Galactic Council Realm 3: On Guard

by J. Clifton Slater

  “Place your weapon in the box at the bottom of the ladder,” the Sailor repeated in the same clear precise manner, “Place your weapon in the box at the bottom of the ladder. Stand by your Fighter.”

  I had coached her, explaining the Constabulary Troops would be nervous and disorientated. Firm orders, presented in a professional manner, would help guide them.

  “Ready tube one,” Combat Control announced, “Recovery CS 2.”

  The second Fighter came through the air curtain. It was towed up next to CS #1.

  We watched as that pilot stood in his cockpit and glanced around. He wasn’t as curious as the first and he ended up staring at the pilot of CS #1.

  “Place your weapon in the box at the bottom of the ladder,” the Sailor said, “Place your weapon in the box at the bottom of the ladder. Stand by your Fighter.”

  Both pilots remained standing in their cockpits. Although they were exposed and easy targets, I could feel the tension from the Marines on the catwalk.

  “Ready tube one,” Combat Control announced, “Recovery CS 3.”

  No one moved as the Third Constabulary Fighter was towed into line with the first two. The canopy opened and the pilot stood in the cockpit and removed his helmet. He didn’t look around. From the second he stood, his eyes were locked on the pilot of CS #1.

  “Place your weapon in the box at the bottom of the ladder,” the Sailor said keeping up the steady cadence of her delivery, “Place your weapon in the box at the bottom of the ladder. Stand by your Fighter.”

  After each of the short speeches, she pulled the rebreather mask to her face and inhaled deeply.

  The three Constabulary pilots tucked their helmets under their arms and stepped onto the ladders. In unison, they descended to the deck. All three pulled short thick bats from holsters on their hips and dropped them into the boxes we’d placed near each ladder.

  “Sticks? They’re armed with sticks,” observed a Marine on the catwalk, “Rifle beats stick, every time.”

  I dropped a hand and felt my Clam strap for the comforting feel of my Druid fighting sticks.

  ‘Don’t be so sure,’ I thought.

  A hatch at the rear of the VIP Dock opened and General Tuulia stepped through. She was splendid in her Marine Corps’ Dress Blues. I did notice it was adorned with three stars. A ceremonial sword rested easily on her hip and she held the hilt with just enough tension so the scabbard didn’t swing with each step.

  As she marched to the table, her escorts matched her steps. They didn’t have swords. They carried rifles.

  “Attend me, here,” General Tuulia ordered pointing at a spot on the deck in front of the table.

  The three pilots marched to the dock and raised their eyes to Tuulia.

  She turned her head and glared at one of her escorts. The Marine jumped to the chair and pulled it out so the General could sit. With a curt nod, she sat in the chair.

  “You are under my care,” she said to the three Constabulary troops, “I am General Tuulia. You will follow my rules. I will stand no disrespect to me, my troops or to any of your Troops. Am I clear?”

  The three prisoners nodded but didn’t take their eyes off the General.

  “Do you have water pills for Traveler’s water?” Tuulia asked.

  The three reached into a side pocket and pulled out packets. They held the packets out as if for inspection.

  Tuulia, in full character, took time to study each packet. Once she was satisfied, she spoke again.

  “There is Traveler water in the resting area,” she stated making it more of an order than just information, “I have much to do. Dismissed.”

  The three Troops jerked to attention, raised a hand to their foreheads in a salute.

  General Tuulia returned the salute, stood, and marched with her escorts towards the hatch. The three Troops reached up and unzipped their flight suits. I watched them peel the suits down to their hips revealing thick muscles over large bones with almost no fat.

  ‘Rifles beat sticks? Not always. In the right hands, maybe they could,’ I thought as the three walked to the water dispenser talking and laughing as combat pilots do after every hop.

  Tuulia and her Marines vanished behind the hatch. I was impressed with her performance. More so, I was impressed with her stamina. The 10% oxygen and the high humidity must have felt to her as if she were drowning by the end of the act.

  I’d supplied oxygen for Tuulia and her Marines in the room behind the hatch. By now they’d be sucking in O2 to replenish their bodies’ supply. Just as they’d hyper oxygenated before stepping out to greet our prisoners.

