Black Ops (Expeditionary Force Book 4)

by Craig Alanson

  “Yes, Sir.” The initial crisis was over and we were not immediately running to the Ruhar with a flag of surrender. I counted that as a win, and all I wanted was to escape the meeting as fast as possible.

  The meeting broke up, with teams going off to study Skippy’s data on the situation, and try to dream up a plan for the Merry Band of Pirates to accomplish the impossible. Again.

  Major Smythe caught my eye outside the conference room, and nodded his head to the left. I followed him around the corner. “I’d like to speak with you, Sir. Privately.”

  “My office, Major.”

  We walked to my office, where I took the rare step of pressing the button to close the door. Usually, I held firm to a literal Open Door policy, where anyone could approach me about any issue. A thousand lightyears from home, on a stolen alien pirate ship in a hostile galaxy, and with our ship run by a chrome-plated beer can, I wanted the crew to know I was not keeping secrets from them.

  Usually.

  “Major? You wanted to speak with me.” It wasn’t a question.

  “To use an American expression, ‘Ain’t that some shit’?” he said without a smile. “We just rescued UNEF on Paradise, and confirmed the Thuranin are not a threat-”

  “For now.”

  “For now. This time, we may need to act against the Ruhar?” He shook his head, eyes wide with incredulity. “Usually in a war, you can count on some allies.”

  “Usually in a war, the enemy knows you are fighting them. We can’t allow anyone to know we are even involved. Against the Ruhar, we may need to act in a way that they don’t realize anyone is fighting them. It is freakin’ impossible.”

  “And yet.”

  “And yet, we’ve done it before.” I gestured at the closed office door, which was almost always open. “Is this the part of the movie where I offer you a tumbler of scotch, and we make plans to take over the world behind closed doors?”

  Smythe grinned, something I had not observed often enough. Putting him in overall command of the SpecOps team had been a boost for his ego, and for his career, but it had not done any favors for his level of stress. “I prefer whiskey to scotch. Take over the world, Sir? ‘The world is not enough’, to quote one of the James Bond films. We have an entire galaxy we need to secure, if Mr. Chotek is right, and I think he is. We’ve been successful to date. This cannot continue indefinitely.”

  “Agreed. Someday, when we have time to think, we need a plan to be proactive, and not only react to the latest crisis.” I said aloud something I had been privately thinking for months. “Whatever long-term strategy we come up with, it needs approval from leaders on Earth. We can’t go making critical decisions like that on our own.”

  “We can, Colonel, if there is not enough time to fly all the way back to Earth and wait for the politicians to debate the issue.”

  “Major, I am all about bending the rules until you can see cracks, but I have to follow the chain of command.” I wondered if he was testing me.

  Smythe pretended to pick a piece of lint off his uniform pants; I noticed he avoided my eyes while he did that. “Yes, we all follow the proper chain of command. A chain which begins far above Mr. Chotek.”

  “I’m not following you, Major.” I really did not understand was he meant. Chotek, of course, derived his authority from UNEF Command on Earth, but there was not enough time for us to go back to Earth and return, if we were to have any chance to stop the Ruhar from sending a ship to our home planet. If Chotek ordered us not to take action against the Ruhar, going to Earth to override his orders would take far too long.

  “Mr. Chotek has written orders from UNEF Command, authorizing him to be in ultimate charge of this mission,” Smythe reminded me. “However, if you, Colonel, have secret orders from UNEF Command, authorizing you to relieve Mr. Chotek if you felt it necessary for the success of the mission and survival of our species, I would not be able to dispute the authenticity of any such secret orders.”

  That shocked me for a moment. “Major,” I said slowly, knowing we were on very dangerous ground, “surely UNEF Command gave you codes for authenticating any such orders.”

  “Yes, Sir, they did. And I am sure that Mr. Skippy cracked those codes in a heartbeat, and could fake any orders you wished to create. As I stated, I would have no way to dispute any secret orders you claim to have received from UNEF Command.”

  “He’s right, Joe,” Skippy spoke up. “I cracked those pathetic codes while UNEF was still creating them,” he chuckled. “Me having total control of their data systems helped,” he added in a lower voice. “Yup, I could fake up any orders you want.”

