The Storm's Path #1
Episode 4: Reactions
Yesterday, December 7, 1941—a date which will live in infamy—the United States of American was suddenly and deliberately attacked by naval and air forces of the Empire of Japan.
-President Franklin D. Roosevelt-
1514 HOURS – 30 AUGUST, 2213
It had taken awhile for Hauptmann Peter Tan to extricate the Jovian corporal from the mangled wreckage of the Deliverer's cockpit. His fatigue as well as the numbness of just having watched him home vaporized by the tragic cataclysm wrought upon Mars had slowed his efforts.
But the Jovian exo pilot was finally pulling himself out of the cockpit though it looked like he was favoring his left arm. Broken, perhaps? Seeing that he couldn't get out with only one hand for support, Peter reached out and pulled the man out. In his excitement the Jovian and bumped his left arm against the side of the wreck and that had sent the man yelping in pain. Definitely broken . . .
"Are you alright?" Peter asked.
"It's just an arm. If I had to break anything, it might as well have been an arm." The shorter man said through gritted teeth. "As they say, any landing you can walk away from is a good one."
"I suppose so." Peter replied as he helped the man sit down on top of the destroyed exo armor. "That's a hell of sight."
Joshua looked up and stared at the enormous pillar of flame, smoke and dust that was rising tens of thousands of feet into the sky. The sky had turned crimson now a heavy haze hung overhead. The red Martian sand had been blown away, the intensity of the blast so severe that patches of blackened glass marked where sand dunes had once existed.
Thick clouds of dust and smoke still roiled skyward and outward from ground zero, which seemed like ten to fifteen kilometers away. And yet the blast had been powerful enough to bowl their fifty-ton exos over as if they weighed nothing.
"It's almost pretty." Corporal Joshua Loke said quietly, studying the spectacle of wanton destruction before his eyes. He leaned back against his Deliverer and let out a tired sigh.
"That is . . . was home."
"I'm sorry . . . ."
"Nothing for you to be sorry about. You didn't do anything to cause that." He pointed at the tongue of flame and smoke that marked the area where Kurtzenheim had once occupied. "Now we're in a hell of jam and I can only pray our national leaders will know how to get us out of this."
"So what happens now, sir?" Joshua eyed his Martian Federation counterpart carefully. He still had the man's pistol tucked into his utility belt. "You seriously want to defect?"
"Joshua . . . can I call you that?" Peter waited for the man's nod before continuing. "If I wasn't serious, you'd have a gyroc round in your head and your brains would be splattered all over your cockpit by now."
"That's a nice thought, sir."
"You can call me Peter. I am your prisoner after all." The Hauptmann shrugged. "There is nothing for me here now. And after what I just did, I'd be shot if I ever went back." He looked back at the crumpled hulk of Becker's Defender. The man shook his head sadly and let out a long sigh.
"Thanks for the save, Peter. I owe you one."
"Well, then you can repay me the debt by getting me off this planet."
1549 HRS – 30 AUGUST, 2213
"I'm picking up a beeper out there alright." Sergeant Aaron Ng manipulated the joysticks that were recessed in the exo suit's arms and the Falconer rotated on the spot.
The flashing blip on his helmet radar display was now dead ahead and he applied a bit of thrust, burning precious fuel from the tanks in his oversized shoulder pods. Chugging along at 0.4 g, he could make out the debris field just ahead.
He knew for certain that he was staring at the remains of a Jovian exo. Amongst the debris was the recognizable, bulky head section that characterized all Jovian Armor Works designs. Other distinguishing features amongst the remains were the blasted leg assemblies with their thigh storage compartments for plasma lances.
"You picking this up?" the Sergeant said into his lip mike, addressing his companion who was following closely behind him.
"Yeah." Private Alan Chua replied. "Looks like we've found ourselves a survivor after all, Sarge."
"We're getting close. Better go slow." The Jovian marine sergeant cut in with a touch of his retros and felt his exo-suit losing velocity. While he kept his eye on the display that showed the position of the emergency locator beacon, he also kept a lookout since the source of the emissions could come into visual range at anytime.
The blip merged with the center of the display, his radar no longer able to differentiate the distance between the beacon and the exo. Moving cautiously through the debris field, the sergeant began to pick through the bits and pieces, using his manipulators arms to push some of the larger pieces out of the way.
It was slow going. Whatever had killed this exo had done a rather spectacular job of spreading the pieces over a large volume of space. And yet the escape pod, if that had truly been the source of the signal, was still invisible to them.
