Martial Law 1: Patriotic Treason (7 page)

Roger didn’t hesitate. He swung around, pointed the weapon towards the target, and pulled the trigger. It clicked, uselessly.

“First lesson of shooting,” Herzog said. He laughed as he held up his hand. “Never – ever – take anyone’s word about a weapon being loaded, or not. You can’t trust anyone, even me. The next person to make that mistake will be cleaning Marine Country until its completely spotless.”

“I didn’t see you do that,” Roger said, astonished. I hadn’t seen Herzog palm the clip either. “How did you…?”

“I’ll tell you one day,” Herzog promised. “It’s a very old trick. Now” – he took back the weapon and inserted the clip – “point and fire again.”

Roger checked the weapon this time, pointed and fired. It clicked again. “You also have to take the safety off,” Herzog explained, dryly. He demonstrated quickly. “The morons in charge of security at any surface base will probably make a fuss about you carrying a weapon, regardless of the regulations in effect. Always keep the safety on unless you want to use the weapon to kill someone, or to practice shooting. Take care of the weapon and it will take care of you.”

He smiled. “Now, shoot!”

The bang was much louder than I’d expected. “Ouch,” Roger said, with a hiss of pain. The gun had jerked in his hand. “I hit the target…”

“You hit the outer ring,” Herzog said. His tone wasn't quite mocking. “My old grandmother could shoot better than you.” He took back the weapon and passed it to Muna, who checked it carefully, earning herself an approving look in the process. “Your turn.”

An hour later, we had all had a turn firing the pistol and learning how to use it. Herzog made it clear. It wasn't just shooting that was important, but cleaning and preparing the weapon for use. Once we’d all been issued a pistol – although Herzog did warn us that we might not be allowed to keep them in the long run – we were told that they would be inspected regularly. A single weapon in bad condition would mean two demerits.

“In your free time, come here and practice shooting,” Herzog ordered, finally. We groaned. We barely had any free time on the ship. The First Lieutenant and the Senior Chief kept us working from dawn till dusk. I had never realised that I could be so grateful for sleep until they’d started to put us to work. The Academy had been far more routine, with hours allocated for the different courses well in advance, and none of us had been really challenged. “Now…”

He opened a box and revealed a third weapon. I’d seen something like it before, carried by the soldiers down on Terra Nova, but this one was gleaming. “Standard-Issue UN Assault Rifle, Mark Nine,” Herzog informed us. “These weapons are issued, without fail, to both Marines and Infantry troops down in the mud. Why is that?”

I hesitated, and then took a guess. “To allow compatibility?”

“Correct,” Herzog bellowed. “I can use their weapons; they can use ours. We can use their supplies; they can use ours, if they need them. The Infantry doesn’t know what it is like to be a Marine, but they know that they can use our weapons, if they need to do so. When you have all qualified with the pistol, we will move on to the rifle and qualify you on that as well.”

He glanced at his chronometer and smiled thinly. “Times up for the day,” he said, with a faint leer. It was an expression that promised pain…and lots of it. “Unarmed combat practice tomorrow, same time, same place.”

I didn’t – quite – groan again, but unarmed combat against trained Marines was a humiliating experience. I had a handful of lessons back at the Academy, but I hadn’t realised just how much more the Marines got, to say nothing of their constant practice against each other. The Doctor was forever complaining about repairing various Marines after sparring matches had broken bones and inflicted smaller injuries. We’d landed blows…but I was very aware that we’d been allowed to land those blows. The Marines were so controlled that they could absorb our blows without lashing back and knocking us out.

The next week went very slowly. The Captain had us running interception drills on the handful of freighters orbiting Terra Nova, or trying to set up exercises with some of the other starships. I spent some of my off-duty time reading about Terra Nova’s history in the ship’s library, but I found nothing to explain the ambush, or what I was coming to realise was incessant warfare. I asked Lieutenant Hatchet for an explanation, but she clammed up and assigned me other duties until I got the message. There were some questions I couldn’t ask even her.

