Boundary - Low Orbital Warfare: REPORT 4

The helium freighter was at least three times the Rubicon’s length. 

Up close the gigantic modular storage tanks dwarfed the tiny orbital combat corvette completely. Covered in patchwork grey alloy, the entire vessel was bulky and unrefined; created for the sole purpose of inter-orbital transportation.

Played again on repeat, the distorted distress call sounds through the packed crew compartment of the Rubicon. “... yday… mayday. This is… Astral Wand…er. Receiving…  attack… need assistance at altitu… 191… latitude…. velocity….”

“Got an ID on that yet?” Captain Pérez grunts as the helm officer brings the warship around for another observation loop, acceleration blast enough to jerk the strapped-in crew.

“Working on it madam.” Tactical updates.

“She’s most likely a Star Lifter from Boeing Aerospace, probably a C-183-B…” Admiral Tucker updates from his position at the back of the bridge. “Might be a C-type I can’t really tell without a good visual on it.” 

“Probably?” The Captain cuts a look.

“Their distress call wasn’t very specific with technical specs.” The helmsman supports as he pulls open one of the external camera feeds on his heads up display. “But the Admiral’s probably right, looks like something from Boeing-Consolidated. If I were to hedge a guess it’s a B-class based on the radiator fins.”

“How many storage tanks are on the ventral side?” Admiral Tucker asks.

“Four sir.” The Helmsman replies as he counts them off.

“B-class then. The C-line added the fifth.” Tucker takes a breath. “And with a B-Class there’s a crew vault on board. Anti-piracy countermeasures; question is if the crew managed to seal themselves in before these bastards came along.”

As the corvette burns past the port side of the tanker the crew instantly spot the foreign shape from the camera feed.

“Presumed hostile vessel detected.” Tactical reports, marking it on the grid.

A mere ten meters in length the boxy vessel looked like it was cobbled from scrap metal. Visible weld marks criss cross it’s frame, it’s dead engines mismatched but balanced. Classical, bootlegged piracy nominal now in low earth orbit.

“Hold position, keep guns trained on target.” Captain Pérez orders. “That thing makes a move rip it apart.”

“Yes Captain.” Tactical smiles.

“Ops, status on our detachment?”

“Still on suit up.” Operations reports.

Taking out the microphone from her seat the Captain sighs, patching into the Rubicon’s primary airlock. 

Bright lighting spills into the cramped space, the pair of half suited soldiers moving gear and supplies into position.

Plates of armor are filled into modular sleeves, magazines loaded with lethal flechette rounds, and manned maneuvering units checked with practiced movement.

Lieutenant Keys speaks up as he pushes a rifle from the armory towards the airlock, it’s recipient catching it as it floats by. “Sorry Ling, seems like you’ve gotta settle for a GSW this time around.”

“It is fine.” The Master Sergeant takes a moment to observe the unloaded weapon, cycling the bolt in a satisfying sound of interlocking metal. “Though, I am more concerned with you. Using that handgun for this… ”

“Pirates ain’t gonna be wearing ceramic plating.” Keys stretches as he zips up the second, more armored layer of the combat space suit. “And I have yet to see someone survive a .44 explosive round to center mass.”

“Hrm.” The Master Sergeant grumbles, grabbing a hold of one of the airlock handholds. “I will note that you have explosive rounds even without your kit.”

“They’re more useful than you think Ling, always have at least a mag of them in personal storage. Good for… ‘rapid deconstructions.’”

The comm system within the airlock opens up, the Captain’s voice breaking through the speaker. “Marines, status on suit up?”

Ling answers. “In progress Captain, fifteen minutes to go.”

“Expedite, I want you people on the hull.” The woman coldly orders.

“Understood.” The Master Sergeant replies. “We are on it.”

Slipping into the bulky suits, the pair begin their final checkup sequence cramped within the airlock turned ready room. Armored maneuvering kits are attached, life support systems engaged, and weapons loaded.

“Ready Keys?” Ling asks as he holds the man’s helmet for him.

