by Trevor Wyatt
The truth is, I only chose this command because I wanted to be in front of the action, not in some metal hull flying around in space and shooting lasers. I like to get personal. Do dangerous things. Take risks. I like to dance on the tightrope between life and death. Many people call me insane. I call myself fun.
The man stops right in front of me and holds my gaze.
I take in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Honestly, sir?”
He arches his eyebrow, remaining silent.
“Because I don’t fancy staying behind a ship at a workstation and watching the action happen right in front of my eyes,” I say. “I’d rather be on the ground or in space with my EVA suit taking the shots. I’d rather see the lights go out of the blasted Sonali eyes than see a ship explode from afar.”
With the unreadable expression on Vice Admiral Pierce’s look, I hold myself back. I may have said too much and blown my chance at the Armada Intelligence. It’s said that Operations only come to those they want. And the caliber of the person who comes to you determines just how bad the Armada Intelligence wants you.
It’s also said that they can come at any time. Rumors even spread that some people get called right in their first year. Whatever the case, your response during the impromptu meeting determines your fate forevermore. Meaning, if you screw it up the first time, you’re never getting into the Armada Intelligence Operations Command ever again, regardless of how many times you reapply.
The Vice Admiral is still standing before me.
“The last person I brought into the Operations Command said something similar,” he says. Then he gives me a puzzled look. “It’s the same person with which you share your surname.”
I feel a bit relieved. If the person got in with the response I gave, then I’m in good company.
“Can you tell me her name, sir?” I attempt.
He only flashes a half smile, but doesn’t respond.
“Who’s your role model?” he asks. “Who inspired your decision to join the Operations Command?”
“No One,” I reply immediately. “I don’t know who he is, but I’ve read some of his case files in my studies and I said to myself, this is someone like me. This is someone I want to be like. Then I’ve read that he works with the TAIOC, and there and then I knew how I wanted my military career to play out.”
The man laughs. “I see. Welcome to Division 51 of the Terran Armada Intelligence Operations Command, Commander Amanda Grayson. Gather your things. We leave within the hour.”
He turns and begins to walk.
I trail behind. “Sir, I don’t graduate until another three months. And, sir, my rank should be ensign when I graduate.”
“As of this moment, you’ve graduated from the Academy and your rank shall be Commander—provisionally, of course, until you’ve proven yourself,” he says. He stops at the entryway and turns to face me.
I stop short, before walking right into his face.
“That is, of course, if you accept,” he says.
I heave a sigh and hold my shoulder high. “I will be honored, sir,” I say.
“Good,” he replies. “One hour. Pad 1.”
Thirty minutes later, I’m standing on Launch Pad 1. I packed lightly, giving away most of my stuff. I’m only carrying a duffel bag with enough clothes for a week. I also have all my credentials, including my official ceremonial wears and Academy jumpsuit. However, I suspect that I’m going to be getting new credentials and new ceremonial wears now that I’m with the Armada Intelligence.
It takes me the better part of ten minutes to locate Pad 1, majorly because most people don’t think the launch pad exists. The few who know have given differing locations around the campus, which has almost driven me nuts. I had to contact the campus-wide AI who surprisingly directed me to the pad.
Launch Pad 1 is located in one of the gardens that form a border between the campus and the outside world. It’s well concealed with lush greenery and with a hidden doorway leading downwards. I don’t know where that leads to, and I’m not really sure I want to find out.
I take the normal route to Launch Pad 1. I find a shuttle berthed on the pad guarded by Marines.
This draws an unintended frown from me. “Marines?”
They all look up at me and snap off a salute in tandem. I flinch at the force and unison of their actions.
I look over my shoulders to see if there’s a high ranking officer behind. There’s no one. I look at them quizzically.
“Can someone tell me what’s going on?” I ask.
The leader of the squad approaches me. “Staff Sergeant Ronny Michael, ma’am,” he says. “We were instructed to get you settled in.”
“By whom?” I ask. I haven’t told anyone I’ll be in early. Vice Admiral Pierce has given me one hour. I still have twenty minutes to spare.
“The Vice Admiral,” he replies. “He told us you’d be coming in a little earlier than him.”
I nod. “Thanks, Staff Sergeant Michael. Why are Marines guarding this shuttle?”
“Because they’re members of Division 51, Commander,” says a voice behind me.
I see Vice Admiral Pierce walking out of the doorway that leads downward, his detachment of security operatives behind him.
He has a silver button-shaped tag in his hand, which he hands to me. “It’s official,” he says. “All your information has been scrubbed from the system and transferred to the Operations Command and classified above top secret.”
I take the silver button, surprised at its weight and texture. “Why? Intelligence officers’ records are not classified that high.”
“That’s because you’re not just an Intelligence Operative, Amanda,” he says. “You’re now part of a highly classified, highly effective elite commando team of operatives known as Division 51.”
I remember him saying something like that earlier. “I’ve never heard of that unit before.”
He winks at me. “That’s the idea. Come on. I’ll explain more to you in the ship.”
