by Daniel Gibbs
“Godspeed, son.”
5
Three days later, after all of the ships in the massive Coalition Defense Force and Royal Saurian Navy task force had been provisioned, completed final engineering checks, and taken on all replacement crewmembers, David found himself standing the first watch on the bridge of the Lion of Judah. The cavernous CIC and bridge area was full of even more crewmembers than usual. There was a pulse of excitement and an edge to everyone’s demeanor. Today, they were going to begin to put an exclamation point on the campaign of the last three months. God willing, from here on out, the League’s grip on power will start to falter and fade. The cover he was wearing, a ballcap with the logo of the Lion of Judah on it, felt scratchy. He preferred the standard duty cover, but the crew had fallen in love with the ballcaps. They were the number-one selling CDF memorabilia item, and those who’d earned the right to wear them on duty took immense pride in the simple hats. Perhaps it’s because of what they symbolize to billions of citizens throughout the Terran Coalition: Hope.
“Conn, Communications,” Taylor’s voice carried across the ship. “Receiving final instructions for departure. We’re cleared to undock, sir.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant. Navigation, clear all moorings, disengage our umbilicals and switch to internal oxygen reserves.”
“All moorings and umbilicals disengaged, sir,” Hammond promptly responded.
“Navigation, all ahead, dead slow,” David commanded, following the rote procedure to launch the ship that he had now executed many times.
“All ahead, dead slow, aye, sir.”
David watched the forward view as the ship slowly began to move, the shipyard pylons starting to move out of the frame of the transparent alloy “windows” on the bridge. Accelerating, the Lion exited the shipyard entirely and began to make the turn toward its parking orbit.
“Communications, engage the tactical network protocol with the RSN Elcin.”
“Aye, sir, tactical network engaged,” Taylor replied crisply.
“TAO, link all Sierra contacts from the tactical network into our CIC viewer.”
“Aye aye, sir, Sierra contacts imputed,” Ruth chimed in.
David stood from the CO’s chair and glanced back to the massive holoprojector that showed local contacts around the Lion. There were now hundreds of contacts displayed around his ship, so many that he couldn’t tell them apart, or see the supplemental information as to what the ships were.
“That’s the most ships with friendly IFFs I’ve ever seen in my life, in one place,” David commented to the room at large. Turning around, he saw Aibek standing and staring at the holoprojector in awe as well.
“An inspiring sight, sir,” Aibek replied.
Looking around the room, David observed most of the bridge crew staring at the holoprojector as well, wearing smiles and whispering to those next to them at their stations. He broke into a grin. “This is the largest fleet ever assembled by the Coalition Defense Force and any of its allies. Take a good look, people. This is the fleet that’s going to kick the League out of our arm of the galaxy.”
Ruth turned around from her station, a departure from the CDF’s standard bridge protocol, but then again, David wasn’t precisely following it at the moment himself. “I wish I could see Admiral Seville pee his pants when we drop out of Lawrence drive right on his front door.”
Waves of laughter swept through the bridge as enlisted crewmembers and officers alike played the mental image Ruth had created through their minds. David laughed out loud. “Maybe we can get Colonel Sinclair and his boys to get us a drone into his quarters.”
“I like that idea. Maybe we could make a propaganda video out of it,” Taylor interjected.
“I am not sure who wants to see Admiral Seville suffer a small indignity like you describe. I would rather we make a video of him seeing the error of his ways before his death sentence is carried out,” Aibek said as he tried to copy a human eye roll but not entirely being able to due to how the Saurians’ eye sockets worked.
“You know, XO, I’m delighted you’re on our side sometimes.”
Before Aibek could respond, Taylor interrupted with actual business. “Conn, Communications. I’ve got a priority order from Admiral Kartal’s flag staff. We’ve been instructed to proceed to rally point bravo.”
David immediately cut off the horseplay and started walking back toward the CO’s chair. “You heard the man. Everyone, take your stations. Navigation, plot a course to rally point bravo and charge the Lawrence drive.”
