Battle ARC Page 3

  “I’m sure you heard that I’ve been put in charge of the Special Operations platoons,” Reynolds said without looking up. “That includes the ARC unit. You’re a man down and Lieutenant Murphy is out of the system, is that correct?”

  “Yes sir,” Cash said.

  “I had some interesting conversations with Lieutenant Murphy on board the Apollo. What are your thoughts on the capabilities of your fire squad in the ARC suits?”

  “We’re all proven operators, sir. I lead a damn fine team, but to be perfectly honest we’re still adapting to the capabilities of the ARC suits. We didn’t have enough training to do what the LT can do.”

  “Noted, Staff Sergeant. My question is can you do what the suits were intended to do?”

  “Disrupt the hive?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “No, sir, not in the fashion the suits were designed for,” Cash admitted. “But if I may have permission to speak freely, sir?”

  “Go ahead, Staff Sergeant.”

  “With the right weapons in hand, the ARC suits make my fire team the deadliest commando unit in the CSF. We can outmaneuver anyone, even mobile infantry, sir. We can fight longer, move faster, and attack with a ferocity that is unequaled.”

  “You’re saying your fire squad is equal to an entire platoon, even special operators?”

  “Yes sir, that’s what I’m saying. I think we can disrupt the Swarm. I think we can even herd them like sheep. Given enough time and experience, we can even break through their hordes and take out the queen.”

  “You talk a big game, Staff Sergeant,” Reynolds said.

  “I’m not bragging on my men, sir. They’re all top notch operators, but it’s the ARC suits that I’m focusing on. We’ve never had anything that allows us to move into combat with such speed, strength, and agility. All that’s needed is the opportunity to reimagine combat tactics in the suits.”

  “I like the way you’re thinking,” he said, but his face was grim. “I just got word that the Command Staff is adding an Air Force squad to your platoon.”

  “Air jockeys? What for sir?”

  “I don’t know, but they’re all officers; first lieutenants and captains, which means Lieutenant Murphy will be the junior officer in the ARC platoon.”

  “That’s bullshit, sir. The LT is the most experienced operator in the ARC suit. She can do things that no one else can replicate. You’ve seen the footage I’m sure, and read the reports. She saved our asses in the mountains and turned the tide in this war. They should be promoting her, not putting more handlers on the platoon.”

  “Regardless of how we feel about the situation, we all must follow orders. I tend to agree with you, Staff Sergeant, but we have no choice in the matter. My guess is that the Air Force unit will take center stage in the next engagement with the swarm, regardless of their lack of experience. Your job is to take care of your squad, not to get caught up in the political maneuvering above you. If the Marine Corps is going to hold onto our place in the ARC program we need someone showing the brass what warriors can do in the super suits. You follow me?”

  “Do you want me to disobey orders, sir?” Cashman asked.

  “Absolutely not, Staff Sergeant. You are to follow every order to the letter, regardless of who is giving it. Air Force, Navy, Marines, it doesn’t matter. You follow orders without prejudice. But if I were in your place, I’d be gearing my team up for special tactics in the ARC suits. I have a feeling you’ll have an opportunity soon to show what you can really do, and I want you ready to make the most of it. We can’t outrank the Air Force pukes, but we can put them in their place when it comes to combat. Do you follow me?”

  “Yes sir,” Cashman said.

  “Good. You’re platoon is being reassigned to the C.S.F. Ramses in orbit. You’ll be part of a special operations group that can be deployed quickly to any part of the planet.”

  “Damn,” Cash uttered, forgetting for a moment he was speaking to a superior officer.

  “That’s right, you’ll have to say goodbye to clean air and open spaces, Staff Sergeant. Sorry to break the news, but orders are orders.”

  “Can’t we use a fast mover based right here at Port Gantry, sir?”

  “We could, but deployment from a drop ship is faster, so your platoon is going up. With Lieutenant Murphy out of system, I’ll let you inform the platoon. There’s a shuttle going up in three hours. I want your people on board with all their toys.”