“Perhaps they’re fighting over religion and the UN is caught in the middle,” Muna said, her dark eyes hooded. I knew little about her origins, apart from the fact that her presence at the Academy hadn’t been universally popular. I couldn’t understand why. She was good company, if sometimes shy and reserved. “Or perhaps they’re fighting against the UN itself. There were people back home who hated the UN and wanted to destroy all the peacekeepers…”

She shook her head. “The UN was the only force keeping the warring tribes apart,” she added. I realised, suddenly, that she could never go home again. The UNPF was her home now. “If it had withdrawn, they would have wiped each other out, but that didn’t stop them mounting attacks.”

“Perhaps,” Roger agreed. He seemed to hesitate. His family connections should have ensured that he had access to more information than anyone else, but on the starship he was cut off from anyone who might have shared information with him. “Or perhaps there’s something else going on. Were they shooting at us, or was it just a target of opportunity?”

I shrugged. “Would they have known or cared who we were?” I asked. It didn’t seem very possible, somehow. “How many Ensigns graduate from the Academy each year?”

Sally snorted. “Perhaps they were so scared when they heard that you three were on your way they decided to set up an ambush to welcome you,” she said. “They might even have intended to put your heads on poles…”

“Don’t even joke about that,” Muna said, sharply. The pain in her voice brought us up short. “It isn’t even remotely funny.”

There was an uncomfortable silence. “They might have wanted the Captain,” I suggested, finally. “Whoever they are…killing a starship Captain would have given them a serious victory.”

“But a victory for whom?” Rolf asked.

We had no answer.

At the end of the second week, the Captain ordered us to set course for Albion, a world only thirty light years from Terra Nova. I’d been expecting some kind of farewell from the planet, but apart from a brief inspection by the Port Admiral commanding the observation squadron there was nothing, not even a goodbye signal. If the Captain felt the lack, he didn’t show it, merely ordering the Pilot to open the wormhole and take us out of the system. I had hoped that I’d be on the helm again, but after the brief encounter with the pirate ship the Captain had decided that the Pilot would handle all manoeuvres in an inhabited solar system. I didn’t mind. I’d had plenty of time to practice in simulators and somehow it felt more real after I’d flown the ship into battle.

There was not, of course, any chance to slack off during the voyage. Lieutenant Hatchet kept us working hard, hammering new skills and disciplines into our heads even as we struggled to master automatic weapons and unarmed combat. I spent several hours per day on the tactical console, learning to master the system, even though I doubted I’d be allowed to use it until I reached Lieutenant, if I ever did. I was starting to realise – no, I’d realised it long ago – that I had been unprepared for duty when I’d boarded the ship and without the extra training, I would probably have been killed long ago.

“But Lieutenant,” I said, one day, “I won’t be allowed to use this console until after I reach Lieutenant…”

“If the ship is attacked, and all the Lieutenants are killed, do you think that the Captain will decide not to continue to return fire?” Lieutenant Hatchet asked, dryly. I flushed. It had been a pretty stupid question. “If I am out of the loop for any reason, the next in line will take over and continue to operate the console. If the senior crew was wiped out, you would be in command of the vessel…”

And God help her, I thought. I had wanted command of my own, one day, but I knew now that I wasn't even remotely prepared for command. The Engineer or the Pilot would be far more qualified for the position, but regulations were inflexible. The Department Heads were not in the chain of command, any more than the non-commissioned crewmen were, while the merest Ensign was. I’d need years before I knew half of what the Captain knew about running a starship. The punishment duty Lieutenant Hatchet had assigned me once, helping her with the paperwork, had rubbed that in as well. I had had no idea just how much paperwork was involved in operating the starship.

