Scouts Out 3_War Read online

  “At ease,” snapped the officer. “My name is Ridley, Lieutenant Commander Ridley, C.O. for this class. You will always refer to me and any other officer who is not a cadet as Sir. For the duration of this class your rank is cadet, and nothing else. The officer to your front is the officer in charge of you for the time spent in this program. When I dismiss you, close up with your OIC. They will brief you. Dismissed!”

  Each officer turned, pointing at different locations on the field before moving quickly in that direction themselves. Irish and the four others with him trotted after their leader, who headed to the far left of the field before stopping. The OIC-a female-turned to face them. “Be at ease, cadets. I’m Lieutenant Jankowski, and like the Commander said, you will address me as Sir at all times. Is that clear?”

  Irish braced to attention. “Sir! Yes, Sir.” His face felt on fire when he realized he’d been the only one to sound off.

  Jankowski’s eyes turned icy. “I see we only have one real cadet here today. I say again, Is. That. Clear?”

  The other four braced. “Sir! Yes, Sir.”

  Jankowski’s eyes traveled around the group once more before she relaxed. “Good. First lesson learned. Now, we’ll move on to our second one. I want all of you to double-time back to the barracks and get your rooms ready for inspection. You have five minutes. Dismissed.”

  Within the time limit, they were at parade rest just outside the door of their room. Jankowski stalked through the rooms, giving each a quick but thorough examination. Once finished, she smiled for the first time. “Not bad, cadets. Not bad at all. However, we need to ensure everyone sets up their area the same. Gather ‘round room twenty-six while I show you.”

  Everyone crowded close to the doorway while Jankowski demonstrated. “Bed needs to have the top cover tucked in, with bottom edges sharp. Tight enough to bounce a coin isn’t needed, but no wrinkles.” She turned to the desk. “All implements on the surface will be aligned fore-and-aft…”

  Minutes later everyone filed back outside, gathering around her once again. “I’m satisfied with the room inspection, but would expect nothing less from any of you.” She pointed at the smaller building next to them. “That’s the admin building. It holds the offices for the training officers. Mine is number six. There is a small intercom in each of your rooms, and I will call if I need to speak to you. Only contact me if there’s an emergency. Is that clear?”

  “Sir, yes Sir!”

  She gave a sharp nod. “Good. We just have time before the PT test to visit the simulator building and introduce you to your primary work horse, especially for the first eight weeks of this program.” She looked around at all of them. “Anytime I lead you anywhere, you will fall in behind me; lowest number first, but never in step. Unless you’re instructed to, of course. We’ve got better things to do than learn to march all over again.” She pivoted around. “Let’s move out.”

  * * *

  Next morning at 0800, Irish and his classmates trooped into their classroom. Lieutenant Jankowski stood at the front, a half-smile on her face. “Take a seat, cadets.”

  Once everyone was seated, her smile became lopsided. “Before you get too comfortable, look at the number on the back of your chair.”

  Fifteen seconds of scrambling ensued while everyone found their correct chair. Jankowski’s smile disappeared. “By now you should be catching on. Everywhere you go as a group, everything that involves your group, is numbered.” She looked at each of them in turn. “Any idea why?” One hand went up, and she pointed at number 26, a woman.

  “Formation, Sir.”

  Jankowski nodded, her smile returning. “Very good. You’ll soon find out when we begin learning tactics that the correct formation at the right time can save your life, and that of your wingman.” She leaned against the edge of the desk in front of the room. “But I’m getting ahead of myself. This morning we need to get to know each other. I want each of you to give me a two-minute synopsis of what you did in the military before now. End it by telling us why you joined flight school.”

  She sat behind the desk. “By the way, this is the only time until you graduate that you’ll mention what rank you were before becoming a cadet.” She turned on a small computer on her desk. “Starting with number twenty-six, please begin. Oh, and while in this classroom you will be at ease, unless an officer other than myself enters.”

