Boundary - Low Orbital Warfare: REPORT 7

 

The Solar System Defense Force held five different training facilities scattered across its member states. Recruits, either poached straight from National Space Force personnel or recruited from extraordinarily promising individuals, would be sent to one of the four processing centers for the initial three months of basic training.

Universally considered to be the worst, the Omsk Oblast Training Grounds is either a beautiful winter wonderland or a hot, humid hell hole depending on the season. Split in half, the graduates/survivors from Omsk either come out of the facility as grizzled and jaded veterans immune to the bite of the common mosquito or winter warfare enthusiasts unfazed by near freezing temperatures. Either way, a badge of honor is held for those survivors, and the friends made there are almost guaranteed to last an entire lifetime.

Second place is generally seen as a tie between the European Union’s GN12 Training Center near Frankfurt, Germany and the Americans’ Fort Sierra located in Sierra, Colorado. 

Built after a high-profile legal battle between the European Union and the United Nations, GN12’s proximity to the city of Frankfurt as well as Altkönig National Preserve gives its trainees a strange mixture of survival training and urban leisure. Split between three different buildings around city limits due to housing restrictions, those coming out of the Center consider themselves well rounded in both rating alcoholic beverages and being the best trained long-distance runners in the Force.

Based out of a Cold War Era garrison abandoned after the turn of the 2000s and rebuilt in the 2040s, Fort Sierra was a different beast entirely. Located deep within the heart of the Rocky Mountains, the Fort’s slightly elevated location allows for gorgeous views and some of the freshest natural air available on Planet Earth. Therefore, due to its remote location, the survival training received in Fort Sierra is considered by all System Defense Force Personnel to be both the most rigorous and fun. Over the course of a grueling week, a joint task force of U.S. Special Forces and Border Control Agents hunt down trainees and instructors with helicopters, reconnaissance drones, and paintball guns. Those who manage to return to Fort Sierra undetected and unpainted earn the coveted (and unofficial) Green Cross Award. 

However, if asked, almost all personnel within the System Defense Force consider the Beijing Orbital Combat Training School to be the best pick in the lot. Affectionately called “the Bunker,” the ex-People’s Liberation Space Force training center was placed in the very heart of Beijing’s metropolitan area. A maze of refurbished nuclear fallout shelters and depreciated subway stations underneath an actual office complex, a majority of a trainee’s training time is spent within well lit, air-conditioned facilities. And with Beijing being one of the first major cities to introduce terraforming technology, the actual city itself, and its filtered air, is available to trainees in both the infamous “Day 5 Death March” and the rare leisure weekend.

Though, with one of the strictest recruitment and training programs in the world, only a measly 10% of the recruits make it past the first three months of basic. Those who are left are then transferred to the final leg of their on-planet training.

The Solar System Defense Force’s Los Angeles Training Facility was a sprawling complex built solely to house the largest swimming pool on Planet Earth by raw volume. Measuring almost one hundred fifty meters in length, a hundred twenty meters in width, and fifteen meters deep, it is officially designated as the “Neutral Buoyancy Combat Simulation Facility” while those thrown into its depths call it simply “The Tank.”

Donning combat space suits, manned maneuvering units modified to fire pressurized jets of water, and equipped with laser designator weapons, trainees are subject to one and a half months of constant combat training submerged beneath the waves of an artificial ocean. 

But despite its reputation, “The Tank” was possibly the closest any person could get to actual zero-gravity combat on Planet Earth.

With the price tag to follow it.

Screaming into her radio as she fast walks the length of the pool, the Head Instructor waves forth the near two dozen trainees currently in the water. “ALRIGHT LET’S DO THIS AGAIN, RESET SQUADS!!! MEI, YOU’RE THE NEW SQUAD LEAD FOR BLUE!!! LISTEN I WANT BETTER FIRE TEAM COHESION THIS TIME AROUND YOU HEAR ME?!!!”

The response from the trainees comes forth in earpieces, a dozen voices speaking as deep within the depths the distorted shapes move back to starting positions.

