Hyping Up The Joes

(This excerpt is the third Chapter of "Vipers and Krakens". Chapters one and two can both be read right here on Vocal)

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So much had changed in such a short space of time. Life hardly felt like life any more.

The war between the United Earth Federal Republic and the Sovereign Kingdom of Mars was three years old. Three years of open hostility. But the two nations’ volatile relationship had been festering for more than a hundred years.

The Magenta Conflict, as they were calling it, was more than a century in the making.

And for much of that time, the human “underdogs” had been building up their navy, training their soldiers, waiting for the right moment to strike. Finally, the day had come, and two hundred and fifty thousand Paladin warriors of the UE Army’s Julian Chapter, led by Lord Ethan Julian himself, had marched on the martian territories across the Earth. After three battles, each lasting days on end, Earth had won its first victories.

And just like that, war was declared.

The martian endgame was clear: bring their ships to Earth and raze its civilization to the ground. After that, they’d scavenge whatever was left as spoils of war. They did have naval superiority after all, it only made sense. But Earth was protected by a force field projected from yet another gift born of the relationship of goodwill between President Graves and the Gustavii High Council.

And this gift was a Space station. But not just any Space station. UESS Johannesburg was alleged to be tough enough to sit through a supernova without it scratching the sides. For months on end, the war was cold. Neither side had the tools to bring about a decisive victory. But then the tables began to tip in favour of the Red World when the humans first heard about “Code Black”.

An unidentified martian superweapon of some kind, one alleged to be so vast, and so powerful, that it could destroy entire suns. Some didn’t believe in it, and even more did, but the fact remained that there had yet to be a single confirmed sighting of such a weapon. Nothing but whispers and speculations, not even a name.

Until an entire convoy from the second UE fleet had gone missing. Three full-size cruisers along with an entire party of bombers and support ships, gone without a trace. They couldn’t be tracked, which suggested that they’d been totally destroyed. But by what? Or whom? If Mars had succeeded in creating such a weapon, why hadn’t they used it against Johannesburg yet? What were they waiting for?

All these questions and more raced through the mind of Commandant Beckett Atlas as his own cruiser, HMS Valiant thundered through Accelerated Space to the aid of their comrade ship, Rasputin.

Just over six feet tall, black and with a presence that had been described as “authoritative with a hint of dickish”, Beckett wasn’t just the Officer Commanding HMS Valiant, he was the commander-in-chief for the entire ninth fleet. What was more, he was one of the most knowledgeable officers in the entire navy. Not because of what he knew, but because of who he knew. And Beckett personally knew Vice Admiral Roman Veselinović, the second most senior officer in the navy. And he was also Beckett’s brother-in-law.

The Vice Admiral had always been careful not to let his personal relationship with Beckett hold too much weight, though. Veselinović had personally selected HMS Rasputin for a top-secret assignment, the transportation of a classified cargo, and not even Beckett had been privy to exactly what Rasputin was ferrying. Not even when the distress call had come in.

That’s a need-to-know basis, and you don’t need to know, Veselinović had said. Just get your arse in there, and get their arses out.

Ever the obedient soldier, Beckett had assembled the ninth fleet in short order, and it wasn’t long before they were on their way to Rasputin’s last marked position, the Jocasta Nebula. Travelling at a speed of roughly VT 1.9/.2, it’d taken about an hour and a half before Valiant’s co-pilot, Sergeant Gus Weissman, was announcing their deceleration.

Secured via a harness into his command seat, Beckett held his breath as Valiant came to a swift and sudden halt. The bridge thrummed with power as the Flash Engine began to cool. After a Leap like that, it was Weissman’s job to vent the excess energy (or tachyon residue) back through the propulsion valves into the core. Doing it wrong could cause an tachyon feedback big enough to rip the ship apart.

Beckett exhaled when he heard the all-clear from Sergeant Weissman. “Deceleration successful, Lieutenant.”

Beckett’s pilot officer, Lieutenant Peyton Creed-Hardy, nodded. “Roger That, co. The fleet is coming in now, boss.”

Beckett reached for the quick release on his seat’s harness. “Wonderful,” he remarked. “Carlisle, do your thing.”

Lieutenant James Carlisle was the red-haired, freckle-faced officer in charge of Signals and Communications. He’d taken more courses in military communication protocols than probably any officer of his age, not to mention that he spoke a handful of languages with native fluency. And that was without the assistance of translation matrices.

