March of War

by Bennett R. Coles

  “That’s the delay, then,” Perry snapped. “Get two more bodies down there to help transfer the panels.”

  “Yes, sir.” Ranson turned and growled at one of the engineers. The situation was tense, and Jack had nothing more to contribute.

  “I’m heading to the bridge to brief the CO, sir,” he said.

  “Very good,” the XO replied, still not looking over. Jack pushed off and cleared DCC, hugging the bulkhead again as a pair of youngsters from the manning pool were given orders and sent scurrying forward, snapping on their emergency helmets and activating their vacuum suits as they did.

  Jack was still in his full spacesuit and he wasn’t worried about exposure, but the damn thing made it difficult to move easily down the flats in zero-g. Either Commander Hu anticipated an imminent stealth attack, or the ghost of Toronto was still spooking everyone.

  He passed through the airlock that led to the bridge, quickly tethering himself to one of the anchor runners inside the door. As he moved into the open space the tiny runner slid magnetically up the inner surface of the sphere, tracking with him and keeping his tether clear of all the others.

  The view in the sphere was both spectacular and frightening. Ahead, Jack could see the dark shape of a Terran destroyer, blue symbol naming it as Singapore, and weapons fire lashed out from every turret and battery. Red symbols revealed the invisible shapes of the swarming rebel craft—little more than Hawk-sized, in Jack’s guess, but each packing a wallop with their energy and kinetic guns.

  Flashes in the corners of his vision indicated Bowen’s fire, but the tiny enemy ships were proving hard to hit. Elsewhere in the sphere he saw three more blue symbols—his Hawks—as they kept clear of the fray and maintained an ASW guard.

  Pulling himself along the railing, Jack made it to the command station where the CO was strapped into his seat and the ship’s combat officer, Lieutenant Gillgren, stood beside him as officer of the watch. Hayley Oaks, as second officer of the watch, was hooked to her station immediately forward of the command chairs. All around them, the arced panels of the circular bridge were alight with activity and manned by calm professionals. The quiet of the bridge stood in stark contrast to the chaos of DCC.

  Hayley glanced up at his approach, but went immediately back to her console. He moved into the CO’s view.

  “Captain, sir, flight commander.”

  Hu looked down at him sharply.

  “Jack, are you hurt?”

  “No, sir, but I lost Singh, and Spinner-One is inoperable— multiple hull breaches and only one engine.”

  “Not inoperable, Wings, but not ideal. I’ve tasked Spinner-Two to collect our strike team.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Stay on the bridge. I might need you.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Hu looked up and past Jack again, eyes on the battle raging outside. He spoke quietly to Gillgren, who in turn spoke into his headset. The view of the starscape shifted as Bowen altered course. Jack instinctively grabbed for the handrail, even though the inertial dampeners protected everything inside the hull and carried them with the ship through space.

  He looked around at the bridge crew. Anti-vessel warfare was to starboard of the captain, and that crew were frantically engaged with the ship battle. Anti-attack warfare was forward, and all stations were primed to repel anything the rebels threw at Bowen. Anti-stealth warfare was to port, and all was quiet among those consoles. Jack glided over to where John Micah floated at his director station, in the center of the ASW section. Wi Chen hovered behind Micah.

  “Gents,” Jack greeted. “How goes the battle?”

  “Nothing in our warfare area, although we’re maintaining threat condition yellow.”

  “Are the Hawks tracking anything?”

  “No. There was that sniff of something two hours ago—that’s when we started closing Singapore—but nothing’s been detected since, by either ship or any Hawk.”

  Jack nodded.

  “But we don’t want the brane attack,” John continued, and he gestured forward at the ship battle, “to be a distraction in case there actually is something. So we’re maintaining yellow.”

  Jack nodded again. A destroyer like Singapore wasn’t designed to fight a battle on all three fronts at once, but a cruiser like Admiral Bowen was designed to do precisely that. Maybe that’s why things were so calm here on the bridge.

