Salvation the globur inc.., p.2
Salvation: The Globur Incursion Book 7, page 2
John was helping Doctor Umgabe with the shield generator salvaged from his wrecked fighter. He had really taken to calling it his fighter and was somewhat protective of it as they methodically dismantled the heavily damaged craft.
He watched Doctor Umgabe probe the shield generator. He was the head scientist and inventor of much of the new weapon technology. That was a bit strange as his specialty was high energy weapons and not really torpedoes or shields, but John supposed that technology was applicable across a whole suite of weapons. It all looked very normal to John, but it seemed that Doctor Umgabe was discovering, or rediscovering, things about the prototype generator.
“Fascinating,” Umgabe breathed aloud as he straightened up and fed some power to the generator. The generator was a spherical module almost one and a half meters across. Umgabe seemed fascinated by one of the connection points on the generator. A main power connection by the look of it.
“Doc, you seem to be observing things you have not seen before. How is that, if you invented the thing?” John asked curiously.
“I have explained before, John,” Umgabe went on in his quiet and deliberate way of speaking, “the advanced fighter project had many scientists and engineers working on it. I was involved in the designs and invented much of the new technology. However, when actually building something, engineers solve problems in unforeseen ways—in interesting ways. The rush to test the new systems was ill-advised, and I disagreed with it, but we were directed to send out the fighter for some tests. It was meant to show the Fleet that new weapons were coming and to boost morale after several losses.”
“It did boost morale,” John said. “It did make the difference and gave the Fleet its first clear victory in the war. Conflict. Incursion.” John struggled to find the properly approved Fleet word.
“Indeed, John.” Umgabe straightened up to look at Forest. “Rushing this fighter out with the only prototypes was reckless and set the project back months. Another scientist led the team on the shield modifications, and I only saw technical briefings. This shield generator is highly modified and, for some reason, had a connection to the quantum drive generator. I still have to discover the purpose of that. It is a bit of a puzzle, to be sure.”
“All puzzles are solvable, right, Doc?” John shot back.
Umgabe nodded, his dark skin glistening in the light from perspiration. “Any puzzle can be solved with the correct application of resources, John. Unfortunately, the most precious of those resources is time, which is something we do not have in abundance.”
“This can’t take more than a few more months,” John suggested hopefully. “I mean, we had a working torpedo in weeks. What’s left are just shields and beam weapons, right?”
Doctor Umgabe did not answer right away.
John knew what Umgabe was thinking. This was not the first time he had pushed for a transfer.
“John,” Umgabe began in a warm tone, “you can see that this shield generator is badly damaged. The laser cannons – if they are laser cannons are in even worse shape. This will take more time than the torpedo. That was something I had invented, and it was recovered intact. That is not the case now. Our work will become more difficult from a technical standpoint.”
“You sure know how to burst a pilot’s bubble, Doc.” John’s voice had a trace of bitterness.
“I know you want to get into the fight, John,” replied Umgabe. “I can see that.” He swept his hand around the lab. “Look how important our work is here. Look at the difference it made in the Mongolia system. Look how we have now equipped all deployed forces with the new torpedo, giving them a significant advantage. The after-action reports from the task force commanders confirm that the new torpedo will save lives, is saving lives, out on the rim.”
John nodded and sighed sadly knowing that a transfer was as far away as ever.
“Your technical expertise is quite remarkable, John.” Umgabe changed the subject. “For a pilot to know so much of the maintenance and technical aspects of their craft is unusual.”
John brightened at the comment. “Yeah, I have always been interested in things technical, I guess. I have always been curious about how things work. Must have pissed off the instructors at flight school - not that I can remember flight school.” John’s injuries from whatever had wrecked his fighter had wrecked his memories also.
John smiled. “I know what I am helping with here is important, Doc. Don’t get me wrong. I just feel I could be doing more.” He shrugged and grinned. “We go where the Fleet sends us, right?”
Before Umgabe could reply, John’s comm lit up, and he saw a message text only from the commander of the outpost. My office, now.
John held up a hand to stop Umgabe before he began to speak. “Shit. Gotta go, Doc. My other boss is calling.”
Umgabe simply smiled and nodded.
John technically reported to Doctor Umgabe, but he was still a Fleet officer and technically reported to the outpost commander. Things were very informal at the research base. Still, military personnel were expected to follow the chain of command no matter what their assignments said. This was one of those times.
John was quickly through the hatch and headed for the command deck. He linked to the lift to request a destination nearest the commander’s office. The commander of the research facility wore no rank or unit patches, like the rest of the military personnel assigned here. John wore the standard Fleet shipboard suit, and it was only adorned by his rank and name. That seemed funny to John since his augmentation automatically tagged everyone he looked at with their name, rank, and assignment.
The exception seemed to be here at the research outpost. His augmentation only gave name and rank, no assignment. The commander was different. His unform was not adorned with anything at all. John’s augmentation only tagged him as Commander. No rank, no name. Just Commander. John was pretty sure that the commander had personally seen a Globur on more than one occasion, and he had seen the scans from the Fleet. He spoke in a way that implied he was privy to a lot of information. It amazed John that security was so incredibly tight when it was doubtful that anyone would miss a Globur trying to gain entry into any facility. Old habits and procedures died hard in the Fleet.