At his Officer Commanding’s behest, he reached for his computer terminal and fiddled with it for a moment before speaking into a transceiver device. “Scramble Channel Five, HMS Valiant to Fleet Company,” he said clearly. “See Me Going Clear, check.”

It sounded like gibberish, but Beckett knew enough about signal procedures to know that “see me going clear” just meant “confirm my signal is audible”.

James made some adjustments to his terminal, and then nodded at Atlas. “You’re live, sir. Transmission keyed to you.”

Beckett nodded and spoke clearly to the air. “This is Commandant Beckett Atlas. All cruisers, sound off.”

One-by-one, the entire fleet began to check in.

“HMS Fulcrum, ready for tasking.”

“HMS Trinity, ready for tasking.”

“HMS Yosemite Falls, ready for tasking.”

Within seconds, the entirety of the fleet, all eight ships had checked in. Beckett turned to address his helm. “Navigators, you know what we’re looking for. Rasputin is somewhere close by. Find it.”

As soon as the command was given, there was a flurry of activity as the prime and secondary navigators got to work priming their sensors.

“Peyton, where’s AJ?” Beckett asked his pilot officer softly.

Lieutenant Peyton Creed-Hardy glanced over her shoulder to answer. “Last I saw him, he was with Walker and the Joes.”

Beckett rolled his eyes at this. “Carlisle, get him up here now.”

“Heard That, boss,” James nodded. He spoke into his transceiver again. “Bridge to All Hands. WEXO to the command deck, repeat, WEXO to the command deck. Out.”

Moments later, the deck thrummed as the elevator reached the bridge. The door swept open, and HMS Valiant’s first officer stepped onto the bridge.

“WEXO on deck,” one of the security marines announced.

Beckett turned to make eye contact with Lieutenant Commander Adrian J. Quickening. AJ looked the same as ever: dark hair kept short on the sides, a thin and lanky frame and the slightly gaunt look of somebody who didn’t quite get enough to eat. Regardless of his alleged fragility, Beckett knew that Adrian was a rock. The most reliable officer he’d ever worked with.

Adrian was razor-sharp, and being the deputy, he ran more of the ship than anybody else.

“Where have you been?” Beckett asked accusingly.

“Walker’s getting restless,” Adrian said simply.

Beckett scoffed. “Why? I hope you haven’t been Hyping Up the Joes again.”

“No,” Adrian lied. “They’re just anxious for something to do.”

“Yeah, well, their wish might just be granted,” Beckett said darkly. The smaller force of marines aboard every UE ship, called “Joes”, were officially a security detail. In certain circumstances, however, protocol allowed for them to be temporarily repurposed as a striking force between ships.

“We’ve got a bite, sir,” one of the navigators reported. “Eight hundred miles to our rear, two ships on the port quarter. One is broadcasting a UE distress signal.”

“Well, then,” Beckett said to Adrian. “Battle stations.”

Adrian nodded, and turned to address Valiant’s artillery supervising officer, Lieutenant Saimantika Jalandra. “You heard the man. All Hands to battle stations, Action To Four. Sam, ready on the forward guns, James, dispatch the hold position to the fleet and Peyton, put us in optimum striking range.”

“Heard That, sir,” Peyton replied. “Switching to manual control. Sarge, give me the helm.”

Weissman nodded. “Helm’s yours, ma’am.”

Peyton adjusted her headset, and her exo-suit began to light up as manual control was transferred back to her. She raised her arms in tandem, and performed a short series of complex manoeuvres. Next second, the entire cruiser lurched forward. Beckett’s heart began to beat faster as Valiant sailed directly into the danger zone.

He shouldn’t have been so antsy. He wouldn’t have been, normally. Valiant had the advantage of size, numbers and firepower. But Beckett couldn’t shake the feeling that this mission was more than what it appeared to be.

As the ship wheeled about, Rasputin came into view on Valiant’s viewscreen. It was flanked on both sides by what were clearly pirate attack frigates, but something was wrong. Nobody was firing, nobody was attacking, none of the ships were even moving. Fishy. But Beckett saw it as an opportunity for them to get their attack in.

“Are we in optimum firing range?”

“We are,” Peyton replied. “Prepare to Bow Chasers,” she said out of the side of her mouth to Lieutenant Sam Jalandra.