“Aye aye, sir, course laid in,” Hammond immediately responded.
David took his seat, as did Aibek. Glancing around the bridge once more, David took satisfaction at seeing the entire bridge crew strapped in and ready to go. “Navigation, engage the Lawrence drive.”
“Aye, sir, engaging Lawrence drive.”
There was a noticeable dimming of the bridge’s running lights as the Lawrence drive generator spun up, which was due to the extreme range being inputted into the navigation computer. Suddenly, a multicolored wormhole sprang into existence directly in front of the Lion of Judah. The mighty starship engaged its sub-light engines and charged into the maw of bright colors, followed by several dozen smaller ships that were piggy-backing on the extended range of the Lion’s Lawrence drive.
A few moments later, the artificial wormhole collapsed, leaving little trace it ever existed, except now there were dozens of ships fewer in orbit above Canaan.
Standing in the shooting range onboard the Lion, Taylor pressed his thumb up against the biometric lock on the small arms locker. It made a beeping noise then flashed green with the words “Access Granted” flashing on the screen. Taylor selected a standard issue projectile sidearm, the MS-18. Optimized for conflict onboard a space ship, the rounds it fired were explicitly designed to destroy soft tissue but not punch through the hull. Given the many layers of armor on the ship, it would be unlikely that one could breach the outer hull, but weapons designers hadn’t left it to chance.
Alone aside from one other soldier in the range, Taylor put on protective gear that included goggles and ear covers. He then made his way to an open lane and pulled up a computer-generated target of a bullseye. Practicing the safe handling instructions that were drilled into him since boot camp, he loaded the weapon, turned off the safety, took aim, and squeezed the trigger until the magazine was empty.
Staring down the lane with satisfaction, Taylor saw that he’d hit the inner rings of the bullseye in all fifteen shots he took. A voice shouting behind him caused him to whirl around, startled.
“It’s harder when the targets are shooting back at you, Lieutenant.” The voice belonged to Calvin.
Looking around the range and confirming no one else was in the room, Taylor removed his ear cover. “I gather that, Colonel. But I’m a comms geek, as you like to point out. Computer algorithms rarely shoot at me.”
Calvin chuckled. “No, they don’t. Have you tried one of the more realistic simulators?”
“I have. I tend to freeze up in those. The life-like realism of shooting people is disturbing.”
“You just haven’t done it enough. Once you kill enough Leaguers… it just doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Colonel, may I ask you a personal question?”
“Stow that ‘Colonel’ crap, Robert. We’re just two friends hanging out, chucking some rounds down range.” Calvin paused for a moment. “What’s your question?”
“Why do you hate them so much?”
“What do you mean?”
Taylor gestured to the lane Calvin had occupied, which displayed a target of a League soldier with nice tidy holes in its head and chest. “Every time I see you down here, you’re shooting pictures of League soldiers. You never miss the target. Whenever I hear you talk about the League, you say something like ‘the only good Leaguer is a dead Leaguer.’ I remember you telling Colonel Cohen we should blast surrendered League ships rather than waste time boarding them and ta
king prisoners.”
Calvin pursed his lips together and a hard look washed over his face. “I’ve been fighting the League since I was eighteen years old, Robert. You’re damn right I hate them. I hate every last one of them. I’d kill them all if I had half the chance. I don’t feel bad about killing them, and I don’t feel bad about not feeling bad about killing them.”
“They’re not all bad.”
“Really? You ever gone toe to toe with League ground pounders?”
“Well, no—”
Calvin cut in before he could continue. “I have, God knows how many times that I’ve lost count. One of my first deployments, we were staging an invasion of a border planet that had exchanged hands several times but was first settled by the Terran Coalition. Good, hardy people that just wanted a place to call their own. The League took it over, killed thousands in purges, and tried to force their way of life on those folks. But we don’t leave our own behind, so the fleet took the skies, and the Marines landed. I’ll never forget what I saw at the age of nineteen.”
