by PP Corcoran
Seaton Anderson was dead before he hit the ground. Victim of a fatal riding accident. The ghost disappeared into the forest, its job done.
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OFFICE OF THE PRESIDENT - GENEVA – EARTH – SOL SYSTEM
"...And once more our top news story of the day. The tragic death in a riding accident of multi-planet business mogul Seaton Anderson on his estate in Northern Italy has been met today with heartfelt condolences from many in the business and political community. Many believed Seaton Anderson was responsible for bankrolling the Grant campaign and had used his influence to promote the Earth First movement. Pollsters are already predicting his loss will be a body blow to the Grant campaign. With only three months until Election Day, Senator Kris Madkin is beginning to open a gap that many predict will quickly become a gulf Grant will not be able to close. In other news..."
Rebecca Coston touched a control, muting the sound of the news announcer with a feeling of grim satisfaction.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Mosquito Swarm
GUZMAN SYSTEM - 47.5 LIGHT YEARS FROM EARTH
Commodore Neil Bekker watched with a sense of relief as the shuttle bearing the Guzman Colony Administrator left the Rosa Island boat bay and headed toward the surface of the planet Guzman.
Guzman was the second of a six planet system and orbited its G2-5V type star, roughly, around the middle of the star’s habitable zone at 0.82 AUs, giving it a year length of 350 days. The corporation, which won the colonization license, considered Guzman, the most Earth-like world within fifty light years of Earth, a major prize despite having twenty-three percent less landmass than Earth. The unspoiled wilderness and lack of large predators attracted many inquiries from potential colonists and investors.
Neil could easily imagine himself on Earth if he disregarded the second moon and differing constellations. A number of his officers and crew had even discussed off-world retirement plans here, although, several were put off by the incessant bureaucracy and reliance on the colonization corporations.
Neil held no ill will toward the administrator of Guzman, but this was the fifth colony he and his four cruisers of Cruiser Squadron 1.6.4 had visited in the past month, as part of Admiral Jing’s colony reassurance policy.
Neil’s command spent one week in orbit around each colony world, entertained the local administrator and gave tours of their ships. Meanwhile, Neil fielded the bombardment of complaints. Ah! The complaints...
“We’ve no parts for repairs”
“Where’s our supply ships?”
“We’ve no food”
The lists seemed endless and repetitive. Resigned, Neil realised there was no sense explaining to the various administrators that responsibility for their complaints lay with the colony’s sponsors and not the TDF. He learned to nod, make the appropriate sounds, empathize and finally request a list of gripes which he assured would be included in his next dispatch to Colonial Support Command.
The paper pushers at the Hub were welcome to chase the corporations. Good luck with that! A grin tugged at Neil’s lips. A double tone from his wrist comm reminded him of a staff meeting in a half hour to discuss the rotation of the Haig and the Montgomery.
The two older Vulcan class cruisers, unlike his own Lynx class cruiser Rosa Island and its squadron mate the Lexington, were nearing the end of their cruising endurance. Rather than carry out an underway replenishment or UNREP, Central Command had instructed the ships to fold to the Sol system, to meet their maintenance and resupply schedule, and in return Cruiser Squadron 1.6.4 would receive two ‘new’ fully fitted and supplied Vulcans to complete the final months cruise.
Neil looked forward to the day the independent cruiser squadrons were fully equipped with the Lynx class. Losing two cruisers which the squadron had diligently integrated into their slick, efficient machine, only to be forced to repeat the integration process with two completely new ships was a royal pain in the ass.
Reaching his ready room Neil was already raising one hand to grasp the collar of his uniform jacket in preparation for a nice quiet lunch when the cries of the battle stations klaxon sounded throughout the ship. He took ten extra steps which saw him go past the marine guard and entered the bridge.
“Situation, XO?”
Commander Ra slipped out of the captain’s chair and stepped to one side as Neil strode across the bridge.
