by John Lumpkin
Instead, his mission orders sent him to Kuan Yin, where the PLA was to conquer and pacify the American continent there. Li would debrief prisoners taken in Second Bureau’s counterinsurgency operations.
He didn’t protest, knowing that would only cost him more esteem in the eyes of his superiors. He had killed one of the Americans who had shamed him; he had almost taken the rest. They were still out there. Li Xiao had no doubt he would find them.
For now, he would take out his frustration alone.
Three pieces of bad news.
First arrived a terse note from Neil’s mother that Uncle Jack was hurt. He had been caught in some kind of protest in Tacoma that turned into a riot. He was taken to the hospital, and he was going into surgery shortly – Neil realized it was probably done by the time he opened the message – and the prognosis was “pretty good.”
Second was a long Times article. The writers had pieced together some of San Jacinto’s activities since leaving the Solar System, and the piece cast serious doubt on President Delgado’s claim it was on a routine patrol when it engaged the Chinese warship. It included an account of the Japanese massacre of the Chinese colonists and how the San Jacinto stood idly by as this happened. The writers queried the Delgado administration why this hadn’t been made public. The response: “We’re aware of this alleged incident, and we’re looking into it. We’ve also received reports of a number of atrocities committed by Chinese forces, but we are fully confident that our Japanese allies have every intention of obeying the laws of civilized warfare.”
Finally came reports about the loss of Sequoia. The Chinese had landed two divisions of spaceborne troops and were reinforcing via submarine. The Space Force squadron defending the planet had been routed; the Army division on the planet had collapsed.
Rand. Is he dead? Captured? Still fighting? He had Rand’s last message sitting in his queue; he’d never gotten around to responding. It made Neil sick to think about it.
Rand stared at the vast, rust-colored expanse ahead of them. It reminded him of the surface of Mars. He hadn’t been out this far before, but Torren said the trip was necessary, and he didn’t argue.
Behind them was a ragged mix of green, yellow and brown, where Earth plants had escaped a ranch a few klicks away and run wild. This was as far as they, along with earthworms and bacteria and everything else imported from Earth, had advanced into the native sand.
The interface, Torren called it.
Kuan Yin was another Hestian world, home only to single-celled life, at least until the Chinese colonials arrived sixteen years prior. Now, Earth plants brought to Sequoia were progressing into the planet’s original, barren landscape. A few sprouts of desert plants rose from the near clusters of rocks, the vanguard of a floral onslaught.
Rand and the others had trekked to the brigade rally point, only to find no one there, and no sign of where to look for them. Their band had shrunk, and then grown. After a couple of weeks of constant moving, PFC Yancey had asked to leave. His wife was in Cottonwood. Rand hoped he wouldn’t be caught and interrogated; he figured it was unlikely, given his low rank and the Hans’ newfound abundance of prisoners. Two of his other PFCs had gone hunting for supplies and never returned: Rand didn’t know if they had deserted or been captured, and he couldn’t decide which would be worse.
That left Rand with Sergeant Aguirre, PFCs Rachel Lopez and Peter McKay, and Deputy Torren, circling the outskirts of Cottonwood, breaking into abandoned ranch houses, and occasionally relying on the goodwill of farmers who had decided to stay on their land.
Rand was certain other Army units were out there, but the brigade and divisional networks were down, so he couldn’t contact them. But they sometimes heard far-off explosions and saw Chinese drones and orbital laser strikes.
Wish we had an infantry officer with us. He knew the 34th Brigade kept supply caches in the hills outside Sequoia, but as a junior artillery officer, he wasn’t privy to their locations.
A few days after Yancey left, they had absorbed a pair of enlisted Fort Patton MPs who had been patrolling the base perimeter during the invasion, and hidden after their command post had been destroyed. They came with two full sets of combat armor, walkers, lifters and all.
Yancey’s departure turned into a boon. He had dressed as a civilian and simply walked home. After a week, he had set up commercial net addresses for him and Rand, and the young private kept him updated on events in town, in the guise of a message to a relative on an outlying ranch. Rand wished they had worked out a more specific code between them, but they hadn’t had time. Yancey just described what was going on in plain, unemotional language, devoid of anything that might alert the Hans.
