Boundary - Low Orbital Warfare: REPORT 5

In a vessel designed and built for nine crew members, stuffing an extra three personnel within its corridors created an environment that was paramount to a spacer nightmare.

Detour complete, orbital mechanics demanded a price of raw time collected upon the Rubicon. Instead of the planned half-day orbital rendezvous, the three hours spent in combat shifted the entire trip upwards to almost five days. 

Built in atmospheric recyclers were overloaded to a dangerous point, a handful of emergency space suits excavated and activated for the sole purpose of adding filtration units to the dwindling supply of hot, humid, barely breathable air. Luxurious premade plates of fresh food ran out quickly, with three extra mouths dwindling down the supply of edible rations to pasty liquid nutritional packs. 

Space was also put at a premium price; the already cramped corridors of the tiny orbital combat corvette pushed to a limit of comfort with a total of twelve personnel living in its interior. With the usual bunks already filled by assigned crew, Marauder Squad and her following command officer had to find their own, relatively quiet places to sleep and live within the vessel.

Secretly breaking regulation esteemed Solar System Defense Force Admiral Issac Tucker would snore away his off shifts quietly tucked away in the backup airlock. Protected by raw rank and earned respect, nobody questioned the safety of the act, the man diving into unconsciousness a mere ten centimeters away from the airless vacuum.

Lieutenant Keys found himself in the Combat Engineering Corps’ usual location within the pressurized Armory of the Rubicon. Surrounded by aisles of transferred rifles and ammunition, his companionship of high explosives and lethal ordinance was as relaxing as was slightly terrifying to the uninformed observer.

Scattered throughout the internal compartments there were individually assigned sleeping quarters for each crew member. Sound proofed and air circulated coffins, their shapes of fabric and plastic were attached to the walls like cocoons within an insectoid hive. Though, the largest of which housed Captain Perez’s personal quarters, a tiny room barely larger than a broom closet. With just enough space for a single mounted chair and personal bathroom Master Sergeant Ling, in his grave misfortune, had to share this sleeping space with his higher-ranking fiancé.

Voice accented in a highland English; the flight controller’s calm tone sounds across through the Corvette’s crowded bridge. “Rubicon this is Churchill Station Flight Control, you are clear for docking procedure on port two, maneuver limit is four meters per second, how copy?”

“Good copy.” The Navigation Officer yawns. “Docking schedule is t-minus one minute and thirty seconds to contact. Please confirm flight plan.”

“Copy flight plan.”

A burst of propellant sends the corvette forward, its relative velocity now slightly mismatched with the waystation as the vessel begins its approach vector.

Churchill Station as a cargo hub was built unlike any other civilian establishment in low earth orbit. Like a gutted monster the shape was reminiscent of a picked clean rib cage rather than a well-maintained space station. Cargo containers were stored in droves within the exterior of each of the wings, their standardized blocky shapes secured in open space along with a backdrop of stars.

The crew watches on cameras as a massive crane arm moves on its rails through one of the cargo extensions, plucking a secured container as it transfers the item to a waiting Lunar Transport Craft on the far side of the station. Counteractive to its initial appearance, the port itself upon closer inspection was an active hub of life and commerce, the dominion of economic power centralized to tiny pinpoints within Earth’s orbital sphere.

“Ten meters to contact.” The Navigational Officer reports, pulling up a camera angle from the Rubicon’s docking airlock. “Nine meters…”

The dance of relative velocities is exemplified in precision computer instructions and the intuition of flesh. Right hand on the control stick and the other on the throttle, the Helmsman slowly edges the corvette along its path, tiny macro thrusters just ever so barely blasting propellent as the vessel’s silicone mind assists the approach.

First time allowed on a warship bridge, Lieutenant Keys and Master Sergeant Ling watch the entire ritual in reverence. Every spoken word, every hand signal a complete unknown to the inexperienced and untrained mind of gunmen and soldiers.

“Check clamps.” The Navigation Officer speaks up.

“Check, confirm.” Operations replies.

“Terminal vector locked in, T-minus ten seconds to dock. Computer is taking over.”

The final meters are excruciatingly slow, velocity pressed to an utter crawl as the visual image fills with darkness on contact.

Silence, followed by a loud roar as massive fingers lock in place with the standardized airlock port; the two vessels becoming a singular mass as the connection is secured.

“Churchill Station this is Rubicon, docking sequence complete. Signing off.”

“Confirmed Rubicon, goodbye.” The Flight Controller ends.

“Captain?” The Helmsman turns.

