I followed Hui Peng, Captains Haitham and Tuulia through the air lock and into a Navy shuttle. Hui, Tuulia and I found seats while Haitham headed directly for the command deck. There he’d stay in contact with the defensive screen and drive the Shuttle pilot crazy. I knew this because it always goes that way when the boss was sitting right behind you.
The bus, we were in, separated from the defensive screen and along with three other ships and the tug, we became a five ship formation. The bigger Patrol Boat was in the lead, flanking us were two GunShips. One of which was piloted by Wind Chime on total radio silence. The tug with the occupied produce container was behind us.
As we approached the BattleShip, flight control challenged the formation. Haitham let the pilots sort it out staying in the background listening. He waved me forward.
“J-Pop, once we’re on board, I need to secure Combat Control and install Captain Tuulia on the Bridge,” he ordered, “What I need you to do is find Councilor Peng. Ascertain his health and get him to the Bridge as soon as possible.”
“Aye, Captain,” I replied, “Once I shake the Strikers out of the can.”
He didn’t laugh. In fact, his eyes burned a hole in my retina until I excused myself. The first cost of command is your sense of humor, I thought as I made my way back to my seat.
The Patrol Boat and GunShips rolled away. We hit the third air curtain and our Shuttle dropped onto a sled. I stood and waited by the hatch.
“Hui, stay with Captain Tuulia,” I ordered, “Once we find your Grandfather, we’ll bring him to the Bridge.”
“Aye, Aye Lieutenant J-Pop,” he replied with a happy grin.
The hatch opened, I took two steps onto the flight deck, inhaled deeply, and my knees buckled. A buzzing, as if a hundred mini-guns were firing at once, echoed around inside my head. I closed my eyes attempting to shut out any outside stimuli. Nothing helped, not even my fingers pressing against my eye lids.
A crewman from the Shuttle was kneeling in front of me. His mouth was moving but I couldn’t focus on the words coming out of it. My universe had shrunken to the buzzing in my head. Captain Tuulia and Hui stopped but I managed to collect myself enough to wave them by. She was needed on the Bridge.
Somewhere in my misery, I smelled a White Heart plant. The BattleShip was red with an aggressive Red Heart plant. I shouldn’t be smelling a sea salt aroma. It should be cinnamon over powering all other smells.
Medical arrived and I was tossed on a stretcher. With my hands pressed against my eye balls, they carried me to the medical deck. I was grabbed and moved to flat surface. Someone pried my hands away from my eyes. A light blinded me for a split second, my ears were pulled, and they let go of my hands. Once my hands were released, I again covered my eyes. A metallic door opened and the surface where I lay moved. The door sealed and the buzzing ceased. My head cleared and I inhaled a medical scent. Opening my eyes, I saw a curved surface above me.
Chapter 15
“How are you feeling, Lieutenant Piran?” a metallic voice asked.
“Better. Where am I,” I inquired.
“Decompression chamber,” the voice replied, “You had the symptoms. When you switched from the merchant Shuttle with its low pressure to the Navy Shuttle your body’s nitrogen became soluble. In essence, you developed nitrogen gas bubbles in your blood. It’s a minor complication. We should have you out of there in a couple of hours.”
I didn’t have a couple of hours and I wasn’t sure of the medical technician’s diagnosis. It was my head in pain not my body forcing the collapse. My PID chimed. At least I had service in the chamber.
‘Missed you at the un-canning,’ Warlock sent, ‘Teams well. Looking for you.’
‘Medical deck,’ I typed, ‘Need to speak with team.’
‘On the way,’ she sent.
I knew when the Strikers arrived because there were hands pounding on the exterior of my chamber.
“Yo, Lt., we just got out of a can and here we find you in one,” Fire Dove said through the speaker.
“Fire Dove. I’m not sure what hit me,” I replied, “Check the records and give me your opinion.”
Warlock came on the line, “J-Pop, you have the services of trained technicians and the best medical equipment in the Realm and you want Fire Dove’s opinion?”