  “How’s the brane battle going?”

  John considered, glancing up at the sphere projection before reflexively bringing his eyes back down to his ASW displays.

  “Not great, but not bad, either. Those little rebel ships are hard to hit, and they’re really pressing Singapore. They can do damage, as you found out, but not enough to really hurt either warship.”

  “The XO was pretty concerned about a hull breach on deck five.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Micah glanced at Chen inquisitively.

  “One of the rebels charged us,” Chen replied, “and put some holes in the main cave. It’s a big space and we lost some air before containment fields kicked in, but damage control’s on it.” He shrugged. “Talking to second officer of the watch, command doesn’t seem too fussed by it.”

  The main cave—or crew’s cafeteria—was hardly a critical space for the ship’s ability to fight. Jack wondered at the XO’s concern. Or perhaps over-concern.

  “Maybe if the slugs penetrated the beer machine…” John smiled. “But the biggest concern we’d have then would be a mutiny.”

  Chen couldn’t quite subdue his laugh.

  Jack didn’t share their mirth, but the easy rapport suggested that the battle was going well, at least from Bowen’s point of view. A flash of light from behind him suddenly illuminated the faces of his colleagues.

  “Got the bastard,” John said.

  Jack turned and saw a blinking red symbol disappear amid the last glitter of an explosion. One of the rebel ships had finally been destroyed. Moments later, he saw the vectors of all three remaining hostiles alter together and disengage from Singapore.

  Pulling himself back to the command station, Jack guessed that the disposition of his Hawks was likely about to change. He eased up to Hayley, who was exhaling loudly.

  “Holy fuck,” she said, “that was intense.”

  “What’s the status of the Hawks?”

  “Can I have a fucking moment to catch my breath?”

  She was smart, he knew, but way too much of a line officer for his liking.

  “No, subbie,” he replied. “We’re still at battle stations, so do your fucking job.”

  She glowered down at her displays, bringing up a flight status board for him to see.

  “All three Hawks are fully operational. Spinner-Two is departing Singapore with the strike team, and the others are maintaining close ASW picket.”

  He turned to look up at Commander Hu, just as the combat officer announced over the broadcast to secure from battle stations.

  “Captain, sir, flight commander.”

  “Captain.”

  “Recommend we recover Spinner-Two and prep her for a later ASW patrol. Based on the current threat level, I recommend we maintain Spinners Three and Four on station until I can assess the damage to Spinner-One.”

  “Very good.”

  Jack glanced at Hayley, who nodded and began issuing orders into her headset to the Hawks and the hangar maintenance crew.

  All around the bridge, crew members began shedding their emergency vacuum suits and stuffing them back into their warbags. Jack actually started to feel a bit silly in his bright white spacesuit. He was about to depart the bridge when he saw the XO making his way into the spherical space. Perry’s face was flushed and shining, but he was smiling. He swiftly pulled his way up to the command station.

  “Captain, sir, XO. Hull breach on deck five is fully contained. No other damage to report,” he nodded at Jack, “other than Spinner-One currently inoperable.”

  “Very good, XO.”

  “Shall we schedu
le the evening briefing for thirty minutes from now, sir?”

  The combat officer paused in his movement to unstrap from his seat.

  “You still want to have an evening brief, XO?”

  Perry’s smile faded into a hard line.

  “Yes, Combat. Even amid the chaos of a war patrol, we can still maintain our regular routine. In fact, it’s essential that we do so. Discipline and routine shall not be compromised by the effects of fatigue or adrenalin.”

  Lieutenant Gillgren looked as if he disagreed, but he held his tongue. Jack glanced at the captain, noting just the briefest flicker of impatience as it crossed his stony features.

  “The XO’s right,” Commander Hu said, loudly enough for everyone to hear, “but honestly, tonight, I think I’d personally like to skip it. Number One, just have the section heads each report to my cabin when they have a moment.”

  “Yes, sir,” the XO said.