  Fire Dove and his team were in the cockpits as the Fighters were towed to the elevator.

  “They’re clean,” he said looking up and waving an arm, “A few military items but nothing special. I’m sending these to storage until Stone Angel and his team can have a look.”

  “Agreed,” I replied.

  I realized my White Dress uniform was soaked through with sweat. Not only were my clothes wet, the noise suppressors over my ears stopped me from scratching where the sweat dripped onto my ear lobes. And the areas around my mouth and over my nose were chaffing from the rebreather mask. As in all military operations, the more miserable and uncomfortable you are, the better the mission was going.

  We recovered and General Tuulia had greeted CS #4, CS #5 and CS #6. All the recoveries had gone well. It was the flight starting with CS #7 when I regretted my thoughts about things going well.

  “Ready tube one,” Combat Control announced, “Recovery CS 7.”

  The Fighter emerged through the air curtain and was towed to the staging area. But, the canopy didn’t open.

  “Ready tube one,” Combat Control announced, “Recovery CS 8.”

  The second Fighter from the flight appeared and was towed beside the first. This one also kept his ship sealed. By now, the Marines on the catwalk had become aware of the lack of movement.

  “Ready tube one,” Combat Control announced, “Recovery CS 9.”

  When the third enemy Fighter followed the lead of the first two, Fire Dove and his team stepped to the back and side of the big elevator. The edges of the structure around the elevator supplied cover from deflected rounds.

  The six lounging Constabulary pilots also noticed the silent ships. They stood and watched.

  “Steady there,” I said as the Marine on the machine gun charged rounds into the chambers, “Hold fire unless I give the word. If I do, I want only the Fighters targeted.

  “Aye, Sir,” he replied.

  The dock was silent as we waited for the Fighter pilots to make a move. Finally, the canopies opened. CS #8 and CS #9 stood and removed their helmets. CS #7 stood and twisted around observing the entire deck. His head stopping briefly at the elevator, the catwalk, the other Troops near the plants, the Fire Team on the dock and the table and flags.

  “Place your weapon in the box at the bottom of the ladder,” the Sailor said sure and steady, “Place your weapon in the box at the bottom of the ladder. Stand by your Fighter.”

  The three pilots stepped to the ladders and descended. At the bottom, they deposited their fighting clubs in the boxes. Two tucked their helmets under their arms. CS #7 still wore his.

  General Tuulia marched to the table, her escorts matched her steps.

  “Attend me, here,” General Tuulia ordered pointing again at the spot on the deck in front of the table.

  Two pilots marched to the dock and raised their eyes to Tuulia. The third jerked off his helmet and smashed it to the deck. It bounced away as the Troop throw his arms into the air.

  “What is all this,” he bellowed, “I will not.”

  There was the loud burst from a rifle and three perfectly aimed kinetic rounds ripped open the pilot’s face.

  His arms dropped and his body followed them to the deck. Blood, darker and richer than Realm began spreading around the prone figure.

  Tuulia turned her head and glared at the other escort. The Marine
jumped to the chair and pulled it out so the General could sit. With a curt nod, she sat in the chair.

  “You are under my care,” she said to the two Constabulary troops, “I am General Tuulia. You will follow my rules. I will stand no disrespect to me, my troops or to any of your Troops. Am I clear?”

  The two prisoners nodded. They ignored the blood and the body, keeping their eyes on the General.

  “Do you have water pills for Traveler’s water?” Tuulia asked.

  The two reached into side pockets and pulled out packets. They held the packets out as if for inspection.

  Tuulia studied both packets. Once she was satisfied, she spoke again.

  “He will not be needing his pills. Divide them between yourselves. There is Traveler water in the resting area,” she stated, “I have much to do. Dismissed.”

  The two Troops jerked to attention, raised a hand to their foreheads in a salute.

  General Tuulia returned the salute, stood and marched with her escorts towards the hatch. As she disappeared, a Troop from the holding area walked towards the two Troops bending over the body.