  “Yes sir, Captain.”

  “If that’s all, Staff Sergeant. You may go.”

  “I did have one question,” Cashman said.

  “Go ahead,” Captain Reynolds replied.

  “You mentioned LT Murphy. Is she coming back, sir?”

  “Indeed. At least she’s still listed as part of the platoon. I’m assuming she’ll join your fire squad on the Ramses when she returns to the system. Keep her in your confidence, Staff Sergeant. I’m not advocating that you instigate trouble with the other branch members in your platoon, but all eyes are on you for the moment. Let’s show them all what the CSFMC is made of.”

  “Yes sir,” Cash said, snapping to attention and saluting.

  “Good luck,” Reynolds said, returning the salute.

  Cash turned on his heel and marched out of the tiny room. He wasn’t looking forward to telling his fire squad they had go back up into orbit, but they were professionals. Cash only hoped that Murphy would get back before they were called into action.

  6

  Fleet Operations Command Station

  Mars Orbit, Sol System

  Angel sat in the debrief room while the team of officers who had questioned her left. She had been judged many times in gymnastics meets. She had worked out with coaches who were experts at evaluating every aspect of her athletic ability. She had endured grueling workouts that left her trembling, covered in sweat, and feeling as though she would vomit. But nothing had prepared her for an official military debriefing.

  The members of the eval team had listened patiently to her account of the events in Neo Terra, from their arrival at the farming co-op, to the end of the battle with the Swarm in the mountain pass. They didn’t interrupt while she spoke, but they took notes. And when she finished her account, the questioning began.

  “Why did you choose the motorized shed for your base of operations?”

  “What was your understanding of the mission parameters for your team?”

  “Why didn’t you spend more effort trying to reestablish contact with Colonel Hale at the FOB?”

  “Why did your platoon have untested weapons?”

  “What was her opinion of the Tragger 51 against the aliens?”

  “Why did she choose the mountain pass for the ambush site?”

  “Why didn’t she remove her platoon from harms way?”

  “Why didn’t she opt for a safer option?”

  Angel answered every question to the best of her ability. It was difficult, but she remained calm — even when she could tell the eval team wasn’t just mining for information, but passing judgement on her battle strategy. When the group finally slowed their questioning of her action in the McDuall Mountains, she felt hopeful that the debrief; which felt more like an interrogation, was nearly over. But the eval team then turned their attention to the aliens. The debrief lasted nearly seven hours without a break.

  Angel was hungry, exhausted, and restless at the same time. She got slowly to her feet as Captain Wendy McManus stepped into the room.

  “Oh, lord, this room smells like a stable in August,” Wendy said as she waved a hand in front of her face.

  “Blood, sweat, and tears,” Angel replied. “It was all part of the debrief.”

  “Well, at least you’re alive, but to tell the truth you look like hell.”

  “I’m beat. I need a shower, a meal, and a bed, in that order.”

  “Well, follow me. I’ll show you to your quarters.”

  Angel followed her friend down a curving hallway, then d
own a flight of stairs. She was assigned a room in the guest quarters module of the space station. There were no actual rooms, just glass enclosed bed slots in either side of the wall.

  “The bathroom facilities on the station are shared,” Wendy said. “It isn’t ideal, and there’s no privacy, but unless you’re a senior officer this is all we’ve got.”

  Angel didn’t care. She had showered in locker rooms most of her life, and wasn’t bashful. She stripped out of her clothes and stepped into a shower stall. Steam billowed into the small enclosed space. It wasn’t like running water, but it was warm and moist. She scrubbed her body and short hair, then more steam was piped in and she was able to get the soap off with the aid of a towel. She felt better once she was clean. Her stomach growled, but her legs were to tired to carry her down to the mess hall.

  “I think I’ll just crash,” Angel said.

  “Are you sure? It’s chow time. Tuesdays are tofu tacos. They sound gross, but it’s actually pretty good for space food.”

  “No, I’ll just embarrass myself. Which pod is mine?”

