Homeworld: A Military Science Fiction Novel (25 page)

Greetings from the Stars

A technician had commandeered half of Admiral Clarkson’s folding table and had spent the better part of yesterday afternoon and on into the night setting up various pieces of equipment, which he swore would eventually allow for surface to orbit communication. Clarkson, to be honest, had little confidence that it would work, but after he was approached with the idea, he felt it couldn’t hurt to try.

Their project had started with the technician who had proposed the idea running back and forth with piles, of what looked to the admiral like junk, which was an ever-growing pile of castoff electronics, appliances and civilian transit power sources.

Slowly, over the course of the evening, the junk actually did start to look more and more like a piece of communications equipment even if the outer casing was salvaged from an Instacook oven. It also had knobs from old field gear and other pieces of machinery that Clarkson couldn’t identify. The switches had been salvaged from a downed civilian helicopter, or so he had been told. The speakers looked like little more than pieces of sheet metal with magnets from a mass transit vehicle and pieces of what looked like several layers of coffee filters for the cone. The microphone was made from three helmet com microphones fused and soldered into a small metal box that looked suspiciously like a cigarette case with one button sticking out of it.

Ben, the technician, and Clarkson shared several pots of black coffee as they each worked at their respective tasks through the night. Turns out several crates of the stuff were once stored in this warehouse and some of it was even good. Clarkson leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes against both fatigue and the itch at the back of his eyeballs that was caused by the caffeine that was keeping him awake. “Are you having any luck down there Ben?” Clarkson called to the tech.

“Actually, sir, I think I almost have orbital communications. It will be awhile yet before I can manage to hobble together real time transmissions so there might be some delay, but I’m hoping it will let you listen in on what’s going on up there. If we get real lucky we might even be able to talk to them,” replied Benjamin “Ben” O’Farrell.

Clarkson took another drink from his coffee cup and thought about the interesting man turning junk into something more valuable than a small colony’s reserve of credits. Turns out, he was an Iowa farm boy before joining up with the Infantry and as a kid, he had always liked taking things apart and putting them back together and since the Infantry had some pretty interesting thing to take apart and put back together, he had stayed in the Infantry long past his compulsory service date. Clarkson and Ben had done a lot of talking over the long hours of the night to keep each other awake and alert. Coffee could only do so much.

“Well, hurry it up if you can, Ben. I don’t want to miss my favorite show!” The admiral sounded excited. If the frequencies and codes that Drake had provided were good then they could listen in on the enemies plans and know when or if relief arrived.

“Sir, Private Dinah Ridge requests permission to speak with you, sir,” called out a female voice behind him which caused him to jump a bit. “Must be the coffee,” thought the admiral as he turned to see who had addressed him. “A bit formal considering the circumstances, don’t you think, Private Ridge, or are you one of those hardnosed by the book types?” the admiral asked while gesturing towards a chair.

The admiral noticed that her armor had seen better days but her rifle was as pristine as if it had just rolled off the assembly line, and by the way she held it, the admiral believed that the rifle had actually seen a lot of service. As the olive skinned, red haired and green eyed young woman walked over to stand in front of the chair she stammered “Sir uh that is Admiral Clarkson I uh didn’t mean to” Dinah stammered. Oh just sit down for heaven’s sake and tell me in plain English what you want to ask of me or inform me of, Private Ridge. I promise you my rank has not bestowed upon me godhood no matter what your Initial Training Sergeant may have said.”

Clarkson could not help grinning at the new Infantryman as she gently lowered herself into the chair as if it would bite. She couldn’t have been more than a few weeks out of academy by the way she had addressed him. “Have a cup of coffee. It’ll save the strain on mine and Ben’s bladder. Say hello to Dinah, Ben.” A grease covered hand stuck out from under the table and waved a greeting, while Dinah could hear a voice call out a cheery, “Hello!”