  Number 26 stood next to her desk. “My name is Greta Van Allen,” she said, looking at them nervously. “I was in the military program at Humford University until last year…”

  Irish noted that besides himself there were three Ensigns and one Lieutenant J.G. in the class. Two of them in the wet Navy here on Alamo, and two from the Confederation Space Force. All had experience flying shuttles. Suddenly it was his turn. He stood, attempting to at least look relaxed.

  “I’m Staff Sergeant Ian Shannon. Until recently I was assigned to the Long Range Scouts at Fort Henry. I had a head injury during one of our missions, and they installed a bio link. Couple months later, I was informed I’d have to change my MOS due to having the link. The choices they gave me were admin type positions or Wasp pilot. I chose Wasp.” He looked at his fellow students, then back at Jankowski. “I wish for nothing more than to once more fly a Wasp in combat.” He sat, keeping his eyes to the front in the silence that ensued for several seconds.

  Jankowski stood. “On that note, let’s take a fifteen minute break. Be back in your seats for our first class.”

  Irish was barely outside the classroom before he was surrounded by his classmates. “What’s with the ‘once more’ statement?” asked 28, the tallest and skinniest of the students in class.

  “I was at the battle of Edo, as it’s now being called,” he said. “Had less than a handful of Wasp pilots left after being ambushed when we first entered the Edo system. I’d been getting some hours in on a Wasp simulator, and was drafted.”

  “How’d you manage to survive?” asked another student, number 29, he thought.

  “Luck,” he said.

  “Alright, break it up,” Jankowski said, startling everyone when she appeared in the middle of the group. “You got another ten minutes. Vamoose.”

  She watched them walk away before turning to him. “Number thirty, I don’t mind you telling tall tales to your classmates. Just don’t ever do it with me, y’hear?” She glared at him and started away.

  He stood at attention and addressed her back. “Not a word of that was a lie, Sir. I was in one of two surviving Wasps when our relief force showed up. It’s in my records.”

  She turned back, giving him an up-and-down look that would have melted steel. “We’ll see, number thirty. Now move out.”

  She watched him double-time off, a thoughtful look crossing her face. Hm. Everyone’d heard about the battle-two battles, really-in the Edo star system. Maybe…She strode away, mind busy.

  * * *

  Jankowski’s eyebrows slowly crept up while she read. “No wonder he was reported dead,” she muttered. The fact any of the Long Range Scouts survived while on Edo was a miracle. She skipped through the medical procedures Irish had suffered through, and continued reading.

  “What the hell?” She quickly scrolled back a page. A battleship? He’d disabled a battleship? Minutes later she shut down her computer, deep in thought. Her commander had to have read this. Yet nothing said. To her or anyone else, far as she knew. A glance at her watch and she headed for Chief McIntyre’s office.

  McIntyre nodded when she entered. “Been waiting for a visit, Sir. You read Irish’s record?”

  She sat in the chair next to his desk. “Irish?”

  “Yeah, his unofficial monicker is Irish.” He leaned back, rubbing fingers through the half-inch of hair on his head. “And before you ask, the C.O. saw his record soon’s it arrived. I asked him what he thought about it, and he underlined the fact that everyone was to be treated the same in the class. No exceptions.”

  She shook h
er head, a frown building. “Not right, Chief. He can probably fly circles around the average pilot…”

  McIntyre waved a hand, cutting her off. “Hate to interrupt, Sir, but think it through before you say anything. Especially to the Commander.” He leaned both elbows on his desk, an earnest expression showing. “How else can Irish-Cadet thirty-get his flying credentials? Not even the Sector Admiral herself can grant someone flight status without going through flight school.”

  Jankowski shrugged. “Your right, Chief.” She stood. “I’ll just have to make sure he doesn’t get in hot water with his eagerness.”

  He chuckled. “Good luck with that, Sir. A heart-to-heart chat with him might work. He seems savvy enough to take advice.”

  She headed out of his office. “Thanks for the talk, Chief.”