“All hands stand down. Record confirm arrival at Churchill Station at 1300 hours.” Captain Perez finishes, unstrapping herself from the chair as she turns around to face Admiral Tucker at the back of the bridge. Voice a growl, she narrows her eyes as she finds her target.  “End of our little ‘day’ trip Admiral.”

 The old man smiles nervously. “Hey that little detour didn’t hurt now did it?”

“Five days Admiral.” Lieutenant Keys stretches as he unstraps himself. “Five fucking days! I’m getting off right now, no offense Captain.”

“Everyone has permission to disembark.” Captain Perez orders frankly, scanning across her exhausted crew. “We’ll figure out the return trip after we get some air.”

A general sound of pain flushes out from tired bodies, a few saddened whoops of broken morale let loose from the crew.

“This amount of pain is going to be a onetime event.” Admiral Tucker tries to assure. “Rubicon’s going to be retrofitted for marine deployment eventually.” 

Eyes are narrowed at the promise, and doubtful glances shared.

Mostly automated, the crew of Churchill Station consisted of only sixty people total, a combination of central representatives from international corporations, contractors across the European Union, and even a few private military guards. 

The man greeting Admiral Tucker at the airlock was dressed in the standard bluish grey fatigues of civilian work wear. Speaking with a light German accent, the pair exchange a respectful nod as the representative gives a grim look. “Admiral Tucker, my name is Johann Rudel. It is a pleasure to meet you.” 

“Good to meet you too Mr. Rudel.” Admiral Tucker opens with uncharacteristic coldness. “If you didn't know I am here to retrieve a container.”

 “Yes, I’m sorry Admiral Tucker but the container that you requested last week contains restricted materials. We…”

The old man’s expression remains neutral as behind him the pair of following marines exit the airlock, each of them grabbing on a nearby handhold as they stare down the employee. Admiral Tucker continues. “I have authorization to access class eight restricted materials under the Revised Space Defense Act. Where is it currently?”

“In the contraband center. I can’t release it without authorization from my supervisor.”

“Call them down then.” Admiral Tucker growls.

Behind him the entourage of Marine and Engineer pause at the precipice to the station’s visitor center, the clean lobby as utilitarian as possible with a minor note of civilian grade comfort.

Shaped in an elongated rectangle, a few Velcro padded observation chairs were bolted onto the far wall, facing over towards the bustling loading docks. Alongside it, a pair of vending machines were mounted within a comically accurate representation of a kitchen area. Covered in wood panels and a plastic replica of granite, the entire thing looked completely out of place within the showroom like construction of the station.

“What are we supposed to do?” Ling whispers.

“Look the part.” Lieutenant Keys answers quietly as he crosses his arms. “Wouldn’t want to mess anyone with two S.D.F. soldiers backing them up.”

“Oh…” The Master Sergeant nods carefully. “Like this?”

The face contorts away from the man’s usual expression of suppressed joy, the ice-cold scowl enough to project an energy of pure rage towards the arriving group of civilian representatives.

“Are you trying to kill someone with that look?” Keys hushes.

“Is it too much?” Ling asks with care.

“No no… it’s good if not a bit creepy on you.”

Clearing his throat, the Shift Supervisor carefully grabs a handhold on the bulkhead. Thin with a slightly gaunt look, the man’s Franco-Germanic accent speaks with professionalism. “Admiral Tucker. We were expecting you a week before today.”

Admiral Tucker replies lightly, voice as soft as possible with a nefarious grin. “Oh, we had to stop and deal with a Piracy Incident.” Pointing behind him, he continues. “These two marines murdered like eight guys getting here.”

The awkward silence is absolutely devastating, the supervisor stopped cold at the man’s calm, unabated expression.

“Ok…” He speaks carefully, off balance in deep concern as he nervously glances towards the pair of uniformed soldiers.

“We are here to collect container M181CW under Task Force Three-One.” Admiral Tucker informs. “From my knowledge you are currently the one I need to speak to regarding its release?”

“It’s a contraband container correct?” The Supervisor narrows his eyes.

“I assume that it is, based off of Mr. Rudel’s answer.”

Taking a moment to check his tablet, the man returns an answer. “Container M181CW contains Class Eight restriction items. I cannot authorize its release without…”

“My name is Admiral Issac Tucker of the Solar System Defense Force, Task Force Three-One.” The Officer interrupts as he pulls his ID out of his pocket. “Underneath the Revised Space Defense Act ratified by the United Nations Security Council I have access to Class Eight Restricted materials.”

A professional smile extends out from the man as he finishes reading over the identification card. “I’m sorry sir, but I cannot authorize access to such an item. You will have to contact the head of station operations for this.”

“Why are they not here?” Admiral Tucker asks kindly, a simmering frustration contained.