  The group broke up at that point, with the XO departing, Hayley burying herself in her duties at the console, the combat officer turning the watch over to John Micah, and then gathering the other two warfare directors off to the side for a debrief. The captain stayed in his chair for a few minutes, stoically observing the scene around him. Jack figured he should probably be somewhere himself, but he was content to simply float in his warm spacesuit and watch the line officers scurry.

  Once he seemed satisfied with the status of his realm, the CO unstrapped and climbed out of his seat, informing John that he’d be in his cabin if needed. Hayley glanced up from her station and watched the captain’s retreating form.

  “The XO wanted a fucking evening brief,” she muttered up at John. “Does he want spiffy dins after that, and a parade in the hangar tomorrow morning?”

  “Shut up, Hayley,” John said, his tone mild.

  She shook her head and looked over at Jack.

  “What’s up, marshmallow man?”

  Jack couldn’t help but laugh, realizing just how stupid he must look in his spacesuit.

  “Ms. Oaks,” John said with mock seriousness, “I require you to say ‘what’s up, marshmallow man, sir.’ Discipline and routine shall not be compromised by the effects of either fatigue or adrenalin.”

  “Yes, sir,” she snorted.

  “So it’s okay if I just sleep here?” Jack asked.

  “If we can bounce you around the bridge like a beach ball,” John replied, “sure.”

  Jack took hold of the railing and started moving for the airlock. The playful banter of line officers never went away, not even after the stress of battle, but it was more than he could stomach right now.

  “Have a good watch, kiddies.”

  10

  As he made his way aft through the ship, Jack kept clear of the damage control teams and their cleanup. It looked as if nearly every piece of emergency equipment had been pulled for use. As he passed through each frame Jack had to weave around crew members stuffing halon hoses back into racks, replacing emergency breathing kits, securing fire extinguishers and carrying unused breach panels back to storage.

  At least the hangar was in good shape. As he entered the wide space Jack realized that he’d really begun to think of this part of the ship as his own domain—not one which he owned so much as one for which he was responsible. There were four fully kitted Hawks and their crews who put their lives in his hands, and a team of twenty maintenance crew who took direction from him without question. As Spinner-Two was shunted into its parking bay and technicians climbed over the damaged Spinner-One, he thought of all the sensors and weapons his department commanded, all the resources of war entrusted to his hands.

  Yet he was just Jack Mallory, barely six months in rank and not even two years out of flight school.

  “Hey, Wings!” He heard a familiar voice behind him. “You can take your suit off any time.” Looking over his shoulder was fairly pointless with his big helmet blocking the peripheral, so Jack turned fully around. Thomas Kane was regarding him with a wry smile, out of his armored suit and coveralls matted with sweat.

  “I’ve been busy,” Jack said simply.

  Thomas moved forward and reached for his right glove.

  “Let me help you get out of this. Your team will want to air it out.”

  With Thomas’s help he struggled out of his suit, by which time his maintenance chief had floated over and was ready to take possession of it. The chief gave him a sad smile.

  “We’re all glad you made it back, sir.” He hesitated for a second, then added, “Singh wasn’t your fault. Just bullshit bad luck, sir.”

  His flight crews trusted him with their lives, none more so than those who flew with him.

  “Thanks,” he whispered. The chief retreated, spacesuit bundled in his arms.

  “First time losing someone?” Thomas asked.

  “No,” he said, “but first time losing someone to bullshit bad luck.”

  “Yeah, those hurt for a long time.”

  Jack glanced over at his companion. Once upon a time Thomas had been his XO, and briefly before that his captain. He was the rare kind of line officer who led with grace and courage, and now he’d been dumped in the garbage by the Astral Force and banished to lowly security detail.

  “War sucks, Thomas.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Do you still keep a bottle of scotch in Club Sub?”

  “Not after the kids found it. You think Hayley’s rude now, you should see when she’s loaded. Chen just giggles, and Alex likes to dance.”

  Jack smiled at the image. “So it’s all gone?”

