by Daniel Gibbs
“Boss, you’re not just going off half-cocked to do this…” Billings began.
“I’m not going off half-cocked. I’ve thought this through for the last hour. Gents… I need to stand up and be counted. My decision is made. I just wanted you to hear it from me before I head down to get kitted up.”
“You think Colonel Demood will even let you on the transport? You two razz each other constantly,” Billings interjected.
“He’ll take anyone that can use a gun. Besides, it’s all in good fun.”
“You’re not going alone,” Billings said.
“Excuse me, Master Chief?”
“You got wax in your ears, boss? I said you’re not going alone. If you’re set on it, I’m coming with you. Unlike you, I saw combat. Somebody’s got to watch your six.”
For just a moment, Kenneth almost told the older man to stand down but found himself unable to. He wondered how many other civilians and typical non-combatants on the Lion were going through the same thing as him right now. I’ve had it so good here. This ship has accepted us, all of us. The men and women of the CDF and the Terran Coalition Marine Corps get paid next to nothing, go into harm’s way at a moment’s notice, and never complain. The least I can do is stand with them when we could help tip the balance. “Okay. I can’t tell you both no without being a hypocrite.”
Billings stood. “No, you can’t. Do you remember anything from basic combat training, boss?”
“Shoot the other guy before he shoots you?” Kenneth deadpanned.
“Okay. I’ll try to give you some pointers on the way to the cargo bay the volunteers are mustering in.”
Kenneth laughed as he stood up from his desk, extending his arm to Carter. He was gratified that the older man took it and shook warmly. “Watch after everyone, Joshua. I’ll be back,” he said, before turning toward Billings. “Well, let’s go, Master Chief. I don’t want to keep our esteemed Marine colonel waiting.”
Kenneth stepped out from behind his desk, walking to the hatch and swinging it open; as he did that, Carter leaned into Billings and whispered in his ear, “Bring him home safe and sound.”
Sharing a knowing nod with Carter, Billings stood as well before following Kenneth out of the hatch and toward the cargo bay.
Making their way from the little cubby hole of an office to deck five, they walked side by side down the central passageway of the Lion, heading straight for the cargo bays where Calvin had instructed volunteers to muster. They weren’t the only ones with the same idea; hundreds of other men and women, most in uniform, some not, and more than a few that Kenneth recognized from his team, stood in line. It took some time for the line to snake its way through the double hatch of the cargo bay. A cavernous room, it usually held food, spare parts, equipment, and all manner of supplies. Today, most of the gear in it had been pushed to the sides or moved, with large tables erected throughout the bay, stacked with basic infantry kits. Those kits consisted of battle rifles, magazines, battle armor, grenades, and survival gear.
As the two men walked up to a gunnery sergeant that was processing volunteers, Calvin jogged up. “Well, well, well. You here to sell us some overpriced rifle cleaning kits, Kenny?”
Kenneth rolled his eyes in frustration. “Colonel, aren’t we over the all-contractors-are-slimy stuff yet?”
“Yeah, maybe. You at least answer the commlink when we need something. More than can be said for most contractors. You still get paid triple pay for being in harm’s way.”
“Don’t hate the player, hate the game,” Kenneth said quickly. “I’ve never done anything unethical, and I deliver what I say I will, when I say I will.”
“Yeah, whatever helps you sleep well at night with those fat stacks of credits you and your friends make. Look, what’re you here for?”
“We’re here to join the boarding team,” Kenneth replied, while Billings just folded his arms in front of his chest.
“And do what, shoot red tape at them?” Calvin replied, snickering along with several other Marines who were in earshot of the conversation.
“I was thinking battle rifle rounds instead, but if you’d like to get me some requirements to build a red tape gun, we can put one together in a few days,” Kenneth said in an exaggerated, condescending tone.
“I’d be shocked if you’d ever held a battle rifle, or any weapon for that matter, Kenny.”
