MissionSRX: Ephemeral Solace

by Matthew D. White

  ***

  From the bridge of the Flagstaff, Commander Fox watched the spectrum feed intently for any sign of a missile acquisition system. Unlike the day before, the screen was blank, showing nothing but the faint background radiation inherent throughout the universe.

  “Sir, everything still looks clear. Nothing’s come up for over an hour.”

  Fox nodded at his defensive systems officer. “Good. The ground force must have taken care of the last of them. Is the relief team ready to deploy?”

  “Yes, sir,” the executive officer reported, “medical staff is loaded on shuttles one through six. Defense teams have supplies loaded on seven and eight.”

  “Excellent. Don’t drop everyone and don’t bring them aboard. Earth Corps is only a few hours behind us and they’ve got cleanup duty. We only need to be the bandage.”

  The commander focused again on their map. “Bring us in and hold at two hundred meters northwest of the north rig. Launch the shuttles.”

  ***

  The sight of the approaching battleship deploying its support vessels couldn’t have been more beautiful to the soldiers on the ground. Sergeant Mason felt a sense of relief wash over him that he hadn’t experienced in weeks, not since his company’s last jump from Sol Charlie. His men were safe for the foreseeable future; if nothing else, they had received a stay of execution.

  With the end in clear view, a wave of exhaustion crashed down upon his body, slowing his reflexes and weakening his resolve. His equipment felt heavier and his armor felt like a coffin. He had lost count of his wounded and fallen. Their objective had sustained damage in the billions of dollars, and the surviving personnel would likely be traumatized for decades.

  His thoughts floated away from the derrick far out to sea. Had they really left half his battalion and commanding officer alone on Mars? How did they convince him that this was a good idea? They were his responsibility and he had left them for dead! Mason started to run through their survival chances in his head but stopped before he lost all hope. Maybe they had minimal resistance. Besides, the major was resourceful. He could pull them through.

  “That’s our ride!” he announced to the rest of the squad surrounding him. “We might just make it yet!”

  A dull murmur permeated the radio background noise. Most of the soldiers were too exhausted to cheer or say anything close to coherent. A few waved their hands and weapons while several others only sat and watched. Their sergeant understood their plight as he passed through their loose formation around the civilians.

  ***

  “Private Grant.” The welcome was as short as could be expected from the battleship’s commander.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “We found Chief Robins and your crew. They’re currently stationed at the NORTHCOM West headquarters with the 307th Planetary Defense Group.”

  Grant knew the location far too well; he had been imprisoned there. A month after standing in front of the judge, on cool spring morning he had left the gate in a truck, leading a column into the desert and to their doom. “Can you get me there?”

  “I can give you a shuttle. We’ll be at Extortion for a couple hours yet while we wait for Earth Corps to drag their sorry asses to the party.”

  “Good. I shouldn’t need that long.”

  “Take Shuttle One. They’ve got my clearance.” Fox considered punching out right there. It would have been easy to call hostile fire and leave the private there, but he held his tongue. The commander had to give the man some credit; Grant believed in what he was doing to a degree equal or exceeding most of the men and women he had served alongside. He pulled off a mission that most planners would have considered a longshot at best with minimal preparations. Maybe there was more to him.

  “Can we get one of the medical teams to drop on the south side of the central platform? I’ve still got some guys down there and they got pretty tore up,” Mason’s voice broke in.

  Between the lot of them, maybe there was more to it. “Sure thing. We’re re-routing Shuttle Five.”

  “Alpha Squad! Who’s not busy?” Grant addressed the group. “I’m taking a detour to NORTHCOM West to get a maintenance crew. You’re welcome to join me.”

  “I’ll go along,” Scott volunteered again–anything to get away from the battle, the carnage, and the aftermath. Four other security officers followed suit, and together they waited on the north side of the rig for the shuttle to land.

  The first one gently touched down and dropped the rear ramp silently compared to the four roaring engines attached to the sides of its flying-wing inspired fuselage. A team of ship defense soldiers jumped to the ground, rallied ten meters back, and looked about anxiously for several seconds before relaxing their guard. Scott nearly laughed: had he really become that jaded already?

  A contingent of medics followed the security force across the platform and immediately began working on the survivors. The engineer watched as they passed, light on their feet without the days of combat and a hundred kilos of armor draped on their shoulders. They’d be able to help the civilians far more than any of the soldiers would at this point.

  The shuttle, small by normal ship standards, was gutted on the inside and had enough room to park a pair of city trams or surface battle tank. Multiple tracks were built into the floor to move pallets of cargo, and the perforated framing on the walls gave plenty of points to attach more equipment.

  Nylon jump seats were folded but similarly incorporated into the walls. According to the specifications, a hundred soldiers could be carried in the bay before modular seats needed to be added. Scott followed Grant to the front and through the wide, sealable door of the flight deck.

  A trio of junior officers filled the seats: pilot, navigator, and defense, each of whom turned back as they entered. “NORTHCOM West, correct?” the pilot surmised.

  Grant nodded, “That’s right. We’ve got some new crew members to pick up.”

