by Peter Grant
I wish I was there with you now, darling, he mentally, hopefully, transmitted to Abha. I hope you’re enjoying the summer weather. Tell the kids I love them. I can’t wait to see you again!
June 19th 2850 GSC, morning
“Just look at it, Sir!” Gunnery Sergeant Kinnear’s face couldn’t be seen behind the visorless, sensor-laden façade of his powered armor’s helmet, but his voice was redolent with disgust as he gestured in frustration at the bulldozer. “The clowns that prepared this for shipment didn’t bother to disconnect the power pack, left the cover loose, and loaded it in the rain. Now the power pack’s dead – probably beyond field repair – and the connectors are corroded.”
Steve shook his head inside the fishbowl of his spacesuit helmet. “I see what you mean, Gunnery Sergeant. Are any others like this?”
“Don’t know yet, Sir. I hope not.”
“We can’t swap out the connectors here before we load it?”
“I’m afraid not, Sir. It takes workshop facilities to test them, and we can’t set those up in a non-pressurized hold like this. We’ll have to wait until we get it planetside.”
Steve frowned. “Don’t the Engineers keep equipment ready to go for emergency missions like this, sealed against wind and weather? I can’t understand why it was shipped in this condition.”
“We’re supposed to, Sir, but I guess something went wrong. Do you want me to prepare a report about this?” He sounded hesitant, and Steve realized he was probably worried about causing trouble for whoever had been responsible for the screw-up. Even though Kinnear was a senior NCO, retaliation might follow.
“We have to report it so that the ship isn’t blamed for the damage. Make a list of all the problems you find, then let me have it. I’ll use it to prepare a formal notification to your Engineer Battalion, but it’ll come from the ship instead of you.”
“Aye aye, Sir. Thanks.” There was gratitude in Kinnear’s voice at being let off the hook.
They were interrupted by a chime on the cargo handling radio channel. “Cargomaster to Senior Lieutenant Maxwell, over.”
“Maxwell to Cargomaster, go ahead, over.”
“Cargomaster to Maxwell. Commander Doibro’s compliments, and you’re to report to her office, Sir. Over.”
“Maxwell to Cargomaster, on my way, out.” He looked at the Gunny apologetically. “Sorry, Gunny. I’ll mention this to the Exec, and see that it’s logged so your Marines aren’t blamed for the problem. Let me have the full list of defects as soon as possible.”
“Aye aye, Sir. While you’re gone, we’ll carry on getting everything ready for offloading.”
~ ~ ~
Steve nodded to the orderly behind the desk as he entered the anteroom. “Good morning, PO Mason.”
“Morning, Sir. Go right in - Commander Doibro’s expecting you. The Exec’s with her.”
“Thank you.”
Steve snapped to attention inside the office door. “Senior Lieutenant Maxwell reports to the Commanding Officer as ordered, Ma’am!”
Commander Doibro braced in her chair behind the desk. She was a short, stocky woman with plain features, but made up for that with energy and drive that had at first become notorious among the ship’s company until they’d learned to measure up to her example. “Good morning, Navigating Officer. Sit down, please.”
“Aye aye, Ma’am.”
As he closed the door behind him, he noticed she was running her eyes over him from head to foot. He was glad he’d taken the time to change into his Number Two uniform. The skipper was a stickler for having her officers set an example of neatness and cleanliness to the crew. A hard-working Fleet transport wasn’t normally expected to be as squared away as a warship, but from the moment she took command she’d made it clear that LCS Cybele would be held to a higher – a much higher – standard. It had meant a lot of extra work at first for all hands, but they’d come to take pride in the smartness and efficiency of their vessel and themselves. Steve had arrived aboard Cybele with her to take up his assignment, and had been part of the process from the beginning.
He pulled out a chair next to Lieutenant-Commander Bell and sat down. The Exec’s craggy face broke into a tired smile. “How’s the cargo preparation coming, Lieutenant?”
