Sixteenth Watch

by Myke Cole

  “Wen…” she radioed him privately, “Christ I know this is unprofessional but…”

  “I’ve already tried calling her twice, boss. No answer. Don’t freak, that could mean anything.”

  “OK, thanks. Keep trying.”

  “Switching magazines,” McGrath radioed, and the autocannon shuddered as its feed belt rotated out the simulation rounds they would have used for Boarding Action, replacing them with the live rounds they were required to carry. “We’re at half-capacity because of the competition.”

  “Well, shoot straight,” Oliver said, trying to force some humor into her tone and failing miserably. “How far out are we?”

  “Shouldn’t be much longer, ma’am,” Pervez said.

  “We’re getting a live feed from 11th Fleet, ma’am,” Ho radioed. “I’ll put it on the monitor.”

  The crew leaned in around the popup screen normally reserved for their own camera. It showed the view of one of the Navy boats station keeping just above the hot zone, probably as a hedge against any of its arriving Chinese counterparts. Below it, Oliver could see Sinus Medii’s flat gray surface, broken here and there by tire tracks, footprints, or the lip of a shallow crater. The mining district rose up out of the bare expanse without preamble, the habs higher at the center where they’d still been constructed on the surface in the old style, heat exchanger piping ribbing their sides until they looked like bubbles of veined star fruit. Further out, the newer models were buried deeper and deeper below the regolith, using the Moon’s natural convection for heat exchange, the small circles of the habs’ radiation-shielding breaking the lunar soil like a scattering of coins. Interspersed between them were the Helium-3 furnaces, their long conveyor belt ramps silent and still for now, the tracked drones sitting idle, their bucket arms curled over the motors like scorpion tails. Oliver scanned the habitations wildly, as if she could somehow pick out Alice’s operation by sight alone. The gardeners 3D-printed for functionality, not decorative variety, and the structures were only differentiated by their age.

  The fighting was worse than she’d imagined.

  The SMPD officers were taking cover behind overturned police buggies, huge, thick-tracked tires sticking up into the air. She could see them in their hardshells, sheltering behind the engine blocks, most of them cradling dusters useless at long range, waiting for their tactical teams with hornet guns to give them enough covering fire to close. No more than a hundred yards away, Chinese People’s Armed Police were adopting a similar posture behind a makeshift barricade of heat exchange piping, hab debris, and a crashed six-pack. Corpses littered the space between them, Chinese and American both, judging by their suits. Oliver saw one or two bodies down on the barricades, too, fresh wounds still venting oxygen fast enough to be visible to 11th Fleet’s camera. As Oliver watched, one of the SMPD officers rolled out from cover, fired their hornet gun wildly, making no real effort to aim. The round streaked above the barricade and disappeared into the lunar sky. Who knows where that will stop, Oliver thought. One of the Chinese PAP officers stooped, picked up a chunk of hab debris nearly the size of a car and heaved it up over their head, sending it hurtling toward the SMPD position in the lunar gravity. The American officers dove aside as it collided with one of their overturned buggies, sending it tumbling.

  It’s Lacus Doloris. It’s Lacus Doloris all over again. Oliver tasted sick panic, fought against the vertigo that threatened to swamp her. No. Get your bearings. You will not make the same mistakes twice. This time, you will do it right. But she could already tell it was different from Lacus Doloris. There, the fight had all been civilians, miners and mining hands fighting hand-to-hand with chunks of debris, pipe conduit and flagpoles. The fighting here was entirely between law enforcement. The civilians were nowhere to be seen. Ho noticed at the same time, leaning over the monitor. “I don’t see any civilians down there at all.”

  “They’re hiding,” Oliver managed despite a mouth that had gone completely dry. “This is a shooting fight. They won’t risk it.”

  “Our side’s losing,” Chief said, pointing. With their barricade of buggies smashed open, the SMPD were falling back. The PAP saw their advantage and pressed it, moving out from behind their barricade. Oliver could see a squad of PAP officers bounding forward to get into duster range. A flash from one of the Chinese hornet guns and an SMPD officer went down, then another.

  “No, they’re… It looks like they’re just trying to establish a perimeter,” Oliver said, pointing as the feed showed the PAP slowing to a jog, spreading out, seeking cover where it was available, or dropping prone and sighting down across the regolith. She felt the knot in her stomach unclench a fraction. “I think they’re just trying to protect the Chinese habs.”

