Chapter 15

The mission plan we worked out with Colonel Decker looked like it would result in us being away for quite a bit longer than any of our previous missions, but if we were going to be setting up a minefield, we probably should take the time to do as good a job as possible. Our target system was Tantalus, and we would be accompanied by a modified Stagecoach Class cargo ship which would serve as a logistical support ship for our operations. It would carry spare deployment cases filled with mines and an ordnance bot that would resupply us as we ferried back-and-forth from Tantalus, dropping minefields all over the planet’s orbital paths. Even with a couple of thousand mines our effort would be completely inadequate to fully interdict all movement to and from the planet, but if we could seed enough of the nasty things we were likely to do something of value. We hoped.

The last time the planet had been observed, a little more than a month before, there was a fair amount of ship traffic in the area, so this “tender” would have to remain well away from the planet and hide within the vast empty space of the system. An asteroid field would have been ideal to park in, but this system didn’t have one, so we thought above the system’s ecliptic plane and far away would be reasonably safe. The stagecoach was among the fastest ships in the Confederacy, so if it looked like the Sa’arm were going to stumble on it, it could run away more effectively than we could.

That meant we were going to have to spend a lot of time going back and forth, however. It wouldn’t be safe to just burn back and forth at maximum power to save time, as that would be like waving a red flag and inviting Sa’arm interest in us. We would be moving carefully and quietly, sneaking around as much as we could, and that takes time. A lot of it.

A fair bit of our previous mission planning around Tulak could be re-used on this one. We spent a lot of time wargaming how we might sneak in and out of Tantalus’ orbit, how we might react to Sa’arm activity that might pose a threat to us, and what our GO/NO GO criteria would be on entering orbit, or remaining in orbit. When would we bail out if things looked too dangerous? How would we do that without increasing the danger to us? How much could we depend on stealth when we really didn’t have a solid idea on how effective it was?

The contingency list was longer for this mission than any other. We then tried to tear apart all the contingencies to make sure they were the best we could come up with. We even considered whether further modifications to the ship might help mitigate some of the risks we were likely facing.

Colonel Decker was pleased with our final result, and we had a final brief with him, the XO and Tom Harding, the captain of the Golden Arrow, the only crewman on the otherwise AI-operated vessel. Everyone seemed satisfied with the plan, and everyone was confident in the success of our mission.

“Hey Pappy, I need to get rid of that war trophy somehow,” Staff Sergeant White complained. “Everywhere I go these days, I either get someone trying to make a deal for it, or I have someone from a ship wanting to know how we managed to get it so they could get something themselves. It’s getting old. What should I do?”

We had got quite a stash of microbrew for the Sheep Pen courtesy of Ensign Gordon as a result of the bet we had rigged between him and Will. Quite a few colonies were into brewing and alcoholic beverages were becoming one of the most popular trade items between colonies. Many cargo vessels that came in had a stash of booze that the ship’s crew would use as trade currency as they ran from place to place. Nobody cared much about the bootlegging, as it didn’t break any specific regulations, but there wasn’t any official permission given to devote valuable cargo space for bootleg booze, so it was kind of a gray market instead of a black market.

“Maybe you should go into business with this. If you’re the only supplier, you get to set the standard for authenticity and there certainly is a demand. You could keep us well supplied with booze as long as nobody figures out what’s going on.”

“Pappy, when people figure out this is a scam, I’m gonna be gettin’ a lot of hatin’ around here. Right now everybody wants to be my friend. I don’t want to turn into the bad guy of the whole base.”

“What have you told people about the origin of your rare artifact?”

“Not a thing. I told Ensign Gordon it’s a secret, and if I told him where I got it, he’d be able to get some himself. That makes it seem even more valuable.”

“If this all falls apart, perhaps you can claim you were duped as well?” I offered. “If that happened and you acted even more upset than the rest, it might even make them feel closer to you. You could beg them to help you uncover the con artist out there and get them to do things for you. Heck, it might even work out better if you suddenly told them everything was fake at some point. You’d have a volunteer army of people motivated to do your bidding so they can get revenge on the culprit. Maybe it would be a fictitious crewman on a ship that no one ever heard of before. Having a good cover story can make the difference between disaster and success.”

