20 April 2065
The briefing on Brass Ring had lasted the better part of the day. General
Becca Green was pretty well impressed with the whole thing. There were still
several points that worried her a bit, but the mission team had done its best
to minimize the risks. There were a number of innovative solutions, and Green
thought that she could see Tyrus McQueen's hand in a few of them. Her
suspicions were confirmed when, several times during the briefing, Wierek
looked very pointedly at her as if to say: "That's why I wanted him."
I'm amazed at how Tyrus McQueen can use the patterns of military history
and still come up with the unexpected - the unconventional. It is exceptional
- a gift, pure and simple, she thought. But damn it, McQueen should be
here - involved in this presentation. His input should be recognized. Tyrus
should be allowed to take credit - even if he would never try to do so. This
is the arena where he needs practice. This is the place he needs to see and
be seen. I want all these officers to get used to him. I want his career
moves to seem not pushed or forced, but inevitable.
Speaking of career moves and being seen in the right company, General Green
had seen Kylen several times during the day - in the hallways and waiting
around on the sidelines. Green had watched Kylen 'minioning' at two of the
sessions - handling the briefcases and audiovisuals for Radford and his crew.
General Oliver Radford moved through the Pentagon with little fanfare. It
was both his nature and his job to remain low key, but he did have four
stars. There was no way he could go unnoticed - people knew him by sight. But
Radford kept his entourage small - and his staff rotating, so they weren't
readily noticed and didn't become too well known. There had been no one here
today that Green could remember having seen before, and it would probably be
months before she saw any one of them again. Even that Major that had been in
charge of Kylen -
Major Howard, she remembered, rather proudly - had been missing. Becca
Green had always felt that, low key or not, Radford took great pleasure in
his work, loving the gamesmanship as much as the game itself. Yes, there was
a bit of Peter Pan in Ollie Radford. Already years ago, when he was still an
'up and comer,' Becca had termed his disappearing and reappearing team "The
Lost Boys."
General Radford had taken a different tack with Kylen, however. He had put
her out front in an extremely public forum. Afew weeks ago he wanted her
seen and he wanted her known to everyone that matters. He has plans for
Kylen. I wonder - all things considered - if I really want to know what they
are?
But General Green noted that Kylen had NOT been at all the sessions. Kylen
did know an awful lot, but she didn't know all there was to know - not by a
long shot. Yes, Ollie is going to use her for something.
Tyrus had assured Becca that Kylen would do well, and apparently she had. And
today she had given Green something else to think about. Kylen had almost
been TOO invisible. Green doubted that many people today recognized her as
the charming young woman who had created a minor sensation a few months ago
by dancing the tango with the Commandant and the Finnish Ambassador. Huh.
Well, it seems that Kylen CAN blend in if called upon to do so. I wonder if
Radford was testing her today? It would follow: It's his style.
So, Kylen isn't to be one of The Lost Boys. Closer to Tinkerbelle than
Wendy in temperament, but - at least today - not a good match for either of
those characters. Today Kylen had reminded General Green of the little
shadow that Ollie had stitched to his feet. Peter Pan's Shadow. 'My shadow.
My very own shadow.' But Tyrus McQueen had also told General Green that
Kylen was an independent thinker. I wonder how long before one of 'The
Boys' loses her?" If not Peter himself. Green turned to her aide. "Track
down Kylen Celina. If I'm still here, I'll bet that she is too."
"Excuse me, General. Ms. Celina, Ma'am?" Green's aide could only picture a
young woman in a blue silk gown - not anyone that had been at the Pentagon
today.
Right again, thought Green. Clever, Ollie, very clever. Kylen had
been invisible out in plain sight. "Radford's little blonde aide. Find her
for me."
The anonymous little blonde aide was indeed still in the Pentagon. Kylen was
essentially done for the day. She just had to pack up some of the
presentation materials - the materials she was cleared to see. But Kylen
wasn't doing her work. She was sitting alone in the conference room, leaning
back with her feet on the chair in front of her. A shocking and distinctly
civilian posture. Kylen's attention was focused on the holographic map
projected at the far end of the room. It was the Kappa Reticuli. The map was
"empty," meaning that there were no indicators of the military units or ships
involved in the operation - just the pristine stars and the lustrous planets.