“It’s her off shift currently.”

“Well, I’m sorry to interrupt her but would you please call her and help us receive our container.”

The man smiles again. “Sir you’ll need to wait until the shift begins in order to release the container.”

A pause is given, not a long one, but enough for the old man’s expression to thin slightly. “I’ll lay the next hour out for you. What I am going to do right now is call President Muller of Deutsche Post AG. In about twenty-five minutes the Head of Station Operations will arrive, she will reprimand you, and then she will give us permission to access Container M181CW. Are we clear on that?”

The man gives an amused expression. “Sure, if you believe that can help then call her.”

In a zero-gravity environment maneuvering through the maze of containers within the arrivals sector was its own sort of challenge. Shipped from Earth, the squared internationally standardized shapes were bolted end to end, each one connected to another to create gigantic mounted walls and hallways within the pressurized chamber.

“You don’t think that guy’s gonna get fired right?” Keys asks Admiral Tucker as they round a corner, following the Head of Station Operations as she guides them through the maze.

The Admiral smiles nervously, glancing between Keys and the woman. “Hopefully not…though knowing Astrid she might just fire him just to have me owe her a favor.”

Ling pauses as he grabs a handhold. “I do have question; how do you even know the President of Deutsch Company in the first place?”

“Oh I met her during the Paris-Reconstruction Conference.” Admiral Tucker thinks, taking a moment to reminisce before souring his expression. “The 2nd best thing to come out of June Ninth was probably all the European Company Executives I met in the aftermath. Still have most of them on speed dial you know.”

“The best thing to come out of Terrorists crashing a space station onto Paris is the fact that you got phone numbers?” Keys balks.

“No, no nothing good came out of that.” The Admiral corrects grimly. “But we need to find silver linings.”

Stopping in front of a light blue container the woman speaks up. “I believe this is the shipment.”

Among others, the ridged edges of the pale red container did not stand out at all. For a moment, glances are exchanged as the Admiral checks the serial tag printed on its surface.

“Container M181CW.” Admiral Tucker confirms. “Are we allowed to open it here?”

“N-no…” The woman nervously chuckles as she spots Master Sergeant Shu Ling cross his arms again, the scowl on the man’s face returning. “... but I think we can make an exception for the System Defense Force?”

“Thank you.” Admiral Tucker nods. “If we do have anything else we’ll be sure to contact you.”

Smile barely maintained, the head of station operations nods with capped fear as she hands over a singular, physical key. “I-it is a pleasure to have you onboard the station Admiral.”

“It is a pleasure to be aboard.” The Admiral returns, turning as he grabs the key from its floating position in zero gravity.

Watching as she disappears around the corner the group lets out a collective breath.

“Please let everything be intact…” Keys prays out loud as Admiral Tucker begins fiddling with the digital and physical locks. “I don’t wanna have to wait another week for my kit.”

Behind the two, Captain Perez shoots a sly smile at Ling. “You Shu Shu know that frown was pretty sexy. Never seen you show that side.”

“Oh…” Ling immediately is put on the spot, glancing away from his fiancée as he lets out a small whimper. “I do not like frowning that much.”

Admiral Tucker glances over at Keys, voice a whisper as he fiddles with the lock. “Luckily, the sleeping bunks are soundproof.”

Keys presses his lips together in awkward understanding, watching as the Admiral finishes the last latch on the container. “Yep… sure am glad…”

Darkness exposed; the relatively spacious interior was filled to the brim with smaller packaging. Plastic wrapped containers to the relative right of Lieutenant Keys were bundled with evil looking boxes of ammunition, mostly taken up mostly by a gigantic plastic case of spare combat suits and their kit.

To the left was an entire pallet of cargo; a huge monstrosity that took up a majority of the container. Armored with plates of impact resistant ceramic, the entire thing was built up like a tank. Boxes spray painted red, green, and blue; a singular patch woven into the packaging marked its contents as High Explosive.

“Can we open it now?” Lieutenant Keys asks excitedly.

“Sure.” The Admiral nods, turning to the fourth member of the party. “Just no loose particulate. And I’m not sure if we can even fit most of this stuff on the Rubicon.”

“Everything in here, yes. Not the actual container.” Captain Perez answers. “I think…”

Tearing through wrapping the two marines begin to unbox the contents of the container like blood lusted children on Christmas. Master Sergeant Shu Ling removes a singular black plastic case from the pile, the artistically sketched logo of the FN Arms Group exposed to the station’s lighting as he raises it above himself.

“The XA-77…” Keys whistles. “Could’ve bought a nice car or put a down payment on a house in the suburbs, but here you are.”

