The Mighty First, Episode 1: Special Edition

by Unknown

  The view was directly ahead of the camera position, scarcely a city block away.

  Green swallowed hard.

  “Sweet Jesus,” he muttered.

  “They’re almost on us!” A feminine voice on the clear edge of panic spoke from off-camera.

  “The Palan sect of the Storian National Guard has been beaten all the way back here, to the capital building! The city was surrounded yesterday, and this offensive began

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  about two hours ago!”

  A sharp explosion from below, either from a grenade, or a mortar went off just outside the main gate. The concrete fence bowed inward, and the iron gates flew open. The hot, white trails of accelerant followed a trio of RPG’s through. Three more blasts shook the building, rocking the camera image.

  “You are witnessing Storian regular army forces overtaking us! Oh, God! There’s….”

  The reporter was cut off by the most thunderous blast yet. The tank had fired its main gun into the capital building, right below where the crew stood. The image jerked, and fell as the cameraman was knocked off-balance. It jolted as the equipment hit the rooftop. More smoke and dust boiled up from the edge of the overhang, enveloping them. Another explosion cut the feed after that, leaving the screen in static for a moment. The broadcast returned to the anchorman in the newsroom, who was gaping at a screen of his own off to the side. His expression was grim. One hand covered his mouth, and he was slowly shaking his head in disbelief. Not wanting to believe.

  Someone signaled to him that he was on, and the grey-haired man turned to face the camera. It took him a moment to collect his composure.

  “There you see it live, minus the three minute delay via Anderson Transmission Beam,” he spoke, his voice strained. “Our field reporter, Jessica Moss, and her crew who opted remain behind despite the evacuation order, so that she could tell the story of what is befalling the Storian/Palan people.”

  The anchorman reached for a glass of water; took a drink with a shaking hand.

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  “In case you are just tuning in, I will repeat. The Storian First Army appears to be on the verge of overtaking the Palan capital. We have lost direct-feed from Jessica, and it is likely only a matter of hours before Pala falls altogether. We…yes?”

  A staffer came in from the side, handing a paper to the anchorman, who read it over quickly. His shoulders slumped.

  “I’m afraid that the worst has happened, folks,” he announced. “I’ve just been informed that the Galactic Command Authority has received a distress beacon from Pala, a beacon that lasted only ninety seconds before being silenced. While it is as yet unofficial, we can only assume the worst at this point.”

  A display behind him brought up the graphics of a space carrier, and its escort. The vessels were near-identical in design to their sea-faring counterparts, the exceptions being the streamlined Anderson power plants that ran along the bottom keel. A purplish glow enveloped the flight deck of the carrier, creating an atmosphere for the crews that worked there.

  “Here at home, speculations are running high in light of the recent call-up of reserve units, a massive military recruiting campaign around the globe, and the sudden deployment of Global Marine forces in what is being described as a training exercise. People are beginning to wonder, are we on the verge of war, after over one hundred years of peace?”

  Admiral Green muted the TV, and looked at his friend on the view-phone, who had been watching the same thing from his own office.

  “My God, man,” he breathed. “It’s getting ugly real fast.”

  Parks nodded, folding his hands behind his head, “It’s bad, but at least it’s still contained within Grozet’s own star system. We might be witnessing the birthing pains of a civil war.”

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  Green ran a trembling hand through his thinning hair, “It’s more than that, I’m afraid.”

  The general gave him a serious look, “What do you mean?”

  Green flipped a paper into a scanner behind him, “I’m flashing this report over to you. Grozet put another battle group into motion about an hour ago.”

  Parks frowned, “Occupation forces headed for Pala?”

  “No. This one has been plotted for Section Seventeen. Look at your star chart.”

  The general did so, then looked back into the monitor, “Christ! They’re steaming for Denmoore?”

  “Yeah,” Green acknowledged.

  “The Attayans have interests on that planet,” Parks stated. “Denmoore Prime, and all seven of the moons. They’re not going to just take it lying down.”

  “I know, Lance. Remember that war we were talking about? Well, it looks like it’s going to be system-wide. Our first galactic war. How’s your sphincter feel right about now?”

  A knock at the door interrupted their conversation, and Green’s secretary poked her head into his office.

  “Admiral? The President has called an emergency session of the Joint Chiefs.”

  Green looked back at Parks, “You hear that?”

  The general was already getting up, putting his dress jacket on, “I’ll meet you at the motor pool.”

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  Four

  Minerva’s New World

  Phoenix Sky Harbor Air/Space Port

  Phoenix, Arizona

  The U.N. General Assembly had been gathering, as was the U.E. President with her military advisors, and the heads of state from countries around the globe, while Minerva and her fellow recruits were being ushered through the concourse of Sky Harbor.

  The Army driver deposited the group of teens in a private lounge at the edge of the military gate, and wandered off to grab a bite to eat while they settled in. The kids were brought sandwiches and soda, warned not to leave the area, and left to fend for themselves while waiting for the next leg of their journey.