Ship?
The shuttle takes us into space. The ship we land on is much larger than all the ships I know that exists in the Terran Armada. It’s also stylishly designed in the form of a saucer and twin barrel-shaped engines that hand out behind like fins. The design reminds me of one of the space movies made during the early twenty first century.
“Why so large?” I ask as the shuttle comes to stop in the cavernous shuttle bay, which I realize is one of the more than fourteen shuttle decks on the ship. I cannot comprehend the scale of this vessel.
Two muscular, fierce-looking jarhead officers are waiting for us at the shuttle’s back. I come out first and they snap off a salute that makes me retreat and bump into the Vice Admiral. I’m about to fall and the man holds me.
“I’m sorry, sir,” I say, my cheeks burning. He only smiles and motions for me to continue out.
I step aside for the Vice Admiral to exit the shuttle. Once he’s out, the two officers snap off another salute.
“At ease, gentlemen,” Vice Admiral Pierce says.
The rest begins to exit from the shuttle.
He glances at me. “Are you alright?”
I nod. “I’m just not used to people saluting me, sir.”
“Well, get used to it,” he replies. “Because as of today you’re the Operations Commander for Division 51. Meet me in my ready room within an hour and I’ll brief you some more.”
The men part for the Vice Admiral to walk out of the shuttle bay, and then they follow him, speaking in an urgent tone as they go.
I’m still standing there when the security detachment follows after the Vice Admiral. The Marines begin to go when I recover from the Vice Admiral’s revelation.
I grab Staff Sergeant Michael by the arm and pull him back.
“Did I hear him correctly?” I ask.
The soldier blinks, confused.
“Operations Commander?” I say. “What does that even mean?”
His face dawns with u
nderstanding. “Well, ma’am, it means you’ll basically be commanding all the Marines in this Division.”
“Oh…” I say, relaxing a little bit. I don’t want to be stuck behind a desk planning the operations of a fighting unit. I want to fight. Leading a detachment of Marines sounds just great, because I know that where there are Marines, there’s bound to be trouble.
“Just how many are you in this Division?” I ask.
He smiles. “Ma’am, we are this Division. Come on, I’ll show you to your quarters. You’ll want to rest before your meeting with the boss. He’ll explain everything to you.”
I expect my quarters to be larger than normal because of the size of the vessel. I have to admit, I’m a bit disappointed. It’s just as small as what you’ll find in any of the Terran Union vessels. I find three suitcases of clothes waiting for me. Everything I need is there.
On my small bed is a black jumpsuit with my name and designation stitched across it. Above this designation is a small hook, where I suppose the button the Vice Admiral has given me goes to.
I take a quick bath and lie in my bed for a while. With twenty minutes to spare, I change into the black jumpsuit, which surprisingly tightens automatically to fit my shape. I usually don’t like tight-fitting clothes because it reveals just how large my bust is and makes me too self-conscious.
I take one more look at myself, then leave my room to go look for the Vice Admiral. The ship is so large that it takes me five minutes and switching between elevators to find the one that takes me to the CNC.
I note that we‘re in interstellar space, firing to a destination I don’t know.
In the CNC, I’m directed to an adjacent door that leads to the ready room; there are two security operatives by the door. The door slides up as I approach.
The ready room is fairly big, mostly longitudinally. It’s more like an office, but without the sofa. Vice Admiral Pierce is sitting on his chair, reading through his tablet. “Sit, Commander,” he says.
I walk the bulk of the length of the office and sit in the chair across the man.
After a couple of minutes, he puts his tablet down, folds his arms on the table, and leans forward. “You’ve probably been able to piece together what this Division is about.”
I nod. “Covert, Black Ops arm of the Armada Intelligence with elite Marines with special advances, say, like super weapons or suit.” I take one look at my jumpsuit. “I wonder what this can do.”
He chuckles. “I’m afraid it does nothing more than trim itself to fit the wearer’s size.”
“Oh, so I’m wrong?”
“You’re right on all counts, Commander,” he replies. “Division 51 is only known by a few people, including the President, the Commander of the Terran Armada, and the leaders of the Terran Armada Intelligence Operations Command.”
“That’s a very tiny list,” I say.
“We are a very tiny Division,” he replies.
“How many?”
“This ship carries a detachment of super Marines,” he replies.
“How super?” I ask.
“Nanites enhanced,” he replies.
“That technology doesn’t exist,” I reply.
“You’re right, it doesn’t,” he says with a wink. “We’re basically the guys you send in when there’s no hope. We’re the ones you send in when the odds are impossibly stacked up against you. We’re the ones who get the job done by all and every means necessary. With me so far?”
I nod vigorously. This is my kind of shit.
“So, we have permanent bases on Earth and New Washington,” he says. “We have three teams. A team, B team, and C team. A team is mobile upon this vessel, which is the third base. Team B is in New Washington, near the forefront of the war effort, while Team C is back on Earth.
