MissionSRX: Ephemeral Solace

by Matthew D. White

  Kael saw a small black object tumble out. It barely registered on his internal filter before it exploded in a massive fireball and shockwave, throwing shrapnel in all directions. The left soldier was behind the door and stayed on his feet. The one on the right was knocked clear on his back, twitching and thrashing in pain.

  “Shit,” he grumbled and got to his feet before breaking into a run. “Cease fire! Cease fire!” he said while sprinting across the open floor to the injured soldier. Shots flew by going both directions but Kael charged straight for his objective.

  A random shot from the aliens clipped the edge of his shoulder, spinning him in a circle. He kept his footing and reached out for the manual handle on the airlock’s frame. He grabbed ahold and pushed against the five-ton block of steel with all his might. Slowly, it groaned in protest, and then swung forward. With the left already in place, Kael let his slam into place, alien shots echoing off the far side of the barricade the entire way.

  It locked home and the commander dropped the manual operating arm to seal the wing off from the rest of the colony. His heart was pounding but they were safe for the moment. Looking over, he saw two other soldiers tending to the grenade victim. He was a bloody mess but at least he was still moving.

  26

  The door to the Flagstaff’s bridge opened and Jeff Grant entered the hallway alone. That was an hour-long grilling session he would have rather missed, but at least the commander could be swayed to his position, albeit begrudgingly and against his better judgment. He knew the dilemma the commander felt; lord knew Grant would have dropped straight back into the battle if he could, but this was far too important.

  They still had a few hours left before the ship reached their destination, so he decided to join the rest of his crew in the quarters. The ship was a standard design which the soldier was familiar with and he found them easily.

  Most were already fast asleep in the dimly-lit room, and Grant took a bunk towards the far corner where he wouldn’t disturb anyone. He pulled off the armored flight suit he had worn for the last few days, cleaned himself up, and took a chance to get some sleep.

  His eyes flashed open what felt like a second later. How long had he been out? Grant glanced about and the room which still looked the same as when he had dozed off. Checking his watch, he saw he had been out for almost six hours. They had barely ninety minutes left before the ship would arrive at Earth.

  From the far end of the room, he heard a click from the door echo all the way down. Someone had opened the door. That was what woke him up. By itself, it wasn’t a surprise but Grant wondered who would have beaten him off the rack without a wakeup call. He decided to investigate.

  Walking inaudibly back to the entrance, Grant slid the door open and saw a lone silhouette to his right. The engineer from Mars was standing at the ready, pointing his rifle at the nearest wall.

  “What are you doing?” Grant asked, obviously startling the man who promptly dropped the unloaded magazine out of his hand.

  Scott stood up straighter and let the rifle hang loose. He had it hung on a combat sling over his shoulder while only wearing the standard-issue service uniform and ammo belt. “Practicing, sir,” he answered after a pause.

  “Good. Why?” Grant said, cutting to the point. It was hard to call out someone who took their duty seriously, but it wasn’t like the engineer had grown a Special Forces tab. “And drop that ‘sir’ shit. Name’s Private Grant.”

  “Well, sir-Grant, it still feels like we’re in danger. I got lax before, staying out of the war. Until I’m back on the ground, I don’t want to be a detriment to the rest of you. Thanks for saving me back there, by the way.”

  “Don’t mention it; I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you and I know you’d have done the same for me. You’re right. It’s going to be dangerous,” he said, watching as Scott switched magazines once more and reloaded. The new audience made him stumble. “Slow down. It’s more important to get the motion right. Just think: Slow is smooth. Smooth is fast.”

  The engineer made a few more attempts with Grant watching his every move. For being a geek, he wasn’t too hopeless. Whatever standard training the Corps had thrown together for the civilians must not have been too bad.

  “Good. Drop to your stomach and do it again.”

  Scott did as he was told and flattened himself on the floor. He dug for the mag holder, fished one out, and switched them in his weapon. Grant demonstrated the movement and a few others before letting Scott continue.

  Twenty minutes must have passed before they stopped. Scott looked back at the more experienced soldier beside him. “What did you mean ‘It’s going to be dangerous’?”

  There would be no fooling this man, Grant assured himself. He looked back and forth down the hallway. “You can’t let this get out, understand?”

  Scott nodded.

  “I can’t go into details, but we’re not out of it yet. Earth is in great danger. Not from Aquillians, but from something far worse.”

  For the first time, vague signs of fear appeared in Grant’s eyes. Something had gotten to him. “What’s going to happen?”

  “I don’t know exactly but anything’s possible.” Grant stopped and thought through the vision again. “I can’t believe Fox went along with this.” Scott gave him a blank look, so he explained, “I gave him orders for his ship and he didn’t take much in the way of convincing.”

  “You must have made some sense; at least enough for him to go along. What’s the plan when we get back?”

  “That depends on what’s waiting for us. Ideally, I need an audience with the Space Corps commander. I’ll take a ship to Sol Charlie, round up the wings that are still out there mopping up, and bring them back to protect Earth. Hopefully, they’ll be enough for whatever’s coming our way.”

  “Does this have anything to do with us being jammed out on Mars?”