“Hospitals treat patients,” I said, “Medics patch you up and send you back to fight. Right now, we need to fight.”
It took five minutes to bring Warlock and the Strikers up to speed on the councilor representatives and the guarding of Councilor Peng.
Before I could say more, Warlock said, “Wait one.”
“I’ve tasked Thunder Eagle. She’s going to speak with the relieved Marine guard detail,” Warlock informed me after a few seconds, “We’ll go from there. Here’s Fire Dove.”
“J-Pop, I don’t see an imbalance of nitrogen in your blood work,” the Striker medic reported, “If you were a Striker, I’d tell you to get your butt back on duty.”
“Works for me,” I said, “Open the door.”
“But the Navy Medics,” protested Warlock.
“Master Sergeant, if we don’t locate Councilor Peng and get him to the Bridge,” I said, “There may not be any Galactic Realm Navy in this sector to report us to.”
“Ten minutes for rapid decompression,” Fire Dove informed me.
I lay there working through the best and worst cases. If it was easy, we’d walk in and escort Councilor Peng to the Bridge. If it was hard, we’d have to fight our way in to reach him.
“Lieutenant Piran. I must insist you order these Strikers to cease the rapid decompression,” a male voice stated.
Oops, the Navy Medic had returned and he wasn’t happy.
“Sorry. We’ve got a mission,” I explained, “If I feel badly after, I’ll gladly crawl back into your tank.”
“This is highly ill regular,” he stammered.
I could only guess but I imagined Warlock had stationed Stone Angel and Heavy Rain in front of the control panel. It would be horrifying. All that beef and attitude standing in the way of your sworn duty.
The door opened, outside air rushed in, and I was sliding from the chamber. Someone shoved an oxygen mask on my face.
Then, two things happened. The buzzing in my brain began again and my ears popped. I couldn’t do anything about the buzzing. But for the pressure change, I could.
I put my fingers in my ears and the buzzing decreased. Pulling them out and the buzzing increased then decreased when my fingers went back in my ears. Was my hearing going?
“Medic?” I asked kneeling on the gurney, “Do you have ear plugs?”
He was leaning in a corner of the decompression lab looking dejected. I couldn’t tell if it was his failure to treat me or being intimidated by two super-sized men. In either case, he sauntered to a cabinet and pulled out a headset.
“Noise dampening,” he said tossing them to me.
I slipped the headset on and the buzzing dropped to a manageable level.
Before I could report the success to the doctor, Thunder Eagle burst into the lab.
“The Marines weren’t relieved,” she said breathlessly, “They were disarmed and escorted from the VIP deck. They are angry and ready to go back in.”
“Warlock. Where’s Master Sergeant Tereza,” I asked.
“In the armory, helping the Navy gear up,” She reported.
“I need her to gather two squads and standby outside the VIP deck,” I said, “I’ll go in to secure the Councilor. Once he’s protected, she can send in her Marines.”
“Lieutenant. You’ve got a fully functioning Strike Kill unit standing before you,” Warlock pointed out, “We’re trained for clearing decks. It’s our specialty. The Marines can come in once we’ve reached you and Councilor Peng.”
“Sorry Warlock,” I apologized for my oversight. The buzzing in my head had thrown me off, “What do you need?”
“All we need is our gear,” Heavy Rain stated.
/> The Striker equipment was stowed in lockers on the armory deck. I located a pair of greens and traded them for my vegetable, grease, blood, and sweat stained dress whites.
The rebreather mask prevented the cinnamon fragrance from reaching me. Even with the mask on, I still detected a slight sea salt aroma. That was strange but I was too busy to do any deep thinking about it. The suppressors worked, although there was still a buzzing in my head. So here I stood, masked as if I were an invalid, with noise suppressors on my ears like a flight line mechanic, and dressed in a pair of ill-fitting, wrinkled work utilities. I was not exactly a picture of professionalism.
“Lieutenant, you need a set?” Stone Angel asked holding up a set of Marine Corps body armor, “Or are you going with your black pajamas?”