"Damn . . ." Private Chua complained as he picked through the half-intact wreckage of what had been the . "Who would have thought they could squeeze so much crap into a single exo."
"Can it, Alan," growled the sergeant. "Keep your eyes peeled. I don't want you flying into that pod by mistake."
"Yes, Sarge. I hear and I obey." The junior marine said laconically.
"Very funny, Alan," he grunted in reply. With his thrusters, he ducked under the floating foot section of the exo and pulled up into a thick cloud of wreckage. The smaller pieces pelted his suit with no effect but he had to avoid the larger sections, mostly chunks of armor.
"Hey, look what I found . . ." Alan was crowing over the radio. "Think we've got ourselves a live one."
Sergeant Aaron Ng allowed himself a smile even though it hadn't been he who found the source of the signal. Looking back to his buddy's location, he saw an escape pod drifting in space. He gave himself a boost with his thrusters, closing the gap between him and his companion.
"So what do we have here?" Aaron asked as he came to a stop before the pod.
Let's see, Sarge." Alan reached out with his manipulator arm and rolled the pod over in an attempt to get a look at the squadron markings on the other side.
The pod rolled over revealing its crushed side. The access hatch swung slight open, revealing the damaged interior.
It was empty.
"Now what the . . .?" Aaron gasped as he pulled the hatch open and stared in to make sure his eyes weren't playing tricks on him.
"Aw, shit. All this way for nothing?" Private Alan Chua's tone was incredulous. "And he was a squadron commander to boot."
"Hmm?"
"Says so on the pod." Alan indicated by jabbing his manipulator at the dented hide of the pod. "Of the Deathwings flying off the Facilitator."
"He might have been thrown clear." Aaron said, looking around. "It's a slim chance but he may yet be alive."
"Alright . . . Hey! I think I see something." Alan said, suddenly igniting his thrusters and speeding off.
"What . . ." But the private was already rocketing away from the main debris field. And then Chua's Falconer had come to an abrupt halt. The Sergeant who had barreled after him had to swerve away at the last minute to avoid colliding into his partner.
Private Alan Chua was holding something in his manipulator arms and Sergeant Ng was almost sure he could see the smile behind the man's helmet. "Does this earn me more off time the next time we're in port, Sarge?"
It was a pilot in a Jovian A-9 flight suit, wearing the rank tabs of a Captain and the colored patches of the Deathwings. And he was still alive.
1558 HRS – 30 AUGUST, 2213 –
The masses that had gathered outside had been silent for many minutes. 40-minute-old video feeds from Mars, recorded several hours ago had finally reached every screen in the Axis Park, in Olympus and the whole Confederation, which had moments ago been prepared to kick off the Centennial Celebration.
The images were coming in quick and furious now, as fast as the speed of light could beam the them across the inky black void that separated Mars from Jupiter. The balloons were dropping slowly to the ground and food grew cold and the upbeat music had all but died off.
The sights and sounds of Jovians and Earthers dying in the space around Mars, millions of kilometers away had seized everyone's attention. Here and there someone would gasp or sob at as the true implications of what was happening finally struck home.
In the Presidential suite atop the grand Parnassus Hotel on Joshua's Station, Gateway to Olympus, President Alexandra Itangre was laughing through her tears. Her makeup beginning to run in ugly streaks down the sides of her face as she turned to face Councilor Ignatius Chang. The emissary from Earth was characteristically silent.
"You idiots . . ." She shook her head, still laughing. The sound had a choked, bitter quality to it. "I can't believe you'd be willing to do this to yourselves. Pandora's Box indeed."
Ignatius Chang was seated in a green easy chair on the other side of the room, growing uncomfortable under her gaze. He stared coldly at her. Both of them had seen each other go through the same emotions in the past hours as they watched the news from Mars, feeling absolutely helpless at the knowledge that anything they tried to do would be at least forty minutes too late.
On several occasions, they had allowed their anger and frustration to spill out at each other. Chang had not allowed himself to vent his anger verbally, but Itangre did not possess such self-control. At this moment, everything she had done to build up the Confederation seemed to be dying like the warships that were being pulverized by particle beams, guided missiles and kinetic energy slugs. She needed to scream at something . . . or someone. And Chang seemed like the perfect candidate.
The beeping of the message printer on the wall diverted her attention and she watched as the thin sheet of plastic began to emerge from the device. It was on government stationery and the seal of the Agora was at the bottom.
