Boundary: Low Orbital Warfare - REPORT 1

At least a quarter of the Solar System Defense Force Navy was in port for the day. Hundreds of soldiers mingle within the corridors of Station Four; crowds dotted with civilians unaccustomed to zero gravity mixing together with well trained, and slightly tipsy marines: the chaos of the celebrations reaching towards its peak point this afternoon.

A figure floats by, the well-worn Officer’s Uniform of the Solar System Defense Force Naval branch receiving a handful of respectful salutes as the young man carefully finds his way through the familiar station.

The first security checkpoint is met, a Marine Guard raising a hand to stop the approaching Officer as the other instinctively reaches for the weapon at her hip. “Lieutenant…” She begins as she notes the rank on his shoulders. “Sorry, but in order to enter the docking sector we’ve gotta put you through a security check. I just need your IDs and a go through on the scanner.”

“Of course.” The Officer nods, handing over a thick stack of identification papers from his uniform pocket. “Security’s pretty tight today.”

“You have no idea; been a string of attempted bombings this month. Caught a guy with an IED in his ass just two days ago.” The Marine Guard answers as she notices the light red triangle patch on the uniform’s unit identifier. “Combat Engineer huh?”

“Yeah, probably shouldn’t let me through if you’re worried about explosive devices.” The man jibes as the guard logs both the identification and order forms with a QR scanner.

“Funny jo…” For a moment the smile slacks, the Marine Guard stopping as the readout confirms a suspicion. Her eyes take a glance at the young face before her, recognition flooding back into current memory. “Lieutenant Jonathan Keys?!”

The Lieutenant smiles lightly. “Corporal.”

The marine instinctively salutes the name, rest of the guard post following suit.

“At ease.” Lieutenant Keys awkwardly waves off.

“H-Holy shit I thought you were still earth side.” The Marine Corporal begins, nervously scanning over the papers one more time. “Did they reassign you back to the Fleet?”

Lieutenant Keys shakes his head with a light smile. “Corporal, I’m not even sure I got reassigned in the first place.”

“Desk duty?” Another marine asks from the scanner. “Star of Terra putting you on the back burner now?”

“Maybe.” Lieutenant Keys answers. “I don’t think I can honestly say anything; got pulled out of leave with these orders right here.”

The Corporal clears her throat, handing the identification papers over to the man. “Well Lieutenant, it's an honor to meet you.”

“Thanks.” Keys answers oddly as he begins to maneuvering himself towards the security scanner. “I’m honestly quite new to this… experience as well.”

“The Star of Terra’s a big award… sir.” The Corporal agrees as Keys moves into the scanner’s central chamber. “Are you giving a speech for Fleet Week?”

“Hopefully not, I ain’t got shit prepared.” The Lieutenant replies.

The checkpoint technician raises a hand as the scanner seals the man inside, a snarky, European accented voice echoing through the speaker system within the machine. “Alright Mr. Explosives, let us see if you have any bombs on you today. Put your hands up and remain still.”

“Never going to live that down, am I?” Lieutenant sighs deeply as he follows orders.

“Living the dream, as it is said.” The technician replies. “Question: did you really strap that bomb back on a terrorist?”

“No, not officially.” Lieutenant Keys chuckles as the scanner hums. “But that did make the hostage exchange much more interesting.” 

The Officer is checked and cleared, pulling himself along handrails as he moves to the other side of the security checkpoint.

“Uh Lieutenant, one more thing.” The Corporal speaks up through the gate. “You might not know this, but thank you… for saving my brother’s life.” She pauses. “He was on Collins Memorial at the time…”

“A lot of people were.” Lieutenant Keys tragically smiles. “Thank you Corporal, and have a good day.”

Situated in low earth orbit Station Four had slowly, over the course of the decade, become the de facto stop for all civilian traffic in low earth orbit. Though, just for this special week, the Solar System Defense Force had turned the usually busy commerce station into a military anchorage.

From the docking section’s occasional observation port, Lieutenant Keys watches as the frigate U.N.S.S. Moscow carefully comes into dock. A Washington Class orbital combat vessel, the cylindrical hull measured a staggering fifty meters from aft to stern. Bristled with stowed coil-guns and armored hardpoints, the Moscow's supposed lethality was betrayed by its simple age. Even with its modernized armaments the vessel’s design was quite antiquated; the Washington Class dating back all the way to the first founding years of the System Defense Force.

