Completely as they left it.
After almost two weeks away the mess of Task Force Thirty One’s office seemed as lived in as before. Crates of supplies stacked and secured in a haphazard corner, desks with laptop computers strapped to them shut in idleness.
On the far wall the whiteboard still maintains a crude half-erased drawing of an already executed battle plan, paths of soldiers and armor put into practice in the carnage of ground warfare.
“Finally!” Lieutenant Keys yells out as he skips into the room, tripping over one of the office chairs as he careens towards the far padded wall.
Baggage scattered on impact, a heavy rifle carrying case dropped into his form.
The entirety of Marauder Team moves to assist, the Combat Engineer quickly sitting up in recovery. A minor pain, intact ribs a miracle of the .73 gravities within the rotating artificial gravity ring. “Ow, I’m fine, I’m fine. Don’t worry.”
Assurance in the form, the Team’s Medic steps forward as he helps the Lieutenant back on his feet.
Admiral Tucker stifles in a laugh as he shakes his head. “Alright Dr. Chernyshevsky we’ll swear you in once the Rubicon’s crew gets back. For now, just get settled in.”
“Pick a desk.” Master Sergeant Ling motions as he begins to fold out luggage onto the ground.
A pause as the Medic scans each one, the weighing of choices against an unknown factor of allies. In silence the man chooses the one closest to him, a solid space devoid of any decoration.
A chair adjusted for the large bulk of the man, he sits down as he runs fingers across the false wood.
From the periphery Admiral Tucker’s form arrives, a thin laptop placed gently onto the table. “I had I.T. reactivate your old credentials, it should all still be there server-side.”
The Medic nods.
“If you need to catch up on the regulations, just ask me.” The Admiral continues. “Anything about squad coordination or the likes, Ling will brief you. Though, I want you to go over the revised engagement rules before the end of the week. We don’t really need to follow them with regards to our operational legality, but it’s good to know them anyway.”
The Flag Officer pauses, a missing order found. “And also when you have time ask Keys to help you with the suit H.U.D.'s interface. There was a huge software overhaul five years ago so it might not be what you were used to in Arsenal-Vertigo.”
“Yes, I understood.”
Lieutenant Keys interrupts as he swings by the desk space. “Hey once we’re done with the reinventory we’ll go out to the Rubicon. Deal?”
“Already?” Admiral Tucker turns around.
“Hey she got retrofitted again after our deployment.” Keys justifies. “I want to see that new railgun she got from Boeing-Consolidated, and also we gotta put our guns back in the armory… so two birds one stone right?”
Chernyshevsky pauses at the unfamiliar word. “Railgun?”
“It’s a thirty five millimeter electromagnetic acceleration gun.” Lieutenant Keys informs unhelpfully. “Mounted on a nose turret, I’ve seen videos of that thing going through a thousand millimeters of armor plating. It’s like a pocket…”
“Finish up your inventory Lieutenant.” Admiral Tucker orders with cold words. “We’ll all go for a little tour once you’re finished.”
Stopped in his tracks, the Combat Engineer nods as he stands straighter. “Yes sir.”
At the end of the office the trio of Marauder Team manually sorts through the remaining fragments of luggage; clothing folded back together, rifles ensured of working order, and extra supplies stored back into crates.
Inventory paperwork sorted with speed and excitement, the final step left as Marauder Team secure their weapons in carrying cases.
“Let us go.” Master Sergeant Ling announces as he stands.
Admiral Tucker looks up from his own computer, a presentation left mid-creation. “That was fast.”
“We’re very motivated sir.” Lieutenant Keys answers.
A scoff, laptop folded and brought with as the Admiral as he rises. “Doctor, you’re with us.”
Station Four plays host to a reasonable amount of traffic given its position as a primary gateway between earth and other orbital installations. Arriving space planes and inter-body transports deposit passengers into the terminal, a layover towards connecting flights sat out in the relative comfort of microgravity.
Civilian attire, families returning from orbital vacations and replacement shifts of moon-miners lounge amongst themselves. A dozen languages spoken at once, bought snacks from vending machines consumed as they stargaze through portholes within the station’s hull.
A full two squads of garrisoned System Defense Force Marines float at strategic places within the space, garrisoned troops holding lethal weapons at ease as they casually converse between one another.
“I wish I got a security job.” Ling murmurs to himself. “Looks so much easier.”
