Assault: The Globur Incursion Book 6, page 3
“Problems?” asked Sanderson. “What the heck does that mean? You guys are bona fide heroes. The grand admiral himself says so. More importantly, so does Sante!”
“What about Antonetti? One of our original platoon and our only communications guy. I thought this was sort of a reunion?” asked Zhui.
Engers smile widened. “Oh, he’s locked himself up in a little love nest at an undisclosed location—you know him.”
“That sounds about right,” Sanderson let out a small laugh and was joined by the others.
The waitress arrived with a beer for Engers. She was clearly very nervous as she set it down, sloshing beer over the side of the mug. Engers quickly picked it up from the table as she swabbed up the small spill. “Thank you,” Engers said, raising his mug in a toast to the waitress. She simply stood still with her hands clasped in front of her, looking very pale.
“Could you gentlemen keep the noise down, please?” she squeaked sheepishly.
Sanderson frowned and looked at his companions. He looked at the waitress. “I’m sorry, we just met an old friend here, and we got a bit excited. I didn’t think we were loud. We didn’t mean to disturb anyone. We just got back from the rim and saving a whole star system!”
The waitress nodded. “OK. It’s just we don’t get you sort of people here very much. Some of the other guests were complaining. I am sorry.”
The Marines cast some glances around the bistro and were surprised by some openly hostile return looks.
Engers shrugged and took another drink of his beer and shrugged. “Like I said—problems.”
Sanderson glanced at the waitress. His AI said her name was Marsha. “Marsha, we were just greeting an old friend. We didn’t come here to make any trouble. OK?”
Marsha nodded and quickly withdrew.
Sanderson noticed that the Marines had at least two empty tables between them and other patrons. They all seemed clustered on the other side of the bistro. He wondered if getting a table on the edge of the restaurant was a coincidence after all.
He was a bit insulted that the waitress was somehow intimidated by them. It was more than just his size. He was used to that. This was something else. Those thoughts were pushed from his mind as he caught up with his friends.
Sanderson began to really enjoy himself and waved to the waitress for another round of drinks but had trouble getting her attention. Every time he waved, he caught some annoyed looks from the other patrons. Finally, Marsha appeared at the table and just nodded at the order for another round.
Zhui watched her scurry away. “Damn, I was just going to order some snacks. It’s a bit weird having a real, live waitress. Not used to these classy places.”
Sanderson glanced at him sideways. “Well, you do have augmentation. Pull up the menu and order some. Marsha will bring it over. I guess.”
Zhui shrugged and seemed to stare off into space as he linked with the local data stream. “You guys want anything?” he asked. Both of his companions just shrugged. “I’ll get an assortment.”
You know no one plays nails anymore?” asked Engers, returning to the conversation. “All the places at the Albion yards took the stuff out. We can drink,” Engers hoisted his mug in a salute, “but we do not get drunk—so there is no point.” He leaned in and added in a conspiratorial voice, “I hear that some doctors are working hard on this problem.”
That bought a laugh from everyone. “The augmentation lets anyone drive the nail all the way with one hit,” continued Engers, shrugging. “I only ever saw Sanderson do that before. It just isn’t fun anymore.”
The object of the game was to drive a nail into a big round piece of wood. The rub was that the hammer was shaped more like a chisel with a thin edge about the same width as the head of the nail. As one became more inebriated, driving the nail in got a lot harder.
“Damn. I was the champion at that,” remarked Sanderson. “What are the boys up to instead?” he asked Engers as Marsha quickly deposited some tasty-looking appetizers on the table.
“Planet diving,” explained Engers, over a mouthful.
“Planet diving?” asked Zhui. “What the hell is that?”
Engers leaned forward with a wicked grin on his face. “You get on one of the orbital stations, right? Then you dive off—to the planet.”
Zhui shook his head, laughing. “Sounds like a death wish to me.”
“Wouldn’t you hit the ground pretty hard?” asked Sanderson.