“So far, so good, Sir. Another two hours should see everything ready to offload. There’s at least one problem, though.” He described the bulldozer’s power pack. “I respectfully suggest we contact the Marines and advise them that there may be maintenance issues with some of the Engineers’ heavy equipment.”
“Good idea. With your permission, Ma’am, I’ll do that, and send them a list of the problems.”
“Make it so, Exec.” She called up a satellite image on her console and rotated the three-dimensional mid-air display so the others could see it. “We’ve received this from the troopship. Captain Davis, who as her Commanding Officer is also Senior Fleet Officer on station here, says that the Marine Reaction Force battalion has successfully established a security perimeter around Surush and is patrolling the city. There’s no fighting there at present, but as you can see, what there was left a lot of destruction.” She pointed to salient features on the image and zoomed in on them as she continued.
“The most urgent needs are to repair the waterworks and sewage processing plant. The water’s been out for over two week, and the sewers are backing up. Low-lying parts of the city have already reported toilets backfilling and overflowing into homes, making them uninhabitable. The company of Engineers who arrived aboard the troopship are already busy with those jobs. While they’re doing that, the regular Marines are clearing debris from the streets and opening arteries of communication. Once the utilities are functioning there are plenty of other problems that need attention, like the power grid and emergency food distribution.
“Captain Davis says the Engineers will use this site for their depot and workshops, between the city and the spaceport.” She indicated a roughly square outline on the image. “It used to be a high-security prison in the early days, but as the city expanded towards it they moved the inmates to more remote facilities. It became a training compound. Many of its buildings were badly damaged when the rebels tried to take over, but the wall around the compound is still largely intact. The Engineers who arrived with the MRF battalion used borrowed heavy equipment to bulldoze the damaged buildings, piling the rubble outside the perimeter wall. They’ve leveled the ground and stacked their supplies in one corner of the base. We’ll offload ours into the rest of it.”
“Are the MRF battalion’s stores also there, Ma’am?”
“No, they’re at their base on the other side of the city. Captain Davis wanted the engineers’ equipment to be closer to the major utilities that they have to repair, for ease of access. Since the security threat in the area appears to have receded, he told them to use this site for their depot.”
“I see, Ma’am.” Privately Steve didn’t see at all. One of the cardinal rules in a hostile environment, whether potential or actual, was to keep your forces close enough together that they could provide mutual support. This arrangement broke that rule right from the start.
“The Engineers want their second company to join them as soon as they land,” Commander Doibro continued. “They’ll all be living and working in the field for several weeks. Therefore, through Captain Davis, they’ve asked me to provide an officer to temporarily supervise setting up the depot and the offloading and stockpiling of their supplies. Your task as Navigator is largely complete for this voyage, except for entering orbit, which we can handle without you: so you’ve been selected from a host of applicants. I want you to go down to the planet and take charge of the depot until they can take over.”
“Aye aye, Ma’am.” Steve grinned inwardly. You never knew what tasks would come your way in the Lancastrian Commonwealth Fleet. He’d learned to take such sudden, unexpected assignments in his stride.
“You’ll have a work party to handle offloading at the spaceport,” t
he Commander continued, “plus another work party at the depot. You’ll be in charge until the Marines or Engineers can spare more of their people. Pack whatever you need for up to a week in the field. I doubt it’ll be that long, but in situations like this you never know.”
“Aye aye, Ma’am.”
“I’ve already sent for the Chief of the Ship,” the Exec interjected. “She and I will put our heads together and assign you the best people we can spare to form the working party.”
“Thank you, Sir.” Steve hoped privately that the troopship would do the same. In similar situations he’d known some vessels to send their goof-offs and deadbeats instead of their best people. In a critical assignment like this, that could cause all sorts of problems.
“May I ask for one more thing, please, Ma’am?”
“What is it?”
“I’ve worked closely with Gunnery Sergeant Kinnear and his advance party since they came aboard, and we’re working together now getting everything ready for offloading. I’d like to use him and his advance party at the depot, Ma’am, perhaps with a few more Engineers to support them. We work well together, and they’ll know better than I how the Engineers will want their depot to be organized.”