With combat scenarios modularly built and stored on site, instructors would commonly switch the pool’s layout on their own whims. Currently in rotation, the trainees were fighting in a standard C-180 Boeing Consolidated StarLifter Cargo Ship. Reaching from one end of the pool to the other, the massive structure compressed the combat site down to a claustrophobic close quarters death trap.

Nostalgic of an actual engagement a few weeks prior.

Trainees in place, the head instructor looks to her fellow trainers. All of them raising a thumbs up for readiness, she sends the signal. “ALRIGHT LAST SESSION BEFORE LUNCH, MAKE THIS QUICK I’M FUCKING STARVING!!!”

As the final preparations are spoken between Instructors, behind the chaos of the training grounds eyes meet.

“Keys!” Admiral Tucker looks up from the monitors as he spots his subordinate.

Calmly jogging over the Lieutenant waves away the Admiral’s casual salute. “Admiral.”

“Well you’re here early.” The man notes. “What’s happening?”

“Oh, I caught the early train from San Diego.” Keys nods. “Asked the people out front if you were here and they told me you were at The Tank running a training session?”

The Admiral chuckles. “Yeah I would never give up a chance to see new recruits in action. You know there might be one going to combat engineering school after this.”

“Right out of basic?”

“Yeah he’s a smart one like you. And with the school opening up in Camp Armstrong he won’t need to do the whole naval academy to the marine corps track you had to go through.”

“That’s good to know.” Lieutenant Keys blinks away the memories. “So what sort of thing are you running for them?”

“Well glad you asked.” Admiral Tucker points towards one of the monitors, a general overview of the battleground displayed front and center. “I’m making them run an Attack/Defense Scenario on a Boeing StarLifter. Wanted to see if there were any other ways you guys could’ve done it a few weeks ago.”

“Really?” Keys raises a curious look. “What have you found?”

“Not allowing high explosives really limits your options.” The Admiral laughs.

In front of the pair the Head Instructor twirls around, recognizing the Lieutenant with sharp eyes. Snapping a sharp salute, a barely contained smile spreads across her aged face.

“At ease.” Lieutenant Keys waves away, a similar look of recognition arriving. “Sergeant Major Lee, good to see you again ma’am.”

Built like a truck the older woman looked like a killing machine. Lean muscle betrayed her greying hair, a face slowly turning to wrinkles under age. Her uniform’s sleeves were rolled up to her forearms, exposing the black prosthetic limb that replaced her right arm shoulder down. 

In a swift motion she roughly slaps Keys in the back, bombastic laugh echoing across the chamber. “Holy fucking shit on a fucking stick, Lieutenant Johnathan Keys. You know I never thought one of my own Sharks would earn a Star of Terra, much less the nerd of the squad.”

“Well someone trained me well.” The Lieutenant chuckles along with her.

Turning back to the pool the Head Trainer claps her hands together, her voice returning to a grating and ordered yell. “ALRIGHT KIDS NOT ONLY DO YOU HAVE AN ADMIRAL WATCHING TODAY YOU’VE ALSO GOT A STAR OF TERRA AWARDEE JUDGING!!! DON’T DISAPPOINT, DEPLOYING IN TEN SECONDS!!!”

A loud alert echoes within the humid facility as the countdown starts, ten seconds falling quickly in anticipation. Bell sounded, the entire pool fills with cavitation bubbles as trainees rush to cover, simulated combat met.

“Who's winning this time?” Keys asks.

“We had to shuffle the teams up.” Sergeant Major Lee answers as she watches the monitors. “Red was getting their asses kicked so we had to redistribute everyone. This group’s gonna be heavy on the Sailors I tell ya.”

“Not enough marines?”

“Well unless they get their bearings they’re going off to sissy school.” The woman pauses. “Right Admiral?”

Admiral Tucker leans back in the chair, taking a thoughtful breath before answering. “To be fair Sergeant Major, having a majority of Marines in a class is very rare. Plus, with the 3rd gen ships coming out we’ll need a lot of Naval Personnel to man ’em.”

“You can have all your fancy fucking frigates and your flagship cruiser but remember that we’ll always be there. Dying for your wars and taking all the fucking credit.” Grabbing Lieutenant Keys into a headlock she ruffles the man’s hair. “Is that right Lieutenant?!”

