Tour of Duty: Stories and Provocation (6 page)

“I think you can depend on that.”

Right then, Budd said, “Well, I’ve got a
transponder
on a military vessel. Support boat, three zero four tons, named the
Black Watch
.” The information was straightforward, but Budd sounded confused.

“Something unusual with that, Tracks?” Stadter asked.

“Yeah. It just blinked on a few seconds ago. No sensor image. Radar, passive, optical, all blank, and then bam! Transponder. Whatever it is, it’s stealthed stupid. Anyway, got it, got a Novaja Rossia freighter just left Gealach orbit. They’re empty, so they’re pulling significant G. Hope it’s enough. Two more pleasure vessels offering.”

“We’ll take it,” Stadter said. He pondered a moment. “We might . . . will . . . need to have a second recovery stage that involves getting fuel and oxy to all these little craft, before they exhaust delta V and go to dead drift. I’ll start a chart for that.”

“I’ll do it, sir,” said Vela. She looked very serious. Her usual sarcastic smirk had disappeared since the reports started piling in. “If Budd can feed me numbers, I can chart them and give them trajectories.”

“Do it,” Stadter nodded. Vela was perfect for the job. Obsessive on details, an asocial geek with figures to crunch, and very organized when it came to other people’s stuff. Her own stuff . . . well, she’d have to work on that to get promoted. But right now . . . “Fuel, oxy, docking for transfer, rescue balls and inflatables for the mining craft and carriers.” He turned and said, “Tracks, anything you decide can’t make the initial rendezvous but has legs enough for the second stage, send to Warrant Vela.” Back again, “Vela, stack them and pack them, ready to dispatch as soon as a primary is full. We might need to make a third wave, and that’ll reduce transit time.”

“On it, sir,” she nodded.

Budd said, “Sir, I have military priority from
Black Watch
. They want all intel and a quick face-to-face.”

“Give them the data, I’ll take it here. Lieutenant Stadter,” he said as the image flashed in front of him.

“Warrant Leader Bowden, Fourth Special Warfare Regiment Blazer Team,” his opposite said. Young, but with a wisdom to him. No cockiness. The man was lean as a snake and perfectly poised. “If you approve, we’re going to try to board
Mammy Blue
. We’ll pull out anyone we can, and give you realtime video and analysis of the structure.”

“Well . . . ” Stadter replied, “ . . . the problem is she’s falling apart as she boosts. Literally. Chunks are falling free, it was never designed for sustained thrust, the thrust is beyond current operating parameters, and I strongly suspect she’s
never
had maintenance.”

“That’s our assessment, yes,” Bowden nodded. He had a helmet under his arm and gear strapped to his suit. “But no one will be shooting at us.” It was delivered deadpan, but had to be humor.

“If you think you can do it, I’ll trust your expertise. You’ve boarded craft under acceleration before?”

“No, but we have boarded craft in space. Though not quite like this. One other significant difference.”

“What’s that?”

“Cutting our way in we’ve got lots of practice with. Keeping the occupants alive is something Combat Rescue does. That’s not normally part of our mission. But we can do it.”

Adrenaline shock rippled up Stadter’s spine and prickled his scalp.
God, I’ve got
Blazers
about to blast their way into a derelict under boost with live passengers inside
. This had passed ridiculous to flat out insane. “Assure me you’ll bring them out alive.”

“That’s the plan.”

“Go. Please keep us informed on your schedule.”

“I’ll tell the pilot. Bowden out.”

“Stadter out.”

He sighed and tried to untense his body in the high G thrust. Two hundred and sixteen victims, and it was virtually impossible they’d all survive. Several were almost certainly dead already. They had to save as many as they could, fast.

“Tracks, what’s our ETA?”

“We’ll be there in forty-seven segs and some change.”

Four thousand, seven hundred seconds of boost, while the ship itself fled at high acceleration.

“Vela, what do you have for second echelon?”

“I have the cutter
Holden
out of Gealach orbit moving in, a military patrol boat from L-Four moving back, and Skywhip commandeered a freight load of oxygen. Someone will have to intercept it, but it’ll be there about the same time the rest of us are.”

“Tracks, what’s our situation on arrival?”