As Calvin spoke, his mind flashed back to that day, so many years ago but so fresh, it was like it was yesterday. His second combat insertion, he’d been a wet-behind-the-ears private, the words of his drill instructors still ringing in his ears. He and his squad were hunkered down in a drop pod, hurtling through the atmosphere.
“Hoooooorah! Semper Fi, do or die!” the staff sergeant in charge of the squad shouted.
“Hoooooorah!” Calvin shouted back, along with the rest of the Marines.
“Now here’s the plan, Marines,” the staff sergeant continued. “We’re dropping into the capital of this fine planet; it’s a place called Brunswick. Our objective is to capture the center of the city and take out the League’s headquarters. Our secondary objective is to kill every Leaguer asshole we see. You get me, Marines?”
“Yes, Staff Sergeant!” Calvin again screamed at the top of his lungs, along with the rest of the men, their roar filling the drop pod.
The next few moments were a blur as the drop pod streaked through the atmosphere before firing retro rockets to land in a manner that was not exactly graceful, but slow enough that the Marines inside weren’t harmed. As soon as the pod touched down, the doors flung open, and the harnesses that held the men in automatically released.
Calvin immediately took in his surroundings through the lens of the heads-up display, or HUD, in his helmet. There were numerous League security troops holding positions around a large building that he assumed had been the headquarters of the Terran Coalition’s government outpost on the planet. Now festooned with the flag of the League of Sol, he felt bile rise in his throat. The shout of his staff sergeant interrupted his thoughts. “Move out! Get out there! Squad A, I want fire on those Leaguer bastards right now!”
As Calvin charged out of the drop pod with his Marine brothers, he felt the staff sergeant’s armored suit hand slap his shoulder. “Do not freeze up, Private! Remember your training! Get out there!”
Incoming rounds slapped the ground around Calvin, sending him scurrying for cover behind a low wall where a couple of other Marines had taken refuge. It took him a few seconds to realize there had been a pitched battle occurring before the CDF Marines had arrived. People in civilian clothes were perched around the square, firing on the League forces. He supposed they were resistance fighters, but regardless of who they were, more friendly troops were always a welcome sight.
Steadying himself, Calvin used his HUD to mark several Leaguers before popping up from cover with the other two Marines beside him and firing short bursts from his battle rifle. The reward for his efforts was three hits on League troopers, which momentarily caused the fire pouring in on their location to slacken.
“Grenades! Up and over, Marines! Drive them back!” the voice of his staff sergeant thundered through the headset he wore under his helmet.
Moving as one, Calvin and the rest of his squad mates pulled fragmentation grenades from their belts, removed the pins, and tossed them toward the closest enemy. Three seconds later, a dozen explosions went off. There was an immediate cessation to the incoming fire from the Leaguers.
The rest of the squad, Calvin at their heels, jumped up and charged the League positions around the square. In a matter of seconds, the stunned Leaguers had been cut down, with only a couple managing to retreat into the building without being shot.
A wild cheer went up from the civilians at the sight of the running enemy. One of them climbed down from a balcony, into the square, and made his way to the Marines.
“Thank God you made it!” the man said with a worn and weary smile on his lips, cradling a civilian hunting rifle in his hands.
Calvin saw his staff sergeant step forward and remove his helmet. “Staff Sergeant Morris Harrison, 52nd CDF Marine Division, 1st Battalion, 2nd Regiment at your service.”
“Henry Lee…shop keeper and leader of our cell. Some spook from CDF Intel alerted the resistance network that the invasion was to happen today. We answered the call.”
“My orders are to storm this building and capture it. That’s what my squad and I are going to do. Would you be willing to guard our rear?”
Lee nodded. “Gladly. Are you sure you don’t need us to assist in taking the building? We’re all willing to put our lives on the line for freedom from the League. Don’t worry about us.”
Harrison shook his head. “While I thank you for the offer, Mr. Lee, I need to be able to storm that building without worrying about my six. So you make sure the Leaguers don’t catch my boys and me with our pants down, and we’ll raise the Terran Coalition flag. Clear?”