  He was dragging a water hose. When he arrived, the two new Troops backed away. Water from the hose rinsed the blood into a drain. The one with the hose, indicated the elevator.

  The pilot’s body from CS #7 was dragged to the elevator. Fire Dove held his pistol behind his leg until they walked back to the holding area. By the time the hose was returned to its place over the hot plate, there was no sign on the deck a Constabulary troop had been killed.

  “Stand down,” I ordered the Marines around me.

  Chapter 46

  The hatch at the end of the catwalk opened and Master Sergeant Tereza stepped through. She marched towards me as she eyed the Marines around me and the transformed VIP Dock below.

  “General Tuulia wants to see you, Lieutenant,” she announced, “I’ll take over here.”

  “Thank you Master Sergeant,” I said and began to step around her.

  “You handled this like a Marine NCO,” she said giving me high praise, “You are an accomplished officer for a Navy pilot.”

  “Thank you,” I replied feeling a little better.

  In my earlier life as a Marine, her words would have made me feel really good. As I stepped through the hatch, I realized they still did.

  “J-Pop, we murdered a captured Troop in cold blood,” Tuulia whimpered after removing her O2 mask, “One of my Marines shot him in the face. It was horrible.”

  Her escorts had picked up on her mood and both Marines were slouched in a corner of the room sucking on oxygen. An experienced combat officer knew to keep his or her comments light after an engagement. Unfortunately, Tuulia wasn’t, and shared with her escorts all the moral indignity and worst case outcome from the action.

  “Excuse me General,” I stated before turning to the Marines, “Attention on deck.”

  The Marines didn’t hesitate. They popped upright, dropping their oxygen masks and snapping their heals together.

  I studied them until they became uncomfortable and Tuulia coughed politely.

  I turned my head to her, keeping my shoulders squared with the two Marines.

  “Comment Ma’am?” I asked, leaving little doubt, I expected none.

  “Ah, no Lieutenant,” she replied.

  I slowly rotated my head until I was again facing the two braced Marines. I admired them, their faces were completely blank as was mine.

  “General Tuulia has some questions concerning our use of force,” I stated using the our as a bonding term, “Let me ask a few questions. Was your use of force proportionate to the threat?”

  “He was a big scary dude, Sir,” the Sergeant replied.

  “Did you use force sufficient to decisively halt the hostile act?” I asked.

  “Pretty sure he’s dead, Sir,” she responded, “He never reached the General and he’s sure not going to hurt anyone else.”

  “Were you acting under the Rules of Engagement?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure Sir. General Tuulia seems pretty upset,” she answered.

  “General Tuulia is assuming the Troop was a POW,” I stated, “In fact the Constabulary pilot had not surrendered. He used subterfuge to breech our lines. Now, the final question before my final statement.”

  “Yes, Sir?” she asked.

  “Have you reloaded your weapon?” I asked.

  “No Sir,” she responded.

  “You will reload your weapon. You will check the operating system to be sure it is functioning properly,” I ordered, “Under the GCMC Rules of Engagement, your actions in protecting the General also saved every Constabulary Troop in the holding area. If you allowed the Alpha to hurt the General, they would have followed his lead. Oh, I have one more question. Can you kill again to protect the General or do you need to be relieved?”

  “Sir, I’m ready to defend the General,” the Sergeant replied.

  “Any questions for me?” I asked.

  “No, Sir,” the two Marines replied.

  “In that case, at ease,” I said before turning to Tuulia.

  “Ma’am, do you have any questions?” I asked.

  “J-Pop, I believe you covered the situation most admirably,” she responded, then looking around me at her Marines added, “Thank you, Sergeant.”

  Before we could talk more the speaker in the room blared.

  “Ready tube one,” Combat Control announced, “Recovery CS 10.”

  I left the room as the three sucked deeply on the oxygen. They’d learned breathing 10% was an unpleasant experience.

  Rear Admiral Haitham was pleased. We had seventeen Constabulary Troops in the holding area, plus twelve Fighters, and two Patrol Boats on our lower deck. The Ander El Aitor was tracking towards planet Dos with no more Constabulary warships on our screens. Our plan to capture POWs was a success, and Haitham was pleased. So of course, I was pleased.