“Exec, add that to your signal to the Marines. Tell them I endorse Senior Lieutenant Maxwell’s request. Let’s see what they say.”
“Aye aye, Ma’am.”
“Very well. Let’s get cracking.”
Steve hurried back to his cabin and packed his field gear. He’d just finished when the comm unit on his desk buzzed. It was the Exec.
“Lieutenant, we’ve just heard from Major Emory, the Executive Officer of the Marine Reaction Force battalion. He’s also supervising the Engineer detachment. He’s approved your retaining Gunnery Sergeant Kinnear and his advance party for the next few days while you get the depot established. However, there’s another problem. It seems the troopship and its transport won’t be able to spare any Spacers after all; in fact, they’re so short-handed they’ve asked us for the loan of some of our Spacers to help shift cargo. That means you won’t have a Spacer work party planetside. The authorities on Eskishi have assigned a group of prisoners, so-called ‘trusties’ who normally load and offload supplies at the spaceport, to assist at the depot.”
“Er… aye aye, Sir.”
“You don’t sound very happy about it.”
“I’m not, Sir. I don’t like the thought of convicts having access to military cargoes, particularly because ours will include weapons. After all, they’ve just had a revolt there.”
“Hmm. Wait one.” There was a muttered conversation in the background before Lieutenant-Commander Bell came back on the circuit. “Commander Doibro understands your concerns, but says if that’s the only solution we’ll just have to make it work. Have your Marines keep a close watch over the convict workers.”
“Aye aye, Sir. In that case, I’d like to go planetside at once. I want to take a look at the depot, figure out how to handle the security problem, and make the necessary arrangements before we start unloading.”
“Wait one.” Another background discussion. “Very well, Lieutenant. Take a cutter down right away, with a pilot to bring it back to the ship and a couple of Marines to escort you. Make whatever arrangements you see fit on the ground. Meanwhile we’ll enter orbit and begin loading our cargo shuttles. As soon as you give us the go-ahead we’ll start sending them down.”
“Aye aye, Sir. Thank you.”
~ ~ ~
The cutter bounced on its gel-filled tires as it touched down on the hardstand near the spaceport control tower. The rear ramp folded down, and Steve breathed deeply of the planetary air. It was drier than he was used to, overlaid with odors of smoke and charred wreckage from the damaged buildings all around him, but even so it was refreshing compared to the ‘canned’, filtered, recycled and heavily processed air aboard spaceships.
A Marine officer hurried up to the rear ramp, looking harassed. “Who the devil are you people?” he demanded without preamble.
“I’m Senior Lieutenant Maxwell from LCS Cybele,” Steve replied as he walked down the ramp. “I’m here to set up the transfer of the engineers’ heavy equipment and a cargo of relief supplies.”
The young Marine’s eyes went to Steve’s utilities, which displayed the triple silver bars of his rank on their epaulettes – one more than the two gold bars on his own. He stiffened to attention. “Sorry, Sir. I’m First Lieutenant McNair. Things are a bit shambolic right now.”
“I’m not surprised,” Steve agreed as he looked around. “It looks like there was a lot of fighting here.”
“Yes, Sir. The rebels took over the spaceport first thing in an attempt to stop reinforcements coming in. Karabak troops had to fight hard and suffered heavy casualties in taking it back. That was before we arrived.”
“Where are the Karabak troops now?”
“The Colonial Guard is pushing the remnants of the rebels back into the hills, away from Surush. Our battalion is providing basic local security. The company of Engineers we brought with us is hard at work restoring the city’s utilities.”
“So I heard. We have another company on board. They’ll be coming down as soon as I let the ship know we’re ready to receive their equipment and supplies. What about transport?”
McNair grimaced. “We’ve very few transporters here, Sir. Most were damaged or destroyed during the fighting. Those we brought with us are all committed to our needs and the engineers’ rebuilding efforts. Do you have any more?”