“Yes Ma’am!” The man replies with authority.

The Admiral answers the pair with a light chuckle. “I’m always glad that the money we spent on this place is being put to good use. Afterall, if we have the best Marines in Orbit then us sailors won’t even need to be there.”

On the monitor Blue Three is shredded by a barrage of simulated flechettes, his suit monitor flashing red as the hits confirm a killed-in-action status.

“Blue Three down.” One of the Instructors reports.

“I gotta drill’em more defensive maneuvers.” Lee notes to herself. “The Bunker’s class this cycle is lousy.”

“Well there’s attacker advantage in this place.” The Lieutenant stops her. “Those storage tanks cover all entrances. Putting defenders in ambush positions would be the only real way to stop them.” 

The Sergeant Major laughs to herself. “Yeah I heard from the Admiral. You and Ling ran an anti-piracy op on a Starlifter right?”

“Yep, he almost got killed.”

The woman shakes her head. “Not surprised he was the one to take the risk, absolute fucking badass that one. How’s his girlfriend doing?”

“Fiancée now.” Keys corrects. “They’re gonna be here soon actually, flew back from Europe two days ago. Said he was visiting her parents.” 

Stopping, Lee turns to the Lieutenant, tapping a finger on her nose. “You know I always had a feeling that Princess Perez would end up being a command officer. Too spoiled and coddled for a gun and an M.M.U. but smart enough to not waste her life behind a console.”

Within the Tank Blue Two sprays down three members of Red Squad, their attempt at repositioning demolished without covering support.

“We’ll need to re-drill advancement under fire.” An instructor speaks through the earpiece.

“Yeah these kids need some work.” The Sergeant Major agrees.

Lieutenant Keys clears his throat. “Ma’am, I’ve always wanted to ask, but do you really remember every trainee?”

Sergeant Major Lee scoffs at the question. “Of course, I wouldn’t be a good Instructor otherwise. Been here since the beginning; and I remember every damn officer and marine that came through The Tank.”

Red Team regroups, reloading and rearming as they split again for a multi-pronged assault. Caught off guard, the defenders return suppressive fire.

“All units one minute remains in scenario.” An instructor announces.

Rushing forward Red Team’s leader gets caught with a stray flechette, suit breached as the simulated wound restricts his leg accordingly.

Lee shakes her head as she growls to herself. “Where’s the fucking medic Desna?! You can’t have a squad if you leave the medic to die!”

Sucking air through his teeth Admiral Tucker and Lieutenant Keys exchange a look of concern, the criticism reaching them directly. Whispering, Admiral Tucker leans into Keys’ ear. “A Medic’s going to be your last squad member got it?” 

“Yes sir.” Keys blinks. 

“All units thirty seconds remaining.”

Panic echoes as the pace of combat quickens, the assaulting team at a disadvantage with two men down from the defenders.

Virtual gunfire is exchanged, hundreds of simulated cartridges expended as no-man’s land turns into a sea of flechettes. Stalemated, the firefight continues without another casualty, loud bell sounding across the pool as the training session ends.

Sending a disappointed sigh, the woman roars through the radio. “THAT WAS FUCKING ATROCIOUS!!! GET YOUR ASSES OUT OF THE POOL NOW!!!”

Taking a deep, calming breath, Sergeant Major Lee turns to the instructors as within the chamber the humanoid shapes of combat space suits begin to surface.

Built as a ramp, the forms of trainees slowly pull themselves out of the water as they hike up the incline; exhausted and battered from hours of training. Removing manned maneuvering units, stripping down combat suits, half the class of twenty settle themselves onto the slightly wet surface of concrete.

A few of them splay themselves out on the pool’s edge, removing helmets and catching their breaths. One notices the Lieutenant, and he attempts to stand as he tries to give a full salute.

“At ease.” Lieutenant Keys tries to hold in a laugh, the memories of his own time spent in the Tank returning with undue pleasure and pain. “Good work in there guys.”