  “Skippy,” I closed my eyes, feeling a headache coming on. “Major Smythe, and his entire team, could not act on orders they know to be fraudulent.”

  “Oh. Oh! Gotcha, Joe. I would never fake a secret message from UNEF Command, of course not. No way, Jose. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. Uh, was that convincing? I can try again, if you give me a hint. This mutiny thing is not really my wheelhouse.”

  I hid my face in my hands. “That was super awesomely helpful, Skippy.”

  “Duh. Of course it was awesome, Joe, it’s me.”

  “Personally, it wouldn’t take bloody much to convince me, Sir,” Smythe assured me with a pat on the shoulder. “Although, if it comes to us taking over the ship, you might want to pour me a large glass of whiskey first.”

  “I’ll ask Simms if she brought any whiskey. Major, we need a plan to prevent the Ruhar from sending a ship to Earth, without them ever knowing someone didn’t want them sending a ship to Earth. You got any ideas?”

  “No. Not at the moment. Colonel, while we are at the relay station, I would like my teams to take the opportunity for zero gee combat training.”

  Chotek wasn’t going to like that, I thought. “Can you use two teams at a time? Who is up in the rotation?” That is something I should have memorized.

  “The Indians and the French,” Smythe stated.

  “I will talk with Chotek.” I figured that I knew his answer would be ‘No’.

  I was wrong. When I requested his permission for two SpecOps teams to conduct training outside the ship, he didn’t argue or push back. “If you think it is necessary, Colonel,” he said with an almost dismissive wave of a hand. He wasn’t even looking at me when he said it, more like staring off into space. The strain I felt had to be getting to him also. Maybe even more so.

  “I do, Sir.”

  Chotek pushed himself upright in the chair and smoothed his tie. The guy wore a suit and tie every day, except when he used the gym. Damn, he needed to relax a bit, before he exploded. His expression brightened, or was not as gloomy as usual. “I would like to go aboard the relay station,” he stated simply.

  “Uh, Ok?” For a moment, I wondered why he wanted to take the time to visit the relay station. I had been there, it was certainly nothing special. The interior compartments and passageways were a smaller version of the Flying Dutchman’s forward hull, before we humans modified our pirate ship to suit us. Then I realized why Count Chocula would enjoy visiting the relay station; he simply wanted a change of scenery. When we went down to Paradise; the first time to reactivate the maser projectors, the second time to plant the fake Elder artifacts, Chotek had remained board the Dutchman. At the time, I had feared he would insist on coming down to Paradise with me, living in the cramped dropship and second-guessing everything I did. For whatever reason, Chotek had stayed aboard the ship then, for which I was very grateful. He had not come with the raiding party to the surface of Jumbo either. Now that I thought about it, every member of the Merry Band of Pirates, including the science team, had at least been able to go aboard the relay station, or fly somewhere in a dropship, or simply go outside the Dutchman and fly around in a spacesuit. Hans Chotek had been confined to our star carrier since he came aboard in Earth orbit.

  There were times when I strongly experienced the ‘loneliness of command’. Many times, I felt terribly alone, when t
he only person I could talk to was Skippy. At least I had Skippy, even if he was an asshole. Hans Chotek had to be the loneliest person aboard the ship; he had no one at all he could talk with. For a moment, I felt a pang of sympathy for the man who was aboard the ship for the sole purpose of making my life difficult. “Certainly, Sir, you should be able to visit the relay station. We have the interior cleaned up from the battle,” I said that to remind him there had been a hard fight to take that relay station. We had lost people, and others had suffered serious injuries they were still healing from. While he was sightseeing, he should think about the sacrifices made to win that relay station for us. “Skippy says there is not a ship scheduled to visit the station for the next nine days; the Thuranin fleet is busy with some big operation against the Jeraptha.”

  That drew his attention. “I thought the Thuranin had a ceasefire with the Jeraptha?”

  “A conditional ceasefire,” I said with a wry smile. “And only in the sector that includes Paradise. We’re on the edge of the sector here.”

  Chotek snorted with what I took to be a derisive laugh. “This war out here makes the Middle East look tidy and organized. Have you made any progress on a plan to prevent the Ruhar from sending a ship to Earth?” He asked hopefully.

  “Some progress, yes,” I lied. We had nothing. “I need time to refine our plans, before we present the options to you.”