  “Any of the empties. Just swipe your data pad over the sensor to unlock it, then that space will be reserved for you until you leave the station.”

  Angel picked a slot in the middle of the corridor. The sleep pod was seven feet long, and four feet high. When she held her data pad up to the sensor the unit beeped and the transparent hatch rotated up and into pod like an old fashioned garage door.

  “If the brass doesn’t have more questions, I can get you on a shuttle down to Bezos city in nine hours,” Wendy said. “You can catch a fast transport down there that will ferry you up to the Minerva. You’re official orders are on your data pad. If you’re needed for more questioning it should beep. Maybe you’ll get eight hours of sleep, but I wouldn’t count on it.”

  “Doesn’t anyone sleep up here?”

  “Not really,” Wendy admitted. “At least not in any semblance of normal time. Everyone sort of does what they need to do and naps in between.”

  “A nap sounds divine,” Angel admitted.

  “If I’m not around when you get up, there’s a map on your data pad.”

  “Thank you Wendy. I owe you big time.”

  “Just doing my job.”

  Angel lay back on the strange bed. The mattress felt like thick foam rubber, but Angel could have slept on the metal decking she was so tired. She reached up and took hold of the glass partition, sliding it back down into place. As soon as the glass connected across the sleeping slot the glass turned opaque, blocking outside light and noise. She set an alarm on her data pad and hit a button that shut off the interior light in the tiny sleep chamber. Angel closed her eyes and tried not to think of how much the tiny room she occupied felt like a coffin. Yet, despite her fatigue, her mind didn’t want to switch off. The debrief, as long and taxing as it was, had stirred her imagination about the Swarm. What were the aliens, really? Could it be possible that they were mindless creatures, all under the control of their queen? Where did they come from, and why did it seem like they were following humanity across the vast stretches of outer space? Angel couldn’t answer the questions, so they sat in her mind, buzzing like insects tormenting her thoughts. Her biggest fear, it seemed everyone’s greatest fear, was that the Swarm would follow the space ships from the distant star systems back to Earth. And if they couldn’t find a way to stop the strange creatures, everything humanity had built might be lost.

  Angel knew her dreams would be filled with her fears, yet she couldn’t keep herself from drifting off. Her body needed rest, even if that would leave her at the mercy of her nightmares. She only hoped her subconscious didn’t know something that her waking mind had missed.

  7

  Fleet Operations Command Station

  Mars Orbit, Sol System

  Angel didn’t need a lot of sleep. She was accustomed to rising early. Unfortunately, her dreams were more than mere nightmares. When she did sleep, she saw the alien Swarm hiding in the shadows, or pouring over a hill toward her and the people she cared about. The night terrors woke her up at regular intervals so that she never got into a deep sleeping pattern. She woke up tired, mentally vexed, and feeling hopeless.

  When she crawled from the sleep chamber, she found other people in the corridor moving between the tiny berths and the shared bathroom facilities. Angel did her business quickly, getting dressed and brushing her teeth. Her hair was almost long enough to need another trim, but too short to bother with trying to style. She didn’t wear make up while on duty; there was no need. In the ARC suit she wore a helmet that concealed her face and the CSF wasn’t a beauty contest. Unlike most girls, Angel hadn’t bothered with make-up during her teenage years. She knew some girls that never left home without make-up, even wearing it during long, grueling practice sessions. Angel had never felt incomplete without make-up the way she knew some people did. It made her preparations in the CSF much easier, and for that she was thankful.

  She used her data pad to pull up a diagram of the Fleet Operations Command Space Station. It was a sprawling complex, but the common areas were clearly identified, and it only took a few minutes to find the mess hall. She ate powdered eggs, protein strips that tasted like bacon, and canned fruit. After she finished her first mug of coffee, she was finally feeling more like herself. Her data pad beeped just as she was returning her tray, and she pulled a message up from Wendy McManus.

  Swing by Colonel Jakobson’s office before you catch the shuttle.