“Yes, we have a dozen or so. I’ll ask for them to be sent down in the first load.” Steve thought for a moment. “This compound you’ve allocated to the Engineers – how far away is it?”
“Carsamba’s about four kilometers from here, Sir.”
“Ferrying cargoes from here to there with only a dozen transports will be very slow work. Where will you put the cargoes while they wait for transporter space?”
The young man grimaced again. “They’ll have to be piled at the edge of the hardstand, Sir.”
“That won’t protect them from wind and weather. What about a warehouse?”
“None available, Sir.”
“Guards? How will you stop pilferage?”
“We can’t, Sir. I have only a single platoon of Marines here, and they’ll be gone as soon as the Colonial Guard can send its own people to take over. That’ll be in a couple of days, I hope. I don’t have enough people to guard your stores.”
Steve sighed. “I can see this is going to be a holocaust of efficiency. Is there level ground near the depot where a cargo shuttle can land?”
The Lieutenant pointed dubiously at a hulking ten-thousand-ton-capacity shuttle nearby. “One of those, Sir?”
“Similar to that, yes.”
“I… I honestly don’t know, Sir. There’s open space all around the compound at Carsamba, but I don’t know whether the ground will take the weight of one of those things.”
“They’re built with reinforced triple keels, spaced out so they can land on them if the ground’s too soft for their wheels. If necessary we can land the transporters here, then use them to lay a makeshift hardstand of gravel or whatever’s available at the depot. Can you spare a set of wheels for myself and my Marine escort, so I can inspect the terrain?”
“We’ll make a plan, Sir. This way, please.”
“Thank you.” Steve turned back and called to the cutter pilot, “Thanks again, PO. Take her back to the ship. Please tell the Executive Officer I’ll call as soon as I can to let him know what I’ve found, and ask him to send all the transporters in the first load.”
“Aye aye, Sir.”
Sergeant Dubois and Corporal Huggess clumped down the ramp, the engineers’ heavy powered armor making them look like mechanical monsters. The Sergeant said, “I’ve got your pack here, Sir.”
“Thanks, Sergeant.”
As they walked across the hardstand, Steve looked at the bustling activity all around him. “Are
those the prisoner working parties we heard about?” he asked, indicating several gangs of men wearing gray utilities with three broad black stripes across the back and chest.
“Yes, Sir,” McNair replied. “We’ve got about a dozen groups of them here. They can’t operate the automated cargo-handling equipment, but we have a few Engineers helping us with that. The convicts provide muscle to supplement the machines.”
“How reliable are they? I’ve been told we’re going to have a group of them out at the Engineer depot, and I’m concerned about theft and general security.”
The junior officer grimaced. “We’ve had some problems with petty theft, Sir. Yesterday one of the groups broke into a warehouse and drank themselves senseless on industrial alcohol. Four died, and the rest are probably wishing the same thing would happen to them at once, if not sooner.”
Corporal Huggess sniggered. “I bet the survivors won’t forget that hangover in a hurry, Sir!”
“I suppose not,” Steve agreed absently. “What’s that building next to the entrance, Lieutenant? It looks like a prison in miniature.”
“It is, Sir. It’s a transit prison for inmates being shipped from one part of the planet to another. Eskishi used to be mostly a prison planet until a couple of decades ago, and Karabak still sends its long-term convicts into permanent exile here. They’re never allowed to leave, even after they’ve served their sentences. A new group was put in there this morning. A chargé d’affaires from their home planet is with them now – he arrived a few minutes before you did. He apparently arranged for them to be evacuated here.”
Steve frowned as they drew nearer to the prison. “Isn’t it unusual for a diplomat to be so involved in looking after the interests of convicts?”
“I’ve never heard of it either, Sir, but I guess the Qianjin chargé sees it differently.”
Steve stopped dead in his tracks. “What planet did you say?”
“Er… Qianjin, Sir. Is something wrong?” The Lieutenant looked startled.
“N – no, nothing’s wrong. It’s just that I’ve heard of that planet before.”