  “Very well, Colonel Bishop. I don’t need to remind you the clock is ticking.”

  “No, Sir, you don’t.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  I told the duty officer that I was going to my quarters to splash cold water on my face after talking with Chotek. In reality, I barely made it to my too-small Thuranin toilet before ralphing up my breakfast. My body went ice cold and I knelt on the floor, shivering from a combination of chills, shock and gut-wrenching fear. “What’s wrong, Joe?” Skippy’s voice reflected concern. “You haven’t eaten anything weird recently.” He knew that my experiments with the more exotic types of cuisine prepared by our French, Indian and Chinese teams had sometimes not agreed with my stomach. Even British curry dishes had been too spicy for me.

  “No,” I spat, then got to my knees to wash my mouth out in the sink. “Food isn’t the problem. Can we talk seriously for a minute?”

  To his credit, Skippy did not make any snarky comments about it being impossible for him to discuss anything seriously with a hairless baboon. “Sure, Joe. Hmm, your core body temperature is dropping. You are almost in shock.”

  Because he was being nice to me, I squelched the ‘Ya think?’ comment that had been on the tip of my tongue. “I am kind of in shock. Skippy, I don’t know if I can do this. Not again.”

  “Do what? Ralph up your breakfast? Hey, if you do it again, try to aim better.”

  “No, not that. I mean, I don’t know if I can command another mission. I don’t know if I can handle the responsibility again.”

  “Ooooh, oh, Ok, got ya. The stress is getting to you. Umm, let me think of some supportive words. Keep putting one foot in front of another, Joe,” Skippy said encouragingly. And then, because he is an asshole, he added “And don’t do the stupid thing you did last time. Remember, left, right, left, right. If you just keep putting only one foot forward, you end up doing the splits and falling down. Stupid monkey.”

  “I love you too, Skippy. That wasn’t much help.”

  “Hmmm. Sergeant Adams is way better at this sort of thing, so I’ll tell you what I think she would say. Get on your feet, soldier. Suck it up, and do your job. Because if you don’t, your species is facing certain extinction.”

  “You suck at pep talks, Skippy.”

  “I wasn’t trying to pep you up. This is your problem. Joe, out here, those fancy silver eagles on your uniform really don’t mean shit. The Merry Band of Pirates is the most elite military force humanity has ever assembled, and they don’t follow you because UNEF Command says they have to. People like Major Smythe follow you because they have confidence in your ability; confidence gained from experience. The Special Operations people have seen you lead them to succeed against impossible odds, over and over and over. Joe,” he sighed, “much as it pains me to say this, I’ll do it. You are an outstanding commander; brave, determined and inventive. You have been kicking alien ass up and down the Orion Arm. If someone were offering odds of this single ship and crew against the entire galaxy, I would put my money on the Merry Band of Pirates.”

  I looked at myself in the mirror. Color was coming back to my face, and my stomach was no longer in knots. “Thank you, Skippy. That was a great pep talk.”

  “Ah, if you repeat it to anyone, I’ll deny the whole thing. Damn, now I feel like puking.”

  “Sorry about that. So,” I stood up and squared my shoulders. “Now all I need to do is dream up a plan to do the impossible, again.”

  “Joe, damn, I can’t believe I am saying this. You don’t need to think up all the ideas around here. If you need help planning a black operation, there is someone aboard who has experience in that sort of thing. We haven’t talked about it, but I think you know who I mean.”

  Many of our extra-special special operations troops had experience with clandestine operations, both those listed in their official resumes, and those Skippy discovered by easily hacking every electronic data system on the planet Earth. Of course Skippy had told me everything he had learned about the candidates for the crew, which had put me in somewhat of an uncomfortable spot. Two of the soldiers from foreign countries had been involved in an operation hostile to interests of the United States. No Americans were killed in the operation, but knowing what those two soldiers had done had caused me a sleepless night. In the end, I approved the two to join the Merry Band of Pirates, and I never said anything about it to their team commander. The UN Expeditionary Force was supposed to be an international force, a human force, and I had to understand that soldiers from other nations felt just as strongly patriotic about their country as I felt about the US of A. I wouldn’t allow aboard anyone who had committed a war crime; otherwise what we needed in our mission to protect all of humanity was the most dedicated, effective soldiers and pilots we could get. “Most of our crew have been involved in secret operations, Skippy, that’s why they are called special operations forces.”

