Boundary - Low Orbital Warfare: REPORT 3

Crowded around the observation window the three standing members of the 31st Task Force watch as the U.N.S.S. Rubicon comes into dock. Blasts of propellent sound across the narrow hull, its angular and menacing arrowhead shape was contrasted to the smooth, gentle civilian station, vessel utterly evil in its designed purpose of combat.

Across its station facing side RUBICON was painted in a bold font of black, the armor panel catching a reflecting beam of sun as Station Four’s orbital path brings in the sunset once more. Now over the clear blue of a distant Pacific Ocean the world below shrouds itself in night, the trio maneuvering away from the window towards the docking terminals. 

“She’s right on schedule to the minute. Wouldn’t expect any less right?” Admiral Tucker nudges the Master Sergeant.

A deep, answerless stare is the reply, Lieutenant Keys slugging the man in the shoulder as he brings him back into reality. “Come on what the hell’s bothering you? You’re gonna marry her anyway.”

“It is not that I am worried about.” Ling glares at the Lieutenant as the terminal rumbles beneath the docking clamps, eyes in set purpose. “No filming.”

“Really? I helped you choose a gift and everything…”

“No.” Ling sternly cuts.

“Whatever you say.”  Keys agrees offhandedly.

As the Rubicon comes into port technicians swarm the airlock for final docking procedures; the 31st Task Force taking a moment of respite before true warfare unfolds within the station.

“Alright final checks.” Admiral Tucker orders. “Face, clothes, gift?”

“Done.” Ling confirms as he runs his fingers through his hair, other grasping the small box tightly. “I am ready.”

“Take a deep breath dude.” Keys orders.

Exhaling, the Master Sergeant closes his eyes. Emotions swirl, minds blank, the reality of humanity expressed in a single sentence. “I can do this.”

Admiral Tucker leans in, voice in a whisper. “I know this might be a little early but remember to use protection for…”

“Admiral…” Keys interrupts.

“Right, sorry.” The Admiral backs off.

 Master Sergeant Ling finds a spot directly across from the airlock, a straight angle facing into the actual docking section within the Rubicon. 

Admiral Tucker and Keys remain silent, situating themselves off to the side as they watch the unfolding sequence.

Keys turns, quiet question ebbed away through the thin noise in the busy terminal. “I know I’ve forgot to ask, but does Captain Pérez know that Ling’s here?”

Admiral Tucker pauses, reaching into his pocket as he pulls out his phone. Navigating across the applications, he finds the personal contact of Captain Michelle Pérez. Composing a message, he gives a sly glance at Keys. “If she didn’t, she does now.”

“That’s pretty fucked up sir.” Lieutenant Keys comments. “You know what she’ll do to him when that airlock opens right?”

“You wanna film it?” Admiral Tucker asks.

Keys thinks it over. “I mean I agreed not to….”

The two exchange a long silence, thoughts finding a single conclusion.

“Yeah fuck that.” Keys begins as he takes out his own phone.

“Yep.” Admiral Tucker replies, switching to the camera app. “How many views do you think it’ll get this time?”

“Oh plenty, half the Defense Force watched the last one.” Keys assures. “Ling’s handsome and jacked, Captain Pérez’s gorgeous and brilliant. It’s the low orbital power couple, fucking everyone in the Force ships them.”

As the airlock doors slide open Ling turns towards the pair. Eyes wide against camera lenses the Marine is split between worlds. A single cry from the man is sounded, protest suddenly silenced against a new incoming contact.

Distraction is punished severely, even with the man’s insane reaction time the blur shooting out of the airlock door catches him completely off guard.

The force of impact sends the pair off the bulkhead, Captain Michelle Pérez pressing her lips against Ling’s in a kiss that seemed to siphon the very life force out of the man.

Black hair and brown skin, light amber eyes open as she rips herself away. Accented in a distant European, her usually soft voice mixes with an angry tone as inaudible words echo across the terminal. A few civilian passerby’s turn, watching the commotion unfold. 