There was Kazbek, smack in the middle of it all. There was something about
the projection that Kylen found deeply disturbing.
General Green entered the room, and Kylen attempted to scramble to her feet.
"As you were." Green spoke automatically, but she flashed a winning smile.
Kylen sat down again - with her feet on the floor. Green stood behind her and
placed one hand on Kylen's shoulder - an almost affectionate gesture. The two
contemplated the map in silence - almost silence for Kylen occasionally
shifted in her chair and sighed heavily. After some time, Green asked: "What
bothers you?"
The General was feeling slightly motherly toward Kylen, The Little Shadow.
The young woman looked tired and alone. Green expected to hear Kylen say how
lonely she felt being in DC. She expected Kylen to say something about her
imprisonment, or the mines, or how she had survived, or what she had lost -
unresolved personal issues. But General Green was in for a surprise.
Kylen crossed to the map and circled it, sizing it up as one would size up an
opponent. She suddenly reached out and stuck her hand into the projection,
disrupting part of the image. "This," she spat accusingly. "This is garbage.
It's BS." The broken image slowly coalesced. Kylen gave it another swat just
for good measure, and the nebula's image dissolved again.
The weak link in Operation Brass Ring had always been the Butterfly Nebula.
Months earlier, when the Fifty-eighth had been held captive, West had been
able to lie successfully to Kylen's clone - or double, or whatever it had
been. He had said that the Fleet was coming in through the back door - from
behind the nebula. His ruse had worked, and the Chig fleet had moved out to
engage an enemy that didn't exist. It had worked because it was plausible and
because it was possible. The nebula would present a problem for any force on
either side of it. It had certainly worried minds with more military
expertise than Kylen's. It gave Becca Green heartburn. It was a blind side as
big as all outdoors.
"Colonel McQueen told me that you were very bright," Becca admitted.
"General, you don't have to be bright to see that piece of ... crap." Kylen, in
a fit of pique, again disrupted the offending projection. "That isn't a
serpent slithering under the door, General. That is Godzilla banging on it."
Becca Green couldn't have said it better herself. She was openly amused.
Yes, certainly more Tinkerbelle than Wendy is our Little Kylen. Tink not
only had quite a temper, but the ability to anticipate danger that the Wendys
of the world would walk right into. "Colonel McQueen also told me that you
have a temper," she chuckled.
"Yeah? Well, so does he - and I'll bet this gave the Big Bird fits," Kylen
muttered to herself, smacking the nebula one last time.
Big Bird? thought Green Did she just refer to our gifted Tyrus McQueen
as Big Bird? Now that's a story that I have got to hear.
"Join me for dinner," Green said, making it just this shy of an order. "Or
did 'The Boys' make plans for you?"
"I'm on five day's leave starting as soon as I get this stuff secured," Kylen
said. "I'm going home tomorrow afternoon."
"A reward for a job well done, Kylen," Green said, but the information jarred
her. Why is someone with her knowledge being allowed to travel at the start
of this operation? It seems dangerous - and certainly a potential security
breach ... Radford is a detail man. He is nothing if not subtle ... It's sleight
of hand. It has to be ... If Kylen is allowed to travel, then of course nothing
can be going on, right? If anyone has been watching her they will think that
the operation isn't ready to go. Does Kylen have any idea that she is being
used? How she is being used? "Well, it's up to you. The invitation is
still open."
"Thank you, Ma'am. I think I'd like that. Let me just check in with General
Radford. I probably should get his OK before I change any plans."
The young woman's logic was flawless. Green reached for the phone on the
table, and dialed a number from memory without comment. "Yes, Miss Celina
for General Radford," she said, and then handed Kylen the phone.