Engers nodded. “You need an armored casing for your sky-chute and a vac suit. Heard a gal from Bravo Company did it with no suit. Her armor worked out fine. Automatically deployed.”
Zhui shook his head. “I guess it might work. Pretty stupid way to check the theory.”
“The funny part is,” replied Engers, “I heard that the AI in her augmentation reported her. Something about unauthorized activation. Oh—and she landed near some civilians, and they were really freaked out because her armor was still active. They thought it was an alien invasion. Fleet had to work overtime to keep that one quiet.”
“Seems like it doesn’t take armor deployed to get some people’s attention,” added Sanderson, nodding toward the other patrons in the bistro.”
Zhui turned slightly in his seat to see some of the patrons staring at them. “What is their problem?” he spat, disgusted.
“Been hearing about this sort of thing from everybody,” replied Engers quickly. “Marines and Fleet people getting hassled. Some people do not like the blue skin. Call us freaks. PFP propaganda doesn’t help. It says we are now mindless storm troopers that seek to control imperial citizens. Some people actually believe that crap.”
Sanderson shook his head. “They just don’t know what the augmentation really is. We used to get hassled as Marines because we underwent certain enhancements to improve muscle mass and endurance. That was retroviral treatments. This is hardware, but it really is just more of the same.”
Zhui clenched his jaw. “We used to get hassled before, sure. Now it’s hard to miss the blue skin. We stick out like targets. Now the augmentation is more obvious. People seem more offended.”
“It was all necessary,” replied Sanderson with a sigh. “It’s ironic that we did it to protect these people, and now they are offended.” He took a pull on his beer. “None of us would have come back from the last deployment without our enhancements. They changed the laws to allow it—but…” Sanderson shrugged. “I know there was a lot of opposition. People here feel safe. This is not the rim. They really don’t know the situation out there.”
“Yeah,” laughed Engers. “If they had any real idea, they would crap their pants. I guess having the Fleet’s largest yard in the system makes them feel like none of what goes on out at rim affects them.”
Zhui relaxed a little. “They really have no idea. I still can’t believe anyone wouldn’t know what’s going on. There is not much on the newsfeeds - and the bullshit the PFP is shoveling out...”
Engers nodded. “Maybe we should head out. I’m really getting tired of being stared at. The guy at the bar looks like he is working up the nerve to try something.”
Sanderson drained his beer and followed Engers’s gaze. There was a man dressed in a business suit at the bar, clearly not on his first drink. He glared daggers at the three Marines. Sanderson’s augmentation let him see that the man was indeed flushed and agitated, possibly on the edge of doing something foolish.
Sanderson knew that trying to get the waitress over to their table would take a while, so he stood up. “I’ll get the bill, and maybe we can take a walk along the promenade.” His companions nodded.
Sanderson was a little annoyed that they were leaving so soon. He really had not been out anywhere since he and Lilly had gotten back together. They had been out for a meal a few times, but they were always in the Fleet facilities, so they had not even noticed that some of the civilian population was put off by Fleet people and their augmentation.
He strolled over to the bar. His augmentation would have allowed him to pay from where he had been sitting, but he really did not like the looks some of the patrons were giving them, and he did not want anyone to have the impression that they were trying to skip their bill in a dine and dash. Normal people had to be in very close proximity to the terminal to establish a link.
The server behind the bar stopped and stared as he approached. “Can I pay my bill, please?” asked Sanderson. “I’ll get the whole tab for the table.”
“We don’t need your kind in here. This is a class place,” came a comment from the end of the bar—the businessman.
“Just paying my tab, sir,” replied Sanderson with a friendly grin.
“We shouldn’t have to put up with drunken Marines rambling around, causing trouble,” came the slightly slurred reply from the businessman.
“No trouble, sir. Just paying my bill,” Sanderson replied as he made a show of placing his hand on the terminal so his ID could transfer payment.