The Captain takes a deep, reorienting breath. Her face relaxes, a soft smile returning on Ling’s surprised face as they exchange a comparatively lighter hug.

“Man you’d think we just won a war.” Admiral Tucker chuckles as he puts his phone away. “We should get a photographer the next time this happens, maybe get it on a front page or something.”

“A little too ambitious there.” Keys argues as he adverts his eyes. “Maybe Military Today, they’re a bit more lax on what gets published.”

Separating, Captain Pérez takes a deep breath. A frown as deep as a waxing moon, she turns towards the Admiral and Lieutenant, firing a textbook salute as she hangs in zero gravity. Admiral Tucker nudges Keys, who raises their hand to dismiss the higher-ranking officer.

“I didn’t expect this!” She yells with enough force that a few security guards glance over towards their direction. “What the hell is this Admiral?!”

“Operational security.” Admiral Tucker smiles lightly. “I’m not allowed to divulge the…”

“And we just had a call yesterday!” Pérez pouts at Ling. “You said you were still deployed out in Lincoln Station! You lied to me?!”

A few security guards move in towards the perceived commotion, Lieutenant Keys leaping from the bulkhead in an intercept path with a mustered charismatic smile.

“I-I…” Master Sergeant Shu Ling is stopped cold, form frozen in indecision. “我想给你惊喜. A surprise.”

“A surprise?” A soft smile hides insight, her unstoppable tone smashed against genuine purpose. A hand outstretched, she ruffles up Ling’s combed hair. “Awww, at least you tried.”

Producing the item on his free hand, the man takes a deep breath. “I got you gift as well.”

Mounted on a titanium chain, the actual compass was shaped more to resemble a jeweler's watch. Built as light as possible, its utilitarian design was as attractive as it was utterly useless, perhaps its only purpose as inaccurately measuring the closest magnetic field. 

She takes the item carefully, watching as the needle visibly rotates to face Earth’s magnetic pole.

Pérez’s smile dissipates, her gaze turning to the Admiral. “This was your idea wasn’t it?”

“Women like pretty things, right?” Admiral Tucker laughs with some concern. “...Right?”

“I can tell you’re Un Soltero, Admiral. Not good with the women.” The Captain nudges, turning back to Ling. “And now I feel like an asshole, because I did not get Shu Shu anything.”

“Getting to see you again is the best gift.” Ling smiles.

“Do not try that cheese on me Shu Shu.” The Captain’s soft gaze darkens almost immediately. “You say you miss me or you don’t.”

“Yes ma'am.” Master Sergeant Ling straightens at the words. “I had missed you.”

From stoic to soft in a nanosecond, her voice carries an unseen calm that was hinted with a slightly sadistic pleasure. “Aww, I missed you as well.”

Admiral Tucker buries his face in his hands, a painful sigh emanating from him. “God, worst choice in my career was setting you two up.”

“Well it got Ling a girlfriend so that was well worth it.” Keys speaks up, a welcoming smile on his face as he returns from the group of security guards. “Captain Pérez, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”

Professional gaze met, the woman nods. “Same to you Lieutenant. It’s good to know that you’re doing well after Collins Memorial. A mal tiempo, buena cara, as they say. Good to smile even with the medal.”

“Thanks.” Keys nervously chuckles. “As you said before… the medals add ten kilos.”

“Ha!” The woman laughs, shaking her head. “Trust me, when you get a few more you will really start to feel it.”

“I hope not. Having Captains and Admirals saluting me every time I walk into a room is already bad for my psyche, can’t imagine having to be forced to write speeches and teach combat engineering courses.”

“Well, it could be worse. You could be a part of a rogue Task Force that operates with little oversight, and which has somehow managed to recruit someone awfully close to you.” Captain Pérez’s amber eyes glance towards the Admiral, piercing gaze firing right into the old man. “Does that remind you of anything?”