“We’re two marines against a pirate attack, do you think I’m ready?!” Lieutenant Keys slides the magazine into his handheld weapon, stowing the machined brick of metal into his chest holster. “Admiral Tucker is insane if he wants us two to fight off an entire squad.”

“I trust the Admiral.”

“I do too, but he might be overestimating us for this.”

“That is why we all are big gear this time.” Ling tosses the helmet to the Lieutenant, the man catching it in zero gravity. “Big armor… big guns.”

Reaching to the arm mounted control screen Keys finds the suit’s communications system. “Master Sergeant Ling is this working?”

Within his counterpart’s exposed suit speakers the Lieutenant hears his voice repeated, Ling shooting an annoyed glance at the man. “Is this working?” The Master Sergeant repeats into his microphone.

The audio is played back through Keys’ suit, crisp and sharp.

“Squad comms check complete.” Ling checks off, moving onwards. “Time for command check?”

The Master Sergeant pauses as he opens his mouth, tradition stopping the man dead.

“Fuck we need a squad name.” Lieutenant Keys begins. 

“We do.” Ling agrees as he taps into the upper channels. “Rubicon, this is Master Sergeant Ling Shu in marine detachment for communications system check.”

The old voice echoes with static, the transceiver blocked slightly through the hull of the warship. “Marine detachment this is Admiral Tucker, comms check confirm?”

“Confirmed.” Ling replies. “Advised, detachment does not have callsign for operation.”

The Admiral pauses as a conversation behind him calls him up, the man taking a sigh. “Understood squad, I’m coming downstairs. Prep for a combat briefing.”

“Admiral’s coming for this?” Keys blinks as the channel closes.

“Makes sense. Good to know our objectives.” Ling replies.

The far door opens, compartmentalized areas betraying the already cramped space as the Admiral’s shadowed frame appears around the corner of the corridor. With livable space this small it only takes fifteen seconds for the man to cross the entire length of the warship, arriving at the primary airlock as he grabs a handhold to stabilize himself.

“Admiral.” Keys greets as the old man arrives.

“Lieutenant.” Admiral Tucker notes the combat readiness of the squad. “Seems like you’re ready to go.”

Keys shakes his head. “Still can’t be convinced to join us for this? A third body would be pretty useful.”

“Eh my custom’s suit back on Four. I’ll remember to bring it next time.” Admiral Tucker chuckles. “I tell you I can’t hit shit with one of those standard issue fish bowls on my head.”

The Master Sergeant speaks up. “Are you sure? We have an LMG just in case.”

“I’m too old to be handing that thing.” Tucker admits as he eyes the converted assault rifle. “If I’m going out I’m taking a full fire support platform. Ain’t risking my old fragile bones any more than I have to.

He smiles, reaching for two tablets within his uniform. “Plus, someone needs to run TAC-CON for you guys.”

Distributing the devices to the squad Admiral Tucker begins. “These are the schematics for a Boeing C-138 B-Class Star Lifter; your target for this afternoon.”

In a three dimensional wireframe the long cylindrical shapes of the exposed storage tanks dominate the structure. Modular in nature, the actual living space of the craft was split into a single bridge structure at the very center of its mass; accessed by four airlocks in a misshapen square.

“The Astral Wanderer is currently owned by the Koch-Energy Consortium, in service since 2060. Involved in one other hijacking with Uzbekistani Aligned Pirates, with its cargo and crew returned after four months of hostage negotiations.” 

“Sounds like Koch is skimping on Security.” Keys notes. “Insurance might be cheaper, but it sure isn’t as deterring as armed contractors.”

Admiral Tucker points towards a section of highlighted red, gazes following towards the item at hand. “Note the location of the crew vault. Ten centimeters of kevlar with a twenty centimeter titanium-alloy shell, built for both counter-piracy and as an emergency debris impact bunker. We’re unsure if the current crew is secure, so we’re gonna be running standard hostage negotiation until we can determine their status.”