  The SMPD rallied as the pressure eased, covering behind one of the furnace conveyer belts. Oliver could see them gesturing to one another, coming up with a plan of attack. “If those fuckers would just stay put, I think this could be over.”

  “They’ve got,” Chief paused to count. “That looks like seven people down at least. No way they’re staying put, ma’am.”

  Oliver turned to Ho. “I need a channel to SMPD ops.”

  “Boss, there’s no way,” Ho said. “We’d have to get a relay through SPACETACLET, and Allen’s there.”

  Oliver chin-toggled through to SPACETACLET control, and was surprised when Allen answered immediately. “Jane, sit tight.”

  “Sir, the PAP are holding position, if we don’t…”

  “There are things you’re not seeing, Jane. Let it unfold.”

  Ho put his hand on her shoulder, radioed her on a private channel. “Alice is fine, Jane. Her hab is nowhere near the fighting.”

  “Are you sure? Can you promise me that?”

  “No,” he said, “but I can promise you that if you lose focus, you’ll have less of a chance of helping her once they do let us go in.”

  Pushing back against the urge to act took every ounce of her. Oliver could feel herself vibrating inside her hardshell’s undersuit, could see her heart rate spiking on the vitals monitor in her helmet’s HUD.

  “Cavalry’s here, ma’am,” Chief tapped the radar. Oliver had seen the Navy small boats on the screen, but they had finally completed their recon or planning, and were touching down now. 11th Fleet moved their camera angle, and Oliver could see the hatches opening, disgorging teams of marines who bounded out toward the flanks of the SMPD officers, moving and covering by squads. Only one charged straight up the center. “That has to be MARSOC16.”

  Oliver nodded. “They only make one marine in that size,” she tapped the screen to indicate what could only be PFC Abadi. She was carrying a hive – a massive, repeating hornet gun mounted to her body on a stabilizing gimbal arm. “Jesus,” she whispered. “What’s the rate of fire on that monster?”

  “Sixty rounds a minute at max,” McGrath answered instantly, “About forty rounds sustained.”

  Oliver looked at the ammunition belt snaking around Abadi’s waist, up over her shoulder and into the compartment mounted on her hardshell’s back. It looked like it could sustain for quite a while. She thought of what she’d seen a single hornet round do.

  “Hey, McGrath,” Pervez said with forced joviality. “If we go down there, stay the hell away from that thing.”

  McGrath didn’t answer, and Oliver privately radioed Ho. “That monster is going to turn this thing on its head. I guess these are conditions Donahugh wants to start a war.”

  “Not this time, boss,” Ho answered. “Look.” He tapped the radar and Oliver suddenly realized why the Navy was committing so much firepower.

  A Chinese Type-054B was dropping in, the lowest Oliver had ever seen a frigate of that size come to the surface. Small boats were launching from its bays so quickly that Oliver wasn’t able to count them, but she guessed it was the full complement. PLAN naval infantry were disgorging from the boats’ open hatches even as the vessels were in motion, descending using only their belly thrusters, avoiding l
ateral burns to keep the line of travel clear for their marines to reach the ground.

  “Fuck,” Oliver said. “This is not good.”

  The shooting began before the PLAN marines even reached the surface. Oliver watched in horror as Abadi took cover behind one of the overturned buggies and opened up. The hornet rounds fanned out in a white-orange flash, leaving globe shaped flowers in their wake, before streaking out to punch holes in small boat and marine alike. Abadi was every bit as skilled as she was big. Oliver could see Koenig bounding out from his team, seeking to outflank the Chinese position. He raised a hornet gun with some thick secondary device mounted beneath the barrel, and fired. The round streaked out, its propellant contrail at least twice the size of a standard hornet round. The reason why made itself apparent when it blossomed into an explosion that sent one of the PLAN boats spinning end over end to crash smoking into the regolith.

  Slomowicz and Fujimori were bounding in the opposite direction. Oliver could see Fujimori aiming for the wreckage of a Helium-3 furnace. Slomowicz carried a long anti-materiel gun and a stabilizing tripod. “They’re setting up a firing position.”