The Chinese troops had shut down Sequoia’s internet for a time before allowing it to come back online, under their monitoring. It was simply too vital to leave off – everything from water and power to food distribution relied on it. Off-planet transmissions were prohibited; anything related to security matters was intercepted and simply deleted before it arrived at its destination inbox. A squad of Chinese troops would investigate a particularly knowledgeable or threatening communication.
In the last three days, Torren and Lopez, who had become fast friends, had begun openly discussing opportunities to strike at the Chinese. Rand was not so confident they could defeat a Han patrol, but he held a war council anyway.
The ranch house they were hiding in was a strange setting for one. It had been decorated in a style Rand called “grandmother ugly” ... wan yellow walls, lots of carefully handcrafted pillows and blankets. After an hour of letting his people talk, Rand, sitting under a sewn panel that read “May God Bless Our Home,” said, “All right. Let’s hit them.”
“… So the bartender says, ‘How is that lucky?’ And the guy responds, ‘Well, if the brick had flown through the bedroom window ten seconds earlier, it would have hit me in the back of the head!’”
Lieutenant Commander Davis was rewarded with a burst of laughter from the evening CIC crew. In the subsequent pause, as the ops officer searched his memory for a joke to top the last one, Hayes, the astrogator, pointed quizzically at a small battery-powered fan at Davis’ station.
“Sir, what’s that for?”
Neil nodded. He’d wondered the same thing.
“They don’t teach you about that in school, do they, Hayes?”
“No, sir.”
Davis picked up the fan, turned it on.
“Typical. In a battle, there’s a good chance the air circulation system will take a laser hole or two, forcing barriers in the vents to snap shut to prevent decompression, at least until a repair unit can patch it. If CIC’s vent lines are hit, we won’t be getting any air circulation for a while. And guess what happens if you stand in one place without any air movement?”
Hayes’ brow furrowed. Before he could answer, Davis went on, “You start building up a lot of carbon dioxide around your head, particularly if you are stressed and breathing quickly. You’ll pass out from lack of oxygen before too long. This little four-dollar gadget will move enough air in your vicinity to prevent that.”
The sensor operator interrupted them.
“New contact! Military-grade candle detected near Alfa Keyhole,” he said. “Presuming vessel just emerged. Designate Sierra-One.”
“What? We haven’t been notified about anyone coming this way, have we?” Davis said.
“No, sir,” Tom told him.
“More ships coming through … Transponder says they’re friendlies.”
Neil looked at the telescope images of the ships, eight million kilometers distant. He recognized the shapes.
“Sir, they’re American,” he said. He cycled through several images. “Looks like the Spruance battlegroup out of Independence, Rear Admiral Jason Akers in command. Twelve ships total.”
“Okay, Tom, wake up the captain,” Davis said. “And try to raise them to find out what the hell they are doing here.”
Thorne was angry about not kno
wing the fleet was coming, and she took it out on her officers. Vikram rechecked recent comms traffic several times before telling her she was certain San Jacinto had not been informed.
The Spruance and her escorts were 26 light-seconds distant, making text messages the most feasible means of talking.
CDR TOMLIN (SPRUANCE): FRANK, HOW’S THINGS? MUCH TO UPDATE. CDR ROD TOMLIN, TF 81 INTELLIGENCE OFFICER
ENS MERCER (SAN JACINTO): CDR TOMLIN, LT STAHL IS RECOVERING FROM INJURIES SUFFERED IN SAN JACINTO’S RECENT ENGAGEMENT. I AM SERVING AS INTEL OFFICER IN HIS STEAD.
CDR TOMLIN (SPRUANCE): ENS MERCER, CONGRATS ON SAN JACINTO’S VICTORY. SORRY TO HEAR ABOUT FRANK. FURTHER SORRY TO SURPRISE YOU GUYS WITH OUR UNHERALDED ARRIVAL, BUT SPACE COMMAND IS WORRIED GENERALLY ABOUT FLEET MOVEMENTS GETTING LOOSE OVER THE COMMUNICATIONS NET, AND SPECIFICALLY ABOUT SAN JACINTO’S INTERNAL INFORMATION SECURITY.
TF 81 IS GOING TO PLUG THE BACKDOOR INTO AMERICAN SPACE BY SETTING UP AT SZ URSAE MAJORIS. ANALYSIS DOESN’T THINK HANS AND KIMS WILL TRY TO INVADE U.S. TERRITORY VIA THAT ROUTE GIVEN IT WILL ANGER ISRAELIS, BUT WE’RE GOING TO MAKE SURE.