Appropriate, given its cargo. Keys thinks as he turns the corner to the docking terminal.

Crowded with a mixture of civilian and military traffic, the docking section was busier than anywhere else on the station. Shaped in an elongated half circle, the bulkheads were lined with heavily armed guards. Scattered in number, true marine guards in uniform were mixed together with private military, the sharp black and blue dress of the Orbital Security Company obvious in their form. Carefully weaving his way through, Lieutenant Keys manages to arrive at his destination of Docking Terminal Seven without incident.

Situated at the corner of the section, the space was filled with waiting technicians and marine guards. However, a single figure within the group stands out; wearing the standard dark blue fatigues of the System Defense Force Marine Corps it takes a moment for Lieutenant Keys to recognize its owner. Pale skin of an east Asian complexion, the dark hair and darker irises immediately recall images of recent pasts. 

A shocked voice in a familiar accent calls out before the Lieutenant even opens his mouth, memories flooding back as now eyes meet. The man speaks up, a smile approaching as he raises a hand. “KEYS?!”

“Ling!” Lieutenant Keys reaches out before stopping, the personnel around the terminal snapping to attention at his form.

“At ease.” Keys waves them off as his inertia continues moving him forward.

Pushing off of the wall, Master Sergeant Shu Ling intercepts the Lieutenant’s trajectory with trained precision. Hands outstretched; the pair exchange a heavy gripped handshake.

The raw strength of the Marine crashes against naval finesse, a spike of pain flashing through Lieutenant Keys’ fingers. “Ling…”

“Hmmm, you have gotten soft.” The Master Sergeant notes, light Asian accent voicing a slightly disappointed tone. “Does Navy have you sitting behind a desk?”

“No…” Lieutenant Keys whimpers slightly.

“Well it is good to see you again. 看的挺好.”

“Thanks.” Keys grunts as the Marine lets go. “It’s good to see you too.”

Master Sergeant Ling turns towards the rest of the personnel at the terminal, a smile on his face as he points to the Lieutenant. “I served with this man on the Beijing and the Pacific. Best Combat Engineer in Force!”

“I just do my job.” The Lieutenant nods. “Just like you right?”

“That is what they always say.” Ling shakes his head as he chuckles. “Congratulations on the Star of Terra. I watched you on broadcast, very amazing performance standing there and saluting.”

Keys frowns. “Thanks…”

“In honesty that was good work. Surprised you carried out thirty people from station, did not expect a navy man like you to…” He snaps his fingers as he tries to remember the word. “拿起松弛?”

“It was us or them. Picking up the slack was honestly secondary when compared to what was going on.”

“But you lived.” Ling slaps Keys’ shoulder hard, the force enough to redirect the man’s velocity downward. “And that is what is important.”

The Lieutenant nods solemnly. “I agree.”

“It is easier to have a friend than a grave.” The Master Sargent shifts, turning back to the terminal. “Now, we will need to catch up later. I am on assignment right now.”

“Here?”

“Yes… if you remember Admiral Tucker…”

“Admiral Issac Tucker…” Keys frowns.

“He sent personnel transfers, told me that I…”

“… had to be here when the Moscow arrives in port?” The Lieutenant interrupts.

The Marine pauses smile slacking. “Oh no.”

“Same orders.” The Lieutenant pulls open the papers within the uniform, looking around towards the other personnel. “Does that go for any of you?”

The blank, curious and confused glances they return radiate ignorance, and Keys turns back to Master Sergeant Ling. “Well, guess this just got interesting.”

“操...” Ling swears. “Keys, this is no good. We get reassigned together; bad things always follow.”

“Combat Engineers and Special Operation Teams, put two together and there’s too much C4 to be safe.” Keys agrees as he dives back into memory. “And you said reassigned?”

Ling nods. “No more Kaiju Squad for me. Sergeant O’Connor is new lead of that group.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“It is fine, I know squad is in hands of a good person. Knows how to say no to too much explosive, unlike me.”