"You know what that's going to be, don't you?" She asked him pointedly.
"Only if your Agora is as easily driven to fury." Chang answered quietly, holding returning her gaze coolly.
The President of the Jovian Confederation pulled the document free and read the short message. Her hand nearly shook but she commanded it, willed it to be steady. She re-read the message again and looked up at Chang. An expression akin to concern or fear – most likely the latter – made itself apparent on his face. She raised her voice slightly and spoke, "It's war, Chang, if I want it."
The Councilor from Earth nodded, his face betraying absolutely nothing. "So, President Itangre. War. What will you do?"
"You haven't got the guts for a war, Chang. I know at least that much about you. It takes two to start a war, and the CEGA won't want to." She took one last look at the sheet and tossed it down on a nearby table, stepping closer to Chang. His bodyguard shifted slightly, watching the Jovian President cautiously. "The Jovian Confederation and CEGA are at war as of now, Councilor. It's up to you to get your nation out of this before it's too late for you."
Chang shook his head slowly and she could see the infinite sadness in his eyes. "Actually, Madam President, the situation is out of my hands." He reached into a pocket and retrieved a plastic message fax similar to the one that Itangre had held. He place it on the table to to the message from the Agora. "This arrived before I came up here. The CEGA council got the news long before we did and voted without me. As far as Earth is concerned, we've been at war for the past four hours. You're right, President Itangre. It takes two to start a war. I had nothing to do with it, though."
Alexandra Itangre felt something warm in her. Suddenly, she realized she could end the disputes with the CEGA once and for all. Acceptable costs and troop mobilization times were coming to mind now. This was the perfect opportunity, the perfect excuse to reach for what she long desired. Fame, power . . . Earth.
"If this is what the CEGA wants, then you'll get it."
Chang rose from his seat and turned his back to her, moving towards the exit, his bodyguard falling in behind him. "No, Madam President, I don't think it's what my nation wants. I think there's still a way out, before we leave this room. Take it, please. If nothing else, because your people won't want this. If you start a war, be prepared to see it through, though both our worlds will pay the price."
The President of the Jovian Confederation felt her lust for battle get the better of her and she snarled at his retreating back. "Of course I'll see it through, you spineless fool. The people want this. They want what I want. I am the Jovian Confederation, Chang."
1611 HRS – 30 AUGUST, 2213
The whole world was going to shit.
That's was the only thought in Private Candice Yap's mind as she scrambled down the passageway toward the hangar bay. Private Adora Cheong, her best buddy from Flight Training was just ahead of her, booted feet pounding into the metal below them. Overhead, the speakers continued to churn out that mournful klaxon.
The pair exploded into the hangar bay where their squadron's fighters were lined up. Other pilots were already there and the deckhands were swarming over the fighters, struggling to prepare them for flight.
"What's going on, Dora?" Candice gasped as they made their way over to their fighters.
"I don't know! Someone said something about a war!" Adora yelled back breathlessly as she reached her Lancer and began to climb up the access ladder leading into the cockpit.
"But I thought that was all the way over in Mars!" Candice said, stopping short of her own Lancer interceptor.
"Will you two ladies stop yakking and get strapped in?" That was Lieutenant Ishigawa, the commander of the Lancer squadron based on Joshua's Station, the gateway to Olympus and the heart of the Confederation.
Adora and Candice exchanged looks, shrugged and proceeded to strap into their fighters without further delay. One moment, they had been watching the news feed from Mars, telling of the grand melee that was taking place there and now the order had come for them to man their fighters.
It didn't make sense to activate the whole squadron unless there was some imminent threat to the station. But as the klaxon continued to wail, there was no indication whatsoever that this was a drill.
The world is going to shit, the thought came to Candice again as she went through her pre-flight checklist. She was still relatively new to the Lancer and she couldn't do it quite as fast as some of the others in the squadron.
Her heart pounded with excitement. Was it true? Were they really going to war? She looked over at her friend who sat in the fighter next to hers, wanting to say something in case this was really it. But Private Adora Cheong was already pulling her flight helmet over her head.
Candice took one last breath of fresh air before she pulled her own helmet on, flattening her ponytail in the process. For a moment, she could head nothing but the raspy sound of her own breathing in that tight-fitting helmet. The visor fogged up at her warm breath. But then she plugged the life support umbilical to the node in her cockpit and immediately, she felt the cool air blowing against her face. Stabbing the connection jack for her headset into her communications module, she heard the faint static that told her that she was receiving. Switching over to the squadron channel, she could hear their squadron leader speaking.