ENS MERCER: CDR TOMLIN, CAN YOU AMPLIFY CONCERNS ABOUT INFOSEC?
CDR TOMLIN: ENS MERCER, WILL FORWARD YOU ORDERS REGARDING. NATIONAL COMMAND AUTHORITY SOUGHT THIS ONE, SO DON’T LET IT SLIDE.
The orders arrived in his inbox a short time later. Neil read them with a growing sense of dread.
TOP SECRET
1000Z06DEC2139
FR: BG SAMUELS, DCI, DEFENSE INTELLIGENCE AGENCY
TO: INTELLIGENCE OFFICER, USS SAN JACINTO, DS-99
CC: COMMANDING OFFICER, USS SAN JACINTO, DS-99
1. INVESTIGATE IF ANY MILITARY PERSONNEL ABOARD SAN JACINTO SERVED AS A SOURCE FOR THE 06DEC2139 REPORT IN THE TIMES REGARDING SAN JACINTO’S ACTIVITIES IN FL VIRGINIS AND BETA CANUM VENATICORUM.
2. DETAIN AND INTERROGATE ANY PERSONNEL RESPONSIBLE FOR THE LEAK. RECORD ALL INFORMATION PURSUANT TO EVIDENCE REQUIREMENTS OF JUDGE ADVOCATE GENERAL.
3. THIS IS A COUNTERINTELLIGENCE MATTER. YOU ARE REMINDED YOUR AUTHORITY SUPERSEDES CO USS SAN JACINTO IN THIS INVESTIGATION. YOU MAY EMPLOY SHIP’S MASTER-AT-ARMS AS NECESSARY.
4. ACKNOWLEDGE IMMEDIATELY UPON RECEIPT. STATUS UPDATE REQUESTED EVERY 12 HOURS; REQUIRED EVERY 24 HOURS.
Neil expected to be summoned to Captain Thorne’s office immediately; he composed his appearance, all the while wondering what she would tell him and what he would say.
But it was more than an hour until she called. Neil made his way up to her office and found her alone. Her eyes had healed, and she no longer wore sunglasses. Her usual mood was one of humorless irritation, but now she looked positively distressed.
“Neil, do you need any help conducting this investigation? I realize it’s nothing you were trained for,” she said.
It’s not the investigation she’s upset about, Neil realized. She must have heard something from the admiral on Spruance.
“All I can think to do is first review communications, and ask the author if I turn up anything.”
“Yes, that’s about right,” she said.
Neil, neither prompted to speak nor dismissed, waited.
“I’m losing San Jacinto when we return to Earth,” she said at last. “I’m being assigned to Space Command. Desk job.”
“But … you haven’t had the ship for a year,” Neil stammered. He was shocked. Typical assignments were two years or more. “Is it a promotion?”
“Hardly,” she laughed bitterly. “Our mission is regarded as a disaster back home, not only because of this trumped-up leak investigation you will be conducting. I’m being shuffled under the rug. I’ll never get a ship again.”
“A disaster?” Neil said. “Skipper, we licked the Hans. You’re the first captain with a battle kill in twenty years. We rescued Sun Haisheng and almost have him back on Earth. We fulfilled our mission objectives, and then some.”
“But we did it too loudly, Neil,” Thorne said, almost softly. “We were noticed. Never good for a covert operation. I may even get reprimanded for not publicly reporting the destruction of the Chinese colony ships. But it’s not your concern. Dismissed.”
Neil returned to his room, feeling for the first time some sympathy for the captain. She’s getting shafted, through no fault of her own, right? Or did she screw up?
He struggled to see where Thorne could have done something differently, particularly with Donovan overruling her. No, he decided, she hadn’t failed to the degree that deserved such treatment. A lesson in the capriciousness of the United States Space Force.
Grandma, how are you? The soldiers are taking more people on our street to the train station. I think they are taking them to Sycamore on a train leaving tonight. Our neighbor Mister Gonzalez said everyone will have to go to Sycamore eventually and go camping in tents! They are also bringing lots of people from the ranches outside town to the train station in trucks. My friend Luis said they are going to get his cousin who lives outside Hawthorn tomorrow afternoon. When we go on the train, I hope they let us take Zeke with us. Love, Timmy.