“Ex-Squad Leader of Kaiju Squad says what?” Keys chuckles as he grabs one of the wall mounted maneuvering handles, a slinged arm slowing progress through a weightless environment.
“Garassion is very boring.” Corporal Mercier comments, casually flipping herself around as she pushes off towards the targeted sector of the terminal. “Make sure you do not go poor skills, not good to work long term.”
A designated homeport, the Rubicon berthed within universal docking clamps as glances of its hull are snapped through small windows. The arrowhead form of the orbital corvette flattened at this perspective, its angular shape even more lethal with the added combat retrofits.
Added plates of reflective silver electromagnetic reactive armor contrast themselves against the usual white hull, circular bulbs optical packages placed alongside anti-missile CIWS systems cover all angles of attack, the final obvious addition in the deadly form of a nose mounted railgun. A square barrel covering rails of magnetic accelerators, the weapon itself seemed to fit perfectly within the gunnery turret of the vessel’s bow.
“She’s a predator.” Keys comments under his breath.
Master Sergeant Ling pauses as he gazes at the main gun of the craft. “Can it do anti-personnel duty?”
“The best part about the EMR-6 is that it can adjust the velocity of the rounds it fires. One big cruiser killer or a dozen full auto rounds.” The Admiral responds as they arrive at the gate of the military terminal. “But, I think the Tactical Officer would love to tell you all about it.”
Locked behind thick blast doors and a triple factor automated security scanner, access to the Rubicon held a near insane level of secrecy. However, with an Admiral’s clearance the process cuts back into a standard card scan.
Instantly accepted, airlock doors open to reveal a cramped interior.
Built in microgravity and designed for short-term orbital warfare, the vessel’s crew cabin divorces itself completely from the human concept of up and down. Padding on every surface, the small handles for six degrees of navigation protrude from every square meter. Personal crew quarters latched against surfaces, individual rooms shaped like literal coffins made for sleeping and sleeping only.
Four ways from the connecting cabin, two lateral spaces running towards the vessel’s aft and combat information center, followed by another two running port and starboard.
A wave of mild disorientation as Marauder Team enters into the claustrophobic space, inner ears attempting to rectify a visual kaleidoscope of white and gray.
“Admiral on deck!” One of the enlisted gunners raises as they maneuver themselves out of the bridge.
“As you were.” Admiral Tucker releases.
From the slightly ajar door to the CIC Captain Perez peaks a head through. A smile as the commanding officer spots familiar faces, waving them in gleefully. “Welcome aboard everyone!”
“Captain.” Almost all of them respond in kind.
“Putting the guns away?” The Captain asks as she spots the hard cases of firearms. “I don’t think we’ve authorized the armory to you guys yet hang on.”
Masterfully flipping herself around, Captain Perez turns back towards her bridge. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Ano, once the cold start diagnostic is done just run a battery assisted jump. I don’t want anything burning out like last time.”
“Yes ma’am.” The Chief Engineer replies briskly.
A single swing sends the Commanding Officer towards the awaiting forms of Marauder Team, a vector uninterrupted as she glides onto the far aft of her vessel.
Thin blast door opened as she leverages musculature, the marine detachment’s allocated space ignited with emergency red lighting that immediately shifts to a nicer LED, full spectrum hue.
A location much more spacious in comparison to that of the average corridor, the marine deployment center of the Rubicon was a replication of that found on larger vessels. An armory wall stacked with padlocked firearms in gun safes, seven combat space suits and manned maneuvering units hung on their racks across from them. Nine lockers take up another wall, three already claimed by printed name tags and articles of clothing stuffed within.
Acceleration chairs, bolted one after another next to personal sleeping coffins, offer some form of protection against sudden evasive maneuvers.
Nearly zero empty space within the room, all other sectors taken up by bolted down storage crates.
Stolen novel; please report.
Beyond clutter however the marines spot the relatively small secondary airlock at the edge of the Rubicon’s aft. Curious souls sticking noses against the small window reveals the interior of the deployment bay.
Much larger than anything else on the ship, the allocated location was like a hangar in design. Three zero-gravity deployment sleds were strapped down on the hull awaiting combat, and a massive air tight ramp at the very aft of the warship was shut in idleness.
“We gave up on two lateral autocannons for this.” Captain Perez smiles as she begins the tour. “But I suppose we’ll get more use out of you guys than the guns.”