The terminal rumbles, bulkheads shaking as the Moscow finishes its final docking procedure. Technicians grab the handholds along the station’s walls, preparing to pressurize the hatch separating station and warship.

“Guess we’ll find out why we're here soon enough.” Keys comments.

“You know anyone on the Moscow?” Ling turns as he steadies himself.

“Admiral Tucker’s the C.O. last I checked.”

“The Admiral is?” Ling stops. “That is worrisome. If he is recreating the Beijing then this is bad.”

The hiss of compression echoes past the terminal, the lock secured between vessel and station. Keys sighs. “Are you being sarcastic?”

“你相信我是说的什么意思？” Ling smiles slyly.

“Yep, sarcastic.” Keys answers through his translation.

Crewed by a total of forty-seven personnel, the first few individuals of the Moscow are nothing more than standard sailors, their eager forms safely transferred from ship to station. As one of the last ones passes through the airlock, Lieutenant Keys grabs them. “Excuse me…”

“Lieutenant Keys?!” The young man immediately recognizes. “What are you…”

Ling scoffs. “Can not escape the medal Lieutenant. It has made you famous.”

“Who is your Commanding Officer?!” Keys demands.

“Captain Freedman, sir.” The Enlisted Sailor answers. “But why are you…”

Keys glances at Ling, who shrugs.

A sarcastic voice speaks up, the pair locking familiar eyes with the speaker. “Well, Moscow’s not mine anymore… but you two are.” 

Face defined by older features, the man at first glance perhaps pushed the early sixties with his full head of grey hair and slightly sunk blue eyes. Relatively fit for a man of his age, Admiral Issac Tucker coasts down through the airlock and into the open terminal, eccentric voice barely contained as he greets the pair. “Lieutenant Keys, Master Sergeant Ling!”

“Admiral Tucker.” The pair respectfully acknowledge.

For a moment the old man chuckles, pitching a well-trained salute to the Lieutenant.

“At ease… Admiral.” Keys uncomfortably acknowledges.

“Salute the Medal, not the rank.” The Admiral begins as he drops his hand. “It’s good to see you two again!”

“You as well sir.” Both Sailor and Marine reply at the same time.

“Ah well you look good.” Tucker shakes the hand of Lieutenant Keys, firm but steady in its execution. “And sorry I couldn’t make it to the award ceremony. We had to deal with a helium freighter hijacking, took us almost three days to deal with that mess.”

“I heard.”

The Admiral turns, pointing to the Master Sergeant. “And Ling, I thought you said Kaiju Squad was going to keep a low profile.”

The Master Sergeant raises his hands in defense. “All due respect Admiral, but I can not predict where the Space Liberation Front attacks.”

“But you can control how quickly the situation changes. Hostage negotiations are supposed to occur before a rescue is attempted. And when you attempt one, you’re supposed to do it with the rest of the squad.”

“Thirty minutes for negotiator to arrive, fifteen minutes to first execution.” Ling points out. “And Squad was also involved. They offered distraction, I move in. Saved lives.”

Tucker shakes his head, smiling as he sighs. “You know if you actually followed protocols, you’d probably already have two Star of Terras.”

Keys coughs. “It’s about duty over glory.”

Admiral Tucker laughs as he maneuvers himself towards the far wall, idly readying himself in the environment. “And that’s the point exactly. I’m glad you two got the transfer orders, wasn’t easy dragging you from your assignments.”

Keys sighs, staring at the old man. “And I thought I was on track for an office job.”

The Admiral shakes his head. “Fat chance with that Medal Lieutenant. The Brass was thinking of putting you in a teaching position for that planned Combat Engineering School in Camp Armstrong.”

“Ha!” Ling slaps the Lieutenant’s shoulder.

“But, you two are probably wondering why I’ve got you transferred here in the first place, right?”

“Nightmares abound at the concept.” Lieutenant Keys admits sarcastically.

The Admiral raises his hands in defense. “Don’t worry, I'm not planning a reunion of the Beijing’s marine detachment. As much as the brass enjoyed watching us blow up shit, that got them into too much trouble.”

“Even with the revised engagement rules?”

“Well, I’ll explain that after lunch.” Admiral Tucker’s face sags, eyes blank. “The Moscow didn’t resupply back on Luna Anchorage, so I’ve eaten nothing but R-rations for the past three fucking days.”

