Chapter 9

When they got back to the house, they were met at the doc by Anna, Little Wally, Grandma Estelle and Buddy the Wonder Dog. “Where were you?” demanded Anna, little fists on hips.

“We were working,” said Dad. The kids hear that a lot. Their parents have strange jobs and sometimes they disappear for weeks, leaving them with Grandma Estelle and Grandpa Wally.

“HEY!” shouted Little Wally, pointing down in the boat.

“Ok,” said Alan, and he climbed down onto the barge and lifted Little Wally and Anna down with him. Just as he pulled out, Buddy hopped down and took his spot at the bow, sitting on the couch and peering ahead, tongue out, ready for action. Off they went, purring along the Erie Canal and heading east.

“Be back at five Popeye!” shouted Pandora.

“Aye aye, ma’am.”

“Wally isn’t very good at saying ‘please,’” said Pandora. “And Alan isn’t very good at saying ‘no.’” She led them across the lawn to their big house, where Wally and Estelle Schirra waited.

“Did you tell them?” asked Big Wally.

“About Mars or the wings?”

“Both.”

“Mars yes, wings not yet.”

“You knew about Mars, sir?” asked Staff Sergeant Alex Rodrigues while Vice Admiral Walter Schirra served him a beer.

“Of course, I knew, I ordered both.”

“You ordered us back to Mars?”

“I’m a flag officer, we only retire so much.”

When Alan and the kids got back to the house they were greeted by three great surprises, a huge pepperoni pizza and a huge bucket of Buffalo Style chicken wings from Tony Anchove’s Pizzas, and next to the tiki bar in a wheelchair and a Marine uniform, an old friend, Marine Gunnery Sergeant Dunlap.

“Aunty Marcie!” cried Anna as she raced to hug her parents’ friend. Little Wally joined her. Marcy had lost both legs at the knee and the left arm at the elbow to the cold of space as she waited for rescue on the NSS Grissom and for that she was rewarded with a genuine job with Space Force when she was released from the hospital. It wasn’t some made up bullshit job. She was really monitoring space security, and she was making a difference.

Soon she had all three Scarlett children on her lap, with little Wally and Anna trying to bury her in kisses. “Come on guys, she’s had enough combat experience,” called Alan. “Sorry about that gyrene.”

“It’s always ok, squid. It’s time I had someone manhandling me.”

They gathered around the picnic table and, for the first time ever, the Martian Marines had a proper slice of pizza pie and a stack of real Buffalo Style chicken wings. “Oh my god this is incredible!” groaned Ben. “I thought New York pizza was supposed to be the best.”

“I heard that rumor too,” said Pandora, who took to the local cuisine like a fish to water.

“Ok,” said Big Wally. “Gunnery sergeant Dunlap is going to brief us commissioned types while you kind folk straighten up. Fair?”

“Fair sir,” said Sgt. Alex before his ‘kids’ could complain.

“Ok, Eris, can you keep an eye on your youngest nephew?”

“No,” said Eris, who hasn’t set Gerry down since rescuing Marcy.

“His diapers are in the bag hanging from the back of the chair.”

They headed into the house and took Marcy down the elevator to the sub-basement that was constructed as a SCIF (Sensitive Classified Information Facility). Once they were in place, Alan locked out the elevator and Marcy started her briefing.

“There was another attack today,” said Marcy. “The SS Pennington was nicked by our mysterious shooter. Almost immediately after the shot a streak appeared at fifteen degrees past TDC in the Kuyper belt.”

“How long after the Pennington was hit did this streak appear?”

“We don’t know, I can’t get the ships logs from the Navy.

Alan, being the only navigational trained officer in the room, put on his glasses (over his eye patch) and studied Marcie’s data that was on the large screen. He adjusted the view and looked at the streaks from all angles; they were perfectly parallel and on the same orbital plane as the inner planets of the solar system. “Who is holding the ships logs?” Alan asked.

“Captain Lutz and the 5th Intelligence Corps.”

“Good god,” groaned Admiral Schirra. “What a bunch of political ass kissers and brown nosers.”

“Who is officially running this show?” asked Alan as he tried to find a common source point of the streaks. It looked like the source point moves around beyond the orbit of Mars but within the asteroid belt.

“Admiral Dolf Hilmers and Captain Bernie Lutz,” said Pandora.

“Lutz? Fuck,” Alan groaned. “What a useless gob.” He sat down at a computer and typed out a request for access to the log of every ship hit by this device that they were blaming on the scrapper. “If I don’t get a positive result from this request I’m initiating an investigation through the NCIS.”