The Master Sergeant ignores him, carefully unsealing the latches from the case. “Digital ammo counter, auto chambering bolt, detachable heatsink, option for multi-caliber muntion, integrated holographic sights, combat computer support…”

“I would’ve bought the car.” Admiral Tucker interrupts, turning to Keys. “But we gotta spend the small arms budget somewhere. Might as well give our front man and breacher the best gun on the market, right?”

Painted a classical space centric white, the XA-77 was an angular killing machine. A bullpup design, the currently empty magazine well drew eyes along the rest of its slick shape. Well machined trigger and a currently open bolt, the receiver itself seemed mostly innocuous though, the empty attachment rails that extended past the main receiver covered the weapon’s heat dispersing barrel made the modular assault rifle look like something out of a science fiction film.

Depressing a button on the side of the scope mount, Master Sergeant Ling watches as the integrated sights come to life. A holographically projected image hovers in thin air, munition counter and range finder flanking a singular red-dot at the center.

“This thing will highlight hostiles even in the scope.” The man chuckles. “This is so cool.”

Across from him Lieutenant Keys tears open the final layer of plastic protection, his ordered pallet exposed in its full, utterly immense form.

Four main boxes stand out among the stacks, each one a distinct coloring from white, red, to a militaristic camouflage green, and a singular blue.

“White one’s the drone, red’s the high-explosive, blue’s the countermeasure kit, and the green one is everything else. Most of the red’s actually just protective packaging for all the C4. Though, it’s…” Lieutenant Keys trails off as he turns to the three onlookers, stopping his lecture as he notes Captain Perez’s expression of boredom. “This probably isn’t making any sense.”

“I’m just watching Shu-Shu enjoy himself.” The Captain admits as Ling cycles the bolt on his new rifle. “All due respect Admiral, but I don’t even know why I’m here in the first place.”

“We can get to that now if you want.” Admiral Tucker turns to the marines, expression a light smile. “If you two are finished.”

“We’re gonna be here for three hours going through the checklist for my kit alone.” Keys answers, looking over to Ling. “Not sure about you.”

“I will help you out later.” The Master Sergeant shoots a thumbs up. “We should finish what you have planned first right Admiral?”

A low chuckle, the old man waves towards Ling’s side of the container. “Well actually, before that, I got a little present from Hothur Dynamics, I think it’s in the blue box.”

“Electronic warfare?” Keys asks based on the color code.

“Sort of. I’ll explain once you unpack it.”

Shaped like an anti-tank mine the device extracted from the hard case looked as exotic as it’s somewhat in-distinct packaging. Like a strange present from a long forgotten relative, Marine and Naval powers come together for identification.

“Not a mine…” Master Sergeant Ling informs with a sight hesitation. “Though, it seems like one.”

“It’s probably something to do with electronic warfare.” Lieutenant Keys adds.

“It’s designed for use in-atmosphere.” Captain Perez notes as she points out the external shell of the device. “Didn’t expect to see suction cups.”

“This isn’t an explosive right?” The Combat Engineer asks carefully as Master Sergeant Ling carefully pushes the item towards him in zero gravity.

“It’s not an explosive no.” The Admiral assures. “Could I see that for a moment?”

Taking it out of its zero-gravity vector Admiral Tucker looks it over, depressing a few buttons as suddenly a light high hum fills the air. In silence the man tosses it back to Keys, a seemingly distorted two-meter diameter sphere enveloping the man centered at the device.

Mouthed words reach blank ears as Keys attempts to speak, a confused look returned by Ling and Perez.

“What is happening?” Ling asks.

Keys yells his next sentence, sound again lost to some force.

Captain Perez laughs out loud. “Dios Mío Admiral, you did not get us a mute charge.”

Admiral Tucker points over to the Captain. “Hothur Dynamics sent this one out for field testing in zero-g. I guess I can tell them it works.”

“We cannot hear you Keys…” Master Sergeant Ling continues.

“He can hear us but can't reply.” Admiral Tucker makes a cranking motion towards Lieutenant Keys. “Turn the charge’s distance setting. The knob’s on the top side near the control panel.”

Looking down at the charge the Lieutenant adjusts as ordered, the seemingly invisible field extending outward as it encompasses the nearby Master Sergeant’s floating form. Turning back, Ling screams towards the two officers. “CAN YOU HEAR ME???!”

In silence Admiral Tucker makes a sour face, and Lieutenant Keys extends the range out to encompass the entire four of them.

“Doesn’t work too well if you yell that loudly.” The Admiral notes. “Down earth side it’s mostly marketed for gun-ranges, sleeping aids, and for breaching teams.”