Smile fading, Tucker blinks. “Captain, how…”

“I did a little research during the Rubicon’s orbital injection burn.” The Captain explains. “Found it suspicious that the Vice Admiral would… transfer… me out of her command willingly.”

Dead, icy cold gaze set, Captain Pérez’s voice transfers raw force. “Admiral Issac Tucker, I would like for you to explain the terms of the Rubicon’s transfer to your ‘31st Task Force’ carefully. Very carefully.”

The Admiral’s warm smile fades into a neutral expression. “I’ll need your entire crew present for the… discussion. If that is possible.”

“I will make them available.” Captain Pérez nods.

Admiral Tucker doesn’t even turn, his words reaching to subordinates. “Go take a walk you two, be back at the office in thirty minutes. Bring some coffee or something.”

Both nod, filing out of the docking terminal with haste.

In the aftermath of Fleet Week, Station Four seemed comparatively lifeless. The massive crowds of military and civilian had, over the past four days, slowly disappeared. The usual tourism and industrial traffic normalized against the boredom of modern life, simple and refined.

Lieutenant Keys and Master Sergeant Ling remain quiet as they purchase a sealed 12-pack of coffee from a promenade vending machine, the elongated cylinders within the square box more resembling normal cups rather than the classical space-age era liquid storage device.

On the station’s observation deck, watching as a family of three work out the mechanics of zero-gravity movement, Lieutenant Keys is the first to speak up. “So, you think she’ll join?”

“I-I do not know…” Ling admits. “Michelle was happy in previous task force. If given the chance, she might return.”

Keys shakes his head. “I know her pretty well, and I’ll wager that she’ll probably say yes given the terms: serving with you is worth a lot in her book.”

A blank look crosses the man’s face. “No more regulations on 非法关系.”

“Yeah, none of the paperwork said anything about relationships Ling.” Keys jibes as he translates. “I think you two are going to be the first legal couple to serve on the same Task Force.”

“Ah.” Ling nods. “I would like to see her command again. Last time I was following her orders it was… interesting.”

Lieutenant Keys pauses, the images of gore and shrapnel returning like an unwelcome nightmare. “Ling are you smiling?!”

“It is a good memory.” The man insists. 

“Yeah, I don’t think Captain Pérez has happy memories of getting a ten-centimeter piece of whipple plating stuck through her chest.” Keys grunts as he tries to hold in his lunch. “No offense man, but from my experience that’s one of the worst ways to start a relationship.”

“We are still together.” The man argues with a chuckle. “I love her very much.”

“Yeah, could tell when you were bawling your eyes out.” Lieutenant Keys scoffs. “Made the medic’s job at least ten times harder. Can’t wait till you have kids, I’d pay to watch you watch her give birth.”

“That is in the far future.” Ling begins. “For now, I am happy and content with serving with her.”

“She’s the best command officer in low earth orbit, and without combat regs she’s gonna be out for a vengeance. Java Treaty’s in trouble.”

“Hm.” Ling nods. “I believe we should return now.”

“Nope.” Lieutenant Keys shakes his head. “Ordered for a thirty-minute walk Master Sergeant. You want to face an insubordination charge, go ahead. I’ll finish my coffee right here otherwise.”

Setting down on a bench across the promenade’s observation deck the pair watches as Earth rotates beneath the station. Currently over the sprawling night-time metropolis of Melbourne, Florida, the blocky texture of city lights highlights the very edges of the south eastern coast of the United States in a hue of bright yellow.

To the south, small flashes of lightning from a developing tropical storm ignite a dark ocean. Unpredictable, deadly, but enthralling enough to silence conversation.

“Hurricane Ivy’s predicted landfall is gonna take her right up the east coast.” Lieutenant Keys speaks up as he sucks his coffee from the straw, watching as the orbit takes the viewing angle away from the Caribbean Sea. “Category Five monster this year, even the Orbital Security Company’s pulling their ground support operations westward.”

