Vengeance of Sukesh: John Mason (Legend of John Mason)

by Barbara J Robertson

  Mason reported the situation to Earth Command, and was told to hold his position, the battle group was approaching Titan One’s docking station. He smirked, thinking about the rest of his squads. If they were all captured or killed, no way he could continue to hold all of engineering until the battle cruiser docked her big butt. He tried once again to reach anyone on his comm link, without receiving any response. Was he the only survivor?

  Just to be safe, Mason decided to administer another shot of sedative to each breathing man. As he hopped from one body to the next, he heard a faint scraping sound, and stopped in his tracks. The damaged battle droid rebooted and was coming online.

  Mason dove to the nearest laser rifle and fired at the big battle droid, dragging itself along by one arm and knee while firing at him. He took a direct hit on his head that nearly ripped his helmet off, but was able to return the battle droid’s fire and blast it squarely in the head. The droid’s eyes closed and its black metallic head dropped to the floor. Mason went over to the thing and blasted the back of its neck until the head was severed.

  He finished his second round of sedation shots, gathered all their laser rifles, and hopped to the computer command console. He would hold it as long as he could. The life scans he ran were inconclusive; it showed over 200 life forms, but he could not tell if they were his squad members or traitors. At least none showed on his deck.

  Mason would not leave his computer command console and chance someone on the bridge overriding his control, and firing on the docking battle group. But he needed a compress to stop the bleeding on his neck soon. His uniform top was soaked in his own blood. He pulled out his knife and cut the fabric of the uniform off the dead man at his feet, folded it, and pressed it into his wound tightly, applying pressure to stop the bleeding.

  Looking at the beeping central command computer, he checked the results of his station-wide vid cam scan. The vid cams were now showing activity in the corridor leading to the shuttle bay and escape pods storage. Mason sealed off the exit doors to all shuttle bays and disabled the escape pods’ jettison launch commands, although he left their hatches accessible. Suddenly his wrist comm-link activated. “Squad team leader 6, state your position. This is fighter pilot 6.”

  Mason responded, “Engineering. What happened to your comm links, fighter pilot 6?”

  “The station comm command blocked our wrist comm links. We have taken control of comm command deck. Co-pilot 6 is down.”

  “Team leader 6 to fighter pilot 6. How many are left?” Mason asked.

  “Unable to determine. We were blasted outside the lifts. Estimate half or more killed or captured,” the pilot answered.

  “Hold for further instruction, sir.” Mason sent a team-wide call out, and received only a few responses. He sent that information to Earth Command, and waited for their reply.

  “All squads to hold current positions and lock down. Battle group fighters within range 5 minutes.” Mason relayed their instructions to the squads. At least some of us will make it home, he thought. He watched the security vid cams. Over a hundred traitors ran for the escape pods and shuttles as the ship-wide alert sounded, “Abandon station. Abandon station. This is not a drill. Abandon station.” He let them pack into all the shuttles and escape pods and locked them inside, beating on the “Jettison Launch” buttons.

  Then Mason’s worst nightmare began. Another ship-wide alert: “The self-destruct countdown sequence has begun. Five minutes to self-destruct.” Mason tried to over-ride the command, but to no avail. He quickly notified Earth Command to over-ride. He was told to hold position. “Three minutes to self-destruct.” He tried verbal abort instructions without success. He tried manual override, manual shut-down, and everything else he knew to do, and the countdown continued; “Two minutes to self-destruct.” This was it.

  Mason centered himself and prayed to God to take care of Rachel for him. He asked if there was a way to stop the self-destruct to show him in time. “One minute to self-destruct.” He suddenly saw a little light blinking on the console. He instinctively pushed it, and up popped the words: “Do you wish to abort self-destruct sequence?” Mason keyed in “Yes,” and pushed the button again. Please, God, please, Mason silently prayed. The announcement read, “Thirty seconds to self-destruct. Twenty five seconds to self-destruct.”

  Then the console screen asked for the abort code. All he could think of was “Yellow Man.” He typed it in and prayed. “Fifteen seconds to self-destruct. Ten seconds to...”