". . . squadron will be on Ready Five. The rest of us will launch to commence patrols immediately." The voice was saying. "Should you encounter any ship from the CEGA Navy, you have clearance to engage and terminate with extreme prejudice."
"Lieutenant Ishigawa, sir," Candice heard Adora's voice in her headset. "Sir, are we at war?"
"There's no official word yet, but we can expect the President to make a formal declaration within the hour." Ishigawa replied in his trademark, high-pitched voice. Gamma Division is going on Red Alert now. All colony defense forces in Olympus are now at Yellow Alert."
"That means we get to fly?"
"Weren't you listening, Private?" Ishigawa snapped. "I just called for a half squadron launch. You are staying on the deck on Ready Five."
"While you go out and have all the fun . . ." Candice muttered.
"What was that, Private Yap?"
"Nothing, sir. Nothing at all." Sheesh, you'd think he'd ease up on being such a jerk now that we're in a shooting war. Candice shook her head as she prepared herself for the four hours that she was sure would be spent waiting in her cockpit until something actually happened. But this far away from Mars, she sincerely doubted if they would be getting into the war so soon.
Next to her, she could see the deckhands preparing the first six Lancers, Ishigawa's included, for launch. All across the Confederation,hundreds of combat pilots were about to embark on their very first wartime patrol.
1630 HRS – 30 AUGUST, 2213
The rank tabs on Warrant Officer (O) Sean Yeo's collar were barely a week old. On leave home leave after his graduation from Officer Training School, he was an officer without a command. He and his family had all been set to be part of the Centennial Celebration of Inception Day when they found the screens showing images of the fighting around Mars instead of festive programming.
There had been no question in his mind then and there what had to be done. He had packed his bag, said goodbye to his family and head straight for the spaceport in hopes of finding a shuttle to Khannan Base where he was temporarily stationed.
Apparently, scores of other JAF personnel had had the same idea and the spaceport lounge where he waited was filled with men and women in uniforms waiting for shuttles that would take them to Khannan or wherever they were stationed.
The multimedia screens above them continued to feed updates on the situation around Mars. Most of it was commentary and opinion now. Very little of it was about the details of what was actually going on. Panels of 'experts' were now trying to explained what had gone wrong in orbit above the Red Planet.
There was also the constant bombardment of images of the Gilgamesh taking her final plunge into the Syria Planum. Dozens of stations were carrying different versions of what had happened. There was talk about STRIKE saboteurs, a CEGA plot and many other speculative opinions on just how the Jovian flagship had simply spun out of control and dived into the planet at full power. One thing remained undisputed though. This was undeniably a disaster of horrendous proportions. Reports were beginning to reveal that the situation could well be worse than the Fall of the Martian Elevator back in 2210. An estimated six million people lived in the blast zone.
Suddenly, the video feed of the battle and the horrific aftermath of the Gilgamesh's last plunge were replaced by a single word that leap out at everyone who was watching the news. Even though he had known it was coming, it still made his heart skip a couple of beats.
WAR! That word was on every screen in the lounge now. On the massive billboards normally used for advertisements facing the departure hall, the word was flashed for all to see. WAR!
Across all the channels, the message was the same. The programming was being interrupted now by an emergency address by President Itangre herself. A moment later, her face was on every screen in the Confederation, her intense gaze seeming to be directed at every citizen in the Solar System.
"My fellow Jovians, today is a sad day for the Confederation. At or about 1130 hrs this morning, the Jovian peacekeeping force in orbit around Mars, while attempting to assist a damaged Solar Cross vessel was suddenly attacked by CEGA and Martian Federation forces. The resulting battle is still going on as I am addressing to you."
The President pushed back a lock of her trademark dyed-white hair and stared at the camera with those famous dark-lined eyes. "At 1200 hrs the CEGA council convened for an emergency session which lasted all of ten minutes. At 1210 hrs, the Central Earth Government and Administration declared war against the Confederation." Itangre stared at the screen, setting her jaw. "This means that they have been at war against us for the last four and half hours while we have harbored false hopes of avoiding further bloodshed. That both our nations have been unable to resolve our problems by exhausting all diplomatic means before resorting to the use of force, I feel compelled to take the following actions."