“Orbital infrastructure preservation.” Admiral Tucker justifies as he watches the marines float towards the armory locker. “Blowing things up with missiles is safer, but not very economical or eco-friendly. Actions like that cause too much debris, and if enough accumulates it’ll spell the end of humanity’s space age.”
“Even with the debris cleanup crews?”
The Admiral stops. “With enough debris, yes.”
Rifles removed from carrying cases, empty magazine wells run through with wire locks and placed into storage. Digital software registers identification tags, confirmation of a safe return.
“So what kinda gun do you want?” Lieutenant Keys turns towards the Medic as he stores away the white boxy form of his GSW-AR. “We still have some money left in the small arms budget, so anything but another XA-77.”
“I can choose gun?” Chernyshevsky stops with a mild confusion.
“Perks of the Force, anything goes.”
“As long as it is chambered in a standard round.” Master Sergeant Ling adds. “Standard Defense Force chamber.”
An answer given immediately, the new squad member’s tastes in small arms elegantly simple. “Avtomat Kalashnikov, AK-201.”
Slack jawed the entire infantry fireteam stares at the request with shock and surprise.
Corporal Mercier speaks up. “You can ask for any weapon, and you choose AK?”
“It works.” The man replies.
Admiral Tucker thinks for a few moments before answering. “If I remember correctly Task Force Four has some in storage as evidence. I can probably get you one by this evening.”
“And H-PDW as well.” Chernyshevsky adds. “In case of emergency.”
“Just in case a hundred year old rifle doesn’t work.” Ling jokes. “You always have modern backup gun.”
Lieutenant Keys interrupts as he scans the inside of the four gun safes, a mechanism found but not of perfect specification. “We’ve got a R-PDW here, I’ll convert it when I have some time.”
“Thank you.”
“And also we have a M88 Medic Kit that’s been sitting here.” Keys continues. “It’s in the crate over there if you want to check it out.”
“Thank you.”
Poking a head through the blast door the Rubicon’s Tactical Officer clears his throat. “Sorry to interrupt Captain, but we have a small issue with the central heat radiator.”
Captain Perez sighs. “Let me guess, it’s the port side coolant tube not flushing anything?”
“Yes ma’am.” The Officer replies.
“Everyone to the Bridge.” Perez orders. “Might as well have the tour continue up there.
Placed at the very center of rotation of the corvette, Rubicon’s C.I.C. was even smaller than the marine deployment bay. Acceleration chairs mounted in front of control consoles on every single wall, each pointed away from the vessel’s engines. A forward view screen displays a live camera feed of Earth, mild entertainment as the crew meanders through post-delivery checklists.
The command chair at the very back center of the arrangement provides a full view of the crew, three monitors placed strategically to allow viewership even under the gravities of evasive maneuvering.
Captain Perez floats over, grabbing the back of her seat as she reads over the real-time status reports scrolling across widgets. Scratching her head as she analyzes the readouts, she turns over to the Chief Engineer. “Well good news is that she’s not going to blow up.”
“Yes ma’am.” The young woman replies. “Though the only way to fix that is to re-pipe her from the outside; gotta allot some EVA time for that.”
“Oh I’m in.” Lieutenant Keys immediately announces. “Let’s go fix…”
“Do not, you are not recovered.” The Medic stops him with a hard grip on the shoulder. “Stay and recover.”
Keys sighs, feeling the sling upon his arm as a small dull pain travels from across his rib cage up towards his neck.
“In week we take off medical sling.” Chernyshevsky adds. “Assume that spend most of time in gravity though, so spend time in ring.”
“Whatever you say Doc.”
The Captain pulls back from her chair, taking her phone from a zipped pocket as she types in a reminder. “Alright, I’ll schedule out an EVA this week. Any other massive mistakes the perras at the boneyard made?”
“Not as bad as this one.” Ano answers as she groans in frustration. “With CIWS shooting down missiles and the railgun at full power a heat radiation problem like this is going to cook us like a thanksgiving turkey.”
“Hopefully not as bad as the one you guys made.” The Tactical Officer jabs from his console.
“Shut the fuck up.” Both Ano and Keys, Chief and Combat Engineer, bite back in complete sync.
The middle-aged man laughs as he waves them off.
Admiral Tucker raises his voice, a head count completed as all fourteen personnel are squeezed into the space. “We’re all here right?”
“Sir?”