  General Tuulia walked onto the Bridge followed by her escorts.

  “Eaglet, J-Pop, can I get a call sign?” she asked happily.

  Obviously, my speech after the shooting had a positive effect on the Navigator.

  “I don’t believe Generals get call signs,” Haitham said, “J-Pop, do they?”

  “Well, some do,” I responded, “But they’re usually from battles. Such as, Old Blood and Guts, or Howling Mad, things like that.”

  One of her Marines, the shooter, spoke up, “Sir, if I may?”

  “Yes Sergeant,” Haitham responded, “What’s on your mind?”

  “We call General Tuulia ‘EOS’,” she replied.

  “Ah, Eos from mythology,” Tuulia said, “She was a Titaness and Goddess of the Dawn. Is it a fitting Call Sign?”

  I watched the Marine. She had a puzzled look on her face.

  “Speak up Sergeant,” I implored, “There’s something on your mind.”

  “Well, Sir. Eos is short for Eye of the Storm,” she said, “Because no matter how crazy things get, General ‘Eos’ Tuulia is always calm.”

  I knew Marines love after action stories and I felt there was another one besides the shooting.

  “Tell us the story,” I urged.

  “Well Sirs and Ma’am, it was the CS 13 incident. You’d left the VIP deck and Combat Control brought in a Patrol Boat,” she said, “The three-man crew came storming out of the ship. I was ready and the Fire Team had taken their weapons off safety. The three dropped their helmets and I figured they were about to attack. Eos stood up and pointed a finger at the Constabulary Troops in the holding area while holding up the other hand to have us stand by. I can tell you, I was nervous, but Eos was so calm. She pointed at the three who were yelling and working themselves up for the attack.”

  I looked at Tuulia. She had lowered her eyes as if to disavow the story.

  “Then, General Tuulia stood up and placed a hand on the hilt of her sword and spoke to the POWs in the holding area. Stop them, or I will go down there and punish them myself,” the Sergeant related, �
��At that minute, I believe she would have. But it wasn’t me who believed. It was eight Troops from the holding area. They bowed to Eos, marched to the three angry Troops, and beat them until the General ordered them to stop. The three were dragged to the dock and after Eos delivered her speech, they were helped to the holding area. So, we started to think of her as the Eye of the Storm, EOS. No offence meant, Ma’am.”

  Haitham and I were speechless.

  “None taken, Sergeant,” Tuulia said softly then to Haitham, “I didn’t want to see any more blood spilled.”

  “Eos, well done,” Haitham said, “Now we have a week until we reach Orbital Station. What do we need?”

  “The one thing we don’t have, Captain,” I replied, “Food for the Troops.”

  Before he could reply, Druid Elder Maredudd floated onto the Bridge. He didn’t actually float, but the robe and his gait gave him the appearance of defying gravity.

  “Knight,” he said to me. Both Eaglet and Eos gave me quizzical stares, “The Heart Plant craves a meeting with a Troop.”

  The looks were due to the Druid’s mention of my title. I don’t think they knew I had a title, although, both were aware of my Clan gear.

  “Eos, you up for another round of Traveler General?” I asked.

  “Do you plan to hurt the Troop?” she asked earnestly.

  Maredudd gazed at her not understanding her concern. Then, the question sank in and he realized she was worried about someone injuring the Troop. I guessed this by the way he responded to her.

  “We will not give him to the Knight Protector of the Clan,” he assured her.

  “Excuse me?” Tuulia asked as her eyes flashed back and forth from the Druid to me.

  “They mean him no harm,” I said.

  Chapter 47

  General ‘Eos’ Tuulia and Fire Dove accompanied us to the atrium and the vault door. I expected to wait with them until the Druids brought the Troop back.

  “Knight, enter,” Maredudd ordered.

  We followed the Troop and his three Druid guards through the vault and into the tunnel leading to the ceremonial gate. I knew we were safe but I also knew the tunnel leading to the gate was a kill zone. My feelings lightened when the carved wooden door swung open.