Kenneth reached over and used his long arms to pick up a battle rifle. He racked the action, checked it for a round inside the chamber as he’d been taught long ago, then scooped up a magazine and rammed it into the weapon with a click. “I shot expert, Colonel. I own the civilian version of this rifle and still practice with it.”
“Okay, Mister Weekend Warrior,” Calvin began. “When was the last time someone shot at you?”
“Never.”
“Never?” Calvin said, drawing out the word in a mocking tone. “You’ve never been shot at it? Then stop wasting my time and go back to doing whatever it is you do on this ship.”
“Damnit, Colonel,” Kenneth snapped. “I get it. You don’t respect me. Fine, I’ve tried to earn your respect, but maybe that’s just impossible. I’m here because I want to help, and right now, the only way I can help is by picking up a rifle and a sidearm. Everything that can be fixed, is fixed. Once the battle starts, I haven’t done hands-on technical work in so long, I’m useless there too. This is how I can contribute, how I can stand up and answer the call. So you’ve got a choice. Either let us get kits and join the team or tell us to screw off and be down two volunteers. Your choice, Colonel, sir.”
Calvin was silent for several seconds. “Okay, Kenny,” he finally replied. “You want to volunteer, be my guest. Follow orders and try not to wet your pants.”
“Yes, sir,” Kenneth replied with a faux smile. Calvin turned on his heel and walked off, leaving Billings and him with the gunny.
“One of these days, he’ll see we’re not just idiots who fix computers,” Kenneth said toward Billings.
“Yeah, keep dreaming, sir,” Billings said with a smirk as he picked up a set of battle armor and began to strap it on. “But hey, who cares. We might even stay alive to tell the tale.”
Maybe, just maybe. Regardless, we’re doing something worth doing. But why am I so afraid?
26
Waiting has always sucked, David pondered as he sat on the bridge. Whatever is going to happen, I’d rather get on with it. But waiting was what he was doing since he ordered the commandos to execute the attack on Unity Station. The anxiety felt among the crew was palpable as they too awaited word of the attack’s success or failure. Along the way, short microburst communication transmissions had come back, indicating the team’s progress as it got closer to the objective. Boredom isn’t something I do well. I hate not being able to affect the battle. I’d do anything to be out there with those men, at least sharing in the risk. Asking someone to do something I can’t do has just never sat right with me. Glancing at the large LED clock that showed CMT in the back of the bridge, he stretched his neck. Everyone else on this bridge is as restless as I am, he mused. I’d better do something to reassure them.
David stood up from the CO’s chair, his eyes roaming over the bridge. The crew was on edge; that much he could tell just by looking at the drawn faces and downward stares. And how could they not? I’m asking them to go into the mouth of hell itself where we were defeated less than three days ago. He walked over to the communications station and opened a small metal box; there, for ceremonial purposes more than anything, it held an antique microphone attached to a cable. It was the hardline for the 1MC; the master communication circuit that broadcast to every space on the ship. It was never used, but for some reason, he felt the time was right to revert to use it as a symbol.
“Lieutenant Taylor, please patch in the 1MC hardline to a fleet-wide broadcast.”
Taylor looked up and nodded. “Aye aye, sir. You're patched in.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” David replied as
he pulled the small mic out of its cradle and held it up to his lips. “Now hear this, now hear this. This is General Cohen, commanding the joint CDF and Saurian Royal Navy fleet. Three days ago, we suffered a tragedy the likes of which has not been seen since the Battle of Canaan, nearly thirty years in the past. Looking around me, I see the toll that was taken, not only on those that perished but also on those who survived. We were so sure our efforts would lead to the destruction of the League, so convinced of the righteousness of our cause. Those convictions weren’t wrong. I know many of you spent the last few days wondering why, asking hard questions of ourselves, of what we believe in. If you’re anything like me, you also concluded our cause is just, and we must fight on, no matter the cost. So today we stand here, united as ever, ready to deliver another blow to the League, and the butchers that control it.”