“And if crew is secure?” Ling asks the rhetorical question, blank gaze turning towards Keys in understanding.

“Then you’ll have execute authority.” Admiral Tucker answers. “Your primary objective here today is to prevent civilian casualties and neutralize all hostiles. Everything else is left to your discretion.”

“Property damage?”

“Don’t worry, insurance will cover it… hopefully.”

Lieutenant Keys blinks, the entire concept insane as the small traditionalist voice within him speaks out. “All due respect Admiral, but a helium tanker carries like a hundred billion dollars worth of cargo. Are you sure this won’t break some regulation?”

 “We’re Task Force Thirty-One.” The old man replies straightly. “I’ve given the Rubicon permission to provide naval fire support. If it gets out of hand the Captain is cleared to burn the entire op.”

Both Ling and Keys stop at the words. The insanity of total war a prospect lost to history, the soldiers and sailors stepping into territories that set precedent against the sanctity of space itself. Brutal, unchained warfare.

“All of it?”

“Civilians included.” The Admiral pauses as he doubts even himself. “Though, I don’t believe it will come to that.”

Master Sergeant Ling sighs as he slips spare magazines into his chest carrier. “I am starting to agree with Keys. This is too crazy.”

“We need to set a precedent.” Admiral Tucker argues. “Without equal reaction we can’t effectively combat privateering and piracy.”

“ 破釜沉舟, Admiral. We are crossing a line of no return.” Ling narrows his eyes, turning to Keys. “What do you think?”

“We’ll tread carefully through the Rubicon then.” Keys smiles. “For now, let’s go kill some pirates.”

The Admiral gives a thumbs up, voice returning to his nominal upbeat tone. “Atta boy.

“Now, I’ll be updating you on the mission parameters as intel comes in. Be prepared for any changes that might come around.” He stops. “... and promise me you two won’t get killed.”

“Promised.” Both reply.

With a sigh of relief the man turns. “Final point: as you mentioned we’ll need a callsign for you two.”

Keys stops. “We’re coming up with a squad name now?” 

“Not gonna call you Default One and Two now am I? This’ll be temporary so don’t worry.”

“Squad names are never temporary.” Ling speaks. “Make this choice wisely.”

“Outlaw Squad?” Keys offers first.

“Too criminal.” Admiral Tucker counters. “Press might not like a squad like that running around.”

“So we’re ignoring Rogue Squad? Lieutenant Balmer isn’t gonna like that.”

“At least they follow convention.” Ling counters the Lieutenant’s argument. “I agree, name should not be too criminal.”

Tucker snaps his fingers. “Annihilator… no that doesn’t work.”

“Bandit?” Keys blinks.

“Bandit could be used to describe hostile.” The Master Sergeant informs. “Not good.”

Mulling it over for two minutes of straight silence, Admiral Tucker speaks up. “You know Bandit seems alright… ”

“No it is not.” Both bark.

Keys immediately stops as the words leave his mouth. “Raider.”

“No.” Ling stops. “But I know what you are getting at. What is that word in English? ”

At the same time the two soldiers look at each other, expression bridging thoughts together. Name chosen wordlessly, experience and knowledge coming to a focal point within critical choosing.

Across the comm channel Admiral Issac Tucker speaks with authority, the man tuning together ancient traditions to command. “Marauder Squad, this is Marauder Actual; final communications check.”

Master Sergeant Ling Shu taps his helmet, the reverberations returning positive lock within his ears. “This is Marauder One, we are green.”

Lieutenant Keys smiles as his heads up display comes alive, the custom organized wireframes finishing their final booting sequence; software tuned to lethal purpose. “This is Marauder Two, good to go sir.”

“Copy that.” Admiral Tucker replies. “Rubicon Actual, confirm that Marauder Team is green light for operation.”

“Confirmed.” Captain Pérez gives a thumbs up.

“Marauder Team you have open comms, confirm depressurization.”