She paused, as if for dramatic effect, producing a shaking fist which she allowed to strike the podium with a loud thud. She exhaled slowly and noisily, allowing her fatigue and sadness to show. "My fellow Jovians, it's both tragic and regrettable that events should lead us on this path to violence from which there is no escape. It is with a heavy heart that I must announce that an official state of war now exists between the Jovian Confederation and the Central Earth Government and Administration. All military forces at our disposal are being brought to alert now to meet the threat from Earth."
Alexandra Itangre's features softened and Sean was almost sure he could see tears welling up in her eyes. "The Jovian Confederation does not want war and never saw war as a solution for the tensions between our nations. I feel sorry for the families of those who have already died or are about to die in this great conflict. My only assurance to you is that they will not have died in vain. I promise you that."
And then the President looked like she was about to break down. As usual, she was delivering this speech on the spot as she always did, without the help of a pre-written script or even notes to help her along. Everyone in Confederation could see her in that moment of weakness and vulnerability as she looked down at the podium, fighting back the tears. When she looked back up at the camera, the sadness had receded, replace by strength and resolve.
"Make no mistake, we are willing and prepared to see this conflict to its final resolution. We will use whatever means necessary to meet the naked aggression of our foes and defeat them in the field of battle and destroy their ability to make war. We will accept no other outcome than the total defeat of Earth's forces through unconditional surrender or planetary conquest. To this end, we shall pledge our toil, our treasures and above all, our lives. May the gods be with us all."
And with that the President's speech was over. There was silence in the lounge as the screens retuned to their coverage on the developments around Mars. There was silence but it was soon giving way to murmurs exchanged between all everyone who was waiting for a shuttle flight.
Then he finally became aware of the fact that his personal communicator was beeping. Several other ringtones were beginning to sound and Sean answered the call. The voice on the line was feminine but stiff, all-business. "Warrant Officer Sean Yeo?"
"Yes."
"Sergeant Kristoff, Gamma Division Marine Command Headquarters. I regret to inform you that your leave has been cancelled and you are hereby instructed to report to us as soon as possible."
"I'm already on my way." There was no reply before the line went dead. "Friendly . . ." Sean said to no one in particular and glanced up at the departures board. The next shuttle to Khannan would be leaving in ten minutes. Well, Sean . . . looks like the war for you has started . . .
1927 HRS – 30 AUGUST, 2213
They had sat atop the dented, chest armor of the Deliverer about four hours. Their combat suits had kept them relatively safe from the rads that were bombarding the area they were in. With both their exos out of action, there was no point in going anywhere.
The nearest civilization had been Kurtzenheim, which was totally lost amidst a choking radioactive cloud now. And since the entire area had been blasted flat, there were no landmarks to navigate by. No way to tell which direction they should travel in since everywhere they looked, they saw flattened Martian landscape. It was as if they were sitting in the middle of an immense dead zone.
And besides, if a search party did come looking for survivors, it would be easier if they strayed with the wreck exos, rather than taking off on their own with limited supplies into the wasteland that now surrounded them.
While the communications packages in their exos had been wiped out by blast or electromagnetic pulse damage, Joshua had managed to fire up the emergency beacon attached to his suit. It wasn't much, but at least it was transmitting. And considering the environs they were in, a single emergency transmitter was going to stick out like the proverbial sore thumb.
But so far, there hadn't been any sign of rescue. And the battery for the beacon wasn't going to last forever. It was getting darker now. The setting sun long having been obscured by the reddish haze that hung over them. "You think anyone's going to come for us?" Joshua said quietly, nursing his arm.
"I'm sure someone's picked up the signal." Peter wasn't looking at him when he said that. "I'm sure someone did."
"We're pretty deep in Federate territory I just hope it isn't anyone of your people." Joshua looked at the pall of smoke that marked the Gilgamesh's final resting place. A little bit before that was Kurtzenheim. Or what was left of it. There was no doubt in his mind what fate had befallen the capital of the Martian Federation.
"For your sake and mine, I hope not too." Peter answered his voice tinged with worry now.
The pinkish glow in the distance was beginning to disappear under the horizon now and Peter began to regret that he wasn't wearing a complete Martian survival suit. Even though there was enough atmosphere to sustain life on Mars, it could still get awfully cold in the night.
There was a mechanical whine, coming from above and both men sat up suddenly, straining to hear. Peter noticed Joshua's right hand going to the pistol tucked in his belt. The sound was getting closer and now they were both sure it was a flying vehicle since their surroundings were so flat they'd spot any ground effect vehicles before they heard them.