“Thank you, sir.” They all wheeze out.

“ALRIGHT COME ON KIDS WE’VE STILL GOT AN AFTERNOON LEFT!” Sergeant Major Lee barks as she returns from her discussion with the instructors. “YOU GOT AN HOUR FOR BREAK SO THAT’S PLENTY! MASTER SERGEANT?!”

One of the instructors arrives shortly, carrying a backpack chalk full of prepackaged nutrient paste meals. “Alright people, no-throws for lunch.”

A few groans, a few mumbles, but eating food realistic in an actual orbital combat scenario. The thick gel-like matter sucked through airlocked straws was as bland as was nutritious, undeniably healthy but soul crushing to eat.

“I’d recommend the bread pudding or vanilla shake.” Admiral Tucker speaks up as he slowly strolls over to the group. “Avoid anything acidic or spicy, it’s not as good on the way up.”

“Speaking from experience sir?” An exhausted trainee asks.

“There’s a reason why the helmet has a liquid purge procedure.” The Admiral answers. “And everyone eventually tries it out.”

From the entrance sunlight spills forth, a petite figure finding her way into the facility with a slightly confused look.

“Mercier!” Lieutenant Keys waves her towards the observation monitors, the Corporal following as ordered.

Firing a salute as she approaches, Keys dismisses her with a wave. “At ease.”

“Lieutenant.” Corporal Mercier nods. “I thought the meeting was in twenty minutes.”

“Me too…” Keys smiles at her question. “But since Admiral Tucker was here I decided to drop by. I guess this brings back some memories right?”

Mercier betrays a small smile. “Of course.”

Echoing through the chamber the discussion between Admiral and Recruits finds its pace, ancient wisdom and fresh faces drawn to each other like moons in orbit. 

Out of nowhere Sergeant Major Lee grabs the Corporal in a headlock, laughing wildly. “MERCIER!!!”

Completely unfazed and expression neutral, her response holds near no emotion. “Madam.” 

The Sergeant Major smiles, turning her headlock to a deep hug as she pulls the smaller frame in. “Good to know that you’re doing well after last year.”

“Thank you Madam.”

Lieutenant Keys awkwardly stands aside, looking away as the left hand of the Sergeant Major suddenly pulls him in. “Don’t you think you can sit out a hug there Lieutenant.”

A few seconds pass as Keys feels his ribs compressing, air let out of his frame in a pitiful wheeze. Letting go of the pair the woman nods at Mercier’s slight smile. “What brings you out here Corporal?”

“Ah she’s with me.” Admiral Tucker waves as he stands up from the trainees. “Corporal Mercier, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person.”

“Yes Admiral, it is a pleasure to meet you.” Mercier repeats coldly.

Stopping, the woman frowns. “You piece of shit you looped her into your Task Force Thirty One didn’t you? You fucker.”

“Op sec, can’t say anything else.” The man raises his hands defensively.

“Listen Mercier if you need…”

“I am fine Madam.” The Corporal nods.

Sergeant Major Lee ruffles the girl’s longer hair. “I’m glad to see that you’ve grown up to be a good little Marine. Stay safe and kill some Javees for me will ya?”

“Yes Madam.” Corporal Mercier smiles.

Glancing between Keys and Mercier, Admiral Tucker clears his throat. “I guess it’s time for us to go? Unless you wanted to do something, Corporal.”

“I am fine.” Mercier nods. “Madam.”

“Hey, next time you two are here off-duty call up first so we can catch up.” The Sergeant Major points to the Lieutenant and Corporal. “Though, with what the Admiral’s doing up there I’d doubt you’d get any leave time in the fucking first place.”

“I’ll try and get them some vacation time every once in a while.” Admiral Tucker begins strolling out towards the exit. “Come on.”

Closing in towards the middle of November, the entire city of Los Angeles was still warmer than most other major cities along the coast. Pushing almost twenty-five degrees centigrade, most of the personnel currently outside were wearing standard issue jackets on top of their light-blue fatigues.