  “Yup.” Thomas motioned for him to follow. “But I think I might have some in the strike storage locker.”

  Strike storage was across the flats from damage control. Jack quickly followed Thomas in through the reinforced door. The space was crowded with racks of weapons and gear, not least of which were the ten armored spacesuits floating in their netting like massive dark corpses. There was a single trooper in the process of counting items on a shelf.

  “Hey, Collins,” Thomas said. “How much more do you have to check?”

  “I’m about halfway, sir.”

  “It can wait. Go get some chow and finish up after. I’ll guard it for you.”

  A surprised smile lit up the trooper’s features. He locked down the open shelves, stowed his tablet, and slipped past, slamming the door shut as he went.

  Thomas floated behind a desk stuffed into the forward end of the space and unlocked one of the drawers. He pulled out a bottle of dark amber liquid and a pair of bulbs, filling them skillfully despite the handicap of zero-g. Jack accepted one of the bulbs and hefted it ceremoniously.

  “To Master Crewman Daisy Singh.”

  “A good woman,” Thomas toasted in return, “taken too early.”

  Jack sipped at the plastic straw, coughing as the liquid burned his throat.

  “It takes practice,” Thomas laughed. “Sip easy.”

  Jack took a deep breath, only to cough again as the fire in his throat crawled up his nose. Through the hacking he compared himself to his composed, serene companion, and his coughs gave way to laughter.

  “Honestly, Thomas, this is the story of my life. I don’t know how to do anything well, because everything’s always new. I’m such a kid…” He flicked at his lieutenant’s rank insignia in disdain. “…but they seem to think I’m this boy genius who can handle anything.”

  “Most officers in the Fleet—and the Corps for that matter— wish for their entire career to have your problem.”

  “You didn’t,” Jack said. When they’d first met, Thomas had been a rising star.

  “No.” He took a sip of his scotch. “And look where I am now.”

  “With all respect, that’s hardly an inspirational speech.”

  Thomas stared up at him, his face a hard mixture of amusement and thought.

  “Is that what you want right now? Inspiration?”

  “You’ve been in command, Thomas. You’ve led troops and
ships into battle. I’m just a junior department head, and I’m struggling. I’d appreciate something.”

  Thomas sipped again, paused, then nodded.

  “You’re not struggling because you’re incompetent in your job, Jack. You’re struggling because you care.”

  “What?”

  “The chief was right. Singh died because of bullshit bad luck. It had nothing to do with your skill or your decisions at that moment. You didn’t do anything wrong, but Singh was a nice lady who didn’t deserve to die, and it’s eating at you because you care.”

  “Who says I didn’t do anything wrong? Were you there?”

  “A single slug happened to hit a weak spot in your hull, and who knows where those develop, with the kind of pounding your birds take. Unfortunately there was a living person in its flight path. How many hits have your Hawks taken over time, Jack? Hundreds? And every other hit has been absorbed by the hull or impacted against non-living matter.”

  “Yeah, but we were in pretty close…”

  “Your Hawk is designed for close combat—it has those armor plates the Fleet slapped on six months ago. You were doing your job, which was to go into harm’s way.”

  “I was actually bailing at the time.”

  “Because”—Thomas gestured at him to emphasize his words—“you knew it was a bad idea to proceed, and there was no value in risking yourself, your crew, or your bird. You did the right thing, but bullshit bad luck finally struck.”

  Jack nodded, dropping his gaze and taking another sip. It didn’t burn so much this time.

  “It’s just… I got a whole department of people who are relying on me, now, and I’m one of the youngest in that entire hangar.”

  “I haven’t heard a single complaint.”

  “Like they’d tell you. Everyone on board is scared shitless of you.”

  “It’s useful.”

  “Do you ever doubt yourself?”

  “Sometimes, but never in the moment. That’d be the quickest way to get people killed. You?”

  Jack considered.

  “Never in the cockpit. On the ship, hell, all the time. But never when I’m flying.”