  “We’re ready to lift off as soon as your guys get strapped in. We’ve already hailed the chief.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “Just that he is getting reassigned. We’ll open a radio channel for you if you want to explain it in more detail,” the navigator expanded, and gestured to the com station to his right.

  “Perfect,” Grant replied, “I’ve got five with me now. Let’s get going,” he added, and took a seat at the console. Turning back to Scott, he continued, “We’ve got the seats up here. No sense having the security force sitting in the cargo bay.”

  The engineer turned back to get the others, and Grant opened the channel. The video feed on the wall cycled through static, a few lines of code and a brief ‘connecting’ screen before the camera focused on the face of a middle-aged maintainer wearing oil-stained coveralls and sporting a jarhead’s haircut.

  “Commander Grant!” Chief Mack Robins exclaimed as he recognized the face. “They didn’t say you were involved with this!”

  “Nice to see you too, Chief,” Grant responded, “but it’s not Commander anymore. You’re outranking me these days.”

  “Of course. I was so sorry to hear about your conviction. I wish I could have done more.”

  “I know, but there’s time for reminiscing later. I need some help.”

  “Anything,” the chief answered immediately without wavering.

  “I’ve been reactivated, and I just got out of the attack on Mars. I got my ship back.”

  Robins nodded, smirking. “So you need someone who knows how to keep it flying?”

  “In a way. The crew we’ve got now is alright, but they’ve got other things to focus on.”

  “You can count on us.”

  “Thanks, but it’s not quite that simple. We’re leaving the system and I don’t know when we’ll be back.”

  The chief shook his head. “My offer stands. Sounds like the standard mission profile coming from you.”

  Grant paused. “You never did ask many questions. You sure you’re ready?”

 
“I know better than to ask things like that. I trust your judgment—when you think it’s important and when we have a chance, I’m sure you’ll fill us in.”

  “Thanks, Chief. I knew I could count on you,” Grant replied, the words feeling almost haunting.

  “I’ll get the team together, and we’ll be ready when you arrive.”

  “Excellent, you’ve got,” he started, and glanced over at the pilot’s hand signal, “about an hour before we reach you.”

  The screen went black and Grant leaned back, turning just as the rest of his team members got to their seats and buckled in. “We’re all set,” he announced.

  “Hold on,” the pilot replied, and leaned into the throttle of the ship, taking it up from the deck of the oil rig and quickly reaching the edge of space. The windows on the leading edge of the ship turned from blue to black.

  The acceleration was strong, but nothing compared to being slung around on a sub-light ship. Scott rested his head back against the rear bulkhead, exhaling in relief to finally be away from the battlefield below. He instantly found himself lost in his own fleeting thoughts between visions of the murdered civilians.

  Grant lasted only seconds longer before dozing off. His mind didn’t return to the battle, to the lives he took nor the ones he lost. He’d seen it all before—rather, his mind drifted to the same place it always did.

  On the night of Earth Strike, the sky was crystal clear, as if the stars were blazing just above his head. As the first blast hit, he felt the fire lick his skin and sear his nerves. As the final weapon illuminated the street, shooting down a column of pure energy, he only saw two faces beneath it and heard them cry out louder than the thousands of others. Why did he survive? Again she protected him while he was powerless to do the same. It was the same sick joke.

  Grant’s eyes flashed open at the thought, only to feel the navigator shaking his shoulder. “We’re almost there,” he reported.

  The soldier looked back through still-exhausted bloodshot eyes and brought himself back to reality. The strain wore heavy on him, and his chest ached with every breath and every beat of his heart. His chest again hurt as if it was a great labor to keep him alive. Why did he have to be the one to survive?

  It was still early when they touched down at the headquarters landing pad, but the chief was already waiting for them as the ramp dropped. Behind him were the rest of the members of the original team, plus another ten new faces.

  “I hope you don’t mind sir,” he began, shaking Grant’s hand, “but I was able to release another ten members of the Elite’s SR-2 crew.”

  “That’s outstanding! I trust you were honest about the mission.”

  “I relayed it verbatim and they said exactly what I did,” he beamed. “It’s been too long.”

  “Indeed,” Grant agreed, and looked at the row of three loaded pallets behind the crew. “Those yours?”

  “Yes, it’s just our personal gear. I assume you already have the ground support rigs?”

  The smile left the soldier’s face. “Shit! No, all we’ve got onboard is the standard SR-1 stuff.”

  “That’s not quite the same thing,” the chief countered as the rest of the group pushed the equipment up the ramp, “Where is it?”

  He thought for a moment. “Still in storage at B-3. I found it all torn down and packed away in the warehouse. I had to rebuild the damn thing from scratch and have Jacobs repair a bunch of the harnesses.”

  “If we can pick them up, it’ll be a huge help in the fix-everything-quicker-and-safer kind of way.”

  “We should be able to swing that. We’ve got a couple hours before the Flagstaff needs to get out of Dodge.”

  “That should be plenty. B-3 isn’t too far by air.”

  “Let’s find out.” Grant turned and headed back up into the shuttle bay to negotiate the change in plans. The chief added more information about the differences between the support setups as they went.

