sergeant said. “So I’m suggesting we turn off the auto finder before you leave the Charlemagne.”
“That sounds reckless,” Dean said.
“It’s a calculated risk,” the Lieutenant said. “There’s a fifty-fifty chance that we get you down on the ground safely without needing to adjust the radio frequency.”
“I don’t like those odds,” Dean confessed. “How do we get them higher?”
“You can punch in a new frequency for just such a situation as this one. It’s a manual setting. You’ll have to memorize the frequency list and input the numbers on a touchpad.”
“Alright, I can do that,” Dean said.
“We have no doubt that you can,” the Sergeant said. “The only problem is that with the auto controls off, you won’t have auto pilot. That means you could be in rough conditions when you need to put in the new frequency.”
“What you’re saying is that if we lose your frequency, I’ll need to raise the antennae, and punch in a different frequency, while the ship is falling.”
“Exactly,” the Sergeant said.
“And depending on the weather conditions at that point,” Lieutenant Owens said, “the shuttle could go into a spin or tumble.”
“Or both, and if we lose you close to the ground you might not have time to re-establish control,” Sergeant Burnett added
“That sounds bad,” Dean said. “What are the odds if we disconnect the auto features?”
“Fifty-fifty,” the Sergeant said. “But you’ll be taking matters into your own hands. I for one would rather do that than trust the auto features.”
Dean thought for a moment, but he knew he agreed with Sergeant Burnett. Going manual didn’t improve their odds, but at least he wouldn’t be sitting helpless if things went south.”
“Let’s do it,” Dean said. “Send me the frequencies. How will I know if I need to change the frequency.”
“You won’t be able to hear me,” Lieutenant Owens said.
“And the ship will be falling out of control.”
“You’re tone doesn’t inspire confidence, Sergeant,” Dean said.
“It’s a crap shoot both ways. But I always bet on myself, not the house.”
“Doesn’t the house usually win?” Dean asked.
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I trust the greedy bastards.”
Dean rubbed a hand through his short hair. He couldn’t help but like the plucky sergeant. The truth was, Dean felt the exact same way. He didn’t like putting his life, and that of his platoon, into anyone else’s hands. He could follow orders, even ones he didn’t agree with. And he trusted the operators to get him onto the ground safely, but if they were going to run into trouble, he wanted to play a part in setting things right.
Chapter 14
“This is a highly unusual entry, with a lot of negative facors” Dean told his team. “We are to join our fellow platoons at FOB Delta. I want everyone suited up, weapons ready, and systems online, ASAP. Double check your armor, this is the real thing, platoon. Get ‘em ready Staff Sergeant.”
“You heard the man,” Chavez said. “Let’s go people. Double check everything. Battle armor on and sealed. Open your tack link channels and ensure your visual imaging is online.”
The entire platoon was in the Ready Room where their armor and weapons were kept. Each Specialist and Dean himself were wearing the conforming under layer that looked almost like a diver’s wetsuit. The suit was actually a functional part of their armor,
absorbing liquids and allowing the soldiers to wear their armor for days at a time when necessary. Dean himself had spent two weeks in his armor while aboard the training submarine completing his officer training at the base in Bayview. The under layer connected seamlessly with each type of armor, and monitored each Specialist’s vital signs, communicating that information through their tack link to Dean’s Tactical Control Unit.
Dean’s armor was light. He had impact resistant armor plates built into a snug, but flexible combat suit. He stepped into the suit, his feet sliding down the legs and into the attached boots. He bent low and tightened the straps across the top of his feet and up his shins. Then he stood straight and pulled the TCU hood over his head. It was open faced and covered his neck and shoulders. The battle armor went over the lower part of the hood, with a padded brace at the back of his neck. Dean zipped the armored suit up, then covered the zipper with a velcro pad.
Next came his weapons, a Martin 3A Defense pistol went into a harden plastic holster on his right thigh. On his left hip was a tactical combat knife with a thirteen inch blade in the traditional Bowie shape with sawing teeth forged into the spine of the blade. His Spinner 3:30 Utility Rifle hung from a padded strap around his neck and then fastened to his armor via small magnets across his chest plate, holding the weapon secure in a diagonal position from his left shoulder to his right hip.