“Everyone’s here.” The Flag Officer chuckles as he removes a booklet from within his uniform. “Doctor Nikolai Chernyshevsky, do you want to be sworn in now?”
Captain Perez raises the objection. “Now?!”
“Captain your crew’s gonna end up finding a huge problem with the Rubicon in the next hour, and by the time you fix it we’ll have to delay it till tomorrow.” Admiral Tucker smiles, turning back to the man. “So how about it Doctor?”
A surprise eaten by a serious expression, the Medic blinks. “I have time.”
The Admiral nods, orders barked towards subordinates. “This’ll only take a minute. Mercier you’re on photo duty, and can someone pull up the UN Space Dev flag on the main screen?”
Squished within the tiny space most of the Rubicon’s crew is pushed aside as haphazard preparations are put into place.
The pale blue of the United Nations’ flag, the reaching olive branch of peace surrounding the world augmented by an orbital trajectory that cuts across it. Humanity reaching outward towards the stars above, a home left behind in the expansion of ambition.
Pulling forth a slightly cracked smartphone the squad’s Marksman finds an angle between the helmsman station and tactical, barely able to capture the pair of souls at the front of the bridge.
“Leave it to the Admiral to just spring something like this on someone.” Lieutenant Keys whispers to his friend.
Ling doesn’t respond for a few seconds. “It does seem like something he does.”
A lighting dimmed for ambience, final preparations in operation as Mercier gives a thumbs up.
Shoes slipped into handholds as the wall is chosen as a temporary floor, the Admiral pausing as he sifts through pockets. “Alright since you left the section blank on your reenlistment petition; what do you want to swear on? I’ve got the old fashion U.N. Space Council Charter, a Protestant Bible with only the New Testament, and a paper copy of ‘Koko-San Vol.9’ on me right now.”
Captain Perez interrupts as she takes a sip out of a package of tea, a stifled chuckle hidden beneath genuine concern. “All due respect Chernyshevsky, but I am not letting you swear your oath on a shitty light novel in my ship. Especially not after the travesty of that anime adaptation.”
“I will use usual one.” The man requests.
“Alright, the good old fashion Space Council charter.” The Admiral removes the handheld leather bound book from its pocket, a hundred fifty thin pages of legal documentation, fluff, and tenants of service. The very basis of their entire organization condensed within a seemingly unremarkable form.
“Everyone ready?”
Twelve in witness, thumbs up as work is stopped for an improvised ceremony.
“Please hold the oath.” Admiral Tucker hands the small booklet to the man.
Hands take it carefully, a small nod and a deep gaze given towards the old man.
“Doctor Chernyshevsky, please repeat after me.”
An accent obvious, a grasp of language enough to get through the short wording of a simplified three line oath.
The first represents the most fundamental purpose of the Solar System Defense Force, a simple sentence conveying immense pressure upon its speaker.
“I, Nikolai Chernyshevsky, do affirm to defend all of humanity.”
A second follow up brings forth allegiances, a directed method for the population in a world beneath operational battlespace.
“I will work with faith and allegiance towards all peoples, to create and safeguard peace and prosperity.”
Finality to it all, a simple declaration of intent against a world.
“I will serve with bravery and integrity, and I shall not fail.”
A pause as the man hands back the small booklet, the Admiral putting it into his pocket. Spoken words issue an already completed process, the tradition fulfilled to the tee. “Congratulations on your re-enlistment, Chief Warrant Officer Nikolai Chernyshevsky. Welcome to Task Force Thirty One.”
Minor clapping and cheering forces itself from within the soundproofed room, volume of celebrations cut by polyester and padded cloth.
Master Sergeant Ling pushes off one of the consoles, a velocity slowed as he offers an outstretched hand. The Medic receives the offer, a handshake executed in tight formation. “Welcome to Marauder Team, Cherneyskii.”
“Thank you.” The Chief Warrant Officer replies with a small smile at the mispronunciation. “But name me Cherny, easier to speak.”
“So that’s where it comes from.” Lieutenant Keys comments as he joins the group.
“Chief Cherny?” Corporal Mercier blinks at the rank and nickname.
“It is just Cherny.” The Medic replies.
A laughter echoing through the fireteam, a completed unit of personnel pausing as a finished checklist arrives.
“Let us go eat lunch, our bill.” Master Sergeant Ling offers quickly.
“Ming’s.” Lieutenant Keys adds.