“Perfect timing?” Lieutenant Keys asks.

Admiral Tucker looks up, sly smile on his face and ambition in his tone. “Yeah you know what? Before we get to business, we all need to catch up. And since its Fleet Week, my treat.”

With an Admiral of the System Defense Force in tow, passing through the three crowded security checkpoints separating the docking section from Station Four’s promenade came without issue.

Unlike its predecessors, the United Nations’ Low Orbital Civilian Commerce Station Four had space to spare. Dozens of stores lined the eight divided sections of the central spire: restaurants, clothing shops, and even a few hotels were mixed in between small zero-gravity park areas filled with plant life and benches. Humanity’s arrogance was matched with its stubbornness here, U.N.L.O.C.C. Station Four representing the fantastical power mankind now wielded against nature herself. A vibrant bastion of life just inches away from the cold grasp of space, when just a mere fifty years ago was complete science fiction.

Now a reality.

Admiral Tucker chuckles as he carefully collects one of the floating dumplings, the small item held and observed by a pair of thin aluminum chopsticks as the man speaks up. “Twenty-five years ago I had the greatest meal in my life.”

“Was that the Founding Ceremony in Hong Kong?” Lieutenant Keys asks as he sucks on a sealed pouch of heated tea. “The attendee dinner?” 

The Admiral stops. “Wait have I told you people this story?”

“I just guessed.” Keys motions to Ling. “Has he told you this?”

The Master Sergeant shakes his head, returning Keys’ glance. “I guess it is probably Hong Kong. It was twenty-five years ago, correct?”

“Yeah.” Admiral begins, inhaling the dumpling as he leans back while strapped in the chair. “Ok imagine this. You’re a ranked Commander of the United States Space Force, invited down to beautiful summer Hong Kong as part of the founding ceremony of the newly formed Solar System Defense Force. You’re one of the founders, hand chosen for this job; top of the line. And what do they serve at the dinner after the ceremony?”

“Chinese food?” Keys answers carefully.

“No! Not just that!” Tucker stops. “It was the greatest fucking thing I tell you. Four entrees each representing a nation on the security council, you had to be there to believe it. Pelmeni, a peking duck, whatever the European Union dish was I don’t even know, and even a motherfucking hamburger.”

“Which one was the best?” Keys asks.

The Admiral immediately answers, the words coming through without second thought. “Peking Duck.”

“You were in Hong Kong at the time so no surprise.” Ling shrugs. “And have you eaten peking duck before the event?”

“Master Sergeant, I grew up in San Francisco on the West Coast of America. Lived two blocks away from Chinatown. I know a good Peking Duck when I see one, and the one I ate was out of this world.”

“Is that why we’re here?” Keys turns to observe the slightly empty restaurant, ancient Chinese decor dominating the space in replication of a traditional establishment on Earth. “Chasing after that high?”

“Well, partially. Too bad this place doesn’t have a pecking duck on the lunch menu so I can’t try it.” 

“This place does. As a saying goes, ‘you need to know who to ask.’” Ling smirks, flagging down the sole waiter of the establishment. “你这有北京烤鸭吗?”

The sharply dressed middle aged waiter stares at the entourage for a moment as he floats in place, eyes narrowing. “ 这道菜要200美元。”

“Oh that’s a pretty good price actually.” Admiral Tucker waves. “谢谢, 我们就点这个菜.”

The man lightly bows, moving away as he registers the new order.

“Was that two hundred dollars for a roast duck?” Lieutenant Keys whispers from his crude translation.

“Come on Lieutenant I’ve had peking duck on Earth that costed a good five hundred.” The Admiral sighs. “Well, dollar inflation is on a runaway these days so I’m probably wrong.”

“It is a good price on a space station.” Ling assures. “Comparatively.”

“Still two hundred dollars…” Keys worriedly glances around. “Feel a little bad putting it on your tab Admiral.”

The man laughs, shaking his head. “Do you even know why Fleet Week started Lieutenant?”

“Propaganda?”