“Sensors report four heavy cruisers have exited fold space beyond the orbit of Planet III. We lost them as they entered the planet’s shadow but we got a good look at them before they moved behind the planet…” Ra’s hesitated, drawing Neil’s focus from the tactical display. “They’re Black Ships, sir... It’s the Saiph.”
Neil understood Ra’s hesitation, after all, they had all seen the recordings of the Black Ships’ actions against the Turak at Selene and Garunda’s Dagger Station. Four against four, may seem like evens, but Neil did not believe these odds for a second. The Black Ships outgunned them and Neil knew how ineffective the Commonwealth’s energy weapons were against the enemy’s shields. The safe option was to fold, leave the system. But what of the Guzman colonists’ fate? His duty left him no choice, he would stay and fight.
Neil stared at the tactical holo for several seconds, tuning out the noise of the bridge, his mind whirring as he formulated his plan of action before snapping out his orders.
“Communications! Contact the administrator and tell her to put her evacuation plan into effect. Warn her to get the colonists as far from built up areas as possible, they will be the enemy’s first target. Next, launch two drones for Gateway Station, append our logs and my intention to delay the enemy from reaching the planet, and request immediate assistance.
Navigation! Plot a course that puts Guzman’s second moon between us and Planet III.
Tactical! Deploy a surveillance drone, I want to see what they’re doing behind that planet.
Two can play at hide and seek. If they spotted us when they entered the system and can no longer find us, they may think twice about heading straight for the planet.”
#
TASMANIA - EARTH
The month of March was officially winter in the northern hemisphere, but on the most southern tip of the island of Tasmania March was the height of summer. A stifling 69.8 degrees Fahrenheit. The midday sun beamed from a clear blue sky on to the perfectly formed ranks which filled the parade ground.
Brigadier General Karen Mills felt the urge to scratch the annoying itch on her thigh. The doctors had assured her that, in time, her brain would adjust to her synthesized leg, a complete copy of the original she had lost at the hands of the Others on 70 Ophiuchi.
Forcing herself to ignore the phantom itch, she concentrated on the stationery rows of the immaculately turned out graduates.
The band struck up the Anthem of Terra and the lead rank stepped off in perfect unison, led by the top recruit. As she drew level with Karen, who stood on the raised reviewing stand, she said. “Eyes! Right!” the loud confident voice drew the appropriate response from the ranks and a flash of white followed as the recruit’s gloved hand came up to the peak of her white cap, her blue eyes fixed on Karen.
Karen returned the salute and held the pose as the graduating class completed its march past. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Vice Admiral Christos Papadomas, his face beamed with pride as his daughter Philippa, the top recruit, led her graduating class in revue.
Sitting beside Christos were Philippa’s siblings, Maia and Odysseia. A smaller woman, that Karen did not recognize, sat with them, her face filled with happiness, although, from the furtive glances she gave Christos she seemed more pleased with Christos’ smiles than Philippa’s graduation.
Other unusual events involving the Papadomas family had occurred recently. In the week leading up to graduation Karen’s office had received calls from the Garundan, the Persai, and the Edasich. Each had asked to send a representative in a ‘private capacity’ and Karen had, of course, granted the requests but also ensure
d the Diplomatic Corps were informed. Then, this morning, as the recruits’ family members arrived, Karen received an urgent call from the Duty Officer. “There’s a shuttle on final approach, sir, with Ambassador Jelav, Felan of the Edasich, Force Leader Verus and Fleet Admiral Jing, onboard.” Karen thought, for a second, the Duty Officer was joking before she realized it was true.
Her second in command, Colonel Rollison, had rushed to the main shuttle pad with a side party of marines and welcomed the VIPs, while Karen’s leisurely plan of dressing and enjoying a last cup of coffee before facing the families was throw into complete disarray. She only just managed to reach the Officers Mess as the VIP party walked through the door.