David’s eyes swept the bridge; everyone had their gaze focused on him. “It has been the greatest honor of my life to lead the crew of the Lion of Judah. Commanding this fleet in battle is a humbling task that I’ve prayed night and day for the last three days over, for wisdom and skill. I come to you now, to say that we’ve found a way to defeat the League’s minefield. As I speak, a group of commandos from Space Special Warfare Command are en route to Unity Station. God willing, they’ll be successful within the hour. These brave men and women have put their lives on the line to ensure the technology the League has deployed will not be available to them in the battle to come. At that point, the odds will be even. But nothing can replace the fighting spirit of free men and women who take up arms to defend their homes, their families, and their way of life.”
David paused for a moment, catching his breath. “We fight, not to conquer, not to enslave, nor to control, but to defend the ideals we cherish, and the things we hold dear. The League of Sol is the worst manifestation of one of the most horrible ideologies ever created. The idea the state can tell you what you can do, who or what to believe in, and define every parameter of your life, is why we escaped from Earth to begin with. Very soon, we’ll jump back into battle. Every soldier, pilot, and Marine in this fleet, regardless of their race, gender, creed, religion, or lack thereof, will be called upon to do their best. And we will. All of us. Because we believe in the ideals of the Terran Coalition, in a society that respects all beliefs, regardless of what they are, in a society where anyone can come from any background and achieve whatever they want. This is the society we have built, this is the society we’ll fight for, and this is the society that, if it comes to it, we will make the ultimate sacrifice to defend. I give you my word that I will do everything in my power in this battle to make sure as few of us make that sacrifice as possible. However, whatever it takes, including sacrificing myself, I will do. The League must be stopped! It must be stopped here. We must take this station and turn it into a launch pad to destroy the League of Sol, once and for all!
“In the time we have left before we go into battle once more, I ask you to pray for our fleet. I’ve never asked God to give us victory, nor will I today. I only ask Him to spare as many of your lives as possible. But today, I fervently hope that when we go into battle, we do it on God’s side. Prepare for the onslaught to come. Give everything you have today like there’s no tomorrow. Godspeed to you all. General Cohen out.”
David sat the small microphone back down in its box and closed the cover. “Thank you, Lieutenant,” he remarked to Taylor and received a polite nod in return. As he turned to walk back to his station, he heard a loud voice call out.
“Attention on deck!” Tinetariro barked.
David watched as the entire bridge crew stood up from their stations, faced him, and saluted. He brought his hand up to his brow before snapping it down in the practiced motion that over the years had become second nature.
“Ready to receive orders, General,” Tinetariro continued.
Smiling, David reached back down grabbed the 1MC mic once again. “Attention, all hands, this is the commanding officer. Man your battle stations. I say again, man your battle stations! This is not a drill. TAO, set condition one throughout the ship!”
Before he’d finished speaking, the lighting on the bridge changed to the blue hue displayed during battle stations, designed to allow the screens the crew focused on to be easier to read.
Ruth looked back from her station. “Sir, condition one is set throughout the ship.”
“Very well, TAO,” David said before continuing into the microphone. “Soldiers, pilots, Marines, civilians of the Lion of Judah… we all know what we have to do in the next few hours. Good luck and Godspeed, Cohen out.”
Setting the microphone back in its container and shutting the door, David again glanced around the room, taking care to look behind him and make eye contact with those standing; a small gesture but one he learned long ago to make sure everyone knew he acknowledged them. “Resume your stations, ladies and gentlemen.” He paused for a moment and allowed a snarky comment to come out. “Let’s go remind Admiral Seville he’s still wanted, dead or alive,” he said, forcing himself into the persona of the happy warrior.
The sentiment seemed to infect the rest of the bridge team almost immediately as they retook their stations. David glanced at the master chief, who stood in the back of the bridge. She inclined her head, and he smiled again, walking forward to take his seat next to Aibek. “And now, we wait.”
“I am certain of Captain Singh’s success, General,” Aibek replied.
I wish I were more certain of it, and I want to be certain of our success. But this is our best course of action… regardless of what happens, we’ll do our best. He locked his eyes forward and waited for a transmission that would decide what happened next.