(Four)
April 20, 2065
The Wildcards were in loading bay "O." Staff Sergeant Marsh and Captain Chan
were dressed in their "utility" camo uniforms; the others were in
flightsuits. There was a subtle difference in all of their uniforms, which
were no longer strictly regulation. Under the Star Beam Fifty-eighth patch
there was the patch for the Twenty-third MEU. And Marsh and Chan sported a
Wildcards patch below their left breast pocket.
Chan said "Good to go," solemnly.
"Good to go," the team responded.
"Well, you better grab your steak and eggs while you can," Chan said.
"Captain, " Marsh said, handing the Captain an insulated carrier. "You too,
Sir. For the ride over." Inside the carrier was a complete hot breakfast -
steak and eggs - that Chan could wolf down while crossing over to The Hue
City.
"You know what 'they' say, Sergeant?" Chan asked with a smile.
"Sir?"
"That a smart officer doesn't ask too many questions. That a smart officer
will stay out of his Sergeant's way."
"Then this sergeant thinks that they are very bright ... for officers, Sir. "
"I thought that you would. Sergeants probably taught officers that pearl of
wisdom."
"I would imagine that you are correct, Sir." Marsh gave him a smile.
"Thank you, Staff Sergeant Marsh."
"My pleasure, Captain Chan."
The Cards certainly appreciated the NCOs on the flight crew, who believed as
a matter of Holy Writ that the Hammerheads were theirs, and that they just
lent them to the pilots. But over the past two days the Wildcards - who had
never worked with their own NCO before - had been more than favorably
impressed with Marsh. They had come to realize the wisdom of Chan's words.
Marsh could work wonders. Having a good sergeant around was a blessing from
The Corps.
Marshall Chan shook hands all around and turned to enter the gig, which would
take him to the Hue.
"I spoke with Lieutenant Damphousse, Sir. They expect you in thirty mikes."
"I wouldn't have expected anything less, Staff Sergeant." Marshall Chan was
not referring to the press of the time: He was referring to the fact that
Marsh had - again - covered the details.
The Hue City
McQueen picked up a tray and began to move through the line in the officer's
mess. He spotted Vanessa Damphousse seated alone in a corner. Soon the room
would be filled, but for a few more minutes there was still space for people
to be alone with their thoughts. Her breakfast was only half-eaten. As he
approached, he realized that she was praying softly. He knew the prayer.
"Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I
shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever, Amen."
McQueen waited in silence until she finished before seating himself. They had
shared dinner every evening that she had been on the Hue City. Even though it
was a working meal, as her breakfasts with communications and her lunches
with the engineers had been, there had also been small bits and pieces of
informal and personal conversation as well. As much - no, actually more - as
she had experienced with McQueen before this - which wasn't much, and which
made it all the more significant. Vanessa had felt able to "exhale" in his
presence. But this morning she was nervous. It had unsettled her when the
Colonel had walked in on her private meditation. She cast around for
something neutral to say.
"Good morning, Sir," she said as he sat. "Marshall ... Captain Chan is due
aboard shortly," she reported.
Far from being shocked at Vanessa's momentary breach of protocol - referring
to a senior officer by his first name - McQueen was secretly pleased that his
team was coming together. Besides, Damphousse knew when to toe the line. This
informality would be behind closed doors: There would not be a problem.
This morning their conversation did not resemble the briefing - or debriefing
- that it usually did. McQueen ate in silence, and Damphousse pushed her food
around her tray, occasionally taking a bite of the now-cold steak. It
reflected her mood.
Vanessa knew the mission objectives, and she knew that the fight for control
of the sector was liable to be vicious. It never changed. It never got any
better.
Hell, I might die today. There are many things that I want to ask God when
I get to heaven, but - what the hell - there are a few things I want to know
now. Something had been bothering her.
"Sir, if I may... We were wondering..." She paused and corrected herself.
"I was wondering ... about your leg, Colonel."
"It's fine," he snapped. Hell, now where did that come from? he wondered.
Don't kid yourself. You know exactly where that came from, he told
himself.
Vanessa was momentarily chastened by his initial response, and did not
recognize the fact that he was coming to a decision.