“You know, J-Pop, he likes the leisurely playboy image,” teased Fire Dove.
The Strikers were talking as they pulled equipment cases from the lockers. Five hard sided cases, one for each Striker, were soon arraigned on the deck. As each team member found their case, they opened it, and began sorting gear.
Warlock, Stone Angel and Heavy Rain pulled out body armor with thick breast and leg protection. Thunder Eagle’s and Fire Dove’s were lighter with less armor. After dressing, Warlock and her Earth elements pulled on gloves with hand protection while the Shy elements slid on gloves with fine hair like fibers on the fingers and pads of their hands.
“Charge,” ordered Warlock.
The two Sky Element Strikers each snapped a switch on their waist and held out their palms. The team leader watched as the hairs on the palms and fingers of the gloves sparked. After the initial flash, the small fibers began to wave like fields of wheat.
“Save your batteries,” she said while turning to inspect her Earth elements.
With them, she simply pulled and jerked on the body armor to check the fittings.
“Everyone good?” she asked.
The four Strikers as one replied, “Alert.”
“Weapons,” she ordered.
From the cases, each withdrew a GCMP 45 and holstered it. After that, the weapons became more specific. Fire Dove and Thunder Eagle grabbed sheaths which they secured on their backs. Once the belts were tightened, they unsheathed wicked short Wakizashis. They examined the light weight, slim bladed swords. Satisfied with the condition of the slightly curved blades, they slid them back into their holders.
Warlock lifted a long slender wooden box and set it on the deck. She unsnapped the lid. From the box she raised a sheath with one hand while wrapping her fingers around the hilt. The Katana whipped out and flashed through the air. When she finished carving a circle in the air, the team leader brought it to a hands width in front of her face. Light from the overhead reflected off the swirls on the blade. As quickly as she’d drawn it, Warlock slammed the blade back into the sheath.
Heavy Rain bounced a Naginata in one hand. The staff was only as high as his lower ribs. The remainder of the weapon was a long single-edged, lightly curved blade. Stone Angel produced a Cusped Falchions which was a blade with curved barbs at the tip connected to a short handle. Both weapons were intended for close in hacking, chopping, and killing.
After securing their edged weapons, the Sky Element Strikers lifted short machine guns from their cases. They snapped in kinetic magazines and put additional magazines in pouches around their armor. The Earth elements each grabbed over and under kinetic rifles. The 45 rifle barrel sat below the larger sonic grenade barrel.
Once Warlock was done inspecting the team, they stowed the hard cases back in the lockers.
“The Marines are in position outside the VIP deck,” Warlock reported to me after consulting her PID, “Striker unit is primed and ready. Alert.”
The four Strikers repeated her last word, “Alert.”
“Then, let’s go find Councilor Peng,” I ordered.
We met up with the two squads of furious Marines in a corridor outside the VIP deck. They were irate, geared up, and looking for payback. That was the civilized description. It took a few minutes to settle them down. Without Sergeants, I had to rely on their senior Corporals to hold the Devil Dogs in check.
“I’m in first,” I announced to a collective groan.
“I know, but you’ll get your chance,” I continued. I must have looked a mess in the ill-fitting utilities. I ignored the stares of the twenty-four squared away Marines, and continued, “I’ll secure Councilor Peng. The Strikers will come in next. Once they’ve reached my position and we’ve set up a protective zone around the Councilor, you’re to go in hard. Sweep and clear the deck, all state, and storage rooms. I want every one of them captured or killed.”
“Aren’t they Councilor representatives, Lieutenant?” one Corporal asked.
“Corporal. They are not,” I assured the squads, “In fact, they’re units of the Empress’ Royal Constabulary. This is an action against enemies of the Galactic Council Realm. And they’re good fighters.”
“Not as good as Marines, Lieutenant,” a Lance Corporal boasted.
“Prove it, Marines,” I challenged, “Me first, the Strikers, then you come in kicking butt and taking names.”
“Ooh Rah,” the squads responded.