“And I don’t suppose it goes through walls does it?” Keys stares down at the item. “Cause that would be…”

“Not through walls.” Admiral Tucker dismisses. “But it does provide us with some privacy.”

His usual smile fading, the old man reaches into his pocket. Producing three tablets, he hands them off to the group. “I hope you all realize that what I’m about to say here is not to be articulated to anybody. This is level ten classified material; any leak can cause an international incident and possibly a war.”

All three nod carefully at the sudden shift in mood.

Receiving confirmation, the Admiral begins. “Do any of you recognize the device on the file marked ND-1?”

A cylindrical object one meter long and around half in diameter, shaped like a beer can the thing had a handful of wires that surrounded the cap, sealed up with a firm alloy latch. Zooming in towards the interior sees the shape folds out into a cross section, circular rings surrounding a central, solid core covered in wiring.

“Can we guess?” Keys asks out loud, a rush of remembrance returning to active memory as the man recalls a far-flung training exercise.

Admiral Tucker nods. “Shoot.”

“Last time I saw something like this was in E.O.D. class. Backpack nuke?”

“Correct, a 100 tonner.” The Admiral follows. “Plutonium core, gun-type fission weapon.”

“Same one Java Treaty tried to smuggle into Beijing a few years ago?” Ling asks.

“Similar.” Admiral Tucker corrects. “The design principle is the same.”

Keys whistles, history returning. “Those things are no joke. If it’s anything like the dummies we trained on the Chinese E.O.D. people must be crazy. Five different failsafes, an anti-tampering magnetic lock; one wrong bump and the entire thing goes up.”

The Admiral stops, looking at each of them. “The people who found this weren’t as lucky.”

Immediately the Captain speaks up. “The solar flare out over America’s East Coast last month. That wasn’t a nuke was it?!”

Admiral Tucker grimly stares at the woman. “Task Force Twenty’s Razor Squad was sent for a data retrieval and burn op on a Java Treaty orbital resupply station. That’s where they found it.”

The 3d model shifts towards an actual photo, the device resting comfortably within a secured locker.

“Oh no.” Keys lets out.

Taking in their expressions, the Admiral continues. “If word gets out that a nuclear device was found in orbit against the U.N. Space Charter… well you can guess what the consequences will be.”

“This is enough to start a war, correct?” Ling asks.

“If it was enough then we wouldn’t be here.” Lieutenant Keys sighs. “Razor’s entire operational base was built around black-ops. Did you send them in wielding AKs and secondhand combat suits?”

Admiral Tucker closes his eyes as he takes a deep breath. “Either way, the nuclear device was an unexpected variable. The entire operation was for the retrieval of the data center stored within the satellite, a primary objective that was partially completed.”

“I thought you said it was a resupply station.” Captain Perez speaks up.

“Military resupply station.” The Admiral corrects. “Java Treaty’s been supplying ships both theirs and Pirate aligned in that place for God knows how long. Wasn’t even flagged on the registry before one of the debris tracking teams from NASA found it.

“However, the fact that they kept a nuke as insurance meant that we had struck gold… at least on the intelligence side of things. Take a look at the file marked ‘CLAT-10’ please.”

 

//TRAN_ERROR

//FOLDER: BOUNDARY

//BOUNDARY_PROGRAM

//PROJECT_BOUNDARY

 