McQueen had told Kelly Winslow about his former wife, Amy. Hell, he had even
told her that he was unable to have children. He had told her because death
had seemed so near and because she had asked. Now, Vanessa was asking him
about something that was pretty much public knowledge. Personal, yes, but a
lot of people knew that he had an artificial leg.
"It's fine," he repeated more softly. He really didn't want to tell anyone
the ins and outs of using his new leg. The fact that sometimes the whole
thing still felt like it was 'asleep.' The fact that occasionally he still
felt phantom pain. The fact that at the end of the day, or if he had pushed
too hard, he would get the equivalent of 'foot drop' and had a tendency to
stumble. What he chose to tell Damphousse instead was:
"I get some twinges, but I'm running five miles a day and taking the ladders
two steps at a time."
"It's AI technology, isn't it?" she asked, shyly.
"My doctor tells me that it's better than AI technology. Twenty years more
advanced."
The fact that Phousse respected the Colonel too much to ask 'How do you deal
with that? Having AI crap attached to your body?' did not mean that she
didn't think it. And McQueen could read her thoughts.
"I've dealt with it," he said softly. He did not tell her how hard it had
been to deal with. How many weeks he had fought and rejected the idea. He
only told her that the battle was over. McQueen added one more thought:
"Someone I know asked me: 'How many people can step on their enemy with every
step that they take?'"
Vanessa considered the question for a few seconds. She finally decided that
she rather liked the irony of it. She looked into McQueen's face and saw that
he appreciated it too.
"That puts a certain spin on things, doesn't it," Vanessa responded.
McQueen just nodded. OK, Damphousse, he thought. "It's tit for tat. I
showed you mine. Now it's time for you to show me yours
"So tell me about 2063 Yankee. Tell me about you," he said. McQueen was
characteristically concerned about the well being of those in his command.
But uncharacteristically he had taken the step of asking. He really did want
to hear what Vanessa had to say.
"There isn't much to tell," she said, giving him her standard answer. "I was
unconscious for days."
McQueen did not respond, letting the silence stretch out uncomfortably. He
was forcing her to speak.
"As for me, Sir? I've de..." Vanessa paused. She was going to say that she had
dealt with it, but that wasn't true. She checked herself, and gave him the
truth. "I'm still dealing with it, Colonel."
He waited again.
"I don't know if I can explain it, but I feel different." She could not bring
herself to say the words. She felt as if it was futile. Nothing made a real
difference. The harvest is past, the summer is ended, and we are not
saved.
"Fatalistic?" he asked. " Like you're next?"
"Not exactly," she said softly, and then, "No"with greater strength.
So this isn't the same as Vansen thinking there was a bullet with her name
on it, he thought.
"I don't feel alive unless there is a real adrenaline rush going. Unless I'm
on the edge... Nothing changes. The survivors were released and nothing
changed. We're all still out here. I feel it will never end." There is no
balm in Gilead, Vanessa thought. She paused again, and then almost blurted,
"I feel like something has cracked inside and that I can't mend it."
That was your innocence breaking away. he thought.
"That prayer?" he asked.
"Psalm 23?"
"Yes. Well, I know it." McQueen had certainly heard it enough during his
career to now have it complete in his memory through repetition - by osmosis.
"Vanessa, it says: 'Lo, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of
death, I will fear no evil.' Walk through, Vanessa. Walk through. It seems
to me that - according to this prayer - it's your job to keep moving. The
psalm doesn't say: 'Lo, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of
death, and there I shall pitch my tent.' You don't take a picnic lunch. You
aren't supposed to set up camp. It seems to me that this psalm is telling you
that God has His job to do, but so do you. And yours is not to pitch a tent,
but to keep moving. The only way out is through, Vanessa. Keep moving."
Vanessa obviously was considering what he had said. Finally she spoke. "And
did your friend tell you that too?"
"What friend?" he asked.
"Your 'step-on-your-enemies' friend," she said.
McQueen considered. Vanessa was right. "As a matter of fact," he said. It
almost surprised him.