I turned from the Marines, winked at Warlock, and strolled down the hallway towards the VIP deck. I heard part of a conversation from behind me.
“Isn’t the Lt. going to gear up?” a Marine asked in disbelief at my lack of body armor.
“The Lieutenant is a Striker pilot and a hard man,” Fire Dove stated, “For a little battle like this, he figures, he wouldn’t need it.”
I couldn’t hear anything else because I’d turned a corner. With the noise suppression, my range of hearing was reduced. Now, out of sight from the Marines, I pulled my Knight Protector of the Clan trousers and doublet from the Clan strap.
I struggled to ease the doublet over the rebreather mask and finally managed to tug it into place. After tying the string on the trousers, I shoved my hands into the Clan strap. When I extracted them, my wrists were encased in leather guards and in my hands were a set of Knight fighting sticks.
Stone Angel had given me directions to the state room assigned to Councilor Peng. If Peng wasn’t there, I’d need to improvise. Hopefully, I’d locate him before someone located me.
In front of me was a stair case and, at the top of the risers, the VIP deck. In preparation for the mission, I tugged the hood of my Knight’s doublet over my face.
The buzzing stopped. Not just softened. It totally vanished. After hours of brain scrambling static, I could think clearly. Time passed. I stood ready to start the mission, but I was enjoying the silence in my head. Then, I tempted fate. Reaching under the cowl, I lifted the noise suppression headset.
Distinct voices, clear and understandable drifted in the air around me. From the direction of the Marines, I heard pep talks from a couple of Corporals. They were hyping up their Marines. From the top of the stairs, I heard two accented voices complaining about the long wait, the stink of the air, and how waiting for reinforcements was boring.
One of the voices uttered a phrase that chilled me, “We have confederates on board. Why wait? We should take the ship now.”
The range of hearing was far in excess of anything I’d experience from the Knight of the Clan hood. Something had enhanced my enhancements. I turned my head in order to concentrate on the two Constabulary troops. The movement dislocated the oxygen mask. I inhaled a lung full of cinnamon tinted air. But, there also was an undertone of sea salt. The combined aromas sent a shiver through my body and I felt stronger and my senses sharpened. I needed action and knew just where to find it. I headed up the stairs.
They were lounging as troops do when there was no officer or NCO around. One had pulled a chair from a room and was straddling it. The other actually sat on the deck. Their electronic Prods were leaning against the bulkhead. Sloppy guards, if a Marine on guard duty did either action, his or her life would be hell for a very long time.
I kicked the chair out from under the sitting one. He tumbled to the deck. While he struggled to regain his footing, I scrambled the brains of his partner. Spinning to the now standing guard, I slashed his feet from under him. As he hit the deck, I dropped a knee on his forehead. Then I paused, because I heard his heart stop.
Was my hearing so sensitive, I could hear heartbeats? Or in this case, the lack of a heartbeat?
Shoving aside my questions, I hauled both bodies through the door and tossed them down the stairs. Their Prods followed and I resumed my search for the Councilor.
The corridor ended at a main hallway. Peering around the corner, I saw five Constabulary troopers resting behind a barricade. These were for the Strikers so I went in the other direction. At another intersection, I slipped by three men. These were also for the Strikers. If not, the Marines would clear them.
After wandering through the corridors of the VIP deck, I located the Councilor’s room. Happily, it was guarded by two troopers. I say happily because having guards meant Councilor Peng was in residence.
The two men looked confused and their heart rates increased. I had turned the door knob and pushed the door gently. It opened slightly.
“Sergeant. Is everything alright,” one of the guards called out.
Obviously, he was speaking to someone in the room.
Another question answered. Councilor Peng had a least one Constabulary trooper in the room with him. I waited and listened.
“Everything’s fine. Close the door and get back to your posts,” the voice ordered.
From the room, I heard the Sergeant’s heartbeat and the shallow breathing of another person. There was no way to draw the guards off and dispatch them. Whatever I did would require disabling two exterior guards before going after the third inside the room.
Galactic Council Realm 3: On Guard Page 13