  “Probably going to act as FOs too,” McGrath added. “Call in covering fire.”

  Rounds were flashing further out on the battlefield where the other marines were engaging. The Chinese appeared to have been caught flat-footed, were being driven back. Their small boats had finally reached the surface, at least six, and were beginning to get their bearings and engage, but the US Marines seemed to have initially won command of the battlefield, and Oliver felt her stomach unclench a fraction. Her mind still churned, seeking a way this could still be deescalated, searching for an off-ramp. I know it looks bad, but this is still just a skirmish. It’s not much worse than Lacus Doloris. If we can just…

  “Holy shit!” Okonkwo said.

  The Chinese frigate had fired its port thrusters, spun its massive bulk sideways to the approaching marines. A moment later, it burned to starboard, and pushed itself forward but turned-sideways over the battlefield. “It’s coming broadside!” McGrath’s voice was uncharacteristically intense.

  “Jesus Christ, don’t…”

  Oliver could see Abadi look up. Koenig was pointing, raising his weapon. She could imagine him shouting frantically into his radio.

  The Type-054B ignited. One moment, it was a sleek, black lozenge, silent and dark, marked only by the blue-white plumes of propellant appearing over its hull from the controlled burns. The next, it was hidden behind the muzzle flashes and tube-ignition of its entire port side batteries, as every autocannon and missile pod let loose.

  The screen feeding SAR-1 their view of the battlefield turned white as it sought to grapple with the flash of the explosion. Oliver stared at the screen, fists clenched, as if the force of her gaze could make the camera’s thermal dampeners resolve the image. It seemed an eternity, but at last the image flashed again, went black, then flickered back into life.

  There was nothing left. The line of buggies was scattered rubble. Huge furrows had been plowed in the regolith, piling it up into what looked like pitted gray snow banks, swirled and mixed with the wreckage of habs, furnaces, pipes and vehicles. Oliver couldn’t see a single marine. She squinted, made out a Navy small boat on its side, its bow sheared off. Three bodies in hardshells were visible draped across its broken hardpoint, one missing an arm.

  The camera began to pan rapidly, sweeping for survivors. Oliver made out a few US Marines now, and two more Navy small boats, still up and moving, but they were specks in a field of wreckage. The camera swung back over, and Oliver could see the PLAN troops surging forward. They didn’t deploy out on the flanks as the US Marines had, but instead stayed close to their small boats, who were beginning to sweep the field with autocannon fire.

  Oliver looked back to the cluster of US Marines, running now, desperate for cover in the wreckage. She scanned the transponder, looking for inbound Navy contacts, looked back to the field. Abadi was a giant. If she was down, surely Oliver would be able to pick out her hardshell from the others? Fraser. She thought of his smile, his singer’s bass. You should have been a marine.

  Before she knew what she was doing, she’d chin-toggled back to SPACETACLET. “Sir, request permission to engage.”

  Again, Allen answered instantly. “Damn it, Jane, I told you that…”

  “Sir, are you and I watching the same feed? They’re getting slaughtered down there! They need relief!”

  “The Navy will relieve them.”

  “The Navy has three small boats down there already, and I don’t see any inbound on radar. I have no transponder codes.”

  “They’re scrambling them now.”

  “That will take time! We’re right here!”

  “Just hold what you’ve got and…” But Allen’s voice was receding, washed away by the blood pounding in Oliver’s ears. Her mind was a split screen – half replaying Tom’s death over and over again, the other half allowing her to see the fleeing US Marines bounding through the wreckage. As she watched, a PLAN boat fired an anti-materiel kinetic round that churned the regolith into a ball of blinding dust around the feet of three Marines. When it settled, there was nothing left but pieces. The Navy small boats were returning fire, but Oliver could tell that their crews were addled, and they were targeting the frigate above, unable to spare attention to the greater threat of the mop-up crew coming for them.

  Oliver began to pick out more survivors. They must have lost radio contact, because they were waving frantically now, desperately trying to catch the Navy gunner’s attention, pointing back in the direction of the PLAN small boats.

  They were going to be slaughtered.

  No. I will not let this happen again.

  She toggled to the crew’s channel. “SAR-1. Boarding stations for surface action. Go on my mark. Mark!”