“I have visited Florida a few times for space plane layovers. Cities built like a bunker, nothing like back at home.”

“Well there’s a reason why there are no historical areas in Florida anymore; state was supposed to be underwater by 2050.” Keys begins. “I kinda want to ask Admiral Tucker about that, I think he was alive back when Hurricane Samara hit Florida.”

“Was that the… ‘category seven?’”

“Yeah, learned about that in college.” Keys chuckles. “Humans have gotten real stubborn I’ll tell you that. We live in places that get hit by yearly apocalypses and planets with no air; it’s just crazy that we just keep on coming.”

“Best to not think about it.” Ling stares out towards Earth, the South Atlantic relatively quiet tonight. “Ignorance is better than a hard truth. Do not consider that we are always ten centimeters away from death up here, especially since we are going to have people shooting at us.”

“Yeah…” The Lieutenant replies. “No offense Ling, but I wanna keep my chest purple heart free.”

“It is a good goal; I will hold you to that.” Ling returns. “I dislike people getting hurt, is not very good for my sanity.”

“And don’t forget that it’s gonna be your responsibility Mr. Squad Leader. As our field C.O. all those little scrapes and bruises…” Keys taps his own arm. “On your head… sir.”

“The only reason I dislike being squad leader.” Ling admits. “Promise me that you will not do a Collins Memorial Station bombing again.”

“No guarantees.” The Lieutenant sighs. “Admiral Tucker transferred a combat engineer, which means he wants big things to make big boom. I mean, the standard O.C.E. kit comes with forty pounds of C4; not exactly implying restraint.”

Ling just stares at him. “This is a joke.”

“Not joking.” Lieutenant Keys reaches into his pocket, the phone produced. “There’s a reason why I had an entire section dedicated to me in the Beijing’s armory. When requisitions gets me my stuff I’ll need to carve out a place just to store all the shit.”

“That is next on the list.” Ling remembers. “According to Admiral, the only thing left is your O.C.E. kit and my XA-77. That was not cheap.”

“Not cheap? You do understand that the XA-77 was like 15% of our small-arms budget, right?” Keys raises. “That god damn assault rifle costs more than a fucking combat EVA suit.”

“It is a good rifle.” Ling insists.

“Give me an GSW any day and I’ll be happy.” The Lieutenant rolls his eyes. “GSW-8 is the standard issue weapon for a reason. The XA series is just absurd; nobody in the field needs to convert an assault rifle into a PDW, into a handgun, and then all the way to a light machine gun. FN arms is scamming us with the line Jesus Christ.”

“You get into station and need a personal defense weapon, you tell me.” Ling smiles. “It is well worth the initial cost, trust me. Treat it as 长期投资: long-term investment.”

Keys sighs. “Well Admiral Tucker gave you the green light so that means it fits the budget. But if that thing jams up there, I’m not gonna be doing a small-arms disassembly under fire for you.”

“XA series does not jam.” Ling assures.

“That’s what the marketing people say, same thing with the P3 being a ‘heat dissipating’ handgun. Biggest lie in the universe.”

“You know I always wanted to know why you had a radiator on your weapon.” The Master Sergeant snaps his fingers. “I know now.”

“Well it’s still a good gun despite the problems though; I mean it comes bundled with the orbital combat engineering kit for a good reason.” Keys argues.

Master Sergeant Ling shakes his head as he recounts the man’s words, light tone echoing through the busy observation deck. “I think a few of our chosen candidates would disagree. P3 is very old platform, I do not understand why Combat Engineers such as you like it so much.”

“Reliability, customizability; and we’ll see about our candidates’ opinions Ling.” Keys smirks, grabbing the case of coffee as he pushes himself off the railing. “For now, focus on Captain Pérez. She’s gonna be the keystone of our entire marine detachment.”