"There!" Peter pointed to the gathering gloom.
Joshua looked and out of the veil of dust came the familiar shape of a shuttle, with navigation and landing lights blazing away. It was coming down for them. One of ours . . . Joshua wasn't quite ready to celebrate yet, his grip tightening on the gyroc pistol that Peter had surrendered to him. Or one of theirs . . . he looked over at the Federate officer. Peter's face was pensive and anxious.
The shuttle was beginning to circle them now, losing altitude as it came. Joshua squinted in an attempt to see the national insignia painted on the shuttle's side but he couldn't make it out because of the heavy layers of dust that still hung in the air.
There was another sound. A higher pitched whine that the first, coming from above the shuttle. Two sleek deadly shapes burst of out the darkness, twin infernos spearing from their engine thrusters. Fighters. The pair came on, wingtip to wingtip, swooped down at them and then burst right over them at the speed of sound, the peals of sonic booms straining to catch up with them.
"Peacekeepers!" Joshua was ecstatic as he watched the fighters soaring back into the sky. "They're Jovian!"
"And so is that shuttle!" Peter was laughing, the first time Joshua had heard that sound from the man since they've met.
True enough, the shuttle was beginning its landing cycle now, hovering not more than twenty meters away from them. The spotlights illuminating the red cross that denoted her status as a search and rescue shuttle. The only thing that made both men happier was the fact that there were spotlights on the national insignia as well. The unmistakable Jovian thunderbolt.
The shuttle pilot flared at the very last moment, then set down the craft gently. The ramp had been coming down even before touch down and the moment there was contact with the ground, a squad to Jovian marines, clad in Decker exo suits, toting some rather mean weaponry for a rescue team.
Two of the five marines took station next to the landing ramp, covering the portal with their deadly 9mm chainguns. The remaining three marines approached them now, assault rifles held casually in gauntleted hands.
"Well, looks like this is it." Peter said as he rose slowly.
It seemed as if the marine leader suddenly realized that Peter was wearing the combat suit of a Federate exo pilot since the mean-looking assault rifle came up in a flash.
"Freeze! Hands up!"
Corporal Joshua Loke staggered to his feet as Peter raised his hands. The Jovian pilot stared at the squad leader's Decker and noted that he was a Master Sergeant. "It's ok, Sarn't Major. He's with me."
"And who are you?" The rifle was lowered now and the man raised his faceplate. The other two marines still had their rifles trained unwaveringly at them.
"Corporal Joshua Loke, Gamma Division exo pilot, off the JSS Flame."
"Master Sergeant Ron Foo, formerly of the Martian Peacekeepers. Now back with the JSS Rommel." The marine didn't quite smile. "We're here to rescue you, Corporal."
"Much obliged, Sarn't Major." Joshua took his first tentative step down from his exo. Peter wasn't far behind him.
"He stays here, Corporal." Ron said, pointing an armor-shod finger at Peter. "I'm under orders to only retrieve JAF personnel."
"What's going to happen to him?"
"Let his own people pick him up, Corporal." The Master Sergeant was getting impatient now. "We're not here to pick up prisoners."
"Then I must tell you that I will not be going with you as a prisoner-of-war." Peter said and he saw the flash of anger in the marine's eyes. This was a man who looked like he just had a very bad day. "I am Hauptmann Peter Tan, Executive Officer, Twelfth Sturmobergrupen, Martian BundesArmee. And I am seeking asylum with your nation."
"What the hell . . .?" The marine fixed the Federate officer with a hard look, then turned to the corporal.
"He wants to defect." Joshua explained simply.
Master Sergeant Ron Foo staggered back as if he had been slapped and he shot the officer an astonished look. "Sir, you must be mad."
"No, Master Sergeant." Peter said mildly. "I am defecting."
The marine looked at both exo pilots for a moment longer and the tension was palpable as Ron agonized over what to do. He had been tasked to bring back JAF survivors from the blast zone. No one had mentioned anything about Federate defectors.
"Well, Sarn't Major?"
"Damn, if it hasn't been a crazy day already." The Master Sergeant shook his head, exasperated. "Alright, you two. Let's get going! We're clocking up rads here!"
The two pilots grinned at each other and wasted no time in scrambling down from the Deliverer and following the marines aboard the shuttle.