“Each team consists of a three-hundred-men assault group, all super Marines, all highly trained and efficient killers. And an advance team of ten specialists led by a Commander…”
“That’s me,” I say, feeling the excitement pulse through my veins.
He nods. “The advance team goes in first to gather intel or neutralize specific targets or to open the door for the main assault team to move in.”
He pauses and looks at his quipping tablet.
“I’m going to have to cut this short, Commander,” he says as he stands.
I stand, too, saluting him. “I understand, sir. I can come back when you need me.”
He looks up at me as though I’ve spoken out of turn. “You misunderstand me, Amanda. I have to cut this short because you have to get going to the command center. You’re going on a mission.”
The command center is on the other side of the CNC. It has two access. One access from the CNC is for the Vice Admiral and the CNC crew, while the other access is for the rest of the ship’s crew.
There is a circular central table with a computerized interface. There are workstations along the walls with ensigns calling out information and taking orders. There are several officers in the room, each of them in charge of a section of ensigns.
Looking over the map on the central computerized table are the two officers who had met us in the shuttle bay.
“What’s our status?” Vice Admiral Pierce asks the moment we’re by the table.
“We’re thirty minutes outside the system, sir,” one of the officers at the table replies. “We just intercepted an outbound transmission from the Sonali occupation force. They’re expecting a Sonali supply ship and fresh soldiers.”
“When is this happening?” the Vice Admiral asks.
“Within an hour,” the officer replies. “We have to change our plans. We can’t spend another three hours bombarding their generators to take out their surface to space precision guided missiles.”
I look at the map and quickly study the mission parameters. It appears that this planet in question was once a Terran-run planet, but fell into the hands of the Sonali who are keeping the Terrans hostage. It doesn’t say why this planet is so important as to warrant Division 51’s involvement.
Whatever the it is, two things are for sure. One, this case is impossible for the conventional Armada or Intelligence. Two, this mission goes all the way to the top, given the caliber of people who know about Division 51.
“How about I take the advanced team planet to the control room and neutralize the operators,” I say. “If we have control over it, we can stop the generators and divert power away from all offensive and defensive.”
Everyone in the room stops to look at me.
Vice Admiral Pierce beams at me with pride. “That can work.”
The lead officer says, “An orbital drop then?”
“Orbital drop?” I say with incredulity. “I thought that was just a conjecture. We can’t actually dive from a space ship into a planet.”
No one is smiling.
“Orbital drop it is,” Vice Admiral Pierce replies. “Commander, take point on this.”
“Yes, sir,” I reply, still shocked to my bones.
Vice Admiral Pierce walks out of the control center, leaving me in charge of the mission.
Within the next thirty minutes, and with the help of Lieutenants Derrick “Bullet” Silver and Prince “Hammer” Shultz, I familiarize myself with the layout of the main prison facility and the terrain of the planet. The planet is a vegetative one with a harsh environment that humans can barely survive on, even after Terraforming.
The facility sits on a stretch of barren land smacked in the midst of a forest. The north eastern section of the area is where the generators are housed. Near there is also where the land-to-space missile system is set up. It won’t be a problem for this ship, but it will be for the landing assault force.
We calculate our drop speed and drop vector. We will be dropping in the light side of the planet, meaning they will see us coming only when it’s too late. If it were nighttime, our reentry speed will give our position away because they’ll be seeing ten fiery objects heading for the camp in perfect
formation.
The control center is a squat building under guard by a small army of about a hundred Sonali, both within and around. Apparently, this is the base of operation of the commander of the occupation force. This is where their space vehicles are also located.
There are about ten thousand Terrans imprisoned by a small force of a little above a thousand.
Our entry trajectory will put us right before their front door.
“Have you ever fired a weapon dropping from space before?” Lieutenant Shultz asks me by the time we’re done and heading to the shuttle bay.
I shake my head, expecting the condemnation.
“It’s fun,” he says. “You’ll like it.”
I join the ten-man advanced team of super enhanced Marines in specialized EVA suits that are specifically designed to withstand the high temperature of reentry. We take off from the spaceship that hides behind one of the moons of the planet—the planet does not have long range scanners. The shuttle carries a tech onboard that obscures its signals such that, if it’s scanned by a short range scanner, it will register as space debris. To aid that effect, the shuttle is put in a course for a low orbit swing by before the engines are switched off. No floating asteroid will make a course correction.
“We go down at the tough of our swing by,” I say to the Marines.
They all reply and agree.
The gravity pull increases as we swing by. At the right time, the hatch opens and, one by one, the Marines jump out of the shuttle. I’m the last to jump out. We’re sucked into reentry by the powerful gravitational speed. I crane my neck to see the hatch of the shuttle close and the shuttle begin to exit the gravitational pull of the planet.
Fire engulfs my suit soon enough as we gain speed, a terrible roar in my ears in spite of my covering. Minutes later, we break into the atmosphere, on course for the control center.
As we get closer and closer to the ground, the stretch of land and the squat control center becomes more visible.