//ي̷̻̊̽̌̇س̸̲̣͓͂́̀͋ع̶̡̘̝͕͌̏͝ى̶̤̜̊̽̈͝ ̷̓ͅم̷͔̯͇̻͋ش̶̮̙̪̄͝ر̶͚̭̱̕و̵̬̱̭̄́́͜ع̵̟̭̳̑͝ ̴̺̳̈́̏̀̀͜ا̷̲̼̬̯͑͋ل̴͔̈ح̶̗̙͒̃̃د̴́ͅو̷͉̹͙̓͠د̸͍̪́ͅ ̷̮̬̀إ̴̰̞̆̂̂ل̴̭̺̀ى̵̠͐̌͝ ̵̖̫͈̔و̵͍̆̈̆͂ق̴̠͖́̎͒̂ف̴̦͔̥̬̇͊͝ ̵̤̤̻͍̍́̕ت̷̧̮̱̝̀̏́̓ط̷̭̱̈́̿̍̕و̷͚̣̀́ر̸̦͙̍͒̀̎ ̸̧͉͓̜͠م̵̺̝̻̽͝د̶̳̑̍ا̴̡͖̦̃̈́ر̷̤̱͋̇ ̴͎͙̰͊̑ا̷̙͇̦̥͆ل̶̦͉̘̀̾̈́أ̷͓͝ر̴͉̠̤̆̀ض̴̮̊̈́̂ ̷̛̻͚͆ع̶̙̪̝̬̑̕ن̴̣̰͂́́ ̸̦̈̈́ط̸̳͔̠͠ͅر̸̭̞̺͆ي̸̫̣̤͆̀̈́̕ق̷̘̊ ̵̫̚͝إ̶̳̹̇͊̿͝ن̷͍̮̐̎̓ش̵̯͘ا̶͕̹̜͗ء̷͖͇̜̪͛ ̸̤̼͍͆̈́̋ح̴̼͓̊ق̸̞̘̗͚̊ل̵̹̹̆ͅ ̵̱͙͕͋̃́ح̴̨͋͌ط̴̬̻̝͖́ا̸̱͋͆̿͝م̴̠͔̅̄̒͝ ̴̯̱̪͐̓͋̂ج̷̞̼̉̃͂̚م̸̼͔̙͕̀͂ا̴̠̤̼̟̑̒ع̵̼͖̌̔̇͠ي̷̝̎.̵̝̭̃ ̴̺̳̈́̏̀̀͜ا̷̲̼̬̯͑͋ل̴͔̈ح̶̗̙͒̃̃د̴́ͅو̷͉̹͙̓͠د̸͍̪́ͅ ̷̮̬̀إ̴̰̞̆̂̂ل̴̭̺̀ى̵̠͐̌͝ ̵̖̫͈̔و̵͍̆̈̆͂ق̴̠͖́̎͒̂ف̴̦͔̥̬̇͊͝ ̵̤̤̻͍̍́̕ت̷̧̮̱̝̀̏́̓ط̷̭̱̈́̿̍̕و̷͚̣̀́ر̸̦͙̍͒̀̎ ̸̧͉͓̜͠م̵̺̝̻̽͝د̶̳̑̍ا̴̡͖̦̃̈́ر̷̤̱͋̇ ̴͎͙̰͊̑ا̷̙͇̦̥͆ل̶̦͉̘̀̾̈́أ̷͓͝ر̴͉̠̤̆̀ض̴̮̊̈́̂ ̷̛̻͚͆ع̶̙̪̝̬̑̕ن̴̣̰͂́́ ̸̦̈̈́ط̸̳͔̠͠ͅر̸̭̞̺͆ي̸̫̣̤͆̀̈́̕ق̷̘̊ ̵̫̚͝إ̶̳̹̇͊̿͝ن̷͍̮̐̎̓ش̵̯͘ا̶͕̹̜͗ء̷͖͇̜̪͛ ̸̤̼͍͆̈́̋ح̴̼͓̊ق̸̞̘̗͚̊ل̵̹̹̆ͅ ̵̱͙͕͋̃́ح̴̨͋͌ط̴̬̻̝͖́ا̸̱͋͆̿͝م̴̠͔̅̄̒͝ ̴̯̱̪͐̓͋̂ج̷̞̼̉̃͂̚م̸̼͔̙͕̀͂ا̴̠̤̼̟̑̒ع̵̼͖̌̔̇͠ي̷̝̎.̵̝̭̃ ̴̺̳̈́̏̀̀͜ا̷̲̼̬̯͑͋ل̴͔̈ح̶̗̙͒̃̃د̴́ͅو̷͉̹͙̓͠د̸͍̪́ͅ ̷̮̬̀إ̴̰̞̆̂̂ل̴̭̺̀ى̵̠͐̌͝ ̵̖̫͈̔و̵͍̆̈̆͂ق̴̠͖́̎͒̂ف̴̦͔̥̬̇͊͝ ̵̤̤̻͍̍́̕ت̷̧̮̱̝̀̏́̓ط̷̭̱̈́̿̍̕و̷͚̣̀́ر̸̦͙̍͒̀̎ ̸̧͉͓̜͠م̵̺̝̻̽͝د̶̳̑̍ا̴̡͖̦̃̈́ر̷̤̱͋̇ ̴͎͙̰͊̑ا̷̙͇̦̥͆ل̶̦͉̘̀̾̈́أ̷͓͝ر̴͉̠̤̆̀ض̴̮̊̈́̂ ̷̛̻͚͆ع̶̙̪̝̬̑̕ن̴̣̰͂́́ ̸̦̈̈́ط̸̳͔̠͠ͅر̸̭̞̺͆ي̸̫̣̤͆̀̈́̕ق̷̘̊ ̵̫̚͝إ̶̳̹̇͊̿͝ن̷͍̮̐̎̓ش̵̯͘ا̶͕̹̜͗ء̷͖͇̜̪͛ ̸̤̼͍͆̈́̋ح̴̼͓̊ق̸̞̘̗͚̊ل̵̹̹̆ͅ ̵̱͙͕͋̃́ح̴̨͋͌ط̴̬̻̝͖́ا̸̱͋͆̿͝م̴̠͔̅̄̒͝ ̴̯̱̪͐̓͋̂ج̷̞̼̉̃͂̚م̸̼͔̙͕̀͂ا̴̠̤̼̟̑̒ع̵̼͖̌̔̇͠ي̷̝̎.̵̝̭̃

 

“Anyone here speak corrupted file?” Lieutenant Keys sarcastically butts in. “Computer science is not my forte.”