  “Self-destruct has been aborted. Self-destruct has been aborted. All clear.” Mason ripped off his helmet and said a big prayer of thanks to God. He was covered in sweat and exhausted.

  His wrist comm link beeped. “Good job, First Lieutenant Mason. Commandant out.” Yeah, nice job. Their $90 trillion space station was still here. Mason checked in with the squads and heard the cheering. He didn’t cheer. He couldn’t even smile. All he could do was say another prayer of thanks to the Man Upstairs.

  The fighters from the Space Forces battle group encircled the Titan One space station. His neck was still bleeding, while he stood on one leg, holding his position, as ordered. Mason continued to hold central computer command and watched the approaching battle cruiser. After the battle cruiser docked, it was easy work from then on. He was relieved by the battle cruiser’s Executive Officer (XO) and taken to sick bay. Forty-two of Mason’s Operation Clean Sweep team members were killed and another fifteen injured. But Titan One was taken back from the Yellow Man’s agents and Space Forces traitors. Operation Clean Sweep was a success. Mason captured over one hundred in the locked shuttles and escape pods, and another dozen or so in engineering.

  The ankle wound was from laser fire blast, and sheared off some skin and ligaments; an easy repair job. He was happy he’d be able to dance at his own wedding reception. The neck wound narrowly missed an artery. He was grateful to be alive.

  Mason was treated and released from sick bay. His fighter co-pilot was killed, along with two of the Space Marines in his squad. They were de-briefed and permitted to leave for their jump trip back to Earth the next day along with seven other fighters from their attack force. Mason was now an official co-pilot, and took full advantage of his one-week crammed fighter training during the trip to Earth. Thank you, dear God, for letting me go home to Rachel one more time, Mason prayed under his breath.

  XIV

  Mason arrived home late Wednesday, and it was past 10p.m. when he knocked on the door. Rachel greeted him at the door with kisses and tears of joy. “Oh, John, I was afraid I’d never see you again,” she cried. “I know they sent you somewhere very dangerous. Thank God you’ve come back!” She cried, hugging him. “I feared the worst. Rumors were rampant about Titan One, and killings, and…”

  “Yes, Rachel, thank God, indeed.” He kissed her, and she cried for him, holding him tightly. He picked her up in his arms, cradling her as they kissed.

  “Put my Mommy down!” Victor yelled, kicking and hitting him ferociously. The child had been awakened, and saw his Mother in the air in some man’s arms, in the dark. He was protecting his Mother.

  “Hey buddy; it’s me, John Mason. It’s me, Victor. I’m home,” Mason said to calm the boy. Victor stopped and looked at him, in his black utility uniform.

  “John Mason! Is it really you?” Victor hugged him. He sat Rachel down, and crouched down to hold and hug him. “Are you really home now?” Victor cried, wiping his tears with the back of his hand.

  “Yes, Victor, it’s me, and I’m home now,” Mason said. He led them to the couch. “Sorry it’s so late, but I just got in and came straight home to you,” he said, holding Victor.

  “Why is your boot all taped up, John Mason?” Victor never missed a thing. “Does it hurt?”

  “I was hit by laser fire below my ankle, Victor. I’ll be all right, son, and good as new, soon,” Mason answered him truthfully. They all sat and talked, and then Mason carried him to bed, and Rachel tucked him in.

  Rachel ch
ecked out his wounded ankle. “At least no bones were broken, John,” she said. “The ligaments are healing nicely.” His wound at the neck was practically healed by now.

  “I’ll be able to dance at our wedding reception next month, Mrs. Mason. I’ll be your Samba Master again in no time at all,” Mason said reassuringly, and carried her to bed. Mason made love to her like it was the only time they’d ever have together. He knew his being there in her arms was a gift from God, and he relished her every kiss, every touch, every stroke, and every movement of her body. They were totally in the “now.” No tomorrows assumed.

  Friday arrived, and Rachel invited him to her Senior Command Women’s luncheon. She wore her white Admiral’s uniform, only worn by the Medical Corps officers in spring and summer. “I’d like to make the announcement of our elopement today at our luncheon, John, if that’s all right with you.” She was glowing. “The invitations for our wedding re-enactment will go out this weekend. Everything is all ready, and the reception is planned and booked, as we discussed, John. I would like my friends to hear it from me directly first, that’s all,” she said.