A Solar System Defense Force Marine armed to the teeth cycles the bolt of his rifle. Armored white suit exposed to red lighting, the signature arm patch of the Marine Corps is bathed in lethal energy; a blade etched against an earthrise horizon, combat at the very precipice of the vast emptiness of cold space.

Heavy weapons and an even heavier payload the Orbital Combat Engineer sits ready as he adjusts one of the massive bandoliers on his suit, the magnetic scuttling charges stolen from the Rubicon’s lean armory neatly lined and folded in their straps. Ceramic armor plating was laid thin on the suit, the power of combat created through subterfuge and cunning rather than brute force and destruction. On his right arm the red triangle of the Solar System Defense Force’s Combat Engineering Corps almost blends into the warning lights, the double meaning of explosive danger and lethal cargo expressed in an ironic mark.

“Rubicon this is Marauder, we are good for depressurization.” Marauder One updates.

“Confirmed, prepare for deployment.” The Rubicon’s Engineering Officer begins on the channel.

The noisy interior fades away, sucked into void as air is pumped into the cold black. The alarm hollows into nothingness, the sole sound within suits the even breath and jolts of weapons at the ready.

“Depressurization complete.” The radio chirps. “Marauder, you are clear to disembark, have a safe trip.”

The airlock door opens from the inside, and the squad carefully meauver themselves into open space.

Beneath the two hanging ships the Earth shows in her majesty. The pale blue dot overwhelming this close to the surface, a vibrant Pacific Ocean reflecting forth a world teeming with life.

“Moving to outer hull.” Marauder One updates.

Within the vessel the Operations Officer adjusts an external camera to face the grouped marines, the integrated combat control system automatically updating each of their frames with their respective identifications.

“Good contact Marauder, we have you on visual.”

Captain Pérez whistles slightly, the two marines hearing her soft voice coming through with a slight hint of seductiveness. “Lookin’ good Shu Shu.”

The man groans through the comm channel, with the bridge returning a light chuckle as the marine buries himself with embarrassment.

Settling down, the squad member speaks up. “Rubicon this is Marauder Two, please advise engineering officer Lieutenant Ano to slave scuttling charges alpha and beta channels. Keep her on standby for detonation sequences. And Ano, if you blow me up Ling’s going to fucking kill you.”

“Copy that Marauder Two.” Captain Pérez chuckles as she looks over at the young officer, the Lieutenant’s face in disbelief at the Combat Engineer’s words. “I’ll pass the word along.”

War is won in patience.

Watching as the Earth slowly rotates the pair of soldiers take stock. Weapons are checked, their statuses as functional machines of combat confirmed again and again.

“Admiral Tucker’s home town right there.” Lieutenant Keys points over as the landmass of America begins to approach. “Near that bay, it’s out in the flooded areas.”

Urbanized and re-developed, the west coast of the United States from orbit resembled an overgrown jungle. Swaths of green were patchmarked by bits of exposed city, the blocky texturing of an ancient urban design smothered by the replantation of foliage. Utopia attempted, the city-scape below of perfected order.

“Oh I see it.” Ling acknowledges. 

“Don’t normally get to enjoy the view huh?”

“I agree. Most of the time when we are outside we end up killing people.” Master Sergeant Ling smiles. “Spend some time centered in the universe, 幽思, will do good for mental health.”

“Yeah...” The Combat Engineer trails. “Might be good honestly.”

“It is good. Back when I was training in Chinese Space Force we had twenty minutes each day to go to observation window and relax. It is good practice, helps to stay calm when under pressure. I believe you would benefit from that, you were pretty stressed back on Collins Memorial.”

“Oh trust me Ling, I don’t think any sort of meditation would’ve kept me calm. That shit went off the rails fast.”

“Well that is in the past. As your friend I think that you being calm would benefit on long term.”

“Yeah, I see where you’re coming from.” Keys admits, turning the conversation to another conversation as he takes a deep breath. “So have you given any thought to the recruitment list?”

The Master Sergeant thinks, recalling names and their associated memories. “I think we should remove Private Ramarez from consideration. Heard he is very incompatible, does not work well with team. Needs to be… micromanaged to be effective.”