“Belay That order,” Adrian blurted suddenly.

Beckett glanced at him. “You smell something, boy?”

“Gardener, scan those ships,” Adrian said. “Give me life signs.”

“Heard That, Commander,” Lance Corporal Gardener, the prime navigator, complied. A moment later, he had his answer. “Nothing, sir.”

“Pardon?” Adrian raised his eyebrows.

“No life signs,” Gardener clarified.

“So what?” Peyton was unmoved. “Those ships could be remotely-piloted. They might never have been manned at all.”

Adrian shook his head. “Something’s off. I don’t like the vibe.”

“Agreed,” Beckett nodded. “James, put us in touch with Rasputin.”

A moment later, the view-screen flickered, and the image changed, depicting the face of a young woman. Blonde, with green eyes. Rather than a navy uniform, she wore a matte black, skintight outfit, exactly like the ones worn by astronauts. Atlas was taken aback: he’d expected to see Captain Youssef Mustafa, Rasputin’s designated Officer Commanding. So who was this?

“Hello?!” she exclaimed, in a voice that sounded like she’d never answered a phone before.

“Hello,” Beckett replied numbly.

“Who’s that?” Adrian narrowed his eyes.

“Just what I was wondering,” Beckett admitted. “Where’s Captain Mustafa?”

“Dead,” the woman replied grimly.

Beckett felt his eyebrows rise of their own accord. “The crew?”

“The same,” the woman said darkly. “Mostly.”

“What happened?!”

“We were boarded,” the woman said. “My Second Officer panicked, abandoned his post. Took half of the crew with him. They never made it to the escape pods, they were intercepted and…and killed. The rest went the same way as the pirates moved up through the ship to the bridge.”

“Your Second Officer?” Adrian noticed. “So you’re executive?”

“Commander Saffron Dyvora,” the woman confirmed.

“I notice you’re still alive, Commander Dyvora,” Beckett remarked.

“Because I’m not stupid!” Dyvora snapped. “Frank and I, we sealed the bridge off. We’re the only two left.”

“Frank?” Beckett echoed.

“Midshipman Harcourt,” Dyvora amended. “My CQ.”

“Right, right,” Adrian said airily. “What about the Oilers?”

“Language,” Beckett chided instinctively.

Adrian rolled his eyes, but he obediently bit back the slang. “I meant, what about the martians who boarded you?”

“Not martians,” Dyvora shook her head. “Pirates.”

“Same difference,” Adrian shrugged. “Martians have been known to endorse pirate activity in the past. Stands to reason that they could be behind this.”

“More than likely,” Beckett agreed.

“So what’s the play?”

“Extracting the cargo is our first priority,” Beckett said at once.

Adrian nodded. “Roger That. Vice Admiral lost his shit when he found out that it was at risk.”

“Exactly,” Beckett agreed. “And Roman never loses his shit. In fact, he prides himself on knowing the whereabouts of all his shit at all times.”

“And he didn’t tell you what it was?” Adrian asked, although he already knew the answer to his question.

“No,” Beckett shook his head. “All I know is if we come back without it-,”

“He’ll kill us.”

“Basically, yeah.”

“We should help those two as well,” Adrian added, inclining his head toward the viewscreen. “If that’s possible.”

“Obviously,” Atlas nodded. “Question is, how do we go about that?”

Adrian thought for a moment, and then his face split into a grin. “Leave this to me.”

“What do you have?” Beckett asked at once.

“Don’t worry about that, I’ve got this.”

“No, tell me,” Beckett insisted. “What have you got?”

“You don’t trust me, Beckett?” Adrian laughed.

“About as far as I can throw your skinny arse,” Beckett said indignantly.

“If you two don’t mind,” Dyvora piped back up. “We’re on the clock here. What’s your play?”

“Judging by our sensors, you’re on your last few dregs of power,” Adrian deduced. “But your shields must still be in place, no?”

“Right. Mostly.”

“Disable them,” Adrian said shortly. “And don’t worry. Nobody else is dying today. Well. Nobody human, at least.“

Adrian turned on his heel and power-walked toward the elevator, speaking rapidly into his transceiver as he went.

“Walker?” he was saying. “I’ve got a job for you, and before you ask, don’t worry, there’s plenty of killing involved.”