Authors: Thomas DePrima
* * *
A week into their deployment, Sydnee was on final approach in a MAT-14. She had a full platoon of Marines on board and was fighting a severe crosswind gusting to 50 mph. The stubby wings on the MAT-14 did make for a slightly more stable approach than would have been likely in a MAT-12, but it was taking all her flying skills to keep the new ship from being buffeted off her approach as she neared the hot LZ. When she heard a soft chime in her left ear, Sydnee immediately suspended the simulator program and reached for her Space Command ring. Before she even touched it, a message began to play in her head.
"Attention, this is the Captain. I've just received a disturbing communication from SHQ. Two days ago, on the opening day of the First Annual Galactic Alliance Trade Show on the space station known as Freight-One, several violent explosions destroyed large sections of the station. The Trade Show was being attended by GA Senators from all over Region One and by thousands of exhibitors and attendees. It's estimated that as many as three thousand men, women, and children may have perished in the explosions or through exposure to open space. SHQ states there's no question that this was the work of terrorists. One person is already in custody and more are being sought. That's all we have for now. Any new reports will be broadcast as we receive them. Please keep your vidMails to a minimum. You'll be notified immediately if any members of your immediate family were injured or worse, and a complete list of the casualties will be accessible in the computer as such information becomes available. Lidden out."
Sydnee was briefly numbed by the news, but that gave way to anger. It seemed as though terrorism would never disappear completely. Most terrorist activity had ended on Earth during the twenty-first century when the nightmare everyone feared had come true. A nuclear arms race had begun in the Middle East after the country of Iran managed to develop nuclear weapons. Fearing their neighbor's often erratic and unpredictable behavior, other nations in the region immediately sought weapons of mass destruction as a nuclear deterrent. The end finally came when a radical Islam jihadist group managed to steal a nuclear weapon from a weapons depot and, in a fit of blind rage, use it against another radical Islam jihadist group with whom they had been fighting for decades over control of various Middle Eastern territories. In retaliation, their opponent fired their own stolen nuclear weapons. Within minutes, without even knowing who had started it, every country in the region, fearing they were about to be attacked, was sending their own weapons of mass destruction speeding towards longtime foes. In just a few hours, every country from the Mediterranean to Bangladesh was basking in the glow of radioactive fallout.
The tens of millions killed in blasts were the lucky ones. Many tens of millions more would die slowly over weeks and months in pain and agony, either from direct exposure or later from contamination of soil and water as radioactive clouds were swept eastward across Asia by prevailing winds. Few were left to mourn the loss of the radical Islamists who perpetrated the initial detonations, but their act of destruction was responsible for the deaths of a hundred million peaceful Muslims who weren't trying to force the rest of the world to convert to a particular radical religious ideology. Also among the dead and dying were Christians, Jews, Hindus, Buddhists, and followers of many other religions who lived in the affected areas.
It was amazing that the rest of the world hadn't gotten caught up in the insanity, but leaders outside the Middle East managed to keep their heads. Everyone expected North Korea to flex its tiny nuclear muscles, but it turned out they were smart enough to know that Pyongyang, and indeed their entire small country, would disappear almost instantly in a blinding flash of light if they ever targeted anyone with a nuclear weapon. When a weapon of mass destruction was used, the gloves came off, and the populace better head for shelters because their lives were about to change in ways they couldn't even imagine.
Sydnee sighed quietly and wondered who was responsible this time, and what cause could possibly justify the mass murder of innocents at a trade show.
Well, we'll find out eventually
, she thought.
We always do.
Managing to put all thought of the incident behind her for the moment, she reactivated the simulation program and completed her approach.
* * *
"What's the latest on the terrorist attack?" Jerry Weems asked as he joined Sydnee and Kelly MacDonald at the breakfast table the following morning.
"I just got off third watch when you did," Sydnee replied. "I haven't heard anything new."