On a distant horizon the skyscrapers of Los Angeles’ downtown shoot up into a clear skyline; frames dominated by massive monolithic towers of corporate strength. The closest one, the Lee-Peisic Heavy Industries’ headquarters building, seemed to almost give out a sense of vertigo with its sheer mass.

Admiral Tucker opens his pocket, pulling out a small box of hard-candy sticks. “You know when I was growing up Los Angeles had the worst air quality in the United States. Ranked number one in the United States for deaths caused by lung disease, couldn’t even see downtown from here because of how thick it got.”

“What changed?” Lieutenant Keys asks.

Flipping the top open, the man waves the box between the two present members of Marauder Squad. 

Shaking their heads in rejection, the Admiral puts one in his mouth as he slips it back into his uniform. “A lot of stuff. Actually, when I was born basically everyone thought we would be the last generation on Earth; climate change, a massive pandemic, and the threat of a nuclear world war was basically my childhood. But look at us now. We really turned it around haven’t we?”

Waving outward to the skyline, both Keys and Mercier stare into the distance. Admiral Tucker shakes his head as he claps himself on the back. “Great work us.”

The Lieutenant and Corporal exchange a look, the marines’ internal conversation finished with a light nod.

Keys speaks up. “So what’s this “high level” Task Force Thirty-One briefing about anyway?”

“We’re going to be talking about that after lunch.” Admiral Tucker snaps his fingers. “I was going to ask you two if you have any preference.”

“They still serve burritos on Thursdays right?” Keys asks Mercier.

“They do.”

“Mess hall.” Keys answers.

Admiral Tucker frowns at the pair’s answer. “Really.”

“Mess hall.” Mercier echoes.

“I can’t believe this. When Ling and Perez come around we’ll need to put this to a vote you hear me?”

Lieutenant Keys laughs. “Obviously Admiral you have not had the pleasure of inhaling burritos after only eating no-throws for breakfast and lunch. Even if they were cold we could scarf them down like dogs. I think it was the only thing keeping us alive for Friday's P.T.”

“Is this why the Admiralty Board got a complaint last year for this Facility’s Menu rotation? Cause the Sergeant Major sent us a strongly worded letter about that.”

“Yes.” Mercier answers.

“You were the ones who dealt with that?!” The Lieutenant turns. “What happened?”

“The Sergeant Major bought burritos from a… magasin de burrito? Place to buy burrito instead of mess hall.”

“A taqueria.” The Admiral informs.

“Used her own money. Was not as good.”

Kyes nods. “Yeah when those things were removed from the Tank’s mess it was all over the networks. Felt like the end of the world.”

“Is it good that the only real scandal to hit the Force recently is the fact that they removed something from a mess hall?” The Admiral asks with grave concern. “Or is that bad?”

“Bad.” Mercier states.

Out in the compound gates a pair of figures are stopped by the armed guard on duty, I.D. cards scanned and orders verified.

“We’re going to be eating at the mess.” Keys concludes as he stands ready for a greeting. “Too many good memories to not go there.”

Waving, the forms of Captain Perez and Master Sergeant Shu Ling are easily distinguished in the streaming sunlight, relaxed smiles on fast approach towards the group.

The Master Sergeant is the first to speak up, raising his hand in a salute. “Admiral, Keys, Mercier!”

“At lease Ling.” Keys replies with a slight excitement to his tone before noting the man’s slight tan. “Man you look like you’ve actually had a vacation.”

The man grins, waving towards Captain Perez. “Spent most of time out in Monaco. Lots of beach, lots of sun. Good time. Though, I live with her parents for the stay there, I think her father dislikes me.”

“I dunno man it's not like her dad owns the largest private power company in west Europe. You don’t think he likes marrying his daughter off to some random marine she met while running away from home?”

Ling stares at his friend with an unamused expression, Keys continuing. “Have you tried showing him your talents?”

“My talents?”

“Have you tried killing him?” Keys jokes.

“He has bodyguards…”

“That’s what makes it a talent.”

A few meters away Corporal Mercier nods to the approaching figure. “Captain.”

National accent recognized and processed; Captain Perez replies with perfect French. “Vous êtes donc le caporal Mercier?”