“Now before I pass out from sheer exhaustion, please tell me what I can do for you, Private Ridge?” Clarkson said stifling a yawn and passing a steaming cup of Joe to the young, nervous, private. “Well, sir, if you want it plain, here it is. I would like to know what happened to the man I arrived with. He saved not only my life but the life of a friend and I owe him.” Dinah sipped her coffee, gripping it with both hands to keep her hands from shaking. At any moment, she expected Sergeant Turner to show up and “unleash the wrath of an unholy god” on her for speaking to an admiral in such a way.

“Oh, is that all? Well, Drake is assisting Colonel Miller on a scouting mission. In fact, they should be returning soon, I hope. I promise you, I did not hang him from the yardarm or have him shot if that’s what you’re concerned with,” Clarkson said giving the girl a smile. She reminded him a lot of his third grandchild. He couldn’t help but hope Emily would be safe on the Republic Fleet ship, Burning Mind. It was an exploratory vessel on the edges of unknown space but the unknown could be just as dangerous as a Coalition armada. The admiral’s eyes had started to droop half closed when a voice came from under the table.

“Admiral, I believe I’ve done it. I’ll take that promotion now if you don’t mind,” a sandy haired, fair skinned man, with slightly oriental features said as he rolled out from under the table. His blue coveralls were covered with a mix of grime and burn marks. Ben wiped his filth-covered hands on a slightly less filthy rag. The admiral anxiously watched as Ben flipped two switches on a truly unique looking machine, which caused the console to light up and begin to give off an electrical hum. “Now sir, what station can I tune you into first?” Ben asked, pulling up a folding metal chair and sitting down in front of the console.

“Can you try to get me the Republic Fleet command actual? I’ve always like that show.” Clarkson said leaning forward, the excitement of the moment temporarily making him forget his fatigue. Ben deftly spun a few dials, flipped a few switches, and spoke into the unique microphone while depressing the button on the cigarette case that served as its housing. “This is Earth Infantry command requesting to speak with Republic Fleet command actual.” There was short pause before a surprised female voice answered, “Stand by for actual, Earth Infantry command.”

Clarkson jumped to his feet with a “Hallelujah!” and slapped Ben firmly on the back.

“Congratulations, Command Sergeant Major O’Farrell, you did it!” Ben just grinned and stood, offering the admiral his seat, saying, “Push this button to talk, sir, and release it when you are finished speaking. Remember there might be a slight delay.”

A brusque voice came booming from the jerry rigged com system, “Casa here, is that you, Temple?”

“Temple’s dead, Casa. This is Clarkson. Our SitRep is FUBAR. Please tell me you’ve got better news?” Clarkson spoke into the microphone, willing there to be news of a ground fleet being inbound.

The booming voice came back over, “That’s a negative, Clarkson. Our situation is only a little better up here.” There was a burst of static as the transmission cut off. Clarkson looked anxiously at Ben who said, “Perfectly normal, sir. Might I suggest, sir, that we transmit these while we have the channel?” Ben held up the vid containing the frequencies and authorization codes for the Coalition forces. Hanging from the vid was a mess of wires and electrical tape that had been attached to the back of the hobbled together com system.

Clarkson smiled as he said, “Ben, I’ll make an officer out of you yet and I don’t care how much you protest!” Then keying the microphone, he said, “Casa, stand by to receive a data upload. Consider it our present to you.” Clarkson nodded at Ben who flipped three switches and turned a dial that looked as if it came from the scope of a rifle.

There was another short pause and bursts of static and then, “Is this what it looks like, Clarkson?” Then the three huddled around the now jerry rigged com, that was starting to get slightly warm, heard a barked order from the still open channel. “Com Officer, get these programmed in and pass them around to the armada ASAP! Clarkson I don’t know how you got hold of those, but it might give us the edge to survive longer up here. Tell me you have another miracle up your sleeve,” Casa said with the hope and jubilation clear in his voice.

“Not yet, but possibly soon. Based on Intel I’m expecting to come in at any moment, we might make a push on the Tereshkova Memorial Spaceport in an attempt to utilize their old Earth to Orbit missiles, so be sure that all the folks up there know to turn on their IFFs. It’s about the best we can offer right now, Casa.”