  Immediately after breakfast the next morning, she crooked her finger at Irish while he was leaving the mess hall. “My office.” She strode away before he could answer.

  He followed after, mind busy. What’d he do now? She didn’t look ticked off, but you never could tell. Once inside, he came to attention.

  She pointed at the chair next to her desk. “At ease, number thirty. Have a seat. I need to have a quick discussion with you before class.”

  He slipped into a chair, nerves starting to twang. “Um–what…”

  “You’re not in trouble,” she said with a smile. “In fact, quite the opposite. I just got a chance to read your records, and wanted to talk with you.”

  He relaxed inside. “Sure, Sir. What’s up?”

  Jankowski hesitated, searching for words. “Irish-number thirty-you probably have more hours in combat with a Wasp than any of the training officers, let alone the cadets. Also, for someone who just began working with a simulator a year ago, your hours spent in one are startling.” She stopped a moment, looking at her computer screen, then back at him. “Which brings up a potential problem that you and I have to make sure doesn’t develop.”

  He touched his chest, the warmth of understanding and relief spreading. “I need to blend in. No grandstanding, no bragging.”

  “You got it. The Commander is easy to get along with, if you don’t try to break out of the mold. At least until flight school’s over.”

  “Understood, Sir.”

  Jankowski cocked an eyebrow at him. “In that case, move your butt out of here and get ready for class, cadet.”

  * * *

  The next two weeks sailed by. Once everyone had become proficient-at least in the simulator-at takeoffs and landings, they’d moved on to flying in formation. Firing weapons at various targets was also begun. Vipers, cruisers and battleships were the main targets.

  Irish was deeply involved with moving in on a battleship and hitting various highlighted portions of it with his missiles from long range, and the rest of his arsenal the closer he got. Every shot was on target, like it had been since they’d started this phase of training.

  The screen blanked and the simulator’s sexless voice came on. “End program. Please exit at this time.” The door raised and he glanced outside, watching doors on all thirty simulators lock open at the same time.

  “You have ten minutes break,” Jankowski said. “Group six, be in your seats in classroom six at the end of that time.”

  Once seated in the classroom, lights automatically dimmed and the recorded daily weapons briefing began, displayed on each person’s computer monitor.

  “At ranges out to three hundred thousand kilometers, your primary weapon is the Shrike missile. Don’t waste these, as you only have two loaded and ready, plus another ten available to reload. It takes thirty seconds to do a reload.” Since this was the fourth time through this recording, everyone had to strain to look alert.

  “At sixty thousand kilometers, you can now use the blaster, also called the Proton Accelerator. This is a magnetic bottle with one hundred shots of anti-matter. Each shot will punch a hole the size of your fist through ten meters of laminated steel. This weapon is only used in space. Your ship will be destroyed if you fire it in a planet’s atmosphere.”

  Irish shuddered, remembering the fiery remains of a Wasp whose pilot had done just that.

  “Finally, for close-in work and when attacking a target on the ground, you have your particle beamers. On an unshielded ship, you can penetrate a meter of armor with a half-second burst. Best use against a ship is to fire them into the open end of an engine; tends to shut it down with less than a second’s burst.”

  He was startled by a hand on his arm. Jankowski beckoned him, leading him from the classroom.

  “They want you in the orderly room,” Jankowski said. She hurried back to the classroom.

  The first thing he saw when entering the office was Franny who was turning towards him.

  “Hey, L.T.–uh, I mean Sir. Good to see you.” He stopped, insides curdling when he saw the solemn expression on his face.

  Franny took his arm, guiding him towards a small conference room across the hall. “We need to talk, Irish.”

  Once seated, Franny got to the point. “The convoy Brita’s ship was part of got ambushed by some Alliance raiders.”

  A chill settled into his bones. “Was Brita-was she…”

  “The convoy scattered while a couple corvettes kept the raiders busy. When they got to their assembly point, one of the corvettes and two other ships were missing, presumed destroyed. Brita’s ship was one of those that didn’t make it.”