“If that’s the case we’ll need to remove Hayate as well.”

Ling stops. “He is the best medic in the force.”

“I’ve seen him in action.” The Lieutenant recalls. “The moment someone gets hurt the mission goes out and he’s in. No more combat for him after that.”

“We will still consider Hayate.” Ling compromises.

“Assuming that none of us get hurt.” Keys sighs.

“Assuming.” The Master Sergeant agrees.

“Now what about Corporal Mercier?” The Lieutenant switches. “From what I’ve heard she’s a bad bitch, but we need a marksman.”

Ling sighs. “Desperate times if we consider her. I remember that she is on track for first Mars expedition.”

Lieutenant Keys stops. “Force wants to keep her away from any more combat. She’s the loose cannon, but she’s also a beast with an anti-material rifle. I’ve seen her snipe down a Pirate Fireteam from two kilometers, no ballistics computer and no misses.”

“We have all seen the footage.” Ling remembers. “But personality is a problem.”

“Yeah insubordination might be bad, but her head’s in the right place. Admiral Tucker probably agrees, I mean, he’s got the two of us and I don’t think we play the book.”

“There is no book for her.” The Master Sergeant states. “Though, I believe recruiting her would be easy. Even in Martian Expedition Garassion there is word of cutting her from it.”

“Well I can see why. Sending her out for a six year deployment is basically a prison sentence but with less security. Getting her to join might be easier than we…”

The radio channel opens up, Admiral Tucker’s voice sharp and focused. “Marauder this is Actual, be advised we are starting negotiations. We’ll be tapping you into the comm channel in twenty seconds.”

Instantly tone shifts, the pair preparing themselves for action. “Copy Actual.”

Captain Pérez turns from her station, Admiral Tucker clearing his throat as she speaks up. “All due respect sir, but having you handle negotiations…”

Cracking his knuckles, the old man grins. “I negotiated with jihadists on the Star Essence. These pirates are nothing compared to that.”

“Whatever you say sir.” The Captain motions to the operations officer, who connects the channels together. “You’re live.”

Professional, uptight, charismatic; an unfamiliar crew shocked as the normally relaxed Admiral instantly turns into a natural born speaker. “Astral Wanderer, this is Admiral Issac Tucker of Task Force Three One, callsign Marauder Actual. We are responding to your distress call sounded at 0742 hours GMT. Please respond on standard low band channel 1200. You have ten minutes to respond or we will begin boarding action.”

Thirty seconds pass, the reply returning with a heavy accent. Placed somewhere mid-asian, the voice itself is spoken through a rough microphone and partially damaged radio. “Astral Wanderer crew is hostage. You work with me.”

Admiral Tucker sighs, raising a hand to keep the channel open. “Unknown, please state standard radio designation to facilitate communications. The Solar System Defense Force may not negotiate without proper radio protocol under the United Nations Space Charter section fifteen, paragraph four.”

Keys switches channels, privately messaging Ling. “Isn’t section fifteen on nuclear weapons in space?”

“The Pirates do not know that.” Ling answers.

 “Repeat, unknowns please identify yourselves with radio designation under UN communications standard. If you cannot comply with this request we will begin boarding action.”

The voice growls. “I have hostages. You will leave area, do not return. Hostages will be released then.”

“Before we leave, we will need to guarantee the safety of the crew.” Marauder Actual offers. “How many crew members are currently…”

“You leave, or we kill them.”

Militaristic, cold, and utterly without hope the voice that arrives from the old man is of lifeless void. “If you do not answer we are authorized to destroy your vessel. Comply. ”

The silence holds for half a minute.

 A second voice begins on the radio; the younger man’s voice echoing across the Rubicon’s bridge. “Marauder Actual this is Captain Alan Moana of the Astral Wanderer, vessel ID is Charlie-Hotel-One-Four.”

Admiral Tucker grimly smiles. “Captain Moana, this is Admiral Tucker of Task Force Three-One callsign Marauder Actual, what is the status of your crew?”