0348 HRS – 31 AUGUST, 2213
Private Breanna Chan struggled under the weight of her duffel bag. Even though she, like most Jovians, had live out their entire lives in gravity raging from 0.3 to 0.6 times of Earth standard, there was no denying that the weight on her shoulders was a heavy one indeed. And even if the weight wasn't a problem, there was still the issue of bulk and mass to contend with.
And Breanna Chan didn't have a shoulder nearly broad enough to bear a duffel bag half the size that she was hauling with her. So she had slipped the strap around her shoulder and dragged it along, the strip of fabric cutting deep into her collarbone, making her wince and huff at the effort.
"What's the matter? Having a bit of trouble with your bag?" That was Private John Cheah, her buddy who had been with her from Day One of her career in the Jovian Armed Forces. They had met during the Basic Instruction phase of their training on Khannan Base where both had been offered a slot in the prestigious exo-armor arm of the JAF after going through a battery of simulator evaluations.
They had then attended Flight Training together where she had beaten him to soloing in the venerable EAT-02 Mentor trainer exo by just a few hours. She had mastered the fine arts of formation flying and evasive maneuvering while John had been tapped as a more aggressive sort of pilot, acing the Basic Exo Strike module of their training.
From there, they had gone on to the Frame Training Upgrade where both of them had learnt to pilot the ubiquitous Pathfinder Alpha. John, being the firepower junkie that he was, had wanted so very badly to get his hands on the controls of a Vindicator. But they had completed Flight School with that dream thankfully unrealized. He was already insufferable when he complained about not having the opportunity to fly a Vindicator. Breanna shuddered to imagine what he'd be like the moment he had that chance.
"Oh, shut up, John." Breanna said over her shoulder. "Unless you want to carry it for me!"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Sticks and stones . . ." Her burly companion muttered as he hefted the weight on his shoulder easily, stepping through the airlock that led from the shuttle bay into the main hub of Yin-wang's starport.
The shuttle ride over to Olympus Colony Cylinder 24, better known as Yin-wang, from Khannan Base had been a relatively short one, lasting no more than forty-five minutes from boarding to disembarkation. Home to 2.4 million residents and sprawling shipyards that accounted for a sizeable percentage of the Confederation's commercial shipping tonnage, Yin-wang had been amongst two dozen or so colonies in Olympus to be labeled as 'high value assets' which would require increased protection with the advent of war.
Fresh out of their training, both Breanna and John had been assigned to the Yin-Wang Defense Squadron which was currently understrength. The starport was crowded, with a certain note of hurry in everyone's movements. Still, the civilians did give way when they saw two JAF personnel coming through, bulging duffel bags on their shoulders. The activity at Khannan had been even more frenzied with a constant flow of shuttles arriving and departing every moment.
There had been a battalion of marines shipping out for Elysee at about the same time that the two of them had departed from Khannan. It seemed impossible to make sense of the troop movements that were taking place at Gamma Division's base. Just overnight, ship movements had seemed to increase several fold. Thousands of crew who had been on leave for the Inception Day vacation had suddenly been recalled. Those that hadn't had sought means to return to their units anyway.
"I don't get it." John grunted as he fell in behind her, following her lead. "We had pretty decent scores back in FTU. Why didn't we get posted to a fleet squadron like some of the other guys?"
"I don't know, John" Breanna looked at the signs posted overhead, looking for the way to the JAF base on the colony. "You're the 'smart' one. Why don't you tell me?"
"The way I'd figure it, I'd say Lieutenant Sawyer hates us."
"Nah . . ." She shook her head with some effort. "He doesn't hate us. He just hates you. "
"Right . . . I knew that." John feigned a look of understanding which gave way to a smug grin. "And what about you? How did you end up on this detail with me then?"
"Unfortunately, Lieutenant Sawyer assumes, mistakenly and, of course, that you and I are the best of friends. So since he hates you, he hates me too."
"So this is my fault?"
"Well, it certainly isn't mine, so who else?" Breanna replied as nonchalantly as the weight on her shoulder would allow. "You're a bit slow in figuring things out for yourself, John."
"Gee, thanks a lot, Bre. Sometimes, you're all heart, you know that?" John grumbled. Breanna didn't answer to that. They had reached the Customs counter and she was already busy flashing her identity card.
She passed through the metal detectors while her bag was run through the scanner. Satisfied that she was a genuine JAF exo pilot as far as they could tell, the Customs officials returned her ID card. John followed his buddy through and as expected, there were no problems encountered.
"So where to know, oh great mastermind?" John Cheah asked sardonically.