Finally, Dean placed the incredibly powerful Tactical Control Unit, which also served as a battle helmet, over his head, sliding it down and locking it into his armor with the specialized clips. He could see through the tinted face shield, but as soon as the TCU was secured to his armor, it powered on and gave Dean a wide range of advanced capabilities.
Without a word Staff Sergeant Chavez checked Dean’s battle armor. His own armor was very similar, only with more pouches for weapons strategically arranged over his body. Chevez even carried a Katana in a sheath on his back. Close Combat Specialists were aggressive fighters who were trained to kill with ruthless efficiency in a variety of ways. As soon as the Staff Sergeant had cleared Dean’s armor, he returned the favor, checking Chavez’s suit to ensure that every strap was secured.
Eventually every member of the platoon came online in Dean’s TCU. He could bring up their own visual feeds from their battle helmets, check the integrity of their armor, read their vital signs, and send them orders in a variety of forms.
“Platoon ready, sir,” Staff Sergeant Chavez said in a commanding voice.
“Excellent,” Dean replied. “Move out.”
“The word is given people,” Chavez said, as the platoon moved quickly out of the Ready Room in a single file line. They walked quickly, each one in perfect synchronization with everyone else, their boots pounding the metal deck as they moved quickly to the closest spoke that led to the drive shaft at the center of the ship. “We go forth and conquer. Off World Force Recon!”
“First in the fight!” the platoon chanted together. “Tip of the spear!”
“It’s go time, my favorite hour of the day,” Chavez said as they opened the hatch that led toward the drive shaft. “Shuffle in people, time to say goodbye to gravity.”
They hustled into the tunnel and were immediately hit with vertigo. Dean felt the centrifugal force at first pushing him sideways, and then fading. Each step seemed to send him sailing forward until his feet didn’t come back to the decking and he floated toward the hatch that opened into the long corridor that ran down the drive shaft of the spaceship.
The control ring, as the round spinning wheel of the ship was called, was near the rear of the drive shaft, close to the powerful engines. The drive shaft stretched several hundred yards, with a maintenance corridor that gave access to the long cooling tubes and wiring that kept the ship functioning. The life support and solar power cells were arranged along the drive shaft, and at the tip was a large, round pod that housed a cargo storage compartment the size of a small warehouse, with a hanger that faced the front of the ship.
Dean went first down the corridor, his feet floating up behind him as he pulled himself hand over hand through the long tunnel. The trip was slow and Dean felt as if he were underwater, as he passed maintenance nodes, tool cubbies, and access hatches.
At the hanger, Dean saw the warning lights of the Raptor combat shuttle. Lieutenant Owens was waiting for them at the ramp that led to the interior. Dean turned to Chavez who was right behind him as they floated into the hangar.
“Get everyone on board and secure,” he ordered.
“Yes sir,” Chavez responded.
Dean followed the Operations Lieutenant into the dark interior of the shuttle, the visual optics of his TCU adjusting to a low light setting that allowed him to see the details that Lieutenant Owens pointed out.
“You’ll have to stand up and open this compartment,” he pointed to a small, sliding door in the ceiling of the shuttle. “This button will blow the protective cover clear. You should be able to hear it. You can’t pop this until you’re past reentry and the heat subsides, otherwise you’ll fry the antennae and compromise the shuttle.”
“Compromise as in…”
“As is boom,” the Lieutenant said seriously.
Dean felt his heart speed up a little at the thought.
“How will I know it’s safe?” Dean asked.
“Use your TCU to tap into the shuttle’s onboard systems. You can check the exterior cameras or the heat readings. Now, once you blow the cover off, you’ll have to crank the antennae up using this handle.”
It looked like a standard ratcheting handle, and Dean had no doubt he could raise it. His only fear was how long it might take.
“Don’t waste time on this, Captain. Get it up quickly, then check to see if we’ve got control.”