“Marauder Actual, we are currently broadcasting from the crew vault. All seven crew accounted for.”

“And the status of the vault?”

“We are currently secure. No attempt has been made to remove us. We have food and water for seven days.” 

Inhuman calmness washes over Marauder Actual, the man speaking in a straight tone. “Understood Captain Moana, remain in position until further notice. How many pirates are currently on board the vessel?”

The line cuts, harsh voice returning. “That is enough.”

Marauder Actual pauses. “Yes… that is enough.”

Motioning a cut across his throat the Operations Officer severs the communication channel, Marauder Actual returning to his own troops. “Marauder Team, clear to engage. All civilians accounted for in the bunker, you have a free fire zone, time constraint critical, how copy?”

Marauder One and Marauder Two share a fist bump, the latter locking a live round into the chamber of his handgun. Marauder One begins. “Copy Actual. We are moving to engage.”

Pushing themselves off of the Rubicon’s hull the squad’s EVA packs activate. Righting themselves, blasts of propellant automatically meanuver the soldiers to face the massive helium tanker; their approach a straight shot through a massive jungle of metal.

To the relative right of Marauder Two the pirate vessel rolls in closer. Unarmed and unarmored, the craft itself from a closer angle was pure transportation and life support. Slightly smaller than the Rubicon, it’s entire existence boiled down to a handful of welded bolts and thin aluminum plating. 

The Combat Engineer reaches into his bandolier, throwing a stack of bright red scuttling charges towards the shape. Automatically activating, the magnets within the rubber covering affixes the explosives onto the hull, Marauder Two’s HUD marking three live charges in play.

“Scuttling charges set, how copy Rubicon?” 

“Copy.” The Engineering Officer acknowledges.

“Detonate on orders only.” The Combat Engineer informs. “Marauder Actual, please advise on movement of hostile asset.”

“Copy that Marauder One.” The old voice returns.

It was a fifty meter rush into the central structure. Through a gap in the liquid helium tanks the combat area was a killzone. Five meter spaces exposed hidden lanes of fire, the web of structural support restricting movement to a careful crawl.

“Check corners.” Marauder One coldly points. “Cover approach.”

“On it.” Marauder Two answers.

In utter silence the two shapes grab onto the far tank, magnetic gloves adhering themselves to the rough surface. “Negative visual contact.”

“You first?” Marauder Two asks.

Marauder One sighs. “Cover me then.”

“Yeah of course.” The Combat Engineer raises the handgun, the weapon’s authoritarian shape reflecting a slight bit of sun off its coated skin of white. “I’ll take relative east?”

“Then I will take west.” Marauder One pauses. “Go on mark.”

The countdown from three is sounded, weapons aimed towards overlapping fields of fire. In a soundless movement Marauder Team boosts towards the central structure, a full sprint in the silent void.

A single outline of movement is spotted at the very edge of Marauder Two’s field of view, a red wireframe outline arriving as the tactical computer automatically marks the presumed hostile.

“Contact!” Marauder Two growls as he swings to face the threat.

Boosting upward the figure at one hundred meters raises something, at distance the thing blending with a background of patchmarked pylons and storage tanks.

“GOT A WEAPON!”

It takes a single second to line up the shot, muscle memory activating in pure reaction. Brutally quiet in vacuum, the recoil of the M5 Handgun is enough to stop the Combat Engineer’s approach velocity cold. Pushing the man backwards slightly, his maneuvering kit blasts propellent in a futile attempt to compensate.

The round makes contact near instantly, explosive squash head ripping through flesh as it peels through layers of salvaged kevlar and armor plating. In a plume of gore the round annihilates the barely visible hostile, Marauder Team ducking to cover at the nearest structural pylon.

“Contact contact!!!” Marauder One reports as the repose is sent towards the pair, a few unaimed rounds shattering on the metal in showers of sparks.