Admiral Tucker continues, ignoring the Combat Engineer. “Intel is still working on whatever data Razor Six managed to retrieve and send back to TAC-COM before the nuke went off. However, we suspect that there was a failsafe within the data transfer that automatically detonated the weapon when this file was moved.” 

Pausing, the old man continues. “Whatever Project Boundary is… Java Treaty’s willing to go to war over it. And that’s gotten the Admiralty worried.”

The Master Sergeant speaks up. “Worried over a Java Treaty weapon program?”

“It’s more than that.” Captain Perez speaks up. “If they kept a nuclear bomb as a safeguard then it must be worth the risk of going to war. And from my understanding the Java Treaty cannot keep up a full-scale war, at least in orbit.”

“Captain Perez is right.” Admiral Tucker continues from her thoughts. “And the Java Treaty can’t hold off a U.N. intervention on Earth either. The Middle East is barely together as it stands now without the Russians' help, and India and South Eastern Asia are under America and China’s economic boot; not to mention a joint carrier task force. From my connections up top even the Euros would vote for an intervention, if not to get some blood back for June 9th.”

“Hey we’re not that blood thirsty.” Captain Perez slides a concerned smile.

Ling cuts a thin expression to his fiancé, a rare tone of doubt emerging from the man. “You voted for current Spanish President who said he will help destroy the middle-east with bombs.”

 “Ok he promised a 20% income tax cut.” The Captain stares into the distance with grave regret. “Más vale pájaro en mano que ciento volando…I will vote with more care next time ok?”

Admiral Tucker takes a look around the container, turning the conversation back to the topic at hand. “Well whatever ‘el presidente’ says, the Euros will most likely go along with the rest of the Security Council on the matter. The point is that the Java Treaty is protecting the Boundary Project at the risk of an all-out war.”

“But what does it all have to do with us?” Lieutenant Keys asks straightly.

“No oversight, black-operations, no regulations…” Captain Perez begins. “Sounds like the mission for Task Force Thirty-One.”

 Admiral Tucker smiles. “And that’s exactly why the Admiralty gave the operation to us. As of now, our objective is uncovering the Boundary Project and preventing its deployment.”

There’s a pause, not a long one, but enough to have a noticeable effect upon the assembled sailor and marines.

Keys speaks up first. “So we’re going to go to war with the Java Treaty, with a single orbital corvette and two marines? Sounds like a good plan.”

“You’d be surprised on how much damage a few marines with no rules can do.” Admiral Tucker chuckles to himself. “But to that point, have you two decided who’s gonna fill the rest of the squad?”

“That’s a great question.” Keys nervously looks over to Ling. “Have we?”

“Corporal Estelle Mercier.” Ling states with a scrunched expression, looking over to Admiral Tucker to gage the response. “She will be our squad marksman.”

“Tell me that’s a joke.” The Admiral stares back as he processes the name.

“Nope…” Keys adds with care.

Admiral Tucker glances between them. “Jesus Christ you two are fucking insane. Rest of the Admiralty’s putting her on a boat to Mars in three months, and you want her on your team?”

“She’s got a good heart and a better head.” Keys explains. “From what we can gather she doesn’t follow orders if she believes they’re bad.”

“And that’s why she ended up killing her entire squad in that engagement over Chang’e City.” Admiral Tucker counters. “I assume you guys had friends in Bishop Squad.”

Ling frowns as the counter from the man hits him hard. “Corporal Mercier thought she did right thing. As you mentioned Admiral, our task force is made to fight with stranger…”

“Unusual.” Captain Perez corrects.

“... unusual tactics.” The Master Sergeant continues. Last week, we went in with no plan. This is kind of situation Mercier works in.”

“Any input Keys?” Admiral Tucker turns. “Don’t tell me this is a joint plan.”

“She’s the baddest bitch in L.E.O.” Keys states frankly. “Might not be the best person to watch our backs, but she’s…”

“The chain is only as strong as its weakest link.” The Admiral interrupts. “If the link doesn’t want to be there then there is no chain.  You need good soldiers to watch your backs out there, and a soldier who doesn’t follow orders is no soldier at all.”