It might not make any difference, of course. The Space Opera videos that I’d absorbed back when I’d been a child, when the UNPF patrolled the galaxy and everything was well with the universe, had suggested that a heavily-damaged starship would be able to limp back home eventually. It hadn’t taken long for me to lose that impression. A hit that took out the bridge and most of the senior crew would almost certainly destroy the ship completely. The bridge was the most well-protected compartment on the ship, but a nuclear warhead – officially banned, but it was an open secret that some pirate ships possessed them, along with UNPF ships – would vaporise the entire vessel.

“Once you’ve finished with the tactical console for the day, go on to the shuttlebay,” Lieutenant Hatchet ordered, finally. I didn’t relax. The shuttle training simulators had been designed by a sadist who was far more devious than the person who dreamed up the Academy simulators. The Pilot had been needed on Terra Nova after all. “The Captain wants you all checked out on the shuttles before we arrive at Albion. You may be needed to operate on detached duty.”

I took the risk and asked her. “Lieutenant,” I asked, “is Albion going to be as dangerous as Terra Nova?”

Lieutenant Hatchet looked me right in the eye. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said, blandly. I blinked in surprise, but realised just what she meant. It wasn't something we could talk about in the open. “Everyone knows that Terra Nova is a peaceful world and any rumours to the contrary are malicious propaganda spread by the enemies of peace and harmony.”

I got the message and shut up.

Two weeks later, we arrived at Albion.

Chapter Six

The relationship between the UNPF and the various independent freighters is a complex one. Official UN policy is that independent freighters are dangerous and therefore all freighters should be operated under UN supervision as part of a shipping cartel. This is accomplished by endless bureaucratic regulation that makes the lives of independent freighter crews much harder. Regardless, independent freighters make up a critical part of the galactic economy and, because of the regulations, tend to be strong supporters of independence movements. The UNPF therefore harasses them where possible.

-Thomas Anderson. An Unbiased Look at the UNPF. Baen Historical Press, 2500.

Albion was settled thirty years after the invention of the Jump Drive by a forward party from a nation called England, one that I hadn’t even heard of until I’d read the briefing notes on the planet. England had been absorbed into the Pan-European Federation centuries ago, after the nationalists had left to live on various other planets. I had learned, by now, to take everything in the briefing notes with a great deal of salt, but even so, it was apparent that Albion was doing much better than Terra Nova. The system was crammed with sublight spacecraft mining the asteroids and moving between the outer planets, while the handful of UN craft seemed badly outnumbered. I didn’t know if there was a garrison on the surface at all – the briefing notes had been vague on the exact political status of Albion – but it certainly seemed peaceful. Of course, Terra Nova had also looked peaceful from high above.

“Penny for your thoughts, sir?”

I looked over at Marine Corporal Alice Hayden and had to fight to repress an embarrassed grin. Alice was two years older than me and looked tough enough to take on a gorilla and win. I had sparred with her on the mat and she’d held back…and she had still won. I wouldn’t have dared to pick a fight with her over anything…and I was supposed to be the one in command. The shuttle was an independent ship at the moment and, to all intents and purposes, I was the Captain.

“I was just thinking about how peaceful it is out here,” I said, ruefully. I might have been the senior officer on the shuttle, but everyone else had far more experience than I had. The Senior Chief had warned me to listen to the others and learn from their mistakes. It was, apparently, cheaper than making my own. “There’s no one shooting at us, there’s no one even shouting at us…”

Alice laughed. “In space,” she announced dramatically, “no one can hear you scream.”

I rolled my eyes. It was a kind of unofficial motto for the Marines and they never lost a chance to work it into their words. It was true, of course, but it didn’t make me any happier. There were dozens of vessels in orbit around Albion and anything could be happening on any of them. The UNPF had a remit to prevent smuggling, but there just weren’t enough starships to enforce it properly. There was little point in smuggling anything into Albion – the system could provide everything its inhabitants might want – but there was plenty worth smuggling out of the system. The UNPF had been warned to watch for high-tech cargos and other illegal consignments.