  Hours had passed, and it was turning dark outside while Minerva sat quietly among her rowdy troop. She was tired, both physically, and mentally after the eventful day, and long trip. Little was being explained to them, so there was only guessing as to when anyone would come for them. It might be another hour, for all she knew, or even the next morning.

  Resigned for a long wait, she put her feet up on the empty seat next to her, and tried to get comfortable. Perhaps a nap would freshen her. There was a flat screen mounted high up on one wall, but its sound was turned down, which was just as well. The lounge was so noisy with laughing and talking that there would have been no hearing what was being said.

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  The TV was tuned to GNN, and the ticker at the bottom of the screen ran constant updates on various news tidbits. What she read caught her attention, at least as much so as a seventeen year old can be captivated by something so mundane as the world news.

  ***Palan prime minister formally surrenders to Storian 1st Army***

  ***Storian space naval battle group reportedly enroute to Denmoore star system***

  ***Attayan space navy put on high alert***

  ***Self-declared Emperor Grozet ignores U.N. demands to cease hostilities***

  That sounded serious, but she had no real concept of what it all really entailed, or was able to imagine in what way that those things could affect her directly, especially in light of where she was headed.

  What did make her sit up straight was the arrival of another young man that looked not much older than she was. The boy entered the lounge in a casual, almost nondescript manner. Really, the only reason that she had noticed him so quickly was nothing more than she happened to be facing that direction when he came in.

  The guy was dressed in a Marine uniform, khaki shirt over olive pants. The clothing was so perfectly pressed that the creases looked as if they had sharp edges, and the shoes glossy. He had a row of colored ribbons over one shirt pocket, and a set of double chevrons on each sleeve, also a drab green. His service cap was folded neatly, and tucked beneath his belt.

  Her eyes settled on his face, which still had the baby-smooth skin of someone
that did not yet need to shave, but those eyes! Those emerald-green eyes were deep enough to lose herself in. There was an air about him, in the way he simply stood. The square

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  of his shoulders, the way he presented himself. It conveyed authority. Confidence. The discipline that the recruiter had spoken of. He was both boyish, yet ruggedly handsome in the same frame, and looking at him made her heart flutter. There was an instant attraction that shocked her in a pleasant way.

  The marine stood silently next to the lounge door, taking in what he saw in the room. Boys gathered in a large group, laughing, telling dirty jokes, trying to exhibit a false bravado to mask the nervousness that they all felt. The girls in the lounge clustered more or less with one another, either giggling at their own traded servings of gossip, or making an effort to appear uninterested in the boys even though they kept looking over at them. Minerva watched as the marine’s expression went from passive to irritated. He let forth a shrill whistle that brought instantaneous silence to the lounge. All heads swiveled to see where it had come from.

  “I am Marine Corporal Corbin! My orders are to escort all of you on your journey to the recruit training depot located on the planet Attaya! Form a line in front of me! Let’s go!”

  The tone of his voice had galvanized the teens, who merely remained where they were, shocked into stunned silence. It was as if they could not believe that the moment of truth had actually arrived. They were now in the possession of the military, and there was no turning back.

  “I said move your asses!”

  The kids jerked into action, scrambling, some slipping over one another’s feet, making every effort to get up, and make that line before him. Minerva avoided the worst of the mayhem by hanging back as she normally tended to do, and wound up at the back of the line.

  The corporal turned, and strode out of the lounge, motioning

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  for them to follow. He led them a short distance to a boarding gate, and stood aside, waving them on through. When at last Minerva passed by him, she dared to try to meet his gaze, was helpless not to. Those eyes captivated her.

  His eyes met hers, and she gave a discreet smile. That severe look softened a little, and he partly smiled back, nearly imperceptibly. It sent a warm feeling spiraling down into her stomach. The moment was a fleeting one, though. In an instant, she was past, and walking down the tunnel ramp behind the kids in front of her. The sound of an idling jet engine was audible on the other side of the walls.

  Stepping outside, she found that they were standing before what appeared to be a marriage between a huge military helicopter missing its rotor blades, and a jet shuttle bearing the UEMC emblem on its fuselage. Its rear end was a big ramp that was standing open, the interior dimly illuminated by red lighting. A flight crewman stood at its base, impatiently waving them onward.

  Stepping up the metal hatch, Minerva then saw that there were no plush seats inside. There were, in fact, no seats at all. Instead, each side of the hull was fitted with stiff canvas netting that formed benches. The interior smelled of metal, grease, and sweat mixed with the aroma of aviation plasma-fuel.

  “Have a seat!” The airman told them. “The shoulder straps buckle to the belt that will be between your legs! Pull them tight!”

  Minerva found herself seated nearest the rear hatch. The marine corporal boarded last, and sat down next to her, fastening himself in. She felt her face flush, both embarrassed, and happy that it had worked out that way.

  The kids were babbling again, excited about being inside the aircraft, taking in their surroundings. The marine did not seem to

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  mind the slight rise in chatter. The noise of the engines drowned most of it out anyway. Their faces were shiny with sweat. It was nearly a hundred degrees outside, even after dark. Another reason that Minerva was glad that she had not had to grow up in the valley.