The old man’s smile sours at the word. “Absolutely not. Back when the System Defense Force was founded the Security Council had no clue how much funding a transnational Space Faring Military needed. And so, after careful deliberation, they decided to ballpark a budget that made the Ares-Martian Program look like chump change. And you know what happens when budgets aren’t fully utilized?”

“Budget cuts.” Ling answers as he claims the final dumpling off the sealed bowl.

“Correct.” Admiral Tucker snaps his fingers. “So, what do you do when you still have three hundred million dollars and a week to spend it?”

Silence propagates, the concept drawing blanks on the two.

“Well for the first year of the Force we as the founding officers pitched in for the development of the Washington-Class frigate.”

“You spent three hundred million on that?”

“Three hundred million minus the fifty bucks we spent on the food during the dinner meeting at the KFC. And now, it’s traditional to spend whatever’s left in the budget on a special warfare project, plus a small party for the staff. Hence why Fleet Week exists now, even though the celebration part is officially now paid for as community outreach.” Tucker explains. “Last two years the project we funded was the Cyclops Program, though, this time around that’s getting its own mainline cash flow from the U.N. Orbital Security Fund.”

Keys blinks. “Was that the laser EVA module weapons program?”

“Yes, but it's not complete yet. The people at Tranquility Station have finished the upscaled prototype laser system for naval assets, but the man portable version is still a few years out at best.” Tucker snaps his fingers, lowering his voice as he speaks. “But that was last year. Do you know what we’re doing this time around?”

“That will depend on the money left correct?” The Master Sergeant pauses.  

“Correct. Though, not a lot left in the coffers this fiscal rollover: between the Space Liberation Front, pirates, and skirmishes with both the South American Alliance and the Java Treaty; the System Defense Force is spreading too thin for my liking.”

“And is that an opinion shared with the rest of the Admiralty?” Keys asks.

Admiral Tucker smiles. “Most definitely, which is why we’re here.”

The final order arrives, roast duck coming in a sealed plastic bag along with a topped bowl of prepackaged rice cakes. Out in zero gravity, the mixed chunks of meat float without organization, a slightly odd sight as Admiral Tucker leaves the thing hanging a few centimeters off the table as he prepares the pancakes. Rehydrated green onions and cucumbers in vacuum sealed bags, sauce from squeeze tubes; the ancient recipe translated into the necessities of a new age in space.

The Admiral takes a small bite, nodding as he processes the flavors. “Man going from R-rations to this is nice. Real food beats that crap any day of the week.”

Keys clears his throat. “Um, Admiral why are we here again?”

“Oh, right.” Admiral Tucker coughs as he sips hot tea through a liquids pouch. “Are you two aware of Article Fourteen Section Eight of the Solar System Defense Force Rules of Engagement?”

Keys and Ling exchange a glance, turning back to the Admiral with blank stares.

Unimpeded, the old man continues. “Well, section eight is just a small paragraph that deals with special operation teams and the like. We’ve mostly ignored it, given that there’s now only four such teams in operation.”

“Was there not five?” Ling raises.

“Razor Team from Task Force 17 was declared M.I.A. four weeks ago.” Admiral Tucker informs carefully. “And that’s all I’m privy to share.”

“Fuck.” Lieutenant Keys blinks. “I knew Razor Two. Hannah was in my Zero Gravity Warfare class four years back.”

Ling nods. “And I worked with Captain Ludwig. Good man.”

Admiral Tucker takes a deep sigh, giving a ready glance to the pair. “I’m sorry you two.”

The Lieutenant nods, silent prayer held within a glance. “Still some hope with a missing in action. Not a lot, but some.”

The Admiral takes a deep breath, continuing as he sends a folded sheet of paper floating across the table. “But, going back, one specific area of section eight has caught the particular attention of the Admiralty. Sentence three, highlighted for your ease.”

Ling snatches the document from the air, unfolding the creases as both Master Sergeant and Lieutenant read it over.

Keys looks up. “So Special Operation Teams don’t have to follow standard rules of engagement and operational regulations?”

Ling shakes his head at his companion’s words. “But a special operations team are under a task force, and such rules do apply to them.”

“Probably an oversight.” Keys nods.

“But the rule stands.” Tucker stops them. “A special operations team is treated differently compared to a standard detachment when it comes to regulations and engagement rules. But, the only reason a spec ops team follows the standard rules of engagement is because task force command isn’t allowed to order the team to break them.”