  “You’re exactly right. How do you figure?”

  “Well, I had access to a couple terminals on the surface, between the outpost, our ride, and the systems at the colony. None had a connection with the corps’ network. Once I overheard you mention it to the ground commander, I checked a service terminal to confirm it. No connection, plus a few spurious signals covering some of the other nearby bands. As far as I know, the Aquillians have never tried to block communications like this before. Some new trick.”

  “Nice. I should have sent you to the comm room. They’ve been unknowingly going along with being out of contact without giving it a second thought.”

  “Really? I would have thought they’d have a much better picture up here.”

  “Not necessarily. It didn’t directly impact the battle on the ground, so it became a lower priority.” Grant checked his watch. “Hey, I need to grab the rest of the colonists before we get any farther along.”

  Scott followed Private Grant through the door as he switched on the overhead lights. They flickered to life, illuminating the bay from one end to the other. The still groggy refugees slowly stirred to life.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s about time we get ready to go. I need your attention for just a moment. We’re a little over an hour until we hit Earth’s orbit and the captain and I have a request. Best case is we get to the station and offload for medical treatment, and get you on with your lives, here or there. Because I believe there is significant danger in going back, I’ve requested medium-armor suits and extra ammunition from supply. Head across the hallway and get suited up.”

  Grant paused while his audience got to their feet and got their effects around. “Sergeant Mason, I know your men are outfitted, but if there’s anything they need, grab it now.

  Mason nodded. “We’ve already got armor, but I’ll take a look.”

  “Thank you. Like I said, this is just a precaution, but I don’t want to have us caught unprepared.” Grant finished his speech and filed past the crowd to assemble his own equipment. Approaching his bunk, the sight of his flight-suit-armor-hybrid caused hi
m to pause. Dull black and red panels were scoured with Martian dust and burns as silent memories of the previous day.

  The rack bolted to the wall likewise held his custom ZiG and M14 from Hell. Grant felt alone once more in the darkness of space. Demons crept into his mind and filled him with doubt. What good was a disgraced soldier anyway? How could he hope to save anyone? After all, he had left Kael and his men for dead. A Commander Prime’s great plan was to run away? Retreat? Leave for someone else to clean up the mess?

  No. Grant told himself. It’s not like that. This is the only way. His reassurances rang hollow as he pulled on the armor and strapped on the pair of rifles, pistol, and alien hatchet. All set but for the food, Grant thought as he inspected the majority of empty magazine pouches on his suit. Had he really used that much?

  * * *

  At the armory, the supply sergeant had waived a fair amount of caution and had taken all comers. His team had pulled out a half dozen cases of ammunition and magazines for the issued rifles as well as heavier equipment if the transients needed it. Most carried their weapons from Mars, which made the job easier plus gave him at least some assurance that he wouldn’t be losing half his stock.

  Othello entered and picked up two chest rigs along with the full complement of magazines. His vest had grenade pockets which he also filled from an open crate on the floor to his left. Like Grant had said, he didn’t expect to need such a load but better to have it and not need it.

  As more colonists and security guards entered, he switched roles and started helping the crowd get their weapons in order. Once they were loaded up, each passed through the armory vault to be fitted with an armored suit. By the time he got back to the hallway, Othello guessed he was eighty Kilos heavier than when he entered.

  While most of the weight in the armor was self-supporting, the added mass still wreaked havoc with his center of gravity. “Graceful” was far from being his middle name to begin with but carrying this kind of load on prosthetics was asking for trouble.

  Since he last saw it, the hallway had adjusted to the orders of the commander. Standard heavy battleships like the Flagstaff had integrated cover built into all the floors and walls. One point five meter high panels had extended from the floor at regular intervals from one end to the other. In the event of hostile boarding, they could be used to mount a defense or facilitate an escape. If compromised, they could be retracted at will by the defenders.

  None of the barriers showed any sign of being used for their intended purpose, and Othello was keen on keeping it that way. He half-crouched behind one and perched his rifle on the thin notch to the right. He had a clean field of fire all the way to the landing bay and a relative level of protection. Even in the armor he didn’t feel out of balance. He turned back as Grant and Sergeant Mason approached.

  “We’ve got about forty minutes to go,” Grant announced to the pair. “Once your people get situated, have everyone form up here behind the barricades. I’m going to check in with the captain on the bridge.”

  “Will do.” Othello nodded and affixed his helmet and retracted the visor. “We’ll be ready.

  “Good. Hopefully, we’ll get some word from Earth before we get too close,” he said as he left.

  Mason and Othello exchanged glances.

  “You up for some more of this shit? It could get intense,” the soldier asked with a tone of sarcasm.

  “How many bodies did you recover on Mars?” Othello asked without missing a beat. “How many of them were me? I was fighting through that hell for three days before you even got the effing phone call. We’re survivors.”

  “Noted,” Mason retreated. “I’m glad you made it.”

  Neither one expected the massive shockwave coming as the Flagstaff was kicked out of its high-speed approach. Instantly, every person standing in the passage was thrown into the far wall with a reverberating slam before being dropped back to the floor. Othello blacked out for half a second before being overwhelmed with pain from every receptor in his body. In the seconds that followed, as the ringing in his ears subsided, steady streams of curses, threats, and screams filled the recycled air.