  The man in the jumpsuit came in to hit a large button, and the ramp began to cycle upward, its hydrolics whining as it rose. The hatch clamped shut with a loud series of mechanical hammers that could be felt in the stomach.

  “I’m the crew chief!” He announced. “You recruits are sitting inside of a Sea Stallion chopper-shuttle! These troop transports are utilized for ferrying marines on and off the battlefield, or from surface to carrier! They are in the class of a combat aircraft, fitted with Anderson Drive, and artificial gravity generators, allowing for space flight! My Stallion is not designed for your comfort! There are no restrooms! There is no food service! If you have to puke, piss, or die, you lean forward, and do it on the deck! Do not, at any time, unfasten your harnesses!”

  The chief, his hands on his hips, paused in his tirade to take a moment of satisfaction from their astounded expressions.

  “We’ll be breaking orbit, and heading out for Star Harbor,” he continued. “There, your escort will take you to the navy transport that has been arranged for your trip to Attaya. Enjoy your ride, Nubes!”

  The chief then proceeded to the front of the shuttle, and closed the cockpit door behind him, leaving the kids to gape at one another. Minerva chanced a quick glance to her left, at the marine. He appeared bored with the entire ordeal. She wanted to strike up some conversation with him, but had no idea what to say.

  That dilemma was solved for her, though, as the whine of the engines rose to a crescendo that would have made conversation all

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  but impossible, anyway. The sound had the same whine and beat as a rotor-driven craft, shaking the shuttle as it lifted from the tarmac, and made a slow circle toward the flight line. Minerva craned her neck to peer out of the small, circular port windows, watching the ground fall away as they climbed. Traffic on the freeways took on the appearance of toy cars. The city was a sea of lights intermixed with dark shadows.

  The marine tapped her shoulder. He motioned for her to brace herself, and she tensed.

  It happened without warning.

  The acceleration was instantaneous. The craft nosed almost completely vertically, rocketing toward the heavens. The din and vibration stunned her. Minerva wondered if the chopper was going to fly apart as the g-forces tried their best to drive her heart and lungs out through her ribcage. It was impossible to draw a breath, but not so to scream. The troop bay was filled with bulging eyes, and mouths open in terror, their screeches lost beneath the roar of the drive engines.

  Minerva realized that the marine had very discreetly placed his hand atop of hers next to her leg, out of sight from the others. She inter-twined her fingers with his, grateful for the reassurance, all thoughts of flirtation blown from her mind by her fear.

  Mercifully, the ascension lasted only moments. They were already rising above the upper reaches of atmosphere, revealing the immense curve of the earth. The quaking eased, then ceased altogether as they escaped the pull of gravity. There was an instant of disorientation, where up seemed to be down, and down was up. Her stomach protested, and sour bile rose in her throat. The weightlessness lasted no more than a few heartbeats. Artificial gravity kicked in, instantly easing the strain on their innards. Minerva swallowed a few times, trying to get rid of that awful taste.

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  Looking out at the gracious view took her mind off of that. She marveled at seeing her world from above, rapidly receding as they sped ever faster from it. The night side was alight with thousands, no, millions of tiny spots of light. It was a moment that would be forever engraved into her memory, an astonishing, and marvelous sight.

  The kids started to calm down, trading looks of bewilderment and tentative grins. A few managed to chuckle, most were merely panting. There were some oohs and ahhhs as they took turns looking out of the ports. A few mild curses.

  “The first time is pretty mind-blowing, isn’t it?”

  Minerva realized two things at once. That the corporal was still gripping her hand, and that he had initiated conversation with her. She met his gaze, and a smile bloomed. She couldn’t help it.

  He l
et go of her hand, and then offered it again, this time for a shake.

  “I’m Mark.”

  “Minerva.”

  He blinked, “That’s a pretty name. Spanish, I’m guessing?”

  She nodded, “My parents are from Durango, Mexico.”

  The boy held her eyes for a moment longer, a meaningful look, before glancing away toward the port. Earth was already the size of a watermelon.

  “If you thought that was wild, wait until you do a drop back down into atmosphere. It’s even better.”

  “Better! How could you think that’s fun?”

  Mark laughed, “After a few times, it’s not so bad. Try to think of it as the ultimate roller coaster.”

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  They shared another smile, and she blushed again.

  “You’re not what I imagined as a drill instructor,” she ventured.

  He laughed again, “I’m not a D.I.”

  “No?”

  “Just a run of the mill corporal. I’m bucking for promotion, and escorting Nubes is part of the list of requirements.”

  “Oh.”

  Minerva lapsed into an awkward silence. She was surprised at herself. Normally, she was never intimidated around boys, never so shy. More often than not, it was the boys who were all stutters around her. He was cute, very much so. Maybe it was the situation, the unfamiliar circumstances, or maybe the fact that she was alone among a group of kids that she knew only casually from around school. None of her friends had happened to ship out with her.

  A sideways glance revealed to her that he seemed to be patiently waiting for her to collect her cool, pretending to interested in the view outside. The only thing that came to mind to keep the conversation going was to stay on the topic of the day.