The lift stopped, and John breezed into the passageway. He had no idea why the commander would be summoning him. They had only spoken a few times, and the commander had certainly not shown any real interest in him. He pinged the hatch, and he was quickly admitted. The commander had no aides or assistants.
John entered the commander’s office and stopped in front of the desk, assuming the expected position. “Lieutenant Forest reporting as ordered, sir,” he led with the standard greeting.
The commander eyed him as if examining a mildly unpleasant test result. “Lieutenant, you are out of uniform.”
“Sir?” John knew this was one of those situations where asking actual questions was probably not wise.
The commander stood up and offered his hand. “Congratulations, Lieutenant Commander Forest.”
The commander handed John the new rank insignia with his other hand and broke into a smile. It was the first time that John had seen him smile—ever.
“Thank you, sir,” John replied, still shaking off the surprise and shaking the commander’s hand.
“It is well deserved, Lieutenant Commander Forest,” the commander shot back in a voice that actually seemed tinged with emotion. “This is long overdue, and I hope that you can command your own squadron or wing someday.”
“I do too, sir.” John was still amazed. “I was not expecting this at all.”
“I am sorry it could not be more formal, but this is a research facility, and there aren’t many Fleet personnel here,” continued the commander. “That, unfortunately, comes with the territory.”
“Thank you, sir. I will wear the new rank with pride.” John beamed
The commander sat down behind his desk and clasped his hands in front of him. “Just one more thing, Forest.” The commander’s smile vanished, along with his friendly tone.
“Sir?”
“As a lieutenant commander, a certain amount of decorum is expected,” the commander said pointedly.
“Sir?” John shifted slightly.
“Scale down the hijinks, Forest. People can get their amusement from others.” The commander deadpanned over an impassive face.
“Sir,” John began carefully. “I am not sure what you’re referring to. I acknowledge there have been some completely baseless allegations made in relation to certain unfortunate incidents, but—”
The commander raised an eyebrow at Forest. “I see everything that happens in this facility, Forest. Try not to insult my intelligence.”
“No, sir,” John replied, feeling like a schoolboy caught in prank—which, he thought ruefully, was pretty much the situation.
“Get out, Forest,” the commander barked.
“Yessir,” John replied as he smartly swiveled towards the hatch and left the commander’s office.
John pinged the lift and waited for it to arrive. The laxative muffins were probably a step too far.
Chapter 3
Rear Admiral Jones felt somewhat better about his task force now that some repairs had been possible in the days since he had successful gained orbit around Khan. His ships were beaten up. Getting into orbit almost a week ago had taken a toll. Both TF17 and TF16 were in orbit around Khan. Both formations were close to each other and used their battleships to screen against Globur pods. There had not been any for days now, and Jones was hopeful that they had seen the last of them.
He was in his conference room using the holoprojector to review ship status for his task force. He could have just used his augmentation, but he was used to doing it this way. He wondered how they might have fared if they had not had the benefit of the latest ships. The ship’s AI said that the chances of a pre-contact task force surviving the ambush in orbit like the one TF17 had survived were vanishingly low.
That ambush had still cost him a destroyer and a frigate. Every other ship had been damaged, and the crews had put in a herculean effort to get TF17 back into fighting shape. Engineering personnel and damage control were working on the outer hulls now that the threat of a Globur pod attack seemed to have fallen to a low probability.
TF14 under Rear Admiral Pang’s command were still on overwatch just outside the quantum limit. Fresh supplies were on the way, including full reloads of capital missiles and those marvelous quantum torpedoes. Fresh Marine brigades had also been dispatched to assist the Marines on the planet’s surface.
All that should have made Jones feel like he had won a great victory. He did not feel like it at all. After the Markus Nebula, he had been elated. They had destroyed every Globur warship in the system and beaten off an attack. Reinforcements and supplies were on the way, but he still had a nagging feeling that this fight was not over.
He pulled up the status panel for TF16. There was a lot more red on the telltales for their ships. TF16 had been savaged. Rear Admiral Brown’s flagship Wallachia was among the worst hit. Some of her hangar bays were still not in service, and parts of the ship remained in a vacuum to make it easier to complete repairs. The old shield-class carrier was badly damaged, and Rear Admiral Brown had briefly discussed withdrawing to Gateway for repairs. He had decided to stay and ask for assistance from Gateway to make what repairs they could in situ.
Brown wanted to double up on the point-defense installation installed on Wallachia’s hull. He also hoped to increase the armor on the carrier somehow. That would be a fine balance as the carrier would be slowed by the increased mass. Shield-class carriers were about as quick as the older battleships before quantum cannon came into service, making them among the slowest ships in any task force.
It was sad to see Wallachia in such a state. The Fleet doctrine of days past had imagined that carriers would use their fighter wing to strike from range and would never be exposed to direct fire from enemy warships. Armor and speed were not exactly priorities for something the Fleet only considered a launch platform for a fighter wing.