"It can be irritating sometimes, can't it, Sir?"
"What?"
"Having smart friends like that," she said.
"Yes, Vanessa. Yes, it can be very irritating," he said.
(Five)
20 April 2065
The captain of the Hue and the executive officer of the Twenty-third MEU
(McQueen's XO) were on the bridge. They were charged with maintaining the
integrity and safety of the four ships comprising McQueen's MEU.
Train your people and then let them do their jobs. McQueen thought to
himself one last time. He would be monitoring the situation from the Command
Center one deck below the bridge.
Chan caught up with Colonel McQueen and Lieutenant Damphousse as they were
making their way to the Command Center.
"Did you get anything to eat?" McQueen asked as they headed down the
passageway. Get it while you can, he thought. They were all liable to be
eating on the run for the next few days.
"Sergeant Marsh took care of me, Colonel."
McQueen smiled to himself. Years ago he had been a sergeant himself, and he,
too, had been a good sergeant.
If things had gone badly between Chan and the Cards, McQueen would already
know. In any case, it would have been too late now to change anything. But he
couldn't help but notice the Wildcards patch on Chan's uniform. It wasn't
regulation, but it pleased him. McQueen would not insult Chan by asking him
if the team was ready.
The three took their places in the Command Center. There was really no way to
carry off a sneak naval attack - not of this magnitude. The Task Force had
entered enemy-held territory. A buzzer had gone off somewhere, and by now the
Chigs would know the fleet was on its way. Colonel McQueen gazed at the bank
of monitors in front of him. He was not focusing on any one view or
information set in particular, but rather trying to stay relaxed. Taking it
all in. Looking at the biggest picture possible. Being ready.
Before he could begin his part in the assault on Kazbek - on the mine - the
Chig battle force on Cerrus had to be contained, and the moon, Kazbek, had to
be isolated. The enemy could not be allowed to cross the strait to the moon.
Until the Chig forces on Cerrus were contained there would be no ground
action on Kazbek. They presented too great a threat.
The lion's share of the battle for Kazbek would not even take place on it.
For the first time in many years McQueen would be forced to wait - to hold
himself and his forces in reserve. At least the Fifty-eighth has had recent
practice at that, he thought. He never liked being in the rear with the
gear. It had little to do with a hunger for battle: It had everything to do
with hating to have to watch and wait.
Without taking his eyes off the monitors, McQueen spoke. "Did you hold your
own at the poker table?" he asked, surprising Chan, who had to take a few
seconds to change gears before answering.
"Only got in a few hands. But yes, Sir, I was up to the challenge. I won my
share."
"Good. We can't have them thinking that they can play fast and loose with the
Command Staff, can we?" McQueen gave his adjutant a bland look.
Chan knew him well enough to read the Colonel's humor. He leaned toward
McQueen and spoke in a whisper. "They call me 'Chan the Man' behind my back."
"It's a lot better than being called 'The Rookie,'" McQueen said with a
slight smile, and turned back to the monitors.
Chan gave Phousse a questioning look. She shrugged in reply to his unasked
question. She had no idea who 'The Rookie' was either.
"We got company," the ensign watching the lidar called out.
"I see them." McQueen replied.
The Chig fleet was rising to meet the challenge.
The main body of Task Force 85 turned its guns on Cerrus, concentrating fire
on the three known fortifications designated Solomon, Gilbert, and Maryanne.
The crew on the Hue watched the Saratoga and the Vengeance launch their
fighters to begin the blockade of Kazbek.
"Drop the hammers," McQueen's exec ordered from the bridge - anticipating his
CO down to the second.
The small fighter group assigned to the Twenty-third MEU launched to fly
cover for the troop ships. With any luck they wouldn't have a lot to do. With
any luck.
"Damphousse, the strait," McQueen ordered.
"The strait, aye, aye," she responded, and refocused her monitor. She was to
keep her eyes on that patch of space between Kazbek and Cerrus. They would
need to know how many Chig transports successfully ran the gauntlet. Anything
that wasn't killed in the air would have to be met on the ground.