“Good soldiers understand their orders.” Ling corrects the flag officer bluntly. “Lieutenant Keys is here, do you think he followed orders on Collins Memorial?”

Admiral Tucker turns to the other party, who stares wide eyed in minor embarrassment.

“That’s…” 

“Marauder Two is the man who surgically implanted bomb into terrorist.” Ling counters. “That is not what his orders were in situation.”

Captain Perez turns with a shocked face to the man. “Wait hold on Keys you actually did that?!”

“Ok guy had the bomb already inside him. All I did was cut him open to put my own trigger in.” Keys answers with a slight defensiveness to his voice. “Nothing says I can’t do that in the Revised Space Defense Act.”

“Lieutenant I don’t think that’s the point in contention…” Admiral Tucker cuts him a disgusted expression, tone in a slight concern.

“Listen sir I’m not the medic, I just do the *clack* *clack* and blow things up.” The Lieutenant honestly replies. “Plus, that dude personally saved like 300 civilians with the repurposed bomb of his. If anything he deserves the Medal of Honor for valiant service and sacrifice and not me.”

“I misjudged you Lieutenant…” Captain Perez takes Ling’s hand gingerly, squeezing it as she suppresses a sour note. “You’re not allowed in the armory anymore…”

“Oh I only blow up people I don’t like Captain.” Lieutenant Keys cuts her a sly smile. “Trust me.”

Master Sergeant Ling, still holding the Captain’s hand, turns back to the Admiral. “But what if Keys accidentally blew up civilians instead? He would not be here right now.”

“And you’re saying that if Mercier’s stunt worked then she’d be a war hero?”

“Worth a Bronze Star minimum.” Keys argues.

“Silver Star.” Ling cuts the Engineer a look.

“Silver Star.” Keys corrects.

The gears turn within the old man’s head, Admiral Tucker staring down the two marines. Memories of orbital warfare enter into a long-drawn memory, the radio chatter of combat, the breathtaking visuals of destruction, all spilling into a soup of chaos and anarchy.

A place without order to begin with.

He speaks with a heavy tone. “I want you two to listen very closely; Corporal Mercier is the wildcard of the SDF. She will be your responsibility, and I need you two to understand that that entails a danger that is unprecedented anywhere else. She can get you two killed is that clear?!”

Master Sergeant Shu Ling smiles calmly. “Admiral, I have been in System Defense Force for seven years. I know how to handle this.”

For a few critical seconds the man stops. “Then I’ll be contacting the Martian Expedition Division for a transfer.”

Both Lieutenant Keys and Master Sergeant Ling give each other a faithful nod, operation executed with upmost unity and efficiency.

Admiral Tucker sighs at the pair’s expression. “Though, convincing her to join up…”

“And get her off the Martian Boat?” Keys scoffs. “I don’t think anyone actually wants the Martian Garrison assignment. Wasting five years of your life on a red planet with recycled air, all due respect sir but fuck that.”

The Admiral concedes. “Well in that case, all you guys need to do is track her down. After we all finish the engagement reports, I think we can all squeeze out an Earth-side trip.”

“And does that include us?” Captain Perez asks for her crew.

The Admiral thinks for a moment, exhaling a breath as he mulls the prospect over. “Well I suppose we could also carve in a dry-dock session for the Rubicon. Should only take a week or so to retrofit her correct?”

“Two weeks.” The Captain nods. “My crew needs some leave so let’s give the yards some extra time.”

“Two weeks?!” Lieutenant Keys yells in shock, the timeline accelerated to breakneck speeds. “For a full retrofit?”

“3rd gen warships.” Admiral Tucker chuckles. “Core internals are modular to the screws, saves an ungodly amount of work and money for logistics and repairs.”

“We’ll still have to find all the modules for the retrofit though…” Captain Perez runs her fingers through her short hair. “Bad part about the 3rd gens is that there’s not a lot of spares lying around to take from.”

Admiral Tucker waves her away. “Oh don’t worry, I took the liberty of ordering a couple of toys from some old friends. We’ll get the Rubicon up and ready for war on schedule.”

“I’m very concerned on what those toys are…” Keys begins. “You know Admiral Tucker’s like five years from retirement. He’s pulling no stops for these favors.”

The man laughs. “Oh I’m calling in all the favors for this task force. All of them. Don’t be surprised if you guys are boosting around with handheld coil-guns and laser anti-missile systems by the time you retire.”

“Is that a promise?” Ling asks with some restraint.

“Well we’ll see, won’t we?” The Admiral shuts his eyes, taking in a deep breath. “We’ll see.”