  Angel had to study the diagram to find the Intelligence Chief’s office. She hurried through the labyrinth of corridors. She needed to be on the shuttle going down to Mars in just over an hour, which didn’t leave her much room for error. Unlike the other offices she passed, the intelligence division was not crowded and did not seem buried in work. There wasn’t even an administrator on duty outside Colonel Jakobson’s office. His door was open, but Angel lingered just outside.

  “Come in, Lieutenant. I’m glad you had time to see me this morning.”

  “I’m glad I didn’t have another debrief,” Angel replied.

  “Yes, I’m sure the strategists would have been thrilled to have your at their disposal for a month, but circumstances are such that we need to get you back in theater as soon as possible. Have I apologized for that? I know I promised that you wouldn’t be sent out of system.”

  Angel waved the apology away. “I didn’t want to be left out.”

  “I can’t blame you. There’s nothing more frustrating than getting resources ready to deploy and then having to watch others put those resources into action. It’s the dilemma of every officer; do we want to advance our careers, or retain command in the field?”

  “It’s all new to me, but I don’t think I want your job.”

  “No? Intelligence isn’t so bad. I’ve reached the glass ceiling so to speak, to advance any higher I’d have to transfer to a more conventional duty section. Which is to say, I’d have to take on more administrative responsibilities. I think I’m happy where I’m at.”

  “As am I, sir,” Angel said.

  “That is good to hear. Some people take to the field quiet naturally. I’d say you have a knack for it.”

  “I have good people around me and the ARC suits make things easier.”

  “Well, stay on your toes, Lieutenant. I’m quite certain things are about to change. You’ll still be in charge of the spec ops team, but you’ll be junior in the platoon, which means you’ll be taking orders.”

  “I can do that,” Angel said. “I still have a lot to learn.”

  “Certainly, but you’ll be dealing with big egos. It’s a proven fact that fast attack jockeys are arrogant blowhards. It’s been that way since airplanes were equipped with guns and sent up to kill each other. It takes a certain mixture of intelligence, innate skill, and a large dose of self-confidence to fly warplanes, drop ships, and attack craft.”

  “Will all the new additions be officers?”

  “Unfor
tunately, yes. They won’t have the experience you have in the ARC suits, but they’ll look down their noses at you anyway. Which means you’ll have to find a way to equip and train superior officers. It’s a herculean task, but I think it’s right up your alley.”

  “You have more confidence in me than I do in myself.”

  “Well, then take my word for it, Lieutenant. I study people for a living, and your life experience has suited you for this assignment. Just don’t let Captain Nance or his team get under your skin and you’ll be just fine.”

  “Nance had a less than stellar reputation in gymnastics circles,” Angel revealed.

  “He has a reputation in the CSF too, but he has verifiable results which often count more for a soldier than rumors of bad behavior, I’m afraid. Keep in mind that we are fighting a new and dangerous enemy. The ARC program and those in it are the future of the CSF. Your success on the battlefield will change everything we know about warfare.”

  Angel wasn’t sure what to think about Colonel Jakobson’s prediction. She didn’t really know why he was taking an interest in her at all. She wasn’t officially an intelligence officer. If anything, she was a platoon leader. She was assigned to a mixed branch platoon, and working with a special forces fire team, but she didn’t have the training to be considered a spec op officer. It seemed impossible to think that she was blazing a trail into the future of the Colony Space Fleet, yet if the ARC suits and subsidiary technology became the norm she might be at the forefront of that movement. She had the skills, that much was certain. All she had to do was stay alive and learn how to not piss off the wrong people.

  “Now,” Jakobson said, settling behind his desk, “you’re going down to Bezos City on a thirty-six hour pass. You’ll need to be on a shuttle into orbit at midnight tomorrow. The Minerva will be leaving the system shortly after you and Nance’s team get on board.”

  “Has the Swarm been spotted?” Angel asked.

  “They’re picking up traces from orbit. Your platoon has already been transferred off-world and will meet you on board the Ramses. It’s a capital ship in orbit around Neo Terra.”