The businessman lurched up, toppling the stool. It clattered noisily to the floor. “You warmongers start a war and then parade around here like you own the place. You are an abomination! A cyborg storm trooper!” The businessman poked Sanderson in the chest.
Sanderson towered over the businessman. He saw Zhui and Engers heading over, and he shook his head, sending a clear message, then he nodded to the exit so they would meet him on the promenade.
“I am sorry, sir, but I really do not know what you are talking about,” replied Sanderson calmly, turning to leave.
“Who the hell do you think you are, you bastard?” snarled the businessman, grabbing Sanderson’s lower arm. “What is your number? You’re here harassing these people by showing off your disgusting cyborg treatment!”
Sanderson was getting annoyed. He stepped back and held up his hands in mock surrender to the businessman. “I can assure you, sir, I do not have a number, and I was just paying my bill.”
“I want to know who you are, goddammit!” yelled the businessman as his face flushed crimson. Sanderson did not need augmentation to see that the businessman was drunk and considering doing something rash.
“My name is Sergeant Sanderson of Alpha Company of the 15th Marine Expeditionary Force. Current assignment is the Imperial Fleet Carrier Valkyrie.”
That seemed to confuse the businessman for a moment.
“Um, sir—Sergeant,” the server on the other side of the bar called out nervously. “I think you should leave. You should know I already called the police and the shore patrol.”
Sanderson looked around the bistro. The exchange had drawn the attention of the patrons, and their looks ranged from horror to disgust. Only a few looked mildly curious.
The businessman was about to say something else but had the presence of mind to stop when Sanderson held up a hand. “That’s right,” he said, resigned. “I was just leaving.” He turned and walked toward the entrance and saw Zhui and Engers loitering on the far side of the promenade.
“Hey!” called the businessman.
Sanderson glanced back to see him holding up a two-fingered salute of some kind. He kept walking out the entrance and across the promenade. The crowd seemed to part to let him pass, and he joined his friends.
Engers shook his head and wore a sad grin. “Like I said—problems.”
Sanderson sighed. “What the hell does this mean?” he asked as he imitated the salute the businessman had given him.
“That,” replied Zhui, “is the sign of the peace movement—the PFP. Where have you been, under a rock?”
Sanderson stood still for a moment. “Let's get the hell out of here,” he said, his voice filled with frustration.
Chapter 3
Rear Admiral Pang was checking yet another damage control update as TF13H sat in the Mongolia system. She had little choice but to stay in the system and complete repair as supply ships came in from Gateway to replenish stores and munitions. Gateway was detaching more ships from TF14 to reinforce her. That was the last thing they were waiting for.
Unfortunately, the decision had been made not to detach more battleships, but their losses on destroyers and frigates would be made good by the reinforcements. They were even getting a fifth destroyer. Pang wrinkled her nose at the thought.
The destroyers were primarily meant for missile interdiction and as a launch platform for torpedoes. They were turning out to be the least survivable ship, as they were the most lightly armed and also the most lightly armored. She knew that they needed to make a change there, and she had said as much in her after action report. She knew Rear Admiral Jones had said the same after the battle of the Markus Nebula.
What the Fleet knew and what the senate would authorize were often two completely different things. The Fleet kept asking for more ships, and the senate oversight committee would grudgingly approve the laying down of new hulls. Raising the Fleet budget was difficult to justify when most of the empire saw the fleet as an expensive anachronism. Mostly a flag waving exercise that occasionally provided assistance during natural disasters. It was not like there was a war on after all.
In the days since the last battle, many of her ships had been returned to operational capability. All expendable munitions had been replenished, even capital missiles. She felt TF13H would be able to resume her system defense patrol very soon.
Vice Admiral Stukov had not been pressing her too hard on speeding things up, but she knew he was anxious to get TF13H back into the fight. Between TF13 and TF15, they had destroyed two Globur battlegroups in recent weeks. TF13 had also gutted a battlegroup in the Ming system.