“Reactor power will be adequate, fuel low, oxygen good. We can take fifteen ourselves if we have to. They’ll be stacked like cargo.”

“Assume we’ll have to.”

“Understood.
Mammy Blue
is increasing acceleration. It’s a combination of less fuel mass, less structural mass as parts fall off, along with the departed lifeboats, and probably leaking atmosphere is making a slight difference. The reactor may be running away. No sign of critical levels yet, but that’s possible, too.”

“A fusing reactor would just make this so much more interesting.”

“Otherwise it may just fail and lose all power, then tumble and leak.”

“The bearer of bad news . . .”

“Yes, sir. I’ll give you what good I have. But look at this, since you asked.”

He looked at the image that popped up, and looked away fast. The ship was, in fact bent, and therefore boosting asymmetrically. The resolution wasn’t great, but it was clear some hull panels near the reactors had peeled off. The structural failure had cracked and warped two long areas of the hull. It was a wonder anyone was alive, and he wasn’t sure anyone would be when they got there, if they got there. The asymmetric trajectory was bad.

Vela said, “Sir, there’s a mining tug from the inner Halo,
Rodney Six
, offering help. They’re in Gealach orbit, freshly refitted and loaded. They can take fifty-three casualties with no margin, but will need help locking them through. They have big engines.”

“Outstanding. Thank them and say yes.”

“I already did. Also two more race boats. Apparently, they were doing early practice for something next month.”

He said, “The Lagging to Leading Loop-de-Loop Rampage. They go from L-Five, orbit Gealach, whip around to L-Four and get points for speed and precision.”

“That sounds like fun. They lack capacity, but can take two each short term, and both have an experienced EVA operator to help docking.”

“Great. Do we have enough?”

She nodded. “It’ll be very tight, but yes, and lots of boats are going to be critical after recovery. I have enough second echelon to fix that, but then we have to get everyone to the station, then we’ll have to moor lots of them because there aren’t going to be that many free and matching locks.”

“Fair enough. What’s your plan?”

“I have them scheduled by arrival time, number of victims, timeframe they need for secondary recovery, and I’m charting skillset. We want the military—
Black Watch
—and us there first or it’s largely a waste, unless someone else wants to try cutting in. I ordered them not to.”

“Yes, we need to minimize coordination issues. Given the Blazers have done this before, I’m planning to let them do the EVA and entrance, we’ll coordinate. It would be boast bait to talk about our heroics, but I suspect we’d be in the way.”

Budd said, “Sir, much as I’d love to brag of being hands on, I think I’d spend more time gibbering than working.”

“They also serve who only stuff the crate.”

Lowther said, “If I can get over, I’ll go.”

“Of course,” Stadter agreed. That’s what combat medics did. They were their own brand of crazy. Lowther would never wish anyone harm, but he’d eagerly pile on to help if it happened.

Vela said, “One of the lifeboats is failing. Crewman aboard reports power dropping, using backup oxygen. Their transponder is for crap, too. I’ve got their trajectory tagged.” She waved her screens. “At emergency max we could just reach them within a seg of oh two exhaustion, but we’d have to get aboard and pop our own bottles, and we’d need backup within twenty segs.”

Another flush rushed through his neck and brain. Emergency maximum meant they might get aboard a boat of panicky, hypoxic passengers, and might release enough O2 to keep them alive until someone else might arrive . . . in the meantime, people they definitely could recover would die.

He ordered, “Tag any small vessel with spare oxy to check them out if they’re still hanging on at that time. Circumstances may change.” His stomach roiled. He couldn’t pray for them to die, but if it happened, it would make the practical and moral decisions about everything else a lot easier.

“Understood, sir,” she said, in an emotionless monotone. Triage was part of reality, but that didn’t make it pleasant.

Sergeant Lowther said, “Sir, I realize this may not be the best time, but it is in fact a good idea to eat something and drink a little. We’re past mealtime and won’t have time later.”

He shuddered. “The thought of food makes me ill, but you’re right. What’s easy?”

“Chicken broth and orange electrolytes.”

“Yes, I can muscle that down. Some for everyone. Hot, please.”

Warrant Leader Rem Bowden felt a curious mix of thrill and fear. Every mission had an element of risk, and this one was passable for now, but would be high aboard that boosting bomb. At the same time, this was a real world mission. It beat the hell out of endless training.