“It will be crowded on Rubicon. Not a lot of space for fourteen people.” Ling begins. “Will not be comfortable.”

“Start small.” Lieutenant Keys stops the man. “First: The Captain and then everyone else.”

It only took four days for the office space to become non-functional. Stacks of opened supplies were scattered across the floor, organized into what could barely be considered piles. Ration containers of assorted snacks and candies were set next to loose boxes of flechette ammunition, with the far corner opposite of the Admiral’s station stacked up with still sealed crates of suit repair kits and medical supplies.

The entire right-side wall of the space was converted into a makeshift armory; eight standard GSW assault rifles painted in identifying white were mounted and secured on the wall above armored EVA suits. Currently unclaimed, the empty husks were placed in sitting positions on the floor; their shapes looking oddly alive in their unmoving forms. 

The entire crew of the Rubicon was sitting on tables and chairs facing the white board, a small three-meter floor space in front of the medium cleared out for a temporary theater as the Admiral continues to answer given questions.

Lieutenant Keys and Master Sergeant Ling enter as quietly as possible, with the entire gathering turning to face them as they step into the office.

“Lieutenant, Master Sergeant.” Admiral Tucker acknowledges. “Has it been thirty minutes yet?”

“Thirty-four minutes sir.” Lieutenant Keys answers respectfully. “We brought the coffee.”

Dumping the two-kilogram container on the receptionist table, Ling begins distribution as he tosses the shock-proof cups towards the group in trained precision.

Beaning a naval ensign and a warrant officer in the face, most of the supplies are caught without issue.

The Admiral doesn’t even flinch as he swipes the canister mid-flight, turning back to the small group of personnel. “If you have any more questions regarding marine operations, these two will answer them. Master Sergeant Ling Shu here will be running field command for the Task Force; he’s been a special operations squad leader since 2071 and is well qualified for the job.”

Switching positions, he pauses as his gaze meets with the other individual. “And this is Lieutenant Johnathan Keys, he’s our combat engineer and demolitions expert. As one of the three living Star of Terra awardees, I don’t think he needs an introduction.”

Keys awkwardly waves, with the returning glances enough to make him shrink back.

“And you two; please give the 31st Task Force’s Naval Division a warm welcome.”

Nine total crew members: two command officers, three enlisted gunners, and one officer each for Tactical, Operations, Engineering, and Navigation. 

Out in the cold black every single body was a liability. Sealed within a canister of pressurized air the casual warmth of humanity could easily be extinguished against void.

Comparatively, oceangoing military fleets of the recent past could afford to support countless thousands within their corridors, an impossible luxury in orbit. Full complements in space faring vessels made on-world skeleton crews look like starved corpses, orbital warfare demanding from its soldiers total and absolute minimalism.

Within the offices of the 31st Task Force marine and naval forces stare at each other. Utter silence emanates across the room, commonality barely bridging the rift between two doctrines of military service.

“So…” Captain Pérez begins. “If there isn’t anything else do, we have shore leave?”

“I’ll need you everyone here at 1700 for a general administrative meeting.” Admiral Tucker answers. “But for the next three hours we have nothing planned.” 

“Late lunch at Denny’s?” Lieutenant Keys interrupts. “It’s on the Promenade, four stores away from the observation deck, can’t miss it.”

“Denny’s of all fucking places?” The Executive Officer of the Rubicon speaks up with a Scottish highland accent; the narrow faced, darker skinned man with the rank of Commander objecting to the idea. “Lieutenant, I’m not gonna to eat Denny’s after four weeks over Lunar.”

“Mu’s is open still.” Ling offers. “Good for Chinese.”

“Mu’s Dinner Menu is better though.” The Engineering Officer objects, a slight annoyance in her voice. “And they don’t serve dinner until 1600.”

“You could just ask your way through like last time.” Lieutenant Keys nudges the Master Sergeant. “Right Ling?”