Peaking over their position Marauder One checks his weapon’s loaded round, sighing as the HUD screams out an incoming fire alarm. “You know if I had my kit I’d have a RN-14 drone and this’ll be sooo much easier!”

“But you do not.” Marauder Two frowns, switching the safety on his rifle to full auto. “Too bad.”

Peaking over the relative bottom of the pylon Marauder Two open up. Automatic fire resonates within the suit, muzzle flashes blending together as the absurd rate of fire funnels an accurate spread of flechettes towards the pirate position.

A single bullet finds the Marine square in the chest, kinetic impact shrugged off by three stacked layers of ploy-ceramic armor.

“Marauder One hit.” Marauder Actual reports worriedly.

“操他妈的!!!” Marauder One swears as he pulls back into cover. “I am fine!”

The Combat Engineer cranes his neck, speaking up as the Marine checks his shattered chest plate. “Phew you need some patch work on that?”

“No.” The man coldly replies, replacing the spent magazine with a fresh one. “How are we getting out of this one?”

Removing a sheet of ceramic armor from his pack, Marauder Two pushes it towards his squadmate. “Take it, if I get hit with this much explosives on me I’m gonna be toast, armored or not.”

“Bad idea man.” Marauder One sighs as he slips the plating into his carrier. “But how are we advanc… “

The man trails off, common thought bridged between shielded visors.

“You still remember radio protocol?” Marauder One asks. “Not many times to call in Naval Fire.”

“Still do pal.” Marauder Two changes communication channels, reaching out towards powers much larger than his own. “Marauder Actual this is Marauder Team, requesting fire mission on A.O.: hostile concentration on actual mark. Repeat, hostile mark is actual.”

“Copy that Marauder Two.” Marauder Actual keeps his eyes glued on the console, speaking up to the bridge. “Priority command: fire mission requested, grid: Charle One-three break, two four break, seven over.”

Rubicon Actual frowns, her soft stare turned ice cold as she begins. “Navigation, get us a relative angle on marked grid X-ray: one-four, Yankee: two one, Zulu: four-seven. Tactical, fire mission tight concentration on hostile position. Marauder Actual, fire mission approved.”

Marauder Actual smiles, returning to his deployed troops. “Marauder be advised, fire mission is approved. Keep your heads down boys.”

Still under cover the Combat Engineer rubs his gloved hands together as a burst of enemy fire is sent over their suited forms, unseen smile approaching on his visored face. “Did I ever mention how awesome your fiance is?”

“You only mention it when she has big guns pointed in our direction.” The Marine notes.

“You’re a lucky man Ling, don’t you ever forget it.”

A hundred tons of armor and life support rips across airless vacuum, the Rubicon swinging around the Astral Wanderer in a neck breaking four gravity maneuver. Dorsal turret trained towards the civilian vessel, the Tactical Officer sends a visual of the targeting camera onto the bridge’s main screen.

Coated in infrared, five highlighted outlines hang onto the central structure of the helium tanker. Forms flanked, the tactical officer takes aim as the tactical computer automatically marks each of them as hostile.

Tactical swears as the space behind them crowds with unarmored background structure, collateral damage a guarantee with the loaded payload of flechette penetrators. “Negative sabots on target, approval of kinetics?” 

“Approved, clear to engage.” The Captain orders.

The hull vibrates as the dorsal mounted 90mm coil gun thunders out a burst of ten rounds. Tracers ignite in the void, trails left burning as the first shell makes impact in a distant blast of violence. 

Wadded rubber surrounding a solid metal slug rips through the first target, the torso of the distant figure liquefied instantly.

Pirates scattering like pests the targeting computer compensates as its metal mind tears through a thousand variables. The coilgun shifts as the new vectors are calculated, and the adjusted burst shreds past the hostile squad.

Visceral trails of shattered bone and organic matter paint the surrounding landscape, globules of frozen gore sent flying across cold space.

Popping out of cover Marauder Team adds to the chaos as they raze the entire area with small-arms fire, the already lifeless bodies shredded with explosive rounds and flechettes.