  27

  “Are you effing kidding me?” Grant’s words were on point even before he picked himself up off the deck of the bridge.

  Commander Fox still felt the shock of the explosion deep inside him while he uneasily stood back up. “Status! What the hell was that?!”

  The operators were equally stunned by the blast but kept to their work.

  A sergeant reported from engineering: “The mid-space engines dropped out. We’re still running diagnostics but no major damage. No faults detected.”

  “Un-freaking believable,” Fox muttered. “This is the last thing I need.”

  “This was planned.”

  “Excuse me?” Fox said, turning to Grant, who was glancing between the monitors.

  “The aliens planned this somehow. We just announced our approach.”

  “Sir, comm channels are full!” the communications officer forcefully shouted over the rest. “All the hailing frequencies!”

  “Bring up primary,” Fox ordered.

  Dozens of frantic, screaming voices filled the bridge over the static-filled channel.

  “Contacts all sides! We’re not going to make it out!”

  The words came through between the gunshots.

  “They’re boarding the station! Lock down every exit!”

  Fox stood in stunned silence trying to accept what was happening.

  Grant broke the ice. “What’s the plan? We going to intercept? Tell them we’re here to help?”

  “We can’t. We’re too far for a real-space transmission but not enough for a probe,” the commander said, turning to the pilot. “Get us as close to the command station as quickly as you can.”

  “Sir, we’ve got a twelve minute flight at max speed,” the pilot reported.

  “That’s a long time.” Fox considered the option. The aliens would have seen them by now and were most likely already positioning for their approach. He turned to Grant.

  “Can we do a short-range jump with the sub-lights?”

  Of all the options, a sub-light jump was about the most dangerous and foolish. Grant’s face changed to one of utter surprise. “Are you serious? We’d just as soon hit the station than stop next to it.”

  “It’s bad but I don’t see another way. Pilot, do it. What’s the ETA?”

  The operator’s hands flew over the dozens of keys on his control board. “System is calculating arrival on the near side of the station.” Beneath their feet, a distinct rumble echoed through the frame as the engines came to life. “Clear entry at this range is in the ninety ninth percentile. Time to target is fifteen seconds.”

  Grant felt his weight shift as the Flagstaff lurched forward at the speed of light. Every star burned bright white, and then sunk into blue as the Earth glowed purple, growing from the size of a marble to basketball in a matter of seconds.

  “Communications. All Call,” Fox ordered and opened a line to the crew. “All forces, battle stations! Contact imminent in ten seconds!” he shouted, pivoting again to Grant. “Get downstairs and wait for my orders.”

  * * *

  “We just jumped inside the system,” Scott exclaimed as he felt his weight shift.

  Othello, Mason, and he exchanged glances.

  The engineer consulted the screen mounted to the inside of his arm. “Ten seconds? I’ll see their tracking system as soon as they decelerate.”

  “I think you’ll see more than that,” Mason added, and then shouted to the rest of the group, “You heard the captain! Take cover!”

  * * *

  Grant vaulted down the stairs connecting the bridge and upper deck to the main landing bay in one leap. Every biological system within was awakening for what he knew would come. He dashed forward straight at the parked shuttle and his fighter beyond. To his left, in the long, wide corridor which dug through the center of the ship, his team waited
for the worst. To his right, endless expanses of space rushed by in a long blur.

  The long, open sides gave him a first row seat to their arrival. The soldier’s stomach turned as they came into real space once more and a twisting, burning wreck appeared before him only a few hundred meters away. His heart leapt into his throat as the commander screamed into his radio for evasive maneuvers.

  Stuck in place by the battle unfolding before him, Grant watched from the center of the flight deck as his ship spun off axis ninety degrees to avoid a collision. The dying hulk outside slid from view and was instantly replaced by the sight of the command station at the far end besieged by two more alien ships next to his.

  * * *

  “He’s just standing there,” Scott said, watching Grant from behind his barrier. “If one of those things-”

  “He’ll be fine,” Mason said reassuringly. “The shields are thick enough to take at least a few hits. Plus they…” he said, pausing as the guns throughout the ship kicked off and engaged the nearby targets. “Well, they know we’re here now. Stay down unless the commander wants us to move.”

  28

  “Flagstaff, where the hell have you been?” The voice on the radio was none other than General Raley himself.

  “Sir, we’ve had zero contact since leaving Earth. I’m here delivering refugees.”

  “Screw that! Engage the two ships abreast of you. They’re tearing us apart!”

  “Yes sir!” Fox acknowledged. “All stations fire!” he ordered as the guns lit up.

  ***

  “Holy shit, that’s crazy!” Scott exclaimed as he watched his screen fill with targets from the ship’s radar feed. “They’ve got four battleships, a dozen or so smaller ones, and at least fifty fighters. It’s a mess out there.”

  “Grant was right.” Othello added as the first round impacted their shields and manifested as a dull thud through the shield generator. “Sergeant, what do you make of it?”