“Master Sergeant Ling is with me.” Captain Pérez stops the conversation, strolling over as she links her arm with his. “You’re on your own people.”

The Executive Officer scoffs. “Date night starts early. And we’re gonna be here starvin’ to death.” 

“Well you’re the acting Captain sir.” Tactical speaks up, the middle-aged man keeping his eyes glued on his phone. “What are we eating?”

The man’s face slacks as he thinks, command reaching a conclusion within fifteen seconds of analysis. “Lieutenant Keys, any recommendations?”

“Denny’s.” 

“Fuck off.”

“It’s the last surviving taste of Americana.” Admiral Tucker speaks out. “But that doesn’t mean it’s any good. Their zero-g scrambled eggs are disgusting.”

Keys sighs. “Well then the mess hall’s always open. Civilian station so the food's surprisingly good.”

“Mess hall then?” The Executive Officer turns to his crew. 

The response of indifferent shrugs and grunts provides as good of an answer as before, the man motioning to the door. “Mess hall it is.”

“Wait, one more thing for the Captain and you two.” The Admiral points towards the isolated trio, waving away the rest.

The Rubicon’s crew files out as ordered, the four of them left alone in the office.

Admiral Tucker begins after a long pause. “Good and bad news for our marine detachment.”

“Good news first.” Lieutenant Keys answers for the group, with the others nodding in agreement.

“Alright good news: The Orbital Combat Engineering kit along with the XA-77 just got sent up to orbit this morning.”

“All of it?” Keys asks.

“All accounted for.” The Admiral nods. “Ling’s XA’s fresh off FN’s factory floor too. Special rush order.”

Ling and Keys exchange a fast high five, Admiral Tucker’s smile remaining still as he continues. “Bad news: the entire shipment’s locked up in Churchill Hub. We’re getting it in three weeks minimum.”

Expressions fade instantly, both Lieutenant and Master Sergeant stopping.

Ling speaks up first. “Why?”

“A marked military shipment of high explosives on a European Union station, you can guess what happened. And since the civilian shipping company got sacked for the job, logistics needs to schedule a military vessel to run the stuff to Station Four.”

“Which will take three weeks.” Captain Pérez concludes. “Who’s running it?”

“Commander Chu Yin.”

The Captain immediately draws a long expression. “That asshole huh?”

“I wouldn’t call them that.” Admiral Tucker shakes his head. “However, the entire shipment’s only about a hundred thirty kilos. If you don’t mind Captain, you could take the Rubicon out and collect it.”

 Her face sinks. “What, I’m a delivery woman now?”

“Think of it as getting Ling a gift.” Admiral Tucker reverses. “You know how he loves his guns. Think about how much he’ll appreciate you getting his dream rifle for him.”

The Master Sergeant speaks up, “Admiral, I am standing …”

“Shut up Ling.” The Admiral silences the man, returning his calm glance to the Captain. “It’ll only be a three-day round trip. And by the time you get back the task force will be combat ready.”

Captain Pérez thinks it over, a dejected sigh emanating from her thin frame. “We’ll leave in two days. Give the crew a weekend leave at least.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

“But you two are coming with me.” The woman snaps at both Lieutenant Keys and Master Sergeant Ling. “It’s your shipment, your responsibility.”

“Fair.” Keys nods. “With your permission we should start loading up the Rubicon for marine-ops, might as well get a head start on that.”

“Sounds good, consult with Lieutenant Ano for any modifications, he’s the Rubicon’s engineer.” 

“Will do.”

Captain Pérez’s straight face turns to a softer smile. “Alright, are we free now Admiral?” 

“Just… be back by 1700.” Admiral Tucker waves. “And Keys, I’ll join you guys in the mess hall after I finish some paperwork.”

“Understood Admiral.” The Lieutenant acknowledges.

“Good…” Admiral Tucker smiles. “Dismissed.”