"Chan, I read two - make that three - capital ships." McQueen said, thereby
giving Chan his assignment.
"One more reported on the far side, Colonel," Chan said.
(0445)
"Colonel, one of the Chig carriers has broken out and is on the move toward
the straits," Marshall called out.
"Confirm. Confirm. Coming around the planet now at eight-o'clock," Vanessa
punctuated. "The Nevada, the Princess of Wales, and the Vengeance are moving
to engage. Four cruisers are on their way too, Sir."
An hour earlier, when things had looked "so far so good," McQueen had called
for coffee to be brought to the Command Center. He now looked down into his
cup. There was a distinct 'tilt' to the level of his coffee. The Hue City
was responding to the new threat: She was moving off toward the rear. It was
the correct response to the shifting battle situation, but that did not
relieve Colonel McQueen's itch of frustration.
"Assessment?" he snapped to Damphousse.
"The carrier is moving with little or no escort. I've never seen the Chigs
this uncoordinated, Sir."
McQueen concurred. He watched the monitor on his upper left. Wait, he
thought. Wait him out. Let him come. See if he's got something moving in
behind him.
The seconds stretched into minutes as he watched the ships maneuver on his
screen. Smaller aircraft - bombers and fighters - were now fully engaged, but
the big ships had yet to fire a shot.
"No other Chig capital vessels are moving to support," Chan reported.
"They've got their hand full.
McQueen sipped his coffee, and then whispered to himself. "Never interrupt
your enemy when he is making a mistake."
Unlike the Earth Force supercarriers, the Chig carriers had surprisingly
little defensive firepower: They relied far more heavily on their escort.
McQueen concentrated on the image on the monitor. Wait... wait for it. He
could see no surprises coming around Cerrus from her port. "Gotcha," he
whispered, and set down his cup.
The screens lit up - causing McQueen to look away - as seven ships of the
line opened fire on the Chig carrier at once.
Kappa Reticlui
0718
The Battle for Kazbek was four hours old. The Earth Force carriers were
starting to rotate their fighter squadrons when the Earth Force supercarrier,
Saskatchewan, was heavily hit by Chig bombers. She suffered the loss of her
Commanding Officer and most of the bridge crew on duty, as well as six of her
landing bays and four of her loading bays. She moved to withdraw to the far
side of Kazbek, and the Colin Powell was pulled out of the blockade and sent
up to the line to replace her. Chig fighters began to swarm around the
injured giant as she moved away from the battle.
"Chan, I want the 5-8 all over that - yesterday," McQueen ordered. MSPF -
Maritime Special Purpose Force. This is a special purpose, if ever, he
thought.
Chan immediately grabbed the horn to the Wildcards. McQueen turned to Phousse
only to find that he was already on the com simultaneously to the Saratoga,
calling for the launch, and to the Saskatchewan, letting them know that extra
help was on the way.
As their Hammerheads peeled away from the Saratoga, the Wildcards focused on
the battle that was growing around the wounded Saskatchewan. Chig trident
fighters - leaving the main battle - were swarming around her. They were
flying right by other targets of opportunity and concentrating fire on the
"S'katch." It was a disciplined maneuver. The Earth Force carrier was
defending herself - launching anything that could fly and fire a weapon. It
was real ugly.
The Cards came in at six-o'clock low, jumping a Chig bomber and two tridents
from behind. Several Hammers from the S'katch disengaged from the defense,
banked high, and flew to the rear to join the Cards. A risky move, but it
paid off. The trident fighters were being separated from the main Chig force.
With any luck - if the Saskatchewan and her squadrons could continue to hold
out - the Chigs would be boxed in.
There is a centuries' old military adage: "Plans change as soon as the first
shot is fired." The Chig plan to sink the Saskatchewan began to fall apart.