“Dang, Pappy, that would work! As long as the AI don’t bust up the story, it would work.”

“Just remember that the AIs might see all and know all, but they don’t much care about what humans do with each other. Unless you think to ask them just the right question, they’re not going to offer to clear up any misunderstandings anyone might have unless it impacts our ability to do the job they wants us to be doing. As long as you stay away from what they think important, they’ll leave you alone. As long as no one thinks to ask the right questions, they won’t tattle on anyone.”

“How do I know when I cross the line with that?” the Staff Sergeant wondered.

“I’d stay away from anything involving combat with the Sa’arm or making babies. Outside of that, it’s probably all just useless trivia to the AIs. If we do a good job making babies and killing Sa’arm, the AIs would have a vested interest in protecting us, so the better we do that the more likely it is that the AIs might actively help us keep secrets. The more valuable you are, the more people want to protect you, and the AIs might act the same way.”

“Good thing Theresa is pregnant, then. I’m doing my part.”

We had started our FTL towards Tantalus just a minute before the Golden Arrow followed, with it making sure it matched our FTL speed so it wouldn’t beat us there. We stayed in FTL for eight days, doing some drills, relaxing in the wardroom and enjoying the ship’s library during the boring voyage. There’d be plenty of excitement when we got into the meat of the mission, so some downtime to start with was welcome to me.

About thirty minutes before we dropped I brought the crew to General Quarters and condition Zebra. The AI counted down for me, and I counted down for the crew.

“FTL drop in Five, Four, Three, Two, One. FTL Drop. All stations report.”

“Conn, Sensors! We have four, no five, six contacts DANGER CLOSE! SHIT, they’re Swarm! Closest range two thousand meters!”

Oh fuck. There was no way they didn’t see the FTL drop, and this close our stealth wasn’t going to be effective. I struggled like hell to keep the panic down.

“AI, emergency FTL jump! Engineering, belay main engine restart”

<Working.>

“Sensors, if they react execute WOLFTRAP immediately!”

Of course they would react. WOLFTRAP was the contingency for us doing a broadband EW jamming effort with everything we had, prioritizing on the most threatening targets. It was the only thing we could do. We had four EW emitters, but could only direct them at two targets at a time since they were arranged in pairs on either side of the ship. If I tried to widen the field so we could attack more targets simultaneously, it might not work against any of them because the power hitting each one would be a fraction of what we could hit only two with. But anything we weren’t screwing with had us dead to rights.

My order to Engineering meant we had to drift with whatever inertial momentum we had when we entered FTL since we couldn’t engage the engines and spin up the FTL at the same time. We didn’t have much residual inertia, so we weren’t that far off from just being “dead in the water.” If I could do some emergency maneuvers right now I absolutely would, but we needed to get the hell away and a short FTL jump somewhere, anywhere else at all, was a lot more interesting than hanging around trying to dodge close-range Sa’arm fire and duke it out with a whole enemy fleet.

“Conn, Sensors. Golden Arrow FTL drop to port!”

“GOLDEN ARROW GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!” I shouted. If we were fucked, they were doubly so. They were a much bigger target, much easier to see, and like us also had no weapons.

“Conn, incoming fire!”

“Shield up, fire chaff!.” Yeah, they saw us.

We heard a huge bang aft and a second later the AI jumped us to FTL. It knew not to wait.

A siren went off.

<Medical emergency in Engineering. Hull breach in Engineering.>

Chris!

We had never received fire before. No matter how much you think about what it might be like to get shot at, or done damage control drills, or anything else, the first time it happens is terrifying. No, terrifying doesn’t adequately describe it. Now I had wounded, real wounded. This just sucked.

We dropped out of FTL about thirty seconds later. It was just an emergency jump, not a full retreat back to Truman. Something to get us away. Anywhere. Anywhere but where we were.