  “Okay by me, Rachel. Keeping our marriage a secret was your decision; so, if you’re ready for your girlfriends to know, it’s fine by me.” Mason hadn’t seen her wear a white class A uniform before, and he was very taken by her. He loved the white uniform on her, gold braids on white, with all her medals appearing more colorful than they did against her black uniform. She looked fabulous. He stroked her lapels, turned her around, winked at her, and she blushed.

  Mason reported in to Colonel Tyrone, and Admiral Worthington ordered them both to his office. Mason gave his full report to the Admiral, up to the self-destruct countdown.

  “We were trying to override the self-destruct sequence, Mason, but were unable to do so. How is it you managed to abort that directive without command authority?” Admiral Worthington asked. “How did you know the code?”

  “I just knew, Admiral. I can’t explain it, sir; I just felt “Yellow Man” come to me, and I keyed it in, and it worked. Call it intuition. Call it God. All I know is it worked, sir,” Mason explained.

  “Yes, it did, Mason,” the Admiral admitted. “Your actions effectively saved a $90 trillion space station, not to mention the lives of your squad and fighter pilots, and the battle group that just arrived, another 500 men and women. You have proven yourself an invaluable asset to the Joint Chiefs on your first assignment, Mason. Dismissed.”

  Mason left Colonel Tyrone and the Admiral, and headed for the Officer’s Club double-time, late for the luncheon with Admiral Baines. He ran towards their table, saluted, and apologized to the three women present and already seated. “So sorry I’m late, Admiral Baines, Admiral Brandt, Captain Westerly,” Mason said.

  “Please join us, First Lieutenant Mason,” Admiral Baines said, still wearing her white gloves, he noticed. He sat where she told him, immediately to her right, at the head of the table.

  “So, First Lieutenant Mason, you’ve become an officer, I see,” Captain Westerly observed. “You seem to be advancing at a rapid clip, given your graduation of OCS just a few months ago,” she said with a smile.

  “Thank you, Captain Westerly,” Mason responded.

  “How are your new implants, John?” Admiral Brandt asked, looking at him.

  “The ones for intuition and hearing are vastly improved, Dr. Brandt. I have noticed a marked improvement in them since my vacation,” Mason said. She wore her white Admiral’s uniform, too. Very nice, and distracting.

  “Vacation? Where did you go, Mason?” She enquired.

  “Costa Rica, Admiral. My first vacation in eleven years,” Mason answered her, glancing at Admiral Baines.

  “Costa Rica! Did you get them wet?” She asked, startled.

  “I avoided the water for a couple of days, like you told me. But I did swim and body surf a little,” he confessed.

  “Let me see them now!” Dr. Brandt produced a small lighted scope from her pocket, and pulled Mason’s head over towards her.

  “I’m having my head examined again, Captain Westerly,” Mason said, watching Westerly smile. She was the XO on the Hesperia, and frequently said he ought to have his head examined.

  “Look at this, Mason! You’ve been a very naughty boy. Very naughty!” Dr. Brandt pushed his head down and scanned his implants, as Mason looked imploringly at Admiral Baines. His head thumped on the table when Dr. Brandt pushed it lower. The very buxom Dr. Brandt continued to examine her implants in Mason’s head. She turned his head over so that he was facing her breasts, and scanned his side implant.

  “Dr. Brandt,” Admiral Baines said, beginning to smile.

  “Just look at these, Mason. I’ll have to replace at least two of them,” she said, leaning forward, his face in her breasts.

  “Dr. Brandt,” Admiral Baines repeated, stifling a laugh, watching Mason get titty-assaulted.

  “You’ve been very naughty indeed, Mason,” Dr. Brandt said. “Be in my office Monday,” she said; then she realized it appeared she was nuzzling Mason in her breasts. She let him go, at last. Admiral Baines was unable to suppress her laughs anymore. Westerly was nearly giggling. Dr. Brandt was flustered. “I am his neurologist!” She exclaimed, as everyone at the table laughed; finally she laughed, too. “You are an exasperating man, John Mason!”