“Euh, oui Capitaine.” The Corporal replies with barely veiled surprise. 

“Ah, Je ne m'attendais pas à ce que tu sois si mignon!” The Captain chuckles to herself. “Veuillez prendre soin de ces imbéciles, d'accord?”

“You just called us fools?” Ling speaks up from his conversation. 

Mercier eyes the Captain. “Le Master Sergeant parle français?”

“Oh all he knows is Chinese and English.” Perez replies, winking at Ling. “爱你, Shu Shu. ”

“Love you too…” Ling replies carefully.

“I think we can do the reunion talk over lunch.” Admiral Tucker interrupts with a hollow face. “There’s a really good Chinese restaurant a few blocks…”

To call them “burritos” was a stretch. Able to fit in one’s palm, their tiny forms were machine folded and packed into uniform shapes. Standardized to the ounce, each one contained the perfect blend of synthetic beef, guacamole salsa, and Mexican rice all wrapped up in a baked corn tortilla.

It wasn’t unheard of for an especially hungry trainee to consume three plates at a time, with seconds following soon. The brutality of endless simulated warfare tolling on frail bodies, the decadence consumed within whitewashed halls a total necessity to keep one’s health and sanity.

Though, the taste was much different without the five hours of training beforehand. Context, in its physical embodiment, seemed to give the sub-par food item an almost divine sense; now shaken to its rawest, most disappointing revelation. 

“These are… ok.” Captain Perez finally admits.

“Yeah…” Keys agrees as he finishes his third. “They taste exactly the same, but at the same time worse. I can’t explain it…”

Both Master Sergeant Ling and Corporal Mercier take a glance at each other, their own controversial opinions smothered as Admiral Tucker crams another one into his mouth. “I don’t know what you guys are talking about, these are really good. I’m not surprised you people complained as hard as you did.”

All of the Marines stare at one another, unspoken words received to Lieutenant Keys. The Marine of highest rank speaks, putting on a smile. “So Admiral, you said we’re here for a meeting?”

“Yes, you are.” Admiral Tucker nods as he notes the impatience of his trope. “Though, I don’t think you would like who it is we’re meeting with.”

“Who is it?” Keys inquires.

Taking their glances in, he sighs. “You sure you aren’t going to do anything… brash?”

“Have you considered us brash?” Lieutenant Keys looks around the group, immediately regretting his statement.

“Officer Carter Solomon.” Admiral Tucker announces. “Vacuum Exiles Division, Orbital Security Company.”

The entirety of the group freezes at the designation, the ancient name immediately enacting an instinct driven home by brutal combat.

“Admiral…” Lieutenant Keys begins.

Admiral Tucker sighs. “It’s a mutual exchange. We’ll be getting some intel for an OP we’ll be running later this month.”

Captain Perez stares at the Flag Officer with deadly intent. “You watch them with a close eye you understand sir?”

“Oh that’s your job.” Admiral Tucker takes a stack of orders from within his uniform, setting them on the steel table. “Armory access authorization for this facility. I’ll need every one of you in full kit when we meet him in half an hour.”

“Full kit?” Master Sergeant Ling raises an eyebrow. “Like gear for urban combat?”

“It’s a small room, submachine guns and maybe a GSW-MP for you Captain.” The Admiral smiles. “Hopefully the mutual comradery will prevail, and we don’t end up with a shootout.”

“They get poached, they’re no longer with us.” Lieutenant Keys echoes. “If you run off for the half-million then you’re on the wrong end of the gun.”

“I’m sure that…”

“No guards with him?” Ling asks.

Admiral Tucker exhales. “We told him to meet alone, but it seems like he’s brought two of their Operators with him.”

“He made a mistake.” The Master Sergeant glances over at his marine team, the mantle of command arriving at the corner of his lips. “We have advantage in persons and guns.”

“Please show that to your best ability.” Admiral Tucker agrees, taking a pause. “Just… try not to have a shootout? I still have some contacts in the O.S.C., and I don’t want this to end up on the news.”

“Do not worry Admiral, we will keep it…” The Master Sergeant pauses as he tries to find the correct word. “Cool.”