Much to Karen’s relief, Jing took her quietly to one side and explained they were there for a flying visit to see the graduation before heading to Zurich for the presidential inauguration ceremony later. Karen secretly suspected that Jing enjoyed watching a one star general run around like a headless chicken, but she kept her thoughts to herself and moved on to meet and greet the families.
Back on the parade square, Karen saw Christos’ pride in his daughter’s achievement echoed in the family’s stand, packed with mothers, fathers, wives, husbands and children all gathered to watch their loved one take their place as a fully commissioned officer in the Terran Defense Force Marine Corps. The last six months had been long and grueling.
As ‘Mustangs’ they had already spent at least three years in the corps and the marine drill instructors, or Dis, expected them to already be experience in tactics, weapon handling, wraith suit maintenance, and platoon level administration. Any who fell short of the DI’s benchmarks were given one single chance to improve. If they did not, they were RTUd and being returned to unit was difficult to live down.
The memory of Karen’s own graduation day came to mind. She had not been honored as Top Recruit, nevertheless, she remembered the pride and the relief, if she was honest, of completing her officer training. She had searched the mass of faces in the family’s stand for her father and she would never forget the huge smile she had seen on his face.
A retired navy master chief, he had not been impressed when she turned eighteen and, the same day, arrived home enlisted in the corps. He had been so angry, his face had turned a deep shade of purple and he barely spoke to her. Throughout her teenage years, her father had regaled stories of how he made life difficult for every marine with the misfortune to cross his path, so, Karen’s decision to join the enemy, as he saw the marines, was a betrayal. Nevertheless, Karen had been undeterred.
As a direct entrant she had spent the better part of eighteen months ensconced in the Marine Officer Training Academy. She and her mother had kept in contact through vid letters and both avoided the subject of her father. As the day of her graduation had drawn near, Karen had sent an invitation for two, but fully expected only one seat to be filled.
On the morning of the graduation parade she had taken her place amongst the ranks of soon-to-be officers. In those days the corps, and the entire TDF, had been much smaller in numbers. They had held only one graduation per year and usually only forty or so from the original 200 hopefuls graduated. Subsequently the number of graduation guests was never more than a couple of hundred.
Karen remembered the moment she had marched past the reviewing officer, on command she had snapped her eyes right and almost missed a step, for standing beside her mother in the family’s stand was her father. Proud as punch, in his blue navy master chief’s uniform decorated with his medals and awards. His smile had brought the hint of a tear to Karen’s eye because that was when she realised the old goat was proud of her.
“Eyes front!” Philippa’s command brought Karen out of her reverie and Karen dropped her saluting arm back to her side.
The graduating class continued its steady march around the parade ground until, once more, they paraded in front of the reviewing stand.
They came to a halt, boots slammed into the compacted ground with the force and sound of a firing cannon. They paused and with no command, the class left turned to face the reviewing stand.
Another pause, then Philippa did an about face while the center rank held their ground, the front took a single pace forward as the rear took one backward. Heads snapped to the right and feet shuffled as the class measured off exactly one arm’s length from the next person.
Another pause, then heads spun to the front while Philippa performed another precise about face to face the reviewing stand.
Another pause.
“Sir! The graduating class is in open order and awaiting your inspection!” Bellowed Philippa.
Karen stepped down from the reviewing stand and was met by the senior drill instructor and two further DIs at the base of the steps. Together they marched in perfect formation until they halted in front of Philippa. The senior DI stepped to Karen’s right while another DI took up post to her left cradling a silk cushion in his arms. The rows of single silver bars reflected the Tasmanian sun.
“Officer Cadet Papadomas.” Said the senior DI.
Karen lifted a single bar and, reaching forward, carefully attached the officer’s bar to Philippa’s collar.
“Congratulations, Lieutenant Papadomas.” Karen said as she shook Philippa’s hand.
“Thank you, sir. Permission to fall out and escort you during your inspection.”