"I saw a news broadcast just after I rolled out of my rack," Kelly said. "They showed vid images of the station. It was really bad. The terrorists planted explosives in the main exhibit hall and detonated them just before lunch when the hall was most crowded. They weren't just trying to make a statement, they were going for maximum body count. The announcer said that over four hundred of the dead were Terran school children under the age of sixteen."
"Good Lord," Weems said. "Why were so many kids there?"
"It was a special class outing. It was the very first trade show in what the promoters hoped would be an annual event, eventually drawing exhibitors from all over Regions One, Two, and Three. The exhibition committee offered a free ride up to the station for one thousand school children. The schools felt it would be the most memorable event in the lives of many of the kids, so they all wanted to send a child.
"Video imaging of the exhibit hall has allowed them to identify everyone killed there, but there are many more still missing. The missing are believed to have been at exterior viewing lounges around the perimeter of the station when explosions opened it to space. The investigators are combing through all the vids from security feeds in an effort to identify everyone in the images. It could take a few more days, but they promise they will know who was lost. Space junk sweepers are out looking for bodies, or body parts."
"Do they know who's responsible yet?" Sydnee asked.
"They've identified one individual for sure, and they're looking for others who were observed in places they weren't authorized to be. When they find someone suspicious, they have the computer perform facial recognition and body-movement searches of recorded images from all thirty-seven thousand cameras in the station. They piece together a second-by-second history of that person's movements, with emphasis on contact with any other individual. There's no doubt they'll get them. All flights leaving the station are limited to wounded and emergency services personnel with impeccable credentials. However many perps were involved, they're still on the station."
"It's days like this that I wish the GA hadn't outlawed corporal punishment," Weems said.
"I'd like to take them to Diabolisto and toss them into a swamp with a Lampaxa Vorheridine," Sydnee said. "I'd give them a sporting chance though. Each would have a knife."
"As I recall, you had two knives and personal body armor," Weems said.
"I said I'd make it sporting. I didn't say I'd give them an edge."
"Brrrr. Remind me never to make you angry with me," Weems said.
"Jerry,
never
make me angry with you," Sydnee reminded him with a grin.
* * *
Three weeks later, the
Denver
was nearing the Simmons Space Command Base. They had been charged with delivering a container of parts and supplies to the base. Since they were coming this way anyway, it made sense to have them deliver it instead of having a quartermaster ship make the run.
"Attention all crew, this is the Captain," Sydnee heard when she responded to the chime in her left ear. "Tomorrow we will dock at Simmons SCB. We've all worked hard the past couple of months, so all crew who are not scheduled for duty can enjoy liberty until we leave in two days. That is all. Lidden out."
Two days of liberty wasn't much time when stopping at an SCB, but most of the crew had enjoyed an extended time ashore during the BOI hearing. Sydnee would have to work third watch on the bridge, but she hoped to spend some time on the base and get some shopping done. She immediately called Kelly MacDonald to arrange a time convenient to both of them.
* * *
The brief layover at Simmons SCB had been enjoyable for everyone. The merchant stores on the civilian concourse were well stocked with everything the well-groomed Space Command officer or enlisted person could ask for. With so much time in space, it was great having a place where they could spend some of their back salaries, and the merchants were only too glad to serve them.
"That was great," Sydnee said at breakfast the first day out, "I suppose it'll be a year before we get back here."
"I wouldn't be so sure," Kelly said.
"Why? What did you hear?" Sydnee asked in a conspiratorial whisper.
"Hear? Nothing," Kelly said sotto voce.
"Then why do you think it won't be a year before we come back to Simmons?"
"A group of Marines came aboard just before we left Mars. You had gone to get some sleep before your watch, so you didn't see them."
"A group of Marines? Not ours?"
"I've never seen any of them before. What was most strange was their ranks. There was one captain, one first sergeant, and the rest were staff sergeants."
"How many noncoms?" Sydnee asked.
"Eleven."
"Eleven? And all E-6 through E-8?"
"Yep."
"That is strange."
"Yeah."
"Ever seen anything like that before?"