Captain Thorne summoned Neil to the podium.
He said, “All right, some good news. Australia, the United Kingdom and Iran have all entered the war on our side. The most significant effect so far is that the China-Korean force orbiting Earth has withdrawn from LEO up to an altitude of 22,000 kilometers, outside the thickest part of the outer Van Allen belt. They just had too many surface-based laser cannon pointed at them from the surface, in both hemispheres.”
Neil called up a silent video on the briefing room monitor. It showed a medium-sized warship from an oblique, aft angle, with only the black of space beyond it. A long needle of fusion flame emerged from the vessel’s white-hot tail. The image shook a little – then pieces of debris started falling away, spinning as they went. Slowly, almost majestically, the ship split in two pieces, fore and aft, and then a large fragment of the ship’s nose crashed into the still accelerating aft section.
The camera recorded a flash too bright for it to handle, and then the image was nothing but debris.
“This footage was taken two days ago. Weather over New Mexico cleared up unexpectedly, and the Army at White Sands tagged a Korean destroyer as it was getting out of Dodge,” Neil said. It wasn’t necessary to show the video, but he thought the officers might like to see an American military success.
Lieutenant Sam Lang, San Jacinto’s chief weapons officer, asked, “So the Hans still control Earth orbit?”
Neil nodded. “They control upper MEO, where they’ve reinforced up to about 60 ships. However, they are too high to laser-bombard the surface. They are still using kinetics, but very few are getting through the defenses. They are also striking at surface launches trying to make it from LEO up to GEO.”
“So it’s a blockade.”
“In effect. We had three Army divisions we hoped to use to reinforce Kuan Yin and Independence, and they’re stuck on Earth. Perishable materiel is also a problem, but so far we’re relying on our stockpiles at Kennedy Station and convoys coming in from the colonies.”
Lang asked if that meant the ship was going on short rations, prompting another lieutenant to make a friendly crack about his gut. The ship’s supply officer then reassured everyone that San Jacinto wasn’t going to run out of food.
Neil waited until the exchange ended. The humorous chatter might soften the blow. “And that brings me to the really bad news. On their way in, the Chinese reinforcements scored a mission-kill on Vandenberg Station, and they captured Latham Spaceworks.” Neil saw eyes widen. “In both places, we saw it coming and got almost everyone off. They ventilated Vandenberg with kinetics. At the shipyard, our dock crews wiped the station’s computers and sabotaged as much as they could before the Chinese troops landed. We lost nine hulls under construction, but our guys estimate it will be a year before any useful activity can take place there.”
“Why haven’t they also hit Space Command?” Lang asked. The other big Ameri
can port was located over Ecuador, at the same longitude as Washington, D.C.
“With the destruction of the Chinese, Korean and Japanese military stations in GEO, Space Command is now the largest military facility orbiting Earth,” Neil said. “Based on their actions at Latham, our analysts believe they want to capture Space Command and use it as their orbital headquarters. We’ve got a fair-sized force defending it, and they need to assemble a lot of marines to make the attack.”
He didn’t have the authority to say it, but the officers in the room knew the truth: Losing Space Command would be devastating. The Chinese and their Korean allies maintaining control of Earth orbit would be worse.
Li Xiao rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustration. He sat in a judge’s former office, part of the Cottonwood County courthouse, one of the few American government buildings on the continent to survive the Chinese bombardment and invasion. His work was all on the computer – going through text messages and transcripts of voice communications flagged by the hunter program as possible security risks.
It was dull work, but Li Xiao knew it needed to be done. The Cottonwood area – about 35,000 people all told, including several thousand in outlying ranches – was as restive as any. The local insurgency didn’t seem well-organized, but it was deadly. At least two American infantry platoons were still fighting, fed by stashes of supplies in the outback. Li requested to be sent here, instead of the larger cities of Sycamore and Cypress, because he preferred his independence from higher-ranking Second Bureau officers. Big fish in a small pond, rather than the reverse.
But he could feel a dull ache inside him, an internal pressure to return to his real work, hunting down James Donovan, Sun Haisheng and the San Jacinto.
Fifteen light-years away, Neil was performing much the same task, reading mundane messages flagged by San Jacinto’s security program, this time looking specifically for anyone who might have communicated with a reporter.