“Permission granted, Lieutenant.” Karen took a step back as Philippa turned smartly to the right and led the way to the first rank.
“Officer Cadet Matthews.” Introduced Philippa.
“Congratulations, Lieutenant Matthews.” Karen shook his hand and pinned a bar on his collar.
“Officer Cadet Chin.”
“Congratulations, Lieutenant Chin.” And so the ceremony continued until each member of the class was presented their hard earned officer bar. Now they were all officially first lieutenants in the marine corps.
Philippa returned to her place at the front of the class as Karen and her escort made their way back to the reviewing stand. Karen’s foot just touched the first step when she became aware of a small commotion in the family’s stand.
Her eyes fell on Admiral Jing talking urgently into his wrist comm as he made his way toward the rear of the stand where a car awaited. In the distance Karen picked up the high pitched whine of shuttle engines warming up. Something’s up, she thought.
#
CARRIER STRIKE GROUP ITUS - GATEWAY STATION - SOL SYSTEM
“Admiral on the bridge!” Called the first officer to spot Vice Admiral John Radford as he strode on to the Flag Bridge of the TDF’s first operational carrier, TDF Itus.
Although not quite as big as the Bismarck class battleships each of the Colossus class carriers could do something a Bismarck could not. The Itus could launch the Mosquito space fighter and was home to seventy two of the deadly two-seaters.
John seated himself and activated the repeater displays which showed him all of the strike group’s available information. The strike group was rapidly moving to battle stations in reaction to the flagship’s signal. John spared a look at the fleet’s readiness state. His eight Bismarcks were slower to react than the smaller cruisers and destroyers but one by one there status updated with green lights by their names.
“What do we have, Tactical?”
“Sir, eight minutes ago Gateway Station received a flash signal from the Rosa Island a Lynx cruiser and the lead ship in Independent Cruiser Squadron 1.6.4. The squadron is conducting a port visit in the Guzman system. They say that four suspected Black Ships have entered the system. The squadron commander is unsure if the Black Ships are aware of his presence but he has moved his ships into positions to intercept any move on the colony.”
“Thank you. Strike group status?” Asked John as he caught sight of Captain Taw entering the bridge and making for the flight operations team. The female Benii’s long legs ate up the distance in easy steps.
Retaining a Benii as his Commander Air Group, CAG, in charge of his
six fighter squadrons had ruffled a few feathers. But, the Benii had a wealth of experience in carrier and fighter tactics and to John it seemed the height of stupidity not to exploit her expertise, especially as the Itus was a carbon copy of the Benii carriers.
Built around a central flight deck used to recover the fighters and launch and recover the larger shuttle type craft. The Mosquito fighters launched from four rows of launch tubes, two top side port and starboard. A further two were located lower side port and starboard. A design which should mitigate any damage to a single area of the ship impacting on flight operations.
“All ships report ready, sir.”
“CAG, how are we doing?”
“Alert fighters are in the tubes and ready to fly, Admiral. Alert plus ten are moving into the tubes now and we’re generating a full anti-shipping strike. I recommend we hold position until the strike package is complete, then we can launch in a single flight rather than in separate waves. Fifteen minutes to launch ready.”
“Understood, CAG.” John tapped commands into his chair and a schematic of the Guzman system appeared in his holo cube. He overlaid the downloaded information from the Rosa Island on to it. Four red icons appeared behind Planet III, while four blue icons representing the TDF cruisers, appeared behind the second moon of the colony world. John assumed the Black Ships were still behind Planet III and had not already made their move and engaged the defending cruisers. Fifteen minutes was a long time onboard a cruiser that was out gunned by an enemy ship with Saiph energy shields.
John glanced at the image of the flight deck displayed in the holo cube above flight operations. He saw Mosquito fighters being armed as quickly as humanly possible, the pilots sat in their cockpits as the ground crew maneuvered them into their launch tubes.