“Yes, sir. We’ll watch your backs.”
Harrison laughed. “Don’t call me ‘sir.’ I work for a living.”
Henry laughed as well, in spite of the terror around him. “I’ll try to remember that.” He turned and ran back toward the rest of his fighters, while Harrison put his helmet back on.
“Got more guts than brains, these civilians. We’ll keep them out of harm's way as much as we can. On me, squad!” Calvin heard Harrison say through his headset.
The squad of Marines rushed toward Harrison, who approached the door to the government building they were to capture. “Blow the door!” he ordered.
One of the Marines trotted over with a door breach kit. He pulled it out of the tube it came in, and then rolled the material out over the door. One side was sticky, and it easily adhered to the door. This Marine had done this particular task enough times to be quite proficient at it. Inside of fifteen seconds, the charge was ready. At a nod from Harrison, the door blew backward, creating a tidy entry point for the squad.
Another Marine tossed in a flashbang—a type of grenade that stunned those in the room with light and a concussive wave—and a split second after it exploded, they charged in. Calvin was one of the last to step through the now empty doorway, into the maelstrom of weapons fire. His battle rifle was up and at the ready as he charged in. Seeing a Leaguer spring up from cover, his training took over and he fired a tight three-round burst, causing the unlucky League soldier to fall backward, mortally wounded.
It was all over in less than sixty seconds. I almost feel bad for these guys, trying to fight power-armored Marines with submachine guns. Once the din of combat had died down, there was an eerie quiet that swept through the room. Harrison’s voice once again snapped Calvin out of his thoughts. “Lance Corporal Karimi, take Private Demood and search the lower rooms on this level. The rest of us will continue to clear this building of Leaguers.”
“Yes, Staff Sergeant!” Calvin heard Karimi’s voice through his headset. “Demood, with me.”
Calvin took position behind Karimi, covering him as he poked his head into the hallway in front of them. “Looks clear. Stay frosty,” Karimi commented, no-nonsense. The walls had various League of Sol propaganda posters plastered to them, showing smiling League soldiers handing out food and encouraging citizens of the Terran Coalition to “See the light and reject s
uperstition.” The only thing these guys are handing out is misery. Why can’t they leave us alone?
After trying a door handle and finding it locked, Karimi pointed at the door. “Care to kick this down, Demood?”
Calvin nodded his agreement, reared up, and kicked the door near its handle with the entire weight of his power-armored suit. The door crumpled in like a flimsy piece of paper, shattering on impact. He charged into the room and was entirely unprepared for the sight that met him.
A young girl of no more than sixteen years of age was handcuffed to an interrogation table. Her hair was matted, face streaked with blood, and she had the thousand-yard stare of a ten-year combat veteran. Calvin guessed she’d been tortured, or worse. So intent on her injuries, he almost missed the other occupant of the room, a man who wore the black uniform of the League of Sol. He appeared to be in his thirties, with a thin face and a complexion that reminded Calvin of the propaganda posters he’d just seen..
“Don’t shoot! I surrender!” the man shouted in accented English, raising his hands with the palms out, clearly showing he wasn’t holding a weapon.
Karimi covered the Leaguer with his battle rifle, while Calvin removed his helmet and knelt next to the girl. “Hey, it's okay. We’ve got you now.”
She immediately shrank back from him, whimpering.
Calvin’s face became a mask of fury. He turned to the Leaguer. “What the hell were you torturing a teenage girl for?”
“She was a member of the resistance. We needed information from her,” the man stated, his tone matter-of-fact.
Calvin turned back to the girl. “I’m a Marine… TCMC.. We’re here to get rid of the League and free your planet.” Feels good to be the guy in the red cape.
She raised her head to him, her lip quivered, and her eyes screamed her fear wordlessly. “He hurt me.”
Calvin sprang up, rage rising from every part of his being. He turned to face the Leaguer. “What did you do to this woman? You sick bastard. What the hell is wrong with you people!”