  An age later, Irish found himself sitting on his bunk, tears running down his face. Anyone but her. Why not me instead? She’d been through enough. He angrily swiped at the tears. McIntyre had said he had the next two days off, and they’d see him Monday. An hour passed before his body quieted, warmth stealing through him. He swung his feet up on the bed, and fell into a dreamless sleep.

  It was midmorning when his flitter touched down on top of Mount Adam, a hundred klicks from anywhere. This had been Brita’s favorite spot. Before she left for Norcross, they’d spent an entire day up here. Antigravs built into her chair even made it possible to traverse some of the easier hiking paths around the top of the mountain. It was a day both of them would cherish the rest of their lives.

  “This is where we’ll be married,” she’d murmured, face glowing in the setting sun.

  “I promise,” he whispered, tears once more starting. When the glory of the sunset had faded, Irish unrolled his sleeping bag and snuggled down between two boulders.

  By breakfast time he was back at flight school and in his simulator. Today was the normal day off for everyone, so only a handful of students were around. Six hours passed before he finally stepped out of the simulator, giving a huge bone-popping stretch. Have to remember to take a break every couple hours when in there. He jogged over to the gym, mind blank.

  An hour till sunset, and Irish was still on the track. First hour he’d run full out. Now, he ran two laps and jogged one. McIntyre was on the roof of HQ building leaning on the railing, watching like he had been for the past hour.

  Jankowski strode up and leaned on the railing next to him. “How long’s he been going now?”

  “Since 1330,” he said without turning.

  She glanced at his profile. “You think we need to be concerned about this, Chief?”

  McIntyre shook his head. “Nossir. This is probably the best thing he could do.”

  Jankowski turned towards him. “You sure about that?”

  “It was for me,” he said with a sad smile.

  DEUTSCHLAND, CAPITOL OF ALLIANCE (Day -118)

  Karl Richter, First Speaker of the Alliance Hegemony, massaged the back of his neck, looking up from his computer. Damnit, why did he end up having to read twice as many reports when they were doing well, compared to when things didn’t. He shook his head, long grey-blonde hair lifting away from his shoulders for a second.

  His desk com burred, interrupting him. “Sir, the head of Public Safety Committee is here.”


  “Send him in, Marta.” He straightened, trying to ease the ache in his lower back. Didn’t really want to meet with Victor; he’d been too whiney lately. If he wasn’t such an indispensable friend–he shrugged, then smiled when the door opened. “Victor, good to see you my friend. What’s up?”

  Victor seated himself, and handed over an envelope. “I’m sorry to barge in, Karl. This just arrived.” Although the same age Victor looked older than Karl, having snow-white hair that matched his hesitant walk, thanks to wounds received in an attempted coup the year before. “I think we need to seriously consider recalling the Grand Admiral.”

  After quickly reading the contents, Karl handed it back, face neutral. “He sent me the same list.” His lips quirked. “I notice he was more diplomatic about their deaths in your letter.”

  “Those were some of my best operatives. How dare he…”

  Karl leaned forward, a stern look all that he allowed to show of his anger. “Why were you spying on one of our own, Victor? Having a monitor observing his actions is one thing. Sending spies moves it to an entirely new level. If word of this gets out, it’ll hurt morale.” Some of his anger leaked through. “Not only with the military, but with our citizens. We’re still vulnerable.”

  Victor raised his head, a scowl forming. “Of course I know. That’s why I had to send those operatives. We’d gotten rumors about Admiral Haven building political support on two of the worlds where we have our biggest military bases.”

  With a deep sigh, Karl leaned back, running fingers through his hair. “I’m afraid I have to apologize. I failed to tell you of my plans in case the Grand Admiral does become a problem.” He locked eyes with Victor. “I’ve put a team in place to ensure my son-in-law meets with a, shall we say, ‘accident’ if he becomes less than completely loyal to me.”