  “You said you had Dr. Jacobs fix the wiring in your ship?” Robins continued.

  “Yes. All the cables that went to the weapons were hacked apart. I had to fly it up to his lab to get it fixed.”

  “Interesting—I thought he was out of the game once he left the Corps.”

  “Not quite: he still had a substantial setup and a number on his staff. They changed out a bunch of parts, but I don’t know the details.”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem. It’ll be logged onboard. Nothing we can’t handle.”

  “I’m sorry,” Scott interjected, “but did you say you know the Dr. Jacobs?”

  Grant looked over at the man still strapped into the jump seat. He hadn’t even noticed him stirring. “Yes, Dr. Doug Jacobs, Space Corps engineering lead until this past spring. Why?”

  “That’s incredible. He’s a legend where I come from.”

  “Very nice. He designed my prototype fighter from parts I scavenged from the Aquillians. I’ll have to introduce you to him when we’re not pressed for time.”

  “Thanks. That’d be unbelievable!” Scott leaned back and thought through the revelation. The textbooks he had spent countless hours poring through over the years were filled with quotes and equations from Jacobs and his various teams. Without their developments and insight, it would have been doubtful humanity would have made it past the Oort Cloud.

  Scott watched as Grant negotiated the extra stop in the trip and got back on the radio to get a landing clearance. He was right: they didn’t have much time to spare, but he’d have to keep an ear open about Jacobs. Scott’s mind spun with possibilities. What could he ask him? Not only that, what could he bring back? They’d undoubtedly seen things through the battle that no one else had ever encountered. They were questions for another time.

  40

  In the cargo bay, the maintainers locked down their equipment just as Grant raised Colonel Reese on the radio.

  “Private Grant, long time!” he began with a hint of sarcasm.

  “Sir, it’s been not nearly long enough.” Grant reflected the same air back as the shuttle lifted up from the pad. “I need my fighter’s support equipment from the warehouse for a mission. I’m in the air and already picked up my maintenance crew.”

  “See, I told you in a just world you’d be giving me orders!” Colonel Reese exclaimed heartedly. “We’re still in recovery mode, but we haven’t taken another hit.”

  “You’re lucky. They hit the outpost hard and we just cleaned them off Extortion. I’m sure you heard.”

  “Of course. I didn’t realize it was you on the ground, though.”

  “I’ve seen worse, but I’m glad we’re out of there.”

  “You didn’t lose my fighter squadron out there, did you?”

  “No, sir,” Grant continued, “they’re still running support on Mars. We had to leave two companies there to secure the base. It’s a long story.”

  “I see. Well, we’re ready for you here.”

  ***

  Again Grant made the flight across the desert to the isolated base that was unknown to the world around it. Once more they passed by the same lonely mountains jutting from the scorched desert floor. It only took minutes for them to reach the site of the earlier attack. Seeing it approach, Grant spoke up for the first time since signing off with the colonel.

  “Get a closer look of the ground up here,” he ordered, and the pilot slowed in turn.

  With the flick of a mechanical switch, the ship extended from its lower side a probe housing an advanced surveillance camera mounted on a multiple-axis gimbal. While normally used for assistance during combat landings, it had the precision Grant needed to make out multiple groups of soldiers still working to recover what was left of the vehicles. At least they cleared up the body bags, the soldier thought silently as he watched the feed come through the center console.

  It was so much simpler back then, just a few days prior, but again he heard the voice surge through him, just as it had in the dig, “RUN!”

  The feeling was enou
gh to make Grant tremble in his seat, but he held himself together as to not cause confusion. Through the haze, he saw the navigator talking toward him.

  “Did you know any of them down there?” he asked again, shaking Grant out of his vision.

  “No, I mean, not really,” he managed. “The base has had its hands full dealing with it.”

  “I’ll bet. It looks like the last road to Baghdad down there.”

  The comparison was not inaccurate. At the academy, they had studied warfare from Babylon to the first trysts in space, but nothing hit home like watching an enemy succumb to total air superiority. “But yet they never gave up,” Grant added, underscoring the indelible difference.

  It was in their nature to never give up, to fight to the end. Better minds had called slavery a fate worse than death, but Grant was not about to find out. Although their enemy seemed bent on their annihilation, they obviously had their strengths and weaknesses. Should the time come, they might have to resort to being the ones taking potshots from the tree line. The soldier bristled at the thought of being the cowards. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that.

  On the next mountain at the far end of a dry lakebed, the control tower still jutted up to invite them in, and they quickly dropped to the runway beside the warehouse. Colonel Reese briefly greeted the team before running back to tend to his simmering crisis and left them with his logistics team.

  Inside, Grant found the pile of crates exactly where he had left them, along with the support rigs and mess of broken parts he couldn’t fit together. It didn’t take long before the group of maintainers had pulled the wiry structures out of the cavern, cleaned up the mess, and moved on to scouring the database for any components Grant might have missed.

  They recovered a pallet of prototype equipment to support a future squadron of SR-2s, as Robins was convinced they still might find a use for it. “There’s no sense in having so many single points of failure,” he added as they pushed the bundle up into the shuttle bay.