A longer burst of static followed by, “…then get them repaired! Understood, Clarkson, make it happen or this counter attack may very well may fail. Start throwing rocks this way if you think it will help! Casa out.” There was a burst of sharp static and then the normal background hum. “They’ve closed the channel, Admiral, and may I suggest powering down the system as it is beginning to overheat?” Clarkson nodded as Ben powered down the scrap pile of junk that had somehow allowed them to talk to the Earth Republic Fleet in orbit.

Admiral Clarkson then rolled to the floor and lay on his back. “Someone wake me when Miller and Drake report in.” Within seconds, Admiral Clarkson was snoring softly.

Dinah looked at Ben and Ben to Dinah. Ben then just shook out a couple of blankets that looked as if they had been used as packing material and laid them over the admiral. “Dinah, can you do a favor for me and go get the medical officer? Based upon how hard the admiral here has been pushing himself, I think he’s due for a checkup. Oh, and I’m probably only going to say this to you once, but that’s an order, Private Ridge,” Ben said with a large smile. Dinah returned the smile before snapping to attention and barking out, “Yes, Sergeant Major!” Then she spun on her heel and sprinted off to find their doc.

Unconventional Warfare

When Drake and Miller returned, they reported to Admiral Clarkson, who was now on a field gurney with an IV in his arm and a medical officer hovering by his bed taking various readings and giving him various injections. They had found him lucid and conscious however. He ordered food and coffee brought for the two men then told them to take a seat and fill him in.

The two took turns eating and talking. By the time they were done, the admiral nodded and said, “So, if I understand it, we’ve got at least a company of Coalition armor and three companies of Coalition soldiers to get through in order to take the spaceport.” The admiral paused and looked around the room until his eyes fell on a man in a blue coverall with the insignia of a command sergeant major on each sleeved that looked to be made out of electrical tape. The man the admiral had referred to as Ben was tinkering with an unusual piece of equipment. It could be a com station if you really stretched your imagination or it could just be a work of modern art. “Ben, how many Infantrymen do we have billeted around here?” asked Clarkson without looking up from what he was doing. Ben said, “At last count, just under a battalion’s worth with several civilian volunteers who keep arriving to bolster the ranks. Possibly about a company’s worth of volunteers.”

The admiral had nodded and asked, “No armored units have appeared out of nowhere have they?” Ben answered rather sadly, “Negative, sir. We have been unable to reestablish contact with our armored units.”

“Well, gentlemen, there you have it. We might, and I do stress might, be able to take the base using every resource available to us but we could never hold it. I need options. Suggestions from either of you two?” The admiral asked, trying to sit up straighter in bed only to have the medical officer urge him to lie back.

Drake spoke first. “Who says this needs to be a conventional battle? Based on your H.Q. here, I think the time for those has passed. Ben, how many explosives do we have at our disposal? I don’t care if they’re military grade.” Tightening something with a crescent wrench, Ben answered, “Oh I’d say about two tons worth if you don’t mind using construction grade explosives.” Drake nodded and quickly asked, “Do we have any way of quickly transporting them short of carrying them on our person?” It appeared that Ben had finished his work because he stood and walked over to them wiping his hands with a dirty rag as he said, “Well let’s see. There is that public transit I saw down the road a ways that I could probably get running in a couple of hours and you could always borrow my truck, but if you scratch my paint, I warn you I might get angry about it,” Ben said with a grin.

“I don’t remember any personal transports making it out of Alpha Base,” Clarkson said, giving Ben a questioning gaze. “Sir, with all due respect, why would I put my baby where she would be shot at? She’s parked in my garage about two klicks from here. If you are thinking what I think you are thinking,” Ben said, pointing a screwdriver at Drake, “there are two rules. First, I’m driving and second if she gets blown up while we’re transporting that much explosive and we end up in the beyond, you owe me a new truck.”