But Breanna had stopped in the middle of the starport's arrival hall and she wasn't moving, despite the duffel bag strap that threatened to cave in her collarbone.
"Hey, Bre . . . you ok?"
"Look . . ." Breanna pointed and John looked.
Near the double doors that lead out from the starport to the colony proper was a hastily erected booth. Flanking it were twin flags with the emblem of the Jovian Armed Forces. Strung out above the counter, across its length was a hurriedly-designed banner. It read: Recruiting Station.
The booth was manned by a balding man who wore the insignia of a Master Sergeant, assisting him was a trio of Corporals who were hard-pressed to attend to the small throng of people who were crowding them. And the war was hardly a day old.
Most of them were boys and girls. Few looked any older than thirty. Similar scenes had played out three years ago in the wake of the Odyssey and the climatic Battle of Elysee. Back then, it had been she who had been amongst the crowd of eager youngster, waiting for the chance to sign up with the JAF and join the fight to stave off CEGA aggression. She had even lied about her age in an effort to get enlisted though she had been found out and had been forced to wait a year before being accepted. How many would be lying about their age today, Breanna wondered as stared at the booth now.
This time CEGA aggression was apparent for all to see. The Confederation was finally at war. Breanna had always considered it to be inevitable. It was only a matter of time before tensions between the two nations exploded into a full-scale conflict. The Battle of Elysee had shown that war clouds were on the horizon. And when that storm finally broke, the Confederation would need every enthusiastic fighting man and woman it could get it hands on. That was the reason why Privates Breanna Chan and John Cheah wore the uniform of the JAF.
"Kids. Most of them." John commented.
"We used to be like them." Breanna observed quietly, almost gravely. "In many ways, we're still like them."
"Well, we're different where it counts." John replied, pointing thumb to his chest, pressing against the exo pilot qualification insignia on his creased uniform.
"Just our luck to graduate right into a middle of a war."
"Hey, it's what we've been trained to do." John pointed out. "I've been dying for a chance like this."
"Well, take care of yourself, you dumb cow." Breanna turned to him and said. "You may not be the brightest friend I ever had, but I'd hate to see you dying for anything."
"Why, I am touched by your concern."
"Just make sure that if you really have to die, you don't take me with you," she replied, the walls coming up again around her concern for her friend. "It'd take about a year and half for them to train as pilots. Maybe the war will be over and they won't have to die."
"Don't kid yourself, Bre." John shook his head gravely. "We're in this one for the long haul. And if you asked me honestly, I'd tell you a lot of those kids are going to die before this thing is through."
Breanna stared at the wide-eyed youths, most gaping in awe at the service ribbons and decorations on the Master Sergeant's uniform tunic when they should have been reading the enlistment papers that they were signing. Breanna tried to tell herself, like she always did, that John was wrong again. But this time, she knew he was right. Many of those young faces weren't going to be around, one, two maybe three years from now.
"Come on, John." She shifted her shoulder and adjusted the load. "Let's get going."
1048 HRS – 31 AUGUST, 2213
Captain Andy Ho had woken to a nightmare. Search and rescue operations on and around Mars had been going on around the clock and despite his fatigue at having guiding his damaged vessel from the jaws of death, he had tried to remain awake through it all.
Falchion was badly shot up, but like her captain, her crew had thrown themselves into the task of carrying out rescue operations relentlessly. He wasn't sure when he had finally succumbed to exhaustion. But he stared at the bridge chronometer now and noted the time. He had been out for at least three hours.
Only two-thirds of the bridge crew was present now since the ship had gone back down to Yellow Alert following the declaration of the general ceasefire that was still in effect. It seemed almost surreal to him. Nearly twenty-four hours ago, he had been sitting in the same chair as he did now, watching one of the greatest ground battles unfolding on the planet below him while he sat helpless in space while on a peacekeeping mission. Now, he was part of a force that was reeling from the first cataclysmic battle of an international war. An interplanetary war. The first of its kind in the Solar System.
"Captain . . ." his communications operator was speaking now, noting that he was awake. "We've just received a message. The fleet is being ordered to return to Olympus."
"I see." Ho exhaled noisily. "What are our Earth friends doing?"
"They've already begun their withdrawal. Most of them are headed for Earth though a few look like they headed for L5 and the Orbitals." The sensor operator reported crisply despite the edge of fatigue in those words.
"Very well. Navigator, shape a course for Olympus." Captain Andy Ho sighed once more. "Looks like we're going home, people."