“Marauder One, fire mission complete.” The Rubicon’s tactical officer reports.

“Good fire mission!” Marauder One yells through the comm channel as they load a fresh magazine into their rifle.

Marauder Two laughs. “Ling did I ever tell you how awesome you are for dating a warship Captain?”

“Tell me later 兄弟. Work now.” 

The Squad Leader motions for his partner to move, and the pair boost towards the central structure of Astral Wanderer.

Twenty meters by ten the rectangular shape was held by a converging forest of structural supports. Sleek metal now painted with sublimating blood, Marauder Two shoves away the shredded bottom half of a dead EVA suit as the pair sweeps the exterior of the vessel.

“Clear!” Marauder One reports.

“Cear!” Marauder Two echoes.

From across space does the signature burn, the pirate craft’s freezing cold engines beginning to heat up from a desperate attempt at retreat.

“Marauder Two be advised hostile craft is executing engine startup sequence.” Marauder Actual reports.

“Confirmed, Rubicon be advised do not detonate charges. Prepare to chain explovies on my mark.” 

“Copy.” The Engineering Officer confirms.

The Squad Leader takes to the radio. “Actual advised, do we have permission to breach central structure?” 

“You have permission to breach. Primary objective is safe recovery of civilian personnel. Count: minimum two remaining hostiles.”

Finding the airlock, the Combat Engineer removes his last batch of scuttling charges. Safety pins pulled, the bright red casings of plastic and high explosives are latched onto the hull, LED lights marked with a deadly crimson.

“Rubicon be advised breaching are charges set.” Marauder Two informs.

“Copy..”

“Ready?”

“Too fast for my liking. They know we are coming.” Marauder One pauses. “Could easily get hit.”

The Combat Engineer raises the handgun, sights trained on the door as he rests his finger on the trigger. “We won’t be able to get a full breach with these charges, best guess is a two meter hole. We’ll have to saturate the interior with fire.”

One hand on his rifle, Marauder One gives a projected hand motion, eyeing the possible vector of attack. “On mark. We do this fast as possible, I will take point, you cover me.”

“Don’t get shot.”

“I will try.”

Both armored suits raise a thumbs up. 

Across the radio channel the man’s voice calmly counts down. “Three, two, one… mark.”

In utter silence the orders are executed, bodies running on instinct as explosive force rips open hull plating on two different vessels.

Unpressurized, the interior of the freighter is exposed to endless vacuum. Small caliber flechettes tear through the opening as hostiles within open fire, Marauder Team taking pause as a gap in fire exposes itself.

The Marine boosts upwards towards the opening, the tiniest of silhouettes exposed as the angle is met within the interior of the vessel. Full automatic fire empties the standard issue thirty round magazine in less than a second, dozens of caseless flechettes richoteting into lethal metal shards as they shred the surviving pirate squad.

Ruptured tanks spray propellant and frozen gas across the main structure of the vessel, three bodies colliding within a mess of combat.

A single suit twitches, dying nerves in a final grasp at life extinguished by high caliber handgun rounds as Marauder Two follows up his squadmate’s assault. “Room clear!”

Marauder One takes a second, reorienting as he scans the interior of the vessel. “Clear!”

Magazine replaced with a practiced motion, the Marine cycles the bolt on his rifle as he activates the communication channel. “Actual advised, interior secure. Repeat, secure.”

Just barely out of the team’s vision the pirate vessel scatters into low orbit. Broken propellant tanks accelerate the craft in complete anarchy, shearing the broken construction at its seams as its shape is highlighted against the black of space.

Marauder watches as the spinning hull tears itself in half, then thirds, the entire thing dissolving in zero gravity as its projected velocity brings it to a terminal re-entry vector.

Dispensed justice unrivaled in nature, the true brutality of the Solar System Defense Force annihilating any opposition. A border crossed; the violence and carnage of war brought to the holy space between worlds.

Unspoken words within hearts, but minds connected in post-combat.

War has been brought to the Boundary.