“Ming’s.” Mercier follows.
“It is his celebration.” Ling stops his squad, looking towards their newest member.
Cherny takes a moment to think. “What is that called, американский food? Даниэль…”
Captain Perez takes insight, listing the only option. “You mean Denny’s?”
Keys is the first to speak up. “No, please god don’t make us eat that.”
“It is his choice, his celebration.” The Master Sergeant repeats as he pushes off the wall and towards the door.
“Just order a salmon melt.” Perez advises the Lieutenant casually as she adds to her fiancé’s words. “Seriously, it's like you want to make yourself suffer Keys.”
A dismissive groan from the man as he follows his friend out. “Whatever dude. Cherny, what’s so great about Denny’s anyway?”
“I just like американский food.” The Medic validates. “Good food.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, the squad member responsible for our health and safety enjoys the fat and sugar of mid-Americana cuisine.” Keys observes with a sarcastic joke.
Mercier shadows a grin as she passes him. “I have not had American food in a long time, it will be good.”
The Lieutenant sighs. “Great, everyone doesn’t heed the warning of the only American on the…”
Admiral Tucker clears his throat, interrupting the rant as he swings towards the marine squad. “Just one thing before you people go.”
A short wave towards the door, a privacy implied as Marauder Team files out back into the corridor of the Rubicon. Crew sealed behind them, the Admiral begins with a light chuckle as he observes the tense glances. “It’s all good news, so don’t worry.”
Sighs of relief from the Marine Squad, the Admiral delivering reports. “For starters we have the shipment coming on Thursday. Ling, Keys; I’ve emailed you the partial manifest for you to review. Make sure it's in order before Wednesday.”
“Yes sir.” Both reply at once.
“And Corporal Mercier, the requisition went through. It should be coming alongside the rest of the shipment on the flight up.”
“What did you order Mercier?” Lieutenant Keys scoffs with a mild concern.
“PC de jeu et casque réalité virtuelle.” The Marksman answers. “For training purposes.”
“Oh my god…”
“Corporal, you better share it.” Admiral Tucker warns, returning back to the task at hand. “Cherny, I need you to run an inventory for the Task Force’s medical supplies. If you need anything just send me an emailed list, I’ll approve it ASAP.”
“Thank you.”
The Flag Officer nods as each squad member processes distributed information, a reminder suddenly flashing in memory. “Oh before I forget. The shipment’s coming along with the hardware I talked about during the last briefing.”
“You mean the combat drone?” Lieutenant Keys infers.
Admiral Tucker winks. “It's fresh from Lee-Peisic’s Skunk Works division. Most of the shipment’s tonnage is for it.”
“Skunk Works?” Ling, Mercier, and Cherny all question at the exact same time.
“Highly experimental.” Keys answers for his squadmates. “Hush hush stuff. Which begs the question…”
“I think I’ll leave it as a surprise.” The Admiral interrupts.
Disappointment from the squad, the Old Man continuing. “Either way, it’s marked on the manifest as TACITUS System, TCS-I-191 I think. So don’t freak out when you see it on the list.”
“Drone system?” Ling turns to the Combat Engineer.
“TCS is the designation used for sentry guns back before the ban. The ‘i’ stands for iterative when it comes to Lee-Peisic Heavy Industries, so it must be a development of something they already have in inventory.” Lieutenant Keys thinks aloud. “TACITUS is Latin for… a word I don’t know.”
“It is a poor spelling of Roman general.” Mercier answers.
“What she said.” Keys continues with the information. “So based on all that I’d say it’s going to be something related to a fire support platform. But given the global ban on automated sentry guns in combat I don’t know if we’re even allowed to use it.”
Admiral Tucker clears his throat as he recollects attention. “We’ll also have a formal operations briefing on Thursday after the shipment arrives. I’ll schedule that in the calendar.”
“New Operation?” Master Sergeant Ling perks up.
“It’s a longer term one, not that I’m allowed to say for now. Just pay attention to the news this week, it’ll tell you enough.”
The Squad Leader pushes further at the words. “This is not related to Operation Shooting Star, is it?”
“Again, can’t say.” The Admiral insists coldly. “But, other than that, are there any other questions?”
A cryptic task handed over to them, Marauder Team exchanging glances as they’re left with an implied purpose.
“Alright. In any case, have a good lunch. I’ll see you back in the Office. Dismissed.”