  Her crew reacted instantly, and Oliver realized with a wash of relief that she wasn’t the only one who had been feeling the same helpless tension. Her stomach took a sickening dive as Pervez punched the throttle and SAR-1 dipped her bow and tore through the lunar sky, rocketing toward the Chinese marines. “BM1, put us on that PLAN troop transport,” Oliver tapped the radar. It was twelve-pack sized, about a hundred meters behind the majority of the PLAN boats. “Maybe we can cause some chaos in their backfield and get them to turn their head.”

  McGrath looked at her. “But it’s on the surface, boss.”

  “Yup,” Oliver said. “Which means it’s not moving. Piece of cake.”

  “Ma’am,” Ho said, “Admiral Allen on encrypted. I’m not answering it.”

  “Good man.”

  “Getting us there,” Pervez said. Under Pervez’s control, the rhino gave the lie to its name. It was faster and more maneuverable than the old longhorn, and Pervez pushed it to its limit – forcing Oliver back in her seat under hard thrust, then flinging her forward again as she fired the bow thrusters to stop them hard, and rotated around to center over the Chinese boat’s tow-fender. The world around them vanished into a blur as they moved, punctuated by flashes that Oliver assumed were the PLAN boats firing on them. The flashes stopped a moment later and Oliver knew that Pervez had them over the PLAN boat, too close for their comrades to risk opening fire.

  A moment later, the boat shuddered, and Okonkwo dropped down into the nipple gangway. “Soft dock!”

  “Everybody in the stack!” Oliver said. “Nobody stays on board. McGrath! Call it!”

  “On me!” McGrath called, punching out of his restraints and dropping down into the gangway. He cradled SAR-1’s sole hornet gun. “Guns up!”

  “Hard dock!” Okonkwo called. “Cutting exterior hatch.”

  Oliver dropped down into the gangway just as Okonkwo completed his cut. An instant later, the PLAN boat’s exterior hatch exploded outward, tumbling toward her. Oliver rolled aside, watched as the thick metal spun through her field of vision, tearing through the nipple cladding and opening them to the lunar environment outside. It wa
s followed by a burst of hornet rounds, Oliver counted at least three contrails whisking past her visor. It was happening too quickly for her to register it, but Oliver’s body reacted as if she were going for a casual stroll. She was a veteran of enough ops to know that the knee-shaking, gut-churning bill would come due when this was all over and she had a moment to reflect.

  “Welp,” Okonkwo dropped his torch, brought his duster up, “guess I don’t have to cut the inner hatch.”

  McGrath didn’t bother to call the entry, shouting “fire in the hole!” instead, and throwing two dust grenades into the hatch, rolling aside. Oliver flattened herself against the side of the gangway as the explosions sent columns of dust bursting past them and out through the shredded cladding. Beyond the spreading dust, she could see a crowd of PLAN Marines bounding toward them, two of their boats firing thrusters behind them, turning to counter the sudden threat to their rear.

  “Gogogo!” McGrath was through the hatch, firing off a hornet round. The rest of the crew jumped through behind him.

  “Hope we don’t die,” she radioed Ho, moved to follow.

  Ho grunted as he followed. “Allen hasn’t stopped calling this entire time. Maybe it’ll be better if we do.”

  Oliver cleared the hole where the exterior hatch had been, and stepped into what was clearly a troop transport. Long benches, little more than a fabric seat held out by an aluminum rod, stretched the length of the passageway, empty restraints dangling over them. Ahead, a short passage led to the boat’s cockpit, a small yellow ladder disappearing up into what Oliver assumed was the boat’s ball turret. A Chinese sailor lay motionless beneath it, his biosuit shredded by what Oliver assumed was McGrath’s dust grenade. The sight made Oliver’s heart race. You’ve killed a foreign national. If this is a war, then it’s your war as much as anyone’s now.

  McGrath was bounding down the passage, his chin accidentally toggling his radio on and off, treating the team to his war cry, a long incoherent bellow. His hornet gun imparted no recoil, and he fired as he ran, the flashes of the munition propellant visible beneath his armpits as they sped down the intervening distance. The team ran behind him, and Oliver paused long enough to turn to Ho and jerk a thumb up the ladder. Her XO nodded and launched himself up it. “Turret’s clear!” He radioed a moment later.