Jones knew that the carrier destined for TF18 could be months away from completion, and then there would be fitting-out and crew assignment. Another month at least. There was no significant help coming anytime soon. Three task forces should be enough to hold the system, even against two Globur battlegroups. The Fleet had the advantage now. They would see the Globur coming.
Jones was aware that there would be a lot of pressure at Fleet headquarters for a task force to resume a patrol as part of the system defense strategy, looping back and forth between the Chard and Mongolia systems, protecting both. With a freighter bound for Mongolia carrying a new Fleet relay, the range of quantum drive detection would also be enhanced.
Everything was going so well. For now, a destroyer was making regular runs to the Chard system to act as a communications link to Fleet headquarters. It was about a two-and-a-half-day turnaround. The latest dispatches had also contained very good news. Replacement destroyers and frigates were being dispatched and would be in the system in a few weeks.
And the Marines were set to begin their assault on Ulaan. Maybe that is why I feel uneasy, Jones thought. The real battle for Khan is only just about to begin, and I have no idea what to expect.
***
Sanderson moved towards the city. Even though the Marines were in stealth, their suits kicked up small rooster tails in the dirt as they broke out of the crops, gaining speed. His targeting system searched for targets, and things looked clear so far. The lead elements of the division were to secure the first section of the city, and recon teams would push out to locate the enemy.
The evening before, there had been a brief discussion about sending in a recon before the Marines arrived. Most thought it was too risky. If they were spotted, the Globur would definitely lay an ambush for the Marines. They had to know that the Marines would come, just not when or where.
The first platoons were fully committed now, having crossed more than half of the 200-or-so meter gap between the tall crops and the first buildings. Sanderson’s suit pinged as the first Marines opened up. A hail of plasma grenades came sailing out of the city. Globur beams snarled from some nearby buildings. A lot of beams. The distinctive heavy beams also joined in, skewering some of the lead Marines.
All along the front, the Marines came under fire. The Marine umbrella popped up, and its drones began pouring fire into the buildings. They were committed now. The attack had to go in. Sanderson saw one building to his front had no fire coming from it, and the Marines instinctively headed for the safety of the vacant building—at least, that was what the scanners said.
Sanderson fired his assault rifle using automatic targeting, taking down a few plasma grenades. His suit took a hit from a beam weapon, sending tingles down his leg. He hit the vacant building with a full power scan knowing that it might paint him as a target for the Globur. Some of the lead Marines had reached the building and were inside already. The buildings were all standard colony design. Their synthetic structure was thick and hard as stone. They definitely made for good cover. The scans still showed nothing.
A feeling of dread gripped Sanderson as he reached the edge of the city, and he realized why the building was vacant. He had his AI target every suit within 20 meters of the building and those inside it. “This is Sergeant Major Sanderson. The building is not safe. Get out now! Use the windows if you have to! Evacuate!”
Marines poured out of the building, some even punching through the walls to get out. There was a blinding flash, and the building was swallowed up by an explosion that turned it into a geyser of rubble and arcing plasma. Other buildings along the edge of the city also exploded. The explosions looked like they had been caused by a massive version of a plasma grenade. Sanderson hoped that his Marines had seen the danger and got out.
Marines were slowing down now, taking time to clear buildings and check for more explosives. Sanderson dodged into a building and looked back towards the bulk of the division. Downed suits littered the space between the crops and the buildings. Most still contained a live Marine. Most.
Alpha Company took over a couple of four-story buildings. The Marines took up positions near the upper windows, looking for targets. Sanderson heard the platoon commanders checking in.
This assault felt all wrong.
Sanderson reached the top floor and saw that the next street looked quiet. He frowned. Something is definitely not right. The building was still full of smoke from the burning clutter left in the building. This had been a block of living units, lutes.
Sanderson keyed the company channel, platoon sergeants. “Anyone got any Globur carcasses? I haven’t seen a single one.”
Engers came back right away. “Yeah, we cleared all the floors, nothing. This is weird.”
The other platoon sergeants also reported no Globur carcasses. Sanderson commed the company commander.
“I heard,” replied James. “You scanned that building, right? Before it exploded? Get anything?”
“Nothing, Skipper. I don’t like it,” replied Sanderson. “They’re probably waiting for us to pull in the rest of the division and consolidate our position.”
“It’s a trap,” James shot back with venom. “They must be waiting until they are sure of a maximum kill rate. We start bugging out, they blow all the buildings, we call up everyone else, they blow the buildings. Fuck.”
“So we need a distraction,” Sanderson pointed out. “We need to do something quick. An orbital strike may be the best option. You get battalion online. Tell Major Sante to get them to hold. I’ll make the call upstairs.”
“Right,” came James’s reply before she cut the link.
Sanderson painted the whole next block for an orbital strike and sent the request to TF17. He opened a com channel. The Marine transports were in orbit and had orbital bombardment systems, but they were technically under the control of the Fleet. He tagged his communication priority because he knew what he had just requested was about to be denied.