0900
The battle had slowed, and the three remaining Chig capital ships had
withdrawn to a low orbit around the planet - well within the sentry
satellites. The Chig carriers aimed what guns they had at the Earth fleet -
who returned fire at will. Smaller alien aircraft engaged in sporadic
dogfights and bombing runs. The bombardment of the planet Cerrus continued,
with the Task Force maintaining the heat. Earth Force did not ease off while
the Chigs tried to regroup. There was time, however, to assess the damage, to
begin repairs, to check in, to reassess, and to communicate with one another.
Vansen reported in, speaking - as she had expected - with Chan. "Marshall,
there is something about the Chig fighters. I think I need to..." she said.
"Hold," he interrupted, and cut off communications.
Damn it all, thought Shane. I thought this was going to work. The
first time. The first time I need him and it is all screwed up. 'Hold' he
tells me. Hold. Damn it. I thought I was not supposed to be stonewalled.
"Damn it," she said, and thumped her side window with her fist.
"Talk to me, Queen of Diamonds." McQueen's voice seemed to fill the cabin of
her Hammerhead.
"MSPF 23 reporting, Sir. All secure." Her response was immediate and
Pavlovian.
"Chan said you needed to tell me something about their fighters," McQueen
said.
Shane was still so absorbed in her anger that it took her a second to respond
to him.
"They are making mistakes, Colonel"
"All of them?"
"No, but enough."
"New tactics?" he asked.
"If they are trying something new ... they suck at it. They were skidding
around all over the sky. They didn't seem able to re-coordinate. Or regroup
and redirect. I think that we've got - or had - a bunch of Chig nuggets out
here."
It made sense. It helped explain the colossal blunder the Chig carrier had
made.
"Vansen, head back to the Saratoga. I'll give Commodore Ross your assessment.
Queen Six out."
Vansen radioed the rest of the Cards to head back to the barn. She was forced
to admit that she had misjudged Chan. He had known that relaying information
about the fighters would not be his strong suit. He hadn't made her waste
time explaining something that he would only partially understand. He had
known that McQueen would want to know about the alien aircraft, and that the
Colonel would value her impressions. Chan hadn't wasted any time. The com
channel had been dead only a few seconds before McQueen's voice had rattled
her. This will work, she thought. This will work.
The Command Center of the Hue City was unexpectedly quiet. Not all of the
crewmembers understood the full impact of 'Queen of Diamond's' assessment,
but they all knew that it was something significant. The silence was broken
by the soft sound of Damphousse punching in the com code for the Saratoga -
the direct channel to Boss Ross. She looked up at Colonel McQueen in
expectation. He gave her a nod, and she hit 'send.'
Seconds later McQueen got a response on his head set.
"Go ahead, Queen Six." It was Ross.
"Queen of Diamonds reports trident fighters erratic - uncoordinated."
"I've gotten some scattered reports of the same thing," Ross responded. He
had emphasized the word 'scattered.' It wasn't a universal experience.
"Q.O.D. reports that they fly like trainees," McQueen said. There was a
moment of silence before Ross came back with a sigh.
"Well, they had to go someplace. Why not here?"
The primary Chig shipyard and training facility had been at Ixion. If the
Chigs had thought that the mysteries of Sewell fuel had been unlocked - that
Earth force wasn't interested - it made sense to move the training to the
Kappa Reticuli. The infrastructure was there. There were alien troops on
Cerrus, and it had a Chig-breathable atmosphere.
"And why doesn't it make me happy?" McQueen asked rhetorically.
Ross gave the answer they were both thinking. "It's good news/bad news. Earth
Force has the advantage over inexperienced fighters, but... What will 'Mama' do
when she finds out that someone is messing with her babies?"
McQueen had an uncomfortable thought. He remembered the words of Sun Tzu.
All warfare is based on deception.
"If they thought that we weren't interested in Sewell fuel..." McQueen left the
thought dangling.
"They know different now," Ross finished the thought. "We had best make hay
while the sun shines."
End Chapter 5 - to be continued
Next : Holding Up The Sky Book Five
Previous : Holding Up The Sky Book Four Pt 1-2
Back : General Fiction
The Pentagon
Washington, DC,
USA
1853
Saratoga
(0200)
0200
The Hue City
Kappa Reticuli
0300