"Just once on a summer cruise during my third year at the Academy. They were a Special Ops team. I never got a chance to talk with any of them. They stayed in a hold the entire time they were aboard. They slept there and cooked their own food there. Then they transferred to another ship."
"How did you know they were Special Ops?"
"My commanding officer told me. In fact, that's all he would tell me. He said the rest was 'need to know,' and I didn't need to know."
"So what do you think they're doing here?"
"I don't have a clue. Perhaps SHQ expects the Clidepp Empire to try something along the border and wants to be prepared."
"I suppose it could be that— or a dozen other things."
"Maybe we'll find out eventually, or maybe we're just delivering them to some other destination."
When Sydnee awoke in the afternoon, she had a message informing her she was excused from third watch and should instead report to Major Burrows at first watch the next day. She felt like a run, so she headed to the track in the exercise hold and ran around the track for an hour. When she stopped, she was exhausted and felt great. A quick shower and then an hour in the simulators practicing control exercises in CPS-14 and the MAT-14 ships helped pass some more time. To wrap up her day, and purely for fun, she spent an hour flying an FA-SF4 Marine Fighter at treetop level through the canyons and valleys of Earth and at wave-top level across a great expanse of blue water.
* * *
Another message was waiting for Sydnee the next morning when she awoke. It instructed her to meet Major Burrows in the conference room on Deck 12, Frame-section 78. She had plenty of time, but she hurried to shower and dress so she could enjoy a leisurely breakfast. She was surprised to see Kelly MacDonald already there. MacDonald usually ate at 0815, just after Sydnee finished her watch.
"You're early," MacDonald said. "I didn't expect to see you this morning."
"I was excused from my watch. I have to report to the Major at 0800."
"On Deck 12?"
"Yeah. You too?"
"Yep. There's something in the air."
Sydnee sniffed. "I don't smell anything unusual."
Kelly grinned. "It's an old expression. It means that something is going on."
"Oh. Yeah. Any ideas?"
"Not a one. I guess we'll find out at 0800."
"Come in, ladies," Major Burrows said as Sydnee and Kelly entered the designated conference room. A Marine captain was already seated at the table with Burrows. "Take seats at this end of the table. Only the four of us are meeting at this time. This is Captain Blade. Captain, this is First Lieutenant Kelly MacDonald and Lieutenant(jg) Sydnee Marcola."
Blade nodded without saying anything but never took his eyes off the women as he appraised the way they moved.
"MacDonald is my senior platoon commander, and Marcola is a bridge officer and interdiction pilot."
"Don't you have any Marine pilots?" Blade asked.
"Before the
Denver
's space trials began, I was informed that we would be getting four. Then, during the trials, they informed me that we would only be getting two. Last week I was informed that maybe they'll be able to send us one Marine pilot in six months. Something big must be going on somewhere if all available pilots are being forwarded to that area."
"Probably another hot-button issue along this border. I suspect this area is really going to heat up over the next five years. But, getting back to the staffing for this operation, don't you have a Lt. Commander available— or at least a Lieutenant? This mission is too critical for a wet-behind-the-ears jg, even if she can handle a shuttle fairly well."
Burrows chuckled. "Lt. Marcola was just awarded the SC Comet, the SC Star,
and
a Purple Heart," he said. "You won't find a better pilot, faster quick draw, or more experienced jungle fighter in all of Space Command."
With raised eyebrows, Blade looked at Sydnee again. "Jungle fighter?"
"Our platoon on Diabolisto was pinned down and taking heavy RPG and mortar fire. When the platoon commander was killed, Lt. Marcola took command, ordered a breakout, and attacked an enemy of vastly superior size, killing some sixty-three while losing only two of our Marines. I've been told by Marines present that day that Lt. Marcola was never less than two meters out in front of the line as they charged the enemy positions."
"Diabolisto, eh? I heard a little about that charge, but I didn't know a Space Command officer was leading it. I take back what I said. Lt. Marcola is perfectly acceptable for this mission."