“You’ll keep up a steady report,” Dean said.
“That’s affirmative. I’ll be talking you through this as if you could hear me, just respond once it’s up and hopefully we get you on the ground safely. If we don’t respond, cycle to the next channel.”
“Where do I do that?” Dean asked.
“The frequency controls are here, on this wall, behind this panel,” the Lieutenant explained, removing part of the bulkhead and revealing a touch screen that glowed to life. “There’s no need to keep this on, so I’ll keep it,” he went on, referring to the panel. “Tap the Shuttle Controls, then the Radio Frequency Activator. It will ask for the passcode, for this ship it is QA7668. Repeat it.”
Dean was already recording the entire conversation with his TCU just in case he forgot something. He planned to watch it several times during the long wait before the shuttle was launched, memorizing every detail, just as he had the six radio frequencies that Lieutenant Owens had already sent him on the data link.
“QA7668,” Dean said out loud.
“Correct. Once that’s entered, you can change the frequency. We’ll wait fifteen seconds then switch to the next and just keep cycling through until we reach you. As soon as you enter the new frequency respond verbally to us.”
“Alright Lieutenant,” Dean said. “Give us a landing we can walk away from.”
“You’re in good hands. VA Duncan has given us callsign Wolf’s Den, good luck.”
“Thanks,” Dean said, shaking the Lieutenant’s hand.
The Operator walked off the shuttle while Dean took his seat.
“Are we strapped in and ready, Staff Sergeant?” Dean asked Chavez.
“Locked and Loaded, Captain.”
“This is the real deal people,” Dean said. “I have no idea what we’ll face down there, but the transmissions coming up are chaotic. We don’t take chances. The combatants will be firing live munitions, so watch your six. We go in together, and we come out together. No one gets left behind and we don’t quit until the mission is over. Is that understood?”
“Yes sir!” the platoon said in unison.
Dean sat back in his seat, which was little more than a metal bench with padded crash bars behind him. He pulled the fi
ve point harness into place, clicking the latches and then pulling the straps tight. It wasn’t comfortable, but it wasn’t meant to be. If the shuttle crashed the protective measure would do little to protect them, but Dean couldn’t focus on that. They were jumping into a fire zone, facing who knew how many enemy combatants, with unknown mission parameters. Dean couldn’t plan a strategy that would give him the best chance of success. He couldn’t even guess what they might face. He could only hope that his new platoon was ready, and let their training do the rest.
“One hour until stable planetary orbit,” the comms officer’s voice came through the speaker in his TCU.
Dean pulled up the list of frequencies that Sergeant Burnett had sent him. He kept the list active on his TCU’s visual screen. The row of red letters weren’t so opaque that he couldn’t see through them, and the red color wouldn’t spoil his low light vision. Then he opened a small view screen on his face shield to replay the video of Lieutenant Owens instructions. He watched them five times, then thought through the process on his own several times, before watching the instructions one more time. The last thing he wanted was to die because he failed to prepare.
“Five minutes to Shuttle launch,” the comms officer said after what seemed like well over an hour.
“Raptor shuttle coming online,” Dean heard Lieutenant Owen’s voice over the tack link. “Wolf Den is online. Do you read me Wolf Pack, over?”
“I read you loud and clear, Wolf Den, over,” Dean said.
“Good! Let’s get this party started,” the Operations Lieutenant said happily.
Dean wished he could fly the shuttle down himself. He hated knowing they were flying into danger and there was so little he could do to protect his platoon. He whispered a quiet prayer for safety, then rechecked his harness.
“Platoon,” Dean said over the closed channel that only his troops could hear. “We are preparing for the flight down. Make sure everything is secure.”
His soldiers double checked their equipment and weapons. This is what they trained for. Dean was a mix of emotions, both excitement and trepidation. In zero gravity there was no sense of motion, but Dean had already tapped into the shuttle’s exterior cameras. He saw the docking arm lift the shuttle clear of the hangar floor, then they were hurtling through space and the planet below them seemed terrifyingly real.
Welcome To The Wolfpack Page 8