“What exactly are you thinking, Drake?” Miller asked, not following the direction of the conversation. “Unconventional warfare; you saw with your own eyes how they were all huddled up in the streets and alleyways in between those large apartment complexes and business centers. A few of us meaning apparently Ben, because he’s driving, yourself and I sneak into some of the surrounding buildings and strategically place some of the explosives rig them to a remote detonator and then rejoin the main force that the admiral here will kindly have assembled and ready to mop up any survivors.” Drake finished, looking at Clarkson for approval while Miller’s jaw hung open.

“Well, it’s either suicidal or brilliant,” the admiral responded and then turned his head to Ben.

“Ben, can it be done?” Ben scratched his chin with the screwdriver and answered, “Yes, Admiral Clarkson, I believe it can and a lot easier than building that com station. The problem is how long it would take to rig the devices. The longer we stay in hostile territory the higher our chances of being caught before we can initiate the plan. I would also like to have a look at the architectural plans of those buildings before we begin. With your permission, admiral, I will go find those.” The admiral nodded and Ben set off at a trot.

Turning his gaze to Miller, who had managed to close his mouth by this point and just shake his head as he looked down at the floor, Clarkson asked, “Colonel Miller, do you have any experience with explosives?” Miller looked up and answered, “Yes sir. Extensive experience but only with military grade. I’ve never had opportunity or need to use construction grade but I imagine the principle and math is about the same.” Miller waved a hand in Drake’s direction saying, “And whatever I don’t know, I’m sure Drake can fill me in on while we’re en route.”

At this point, Ben came running back in with a hand held vid that looked to be hooked up to some sort of light emitter but the emitter looked as if it was made out of a spotlight off a law enforcement cruiser and several camera lenses. When Ben began tapping the vid, the contraption came to light and displayed architectural and city maintenance plans of the general area of the spaceport. “Colonel Miller or Mr. Drake, would you mind showing me where the troops were when you last saw them?” Ben asked as he turned the lenses to bring the picture into sharper focus.

Miller rose from his seat and walked over to the wall that the plans were being projected on. ‘Right about here, Ben,” the Colonel said as he circled the upper middle portion of the map with his finger. Ben tapped at the handheld vid and the image relocated and zoomed in on the area Miller had indicated. Drake laughed and Ben said, “There are miracles after all.” Clarkson and Miller exchanged confused looks and seeing that the admiral didn’t understand, Ben calmly stated, “That purple line running the length of the street that you say the Coalition armor were last seen? Well, that’s the main methane vent, which goes to fuel the waste remanufacturing center. With the power being down for the last several days, it is my guess that there has been a tremendous buildup of methane in that vent. As secondary explosions go, I don’t think we could ask for much better than the equivalent of a ton of TNT.

Colonel Miller nodded as Admiral Clarkson said, “Well, that settles that then. Colonel Miller, before you leave, can you give the order to have the troops assemble into small teams once more. Have them regroup at a location of your choosing so that they may be of some assistance in retaking and then defending the spaceport if any will be needed after you unleash a fireball that is sure to engulf all of the Coalition forces and spread throughout the city.” Ben broke in, “Begging the admiral’s pardon, but lighting the city on fire is not a risk. Those vents have seals that at the first hint of flame slam shut and they have their own reserve power supply that can last for months.” Clarkson nodded. “Good, we don’t have to worry about immolating ourselves just yet then.”

“Gentlemen, there is an Earth Republic Fleet overhead that desperately needs our help. Based upon what you have told me, we might be able to lend the aid that could turn the tide of battle in our favor. Unfortunately, I can’t join you on this mission. The doctor tells me that I run the risk of a massive coronary if I try and when I told him to damn the risks, he changed it to I would die. He reminded me that someone was needed to maintain overall operational command. So while I hate desk work, I wish you Godspeed and good hunting.”

As Colonel Miller left to advice his junior officers of Admiral Clarkson’s orders, he noticed that Drake stayed behind and approached the admiral’s bedside, beckoning Ben over.