As hard as it was, I let the sensor techs who would be responding to the emergency have some time to work without being pestered for an update. They were supposed to report as soon as they had assessed the situation anyhow, so I knew I wouldn’t have long to wait. But wait I did. Despite all the drills and the training, they didn’t report like they were supposed to. Maybe all this had shaken them up as much as it did me.

“Conn, medical response. We have one KIA.”

Oh FUCK.

“Conn, damage control. Hull breach in Engineering repaired. We have some equipment damage.”

Double FUCK.

“Conn, Sensors. We picked up the Sa’arm ships from before. Range unknown, but they’re far. No sign of the Golden Arrow.”

“AI, damage report, please.”

<Main engines are inoperable. Estimated time to repair is 28 hours using nanites and has priority. Temporary hull patch is holding and atmosphere in Engineering has been restored. Reserve water tank has ruptured and is now empty. Shield generator is damaged and not functional. Capacitors 22 through 28 have been overloaded and are not functional. Hull antenna sections C-23 and C-28 are damaged and inoperable. Electrical Bus Bravo is down. All other systems are operational.>

Chris is dead. The ship can’t move, except with our little maneuvering thrusters. The Golden Arrow had less time to get away than we did, and was probably gone.

Todd and I exchanged looks. There was nothing we could say to each other. Losing fucking sucks.

“Todd, deploy a minefield with whatever we have that still works.”

“Yes, captain.”

“Sensors, conn. I want to send a message to those dickhead assholes. Can you patch me into the EW gear and give me a signal that they’ll get?”

“Conn, Sensors. No problem. Ready when you are.”

“AI, plot us an FTL course back to Truman. We can get there with FTL, right?”

<Yes. FTL is operational. Working.>

I raged, screaming profanities at the mindless enemy until I could rage no more. I called them every name I could think of. I threatened everything my tortured mind could conceive of, almost all of which I had no ability to deliver. I finally could do no more.

“Sensors, conn. Secure from transmission.”

The AI had waited until I ran out of steam. Maybe it understood us more than I thought. <FTL course set and ready, > the AI reported.

“Captain, hasty minefield is deployed,” Todd informed me.

“Conn, Sensors. It appears that the Sa’arm are starting a burn.”

“Sensors, conn. Copy that.”

Maybe they’d get some payback today. Not anywhere near enough, but some.

“All stations, prepare for FTL jump in Three, Two, One, FTL jump.”

And we were gone.

I had the crew put Lieutenant Chandler’s body in his berth and the AI put up a stasis field around it. A little more than a day later the AI informed me that the main engine repairs were complete and it was starting on lower priorities, with a more permanent repair for the hull breach being at the top of the list. We would complete just about all of the repairs before we arrived back at Truman.

I worked on the mission report. Before, when we had reports about how well the ship and crew had done, it was a joy to write these. This time it seemed impossible. I’d start on it only to erase it all and have to start over, again and again. Eventually I gave up after simply writing “Lieutenant Chandler is dead. It’s my fault,” after a very brief narrative about what had happened.

Like I was, the crew was in awful shape.

PFC Douglas tried to help by playing the Smetana song I’d liked so much. At first I was a little annoyed he’d picked this moment to play music for us without asking me, but the tune seemed even more appropriate now than it had ever been before.

I went back to Chris Chandler’s berth. I hadn’t said goodbye to him. His body lay there with his chest covered in blood. It seemed he’d been badly wounded and had been unable to get his mask on as the air in the compartment rushed out of the breach. I had no way to know what killed him, the wound, or suffocation.

The longer the music played, the more I realized I needed it. The haunting melody’s sadness and sense of loss and pain I thought I’d understood before connected with me so much more now. Now I had an experience behind me which allowed me to understand something about this masterpiece I just couldn’t fully grasp before.

I finally knew what loss was, now. And I finally connected “The Moldau“ to what it had reminded me of when I first heard it. Those were people who had good reasons to understand loss. Six million of them.

I cried. It seemed I couldn’t stop crying. Then I went back into Sensors and gave PFC Douglas a bear hug. That made him cry, too.