The planetary governor on Khan, in the Mongolia system, had been surprisingly supportive and had entertained them in the capital of Ulaan several times. He and his advisors had actually been able to see the battle unfold since the system FTL communications network had survived the opening attack.
To say Governor Jamyangiin was grateful would be an understatement. The victory in the Mongolia system had turned riots into celebrations of deliverance for the Khanian people. Jamyangiin had been inspired and was reliving his younger days as a warrior. He had lost quite a bit of weight and had taken to wearing a traditional saber in public appearances.
These victories had all come at a cost. TF15 was heavily damaged, as was her own TF13H. Only one ship had been a hard kill—no survivors. The battleship Hammer had been obliterated when it was rammed by a Globur destroyer traveling at a good fraction of the speed of light. Captain Oustead’s battleship Venganza had been heavily damaged in that same fight. He’d taken the time to repair it only well enough to make it to Gateway for further, more extensive, repairs. Pang needed battleships, not more destroyers.
Pang was glad to see that Captain Jyun had done no less with her battleship, Trident. Her old flag captain had done well, but she had previous experience commanding a battleship, unlike most of the captains. Trident and Venganza both now had operational quantum cannon.
Both of the TF13H cruisers had survived with moderate damage and were also showing as fully operational. One destroyer was a total wreck, but Manila had been able to restore power and was also enroute to Gateway. The sole remaining frigate Bogamadur had been able to make repairs and was now fully operational.
Dixmude was looking better these days, too. The crew had been able to regain control of the carrier after the Globur on board were eradicated. Replacement fighters and spares had arrived to make good on the losses. That had meant personnel, too. A few hundred to replace those badly wounded or killed on the ships. Most of the fighter pilots had been recovered from their survival pods.
Operational, thought Pang. That is Fleet-speak for it is working, but we cannot guarantee it will hold together. That does not mean that ships do not have slagged weapon emplacements. At least we were able to replace almost all the destroyed point-defense batteries.
Pang's own estimate put her at about 80% capability, but it would get really hairy if Globur attack ships started hitting the shields with their beam weapons. Hairier still if their battleships and destroyers got into range with their beam weapons. The shield modifications had made the shields more effective, but they were still not as good as the Globur shields.
The fact that the Globur carriers were so heavily shielded had come as a surprise. Their enemy was always adapting. Now is seemed their armor was capable of reflecting laser bolts, making things tougher for the Marines in close combat. That had been the nastiest surprise. It had cost a lot of Marine lives on the Fleet ships. Thankfully, they had not actually lost any ships to boarders.
Her comm pinged just as the holoplot updated. “Inbound track detection,” reported the scanner tech on the flag bridge. Pang watched as the blob on the flag plot formed a tail that showed the course and led back to the point of origin.
“The plot matches the trajectory and time for the ships from Gateway, Admiral,” reported the scanner tech.
Pang nodded, remembering her arrival in the Chard system to meet Rear Admiral Jones and TF15. The plot was still hours out, and thankfully, expected. Once the new ships had arrived and recharged their quantum drive, TF13H could begin its patrol again.
Pang scanned the readiness status of the task force. The Globur have lost two battlegroups near the Chard system. They will not stop coming. This had better be enough.
***
Karl Zenke stood by the viewport watching as Phoenix was pushed out of her slip by some tugs. Constructions bots swarmed over the tortured hull of the ship. He had been rooted to the spot for almost an hour as he watched his command leave for what was to be the last time.
“I’m sorry, Karl,” came a voice from behind him. The familiar form of Rear Admiral Jones drew up alongside. Like Zenke, Jones’s eyes were fixed on the savaged hull of Phoenix.
“I can’t seem to keep a ship,” replied Zenke, feeling the weight of having lost his last three commands to enemy action. Phoenix had been preceded by the cruiser Spear and the corvette Arbalest.