“We get to earn our pay, boys and girls.” His voice shook slightly, from the faint rumble as the boat torqued and increased boost. He and his five Blazers lay on a broad couch on a bulkhead, staring up at the hatch to the tiny bridge.

Black
Watch
’s Intelligence Specialist, Melanie Sarendy, said, “And ours.” She had her own couch, to starboard as the boat was laid out, thought it didn’t matter in micro G. It mattered now.

“Yes, I expect our noble steed and crew to perform as well. What do you have for me?”

The boat commander, Warrant Leader Ulan answered, “Well, Rescue has a crazy-sounding Warrant Vela who seems to know what she’s about on coordinating vessels. We’re inbound, you sled over, their medic will join you. Once in they’ll tell you when to toss casualties out, and someone will net them out of space.”

“Simple, really,” he said. “Has anyone ever done this before?”

Sarendy said, “No. Nothing like it, ever.”

“I would really like to cut the target’s boost,” he said. “Micro G would be ideal. But any reduction helps, or it’s like mountain climbing with a roaring forest fire underneath.”

From her couch on the other side, Special Projects Sergeant Becky Diaken said, “You have done that.”

“And I don’t want to do it again. Sarendy, is there a remote way to hack into their engine controls?”

“I already tried that,” the lithe woman said, turning front into her couch and arched backward. It made his spine hurt to watch, but she could talk face to face without twisting her neck, by peering over the head rest. “It acknowledged the signal, but nothing happened. The controls are separated from the telemetry.”

“Well,” he sighed, “that just adds another level of interesting. How long?”

Sarendy said, “Seventeen segs. We’ll beat
Auburn
by three segs.”

“Who actually runs this boat?” he asked, half seriously.

“Warrant Ulan runs it at your direction. I just know all.”

Ulan took that moment to offer, “If you can get him aboard, Engineer Milton wants to try shutting off thrust physically.”

“He’s fucking insane.”

“We’ve established that. Can you take him?”

“I can double up on a sled, yes.”

Diaken twisted her neck to face him. “What about on several sleds?” There was no way someone with her figure would turn backward in the couch. She was sturdy, but fit.

“You’re all insane. I shall file with my union for job interference. However, I can do it.” He reflected that he had said the whole crew would be involved. He just hadn’t considered they’d be involved in this manner. “I will only take people who have EVA experience, though.”

“And who have suits,” Milton said as he strained up the ladder from aft, now below. He carried a suit, and had removed his trademark shades.

Bowden said, “Well, don them now if you can. We’ll sled as soon as we’re close. Though I don’t think anyone’s ever locked out under boost before.” He hadn’t thought of that. The maneuvering sleds just didn’t carry that much delta-V even if they could use it that fast.

Milton said, “You’re locking out ahead in orbit, the plan being to meet at relative zero velocity. Diaken and I came up with ugly but workable grapples.” He held one up to illustrate. It was a harpoon with barbs all over, pointing both ways. “You latch on, try to avoid smacking into the side, and work your way up. Of course, you’ll be under acceleration then.”

Bowden squinted. “The only way I can think of to do that is to climb the line while the sled smashes into the hull.”

“Exactly. There are two side-lines you can grab, and swing in on a shorter arc. It’s still going to be a hard landing.”

“I think I’m glad I have a short team of six, not a squad of twenty, but with five of you nuts along as well . . . ”

“Let me hack this rope off,” Diaken said, pulling the long braid she wore into view above her headrest. “It won’t work well in a helmet.”

“Ah, the sacrifices you make,” he said.

“Ever seen a double back flip, sir?” she asked, and made two rude gestures.

Stadter looked at the proposed schedule and said, “Sergeant Lowther, time for you to kit up. We’ll line you over.”

“I’ve been ready,” the man said. He was suited, kitted and decked with gear, most of it conformal and close-fitting. He stood gripping a stanchion next to the recovery lock.

“You’re going to be three hundred meters out the line.”

“Understood. I have a beacon if needed. Harness checks. Say the word.”

The man really sounded confident. Either he was, or he was reassuring Stadter. Either way, it helped.

Vela said, “
Black
Watch
reports they’re commencing. We need to drop Lowther and clear the way.”