Zooming through space at speeds approaching a thousand kilometers an hour, Singh marveled at the beauty of space. The calm before the storm of combat. The majesty of the universe, in such display. Looking out at the sea of stars, seeing how insignificant we are compared to the cosmos. Unity Station was directly ahead of them, though it was too far out to see with the naked eye. The Raider they came in on had to drop them roughly five thousand kilometers away from the station, and it’d taken a couple of hours to get this far.
“Captain, it’s about time to start our deceleration, sir,” the voice of Master Chief Petty Officer Gordan MacDonald stated through the open comms channel the team shared.
“Agreed, Master Chief. Team, commence deceleration on my mark.”
Singh pulled up the navigation computer interface for his suit and clicked off the next waypoint. Giving a moment for the rest of the other twenty-three commandos to do the same, he continued, “Execute deceleration!”
Immediately and in smooth formation, the entire group of commandos rotated their space suits and fired the ion thrusters that began to slow them down. It took another hour to slow to what amounted to average speeds, all the while as they passed through the minefield, the computer system in their suits safely avoided the League’s new weapon.
“That’s one big space station,” one of the commandos commented.
“Target-rich environment,” MacDonald replied. “We’ll just have to remember to leave a few for the Terran Coalition’s misguided children.” Smatters of laughter erupted over the channel, as frogmen loved to insult the Marines. “What’s the plan, one more time, Captain?”
“Ingress the station, disable the alarm systems, vent the atmosphere of the mine’s control room, storm the control room. Deactivate the mines, signal the Lion, and watch the fleet come in and blow these guys apart.”
“Who’s cooking the popcorn for the fireworks show?” one of the younger and newer commandos interjected.
“Don’t count your chickens before they hatch, Petty Officer,” Singh said as he watched his heads-up display, which showed the location they needed to be at on Unity. “Follow me in, team.” Expertly maneuvering his suit and its thruster pack, he closed the gap quickly, crossing the last few kilometers without incident. Their objective was an airlock, t
wenty-five meters from the control room. The entire team came to rest around said airlock, securing themselves with magnetic boots.
“Rostami, you’re up,” MacDonald called through the comms system; Petty Officer 1st Class Esmail Rostami was the team’s resident expert on information warfare. It was his job to get them into the station undetected.
“Aye aye, Master Chief!” Rostami said, quickly locating the data access point at the airlock that was designed to be used by League repair parties for troubleshooting problems. He plugged in his tablet and went to work. After a few minutes, the doors to the airlock opened, right on cue. “Captain, I’ve disabled the local alarms for this airlock, and we should be able to cycle in, six at a time.”
“Good work, Rostami,” Singh said. “Alpha team, you're first. We’ll proceed in by team until all of us are accounted for. Master Chief, you’re with the first group. If we get separated, securing the objective comes first. Period.”
“Understood, Captain,” MacDonald replied.
It took a couple of minutes for each airlock cycle to complete, and Singh found himself praying silently they’d all make it inside safely. When the third team made it in, he took his place with the last group. The outer door closed, and air slowly filled the room. It took sixty seconds to fully pressurize the airlock, at which point the lights turned a bright green, and the inner door slid open, revealing the rest of the team.
“Gentlemen, I believe we’re all present and accounted for,” Singh said with a smile visible through the faceplate of his helmet. “Now we’re on the clock—Alpha, Beta team, with me. Charlie and Delta, take flanking positions and cover ingress points where we can expect enemy resistance. Silenced weapons only. Stealth is paramount for this portion of our mission.”
All the team leaders acknowledged his orders, and the commandos moved out. Singh and MacDonald took point for Alpha team, carefully leapfrogging ahead of each other to scout out the next junction in the maze of passageways on the League space installation. He counted them as very lucky that no security patrols were encountered; though it stood to reason the League felt safe here and had lax protocols. Coming up to the final junction, Singh held up his hand, making a fist motion to stop. “Master Chief, use the microdrone to see what’s around the bend,” he ordered.