  “Not special forces, Joe. You know who I mean.”

  “Oh. How do you know that I know?” He had assured me that he could not read my mind; I wasn’t sure about that sometimes.

  “Truthfully, I wasn’t absolutely certain you knew until just now. Let’s just say that, despite my overall low opinion of your brain power, I assumed you would have figured this out.”

  “Was that supposed to be a compliment?”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Oh,” I rolled my eyes. “No reason. Ok, thank you, I’ll take your advice.”

  “Great. And next time you talk to Ralph on the big silver phone,” Thuranin toilets were silver instead of white, “try to aim better. I need to get another service bot in here to clean the floor. Yuck.”

  For training, Smythe set up an operation where the Indian team went over to the relay station in a dropship, then flew toward the Flying Dutchman using jetpacks. Yes, I totally wished I could be with them, flying around in cool jetpacks rather than sitting in an office. The French team was outside the Dutchman but still inside the ship’s stealth field, ready to fly out in jetpacks to intercept Captain Chandra’s Indian paratrooper team. I figured Captains Chandra and Giraud had a wager going on whose team would ‘win’ the engagement. I was certain almost everyone aboard the ship wished they were part of the fun, rather than being stuck inside the ship. The Dutchman was as comfortable as we could make our pirate ship, but being inside a starship day after day after day got old.

  Most people aboard the ship could use a break; I had spent most of the day in the conference room with senior staff, wracking our brains for an idea to stop the Ruhar from bringing Fire Dragons to Earth. Skippy had, correctly, shot do
wn every one of our stupid ideas so far.

  I thought merely blowing up a Thuranin surveyor ship on its way to Earth had been difficult. This was much, much worse. With the operation against the Thuranin, we had been able to openly use force, the ‘only’ complication had been assuring the Thuranin never knew who destroyed their ship, or why. That had been difficult enough; at the time we thought it an impossible task. Now I was nostalgic for that time as the ‘good old days’.

  The only bright spot in my day was that Hans Chotek was not aboard our pirate ship. A dropship had brought Chotek, Major Simms and Dr. Friedlander over to the relay station, along with the Indian special forces team. Chotek had requested Simms as an escort, instead of someone from Smythe’s SpecOps team: I think he was more comfortable with Simms. As our logistics officer, Simms maybe was not considered a real ‘soldier’ by Chotek. And Friedlander had been included, I guess, because Chotek wanted another civilian with him. Or Chotek understood that Friedlander also deserved an opportunity to get out of the ship.

  I was in the CIC watching the training engagement; Lt. Williams of our SEALS team was the duty officer in the command chair. Sergeant Adams was taking a shift at one of the sensor stations in the CIC; usually pilots staffed the CIC, but crosstraining was essential. She was monitoring the progress of the Indian team, who had launched from the relay station and were now flying jetpacks on their way to the Flying Dutchman. I heard Adams sigh quietly, and I walked over to stand next to her. “I know, I wish I was out there, too,” I whispered.

  “It would be good to get off the ship, Sir,” she admitted.

  Adams and I had gone down to Paradise, although we had to remain hidden while we were there. The two of us, and a handful of others, had been able to stand under a blue sky and breathe unfiltered air. With Major Smythe, I had space dived down to the surface of the planet Jumbo. But most of the crew had been either stuck aboard the ship, or restricted to training in space. That is something fans of Star Trek don’t think about when they fantasize about being aboard the Enterprise: being on that ship for month after month after month. In Star Trek, once in a while, a small group beams down to a dangerous planet, where Unnamed Crewman Number Four gets eaten by some monster. Maybe the people wearing red shirts weren’t stupid; they just were desperate to finally get off the freakin’ ship for a while. There were times when I thought that, instead of pilots, we should have brought submariners to fly the Dutchman. Pilots saw blue sky and stood on solid ground after a short flight. Naval pilots, although they spent a lot of time at sea, could stand on the deck of a carrier and see the horizon. Submarine crews were accustomed to being underwater in a claustrophobic steel tube for months. That is what being aboard the Dutchman was like. “Sergeant, maybe if we-”