Ling blinks, thinking the logic over. “But a Special Operation Team can not exist without a Task Force.”

“Can it?” The Admiral smiles, a wide brimmed expression that garners more concern than anything.

“I don’t like where this is going.” Keys comments.

Reaching into his uniform, a thin stack of paper is produced. The Admiral stares at the documents, ensuring their validity before handing them over. “For this year’s rollover: Task Force 31. A Task Force that consists of a special operations team and a special operations team only.”

A measly four pages of legal documentation and regulations, Master Sergeant Shu Ling and Lieutenant Jonathan Keys splits the sheets in two pairs, scanning the words over as they exchange packets midway through.

The Lieutenant is the first to speak up. “Admiral if this loophole exists, then why haven’t all Task Forces converted to this method of organization?”

Ling coughs, answering before Admiral Tucker. “I believe Special Operation Teams are limited to low numbers. At most we can have one big ship asset?”

“One corvette.” Tucker nods. “And fourteen personnel.”

“A task force of fourteen personnel?!” Lieutenant Keys stops. “Is that even allowed?!”

The Admiral smiles. “According to the regulations made by the Orbital Security Council, yes.”

The two think it over, Keys voicing the standing question. “So how many people are currently in this task force?”

“Right now, including me? One.” 

“One.” Keys states.

“Just one?” Ling follows.

The Admiral nods. “Should you accept this transfer, you two will be the first personnel of the 31st. There will be more to follow.”

The Master Sergeant stops Admiral Tucker, words dimmed against authority. “And we can choose to accept this assignment?”

Tapping his loose chopsticks on the table, Tucker sighs. Old friends, and even older allies in precarious motion, the man speaks. “Please understand that this won’t just be a Standard Spec Ops Team. The 31st is going to be operating with near zero oversight and will only have to answer to itself. You won’t receive any awards for your actions, and it's very possible you will make choices that go against the oaths you’ve made to the Solar System Defense Force. We will be engaging in a shoot-first doctrine and can be deployed anywhere both in orbit and planetside. This will be the biggest change in doctrine for the Force since its founding; so no more defending assets, the 31st will be taking the fight to the front door of Pirates, Terrorists, and even the occasional P.M.C. in open warfare. Should you accept you won’t be peacekeepers anymore, you will be soldiers at war.”

Almost instantly Lieutenant Johnathan Keys smiles, leaning back as he releases the papers. “Sign me up.”

“Me as well.” Master Sergeant Ling adds.

“You don’t need time to think it over?” Admiral Tucker looks over the pair.

“Whatever gets me back in orbit.” Keys answers.

The Admiral nods, shocked expression turning to the second variable. “And what about you Ling?”

The young man thinks for a moment, the options weighing in his head. “I am close to receiving the four-year service bonus. How much will this position pay?”

“Seriously?” Keys turns.

“Four-year service bonus is good.” Ling shrugs. “Pension, insurance, and free visa to all security council nations. It is good for when I get married to my fiancé, she can have bonus as well.”

Keys blankly stares at the man. “Ling, your fiancé is literally the Captain of a warship. She gets paid four times as much as you and gets the exact same benefits.”

Admiral Tucker coughs as he gathers their attention again, cutting a smile to Ling as he hears Keys’ words. “Well I can say for certain it’s going to pay much more than a standard Spec Ops Team. Almost as much as some of the private military companies out there.”

Ling nods. “In such case, I accept.”

“I knew you’d say that.” Admiral Tucker takes a sigh of relief, looking over the pair.

Keys speaks up. “So, what now?”

The old man looks down at the filled table. “Now, we finish this meal.” 

“I mean afterward.” Keys sighs.

The Admiral stops, smirking as he speaks. “Master Sergeant Shu Ling, Lieutenant Johnathan Keys; we’re gonna assemble a team that’ll change the System Defense Force forever.”

“A team of fourteen.” Ling states. “To change the Defense Force?”

Admiral Tucker leans in, deep brown eyes darkened by intent and ambition. Almost instinctively both Ling and Keys move back, the words echoing past them. “I have a saying, ‘if one man can save the world, imagine how much chaos a dozen can cause.’”