  “These ladies at your table will attest to that, Dr. Brandt,” Mason confessed. They shared a good laugh at his expense, and Mason did not mind one bit.

  “Ah! Mon Dieu! First Lieutenant Mason, here you are!” Sergeant Natalie DuMonde ran up to him carrying two small boxes. She saluted Mason, and the Senior Command Women at the table. She was out of breath.

  “Begging your pardon, Admirals, Capitan,” Sergeant DuMonde continued. “First Lieutenant Mason, Admiral Worthington instructed me to find you wherever you were, give you these, and say you are not to open them until he arrives. Sir!”

  “At ease, Sergeant DuMonde.” Mason introduced her to the Senior Command Officers, saving Admiral Baines for the last.

  “Admiral Baines, begging your pardon, ma’am, but I recognize you from your portrait on the First Lieutenant’s desk, with your son, Victor, ma’am,” Sergeant Du Monde said. Mason saw Admiral Baines smile at his young, very cute aide.

  “Sergeant DuMonde is my aide, Admiral Baines. She has been working diligently to organize the office files while I was on a mission, and get us ship-shape.” Mason listened as both Admirals and Captain Westerly engaged his aide in an in-depth conversation in French. Admiral Baines invited Sergeant DuMonde to have lunch with them. He loved hearing the women talk. He was fluent in Spanish, but not French.

  “There he is! I told you – just find a table full of women, and there he’d be!” Mason turned to see the Commandant walking towards their table, not happy. He stood and saluted.

  “When I invite you to a meeting, First Lieutenant Mason, I expect you to be there,” the Commandant said gruffly. “I want to know where you were at eleven hundred, instead of my Prime Marine meeting.”

  “I knew nothing of your meeting, Commandant, or I would have been in attendance,” Mason said, all of them standing at attention.

  “He was with me, Bill,” Admiral Worthington said, walking up to their table. “Ladies,” he said, bowing slightly.

  “Hmpff!” The Commandant said. “You missed the semi-annual Prime Marine officers meeting, Mason. See to it you make the next one. When I read a commendation, I expect the recipient to be there,” he said.

  “Yes, Commandant,” Mason said, befuddled.

  “Anyway, Bill. Please allow me. First Lieutenant Mason, in honor of your superior performance at the Battle of Titan One, your capturing of over one hundred ten traitorous officers and crewmen, and your rescue of the Titan One Space Station from an unauthorized auto-destruct command ten seconds before explosion; you are hereby promoted to Captain, Prime Marine John Mason. You are also awarded a meritorious service award in honor of your performance. Congratulati
ons, and thank you, Captain John Mason.” The Admiral and Commandant saluted him, joined by the Senior Command Women.

  Admiral Worthington pinned his Captain’s insignia on him, while Mason stood at attention, completely amazed. “Thank you, Admiral Worthington, Commandant,” Mason said quietly. The big brass left for their own table, leaving Mason to sit with the women officers. He was stunned, and blushing as he sat down.

  “Did you know about this, Captain Mason?” Admiral Baines asked, smiling.

  “No, Admiral Baines. I’m actually a little embarrassed, to be honest,” Mason said.

  “I signed your promotion myself, Captain Mason,” Space Marine Brigadier General Maria do Costa said, tickling the back of his hair and neck as she slowly walked past him. There was no doubt who she was, and Mason’s immediate recognition of her.

  “Pantera,” he quietly said, in shock, as he stood and saluted her.

  “Yes, Captain Mason, and now you know. My dear friend Rachel, I am saddened to know you have taken such a stallion from us, but, alas, who can blame you?” She said, sitting down at the opposite end of the table, having a very cocky smile. “Will you now share your secret, my friend?”

  No laser blast could have hit Mason harder.

  “Secret? What secret, Admiral Baines?” Westerly asked, looking at her friend.

  Admiral Baines removed her white gloves, looking at Mason. “Six weeks ago, Captain John Mason and I eloped to Costa Rica.” She let that soak in. “We are married!” She happily showed her rings to the women at the table, and they were amazed. “We will be sending you all invitations to the re-enactment of our vows, to be followed by a grand reception afterwards.”