Hawkers opened her eyes, slowly. She cherished every single moment, and thought to herself, and how lucky she and her crew had been.
“We were a brand new crew on an old beat up Buzzard. We survived a Zerg ambush. We were boarded, and with a minimal loss of Marines, we beat back those bastard creatures. We ran from our fleet, which was destroyed. We lived. We navigated an asteroid field while our ship was falling apart. We made an in-atmosphere landing without crashing and loosing any more of my ship. And this tin can is still repairable.
“Hopefully”, thought Captain Hawker.
“Hey, Cap’n, you still with us?” It was Culmers’ voice. He was standing over her, having undone his harness and standing to congratulate the rest of the bridge crew on a job well done.
“Yeah. I’m still here, Sean.” It was the first time that Hawkers had used the private’s first name. She opened her eyes and looked up at Sean, standing over her, his mouth agape in disbelief.
“You … know my … name?” Came the stuttered reply from the young enlistee.
“‘Course I do. I’m s’posed to, Private.” Hawkers smiled. “Get off board, get to quarters, and get some rest. We’re gonna meet in crew mess at 2000 SCT. Late tonight, after everything settles down. Get on the Com and alert the crew. We’re gonna need to chat about our … predicament,” said Hawkers, knocking on the deck.
“Oh. I gotcha,” came the reply from Culmers. “We gotta fix our boat, right?”
Hawkers nodded, smiling.
“Ooh, I see. We’re up shit creek without the paddle, ain’t we, Cap’n??”
Hawkers just kept on nodding.
“I’m on the Com. We’ll fix’er up!”
Culmers walked back to his station, kicking aside the MRE containers on the floor where the bridge crew had strewn their trash after their Meals-Ready-to-Eat. He brushed aside some now loose wiring and grabbed the microphone, and began giving orders.
Akesen walked over from the damage assessment station, and sat down on the floor next to his captain, who had now slid onto the ground, looking around in vain.
“Cap’n, you okay?”
“I’m fine, Joe. Just exhausted and at wits end. I couldn’t tell Private Culmers, but since you’re staff, I’ll fill you in. C’mon, let’s get off and go to the officer’s mess.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Akesen signaled for Freeman to come with them, and the three started off to the ship’s ramp way down in the belly, to get off board and head down to the mess. The three dropped down the ladder running up into the bridge, and walked down a long, sparsely lit corridor, to the gaping mouth of a entry ramp.
Hawkers’, Akesen’s, and Freeman’s flight boots softly clicked as they walked down the ramp. Any noise made, however, was drowned out by the bustled around the aft section of near the cargo hold, where Commander Mike Ramirez and his 238th “Switch Blades” were unloading their gear. Cargosleds were moving back and forth, bringing crates of food, ammunition, and weapons off of the elevators and placing the crates onto larger Gravsleds for transport to the armory or the supply depots.
Even though they were still in the shade underneath the hull of the freighter, Hawkers pulled out her sunglasses and slipped them onto her head, resting them on top of her shoulder length dirty blonde hair. She had a feeling she would need them, based on the glare coming from the suns above. Akesen and Freeman took her cue, pulling theirs out, as the three of them quickened their pace to the edge of the duracrete on the starport. They passed a few small beacons and taped off areas on the tarmac, as they approached the edge of the LZ.
“Wow.” Akesen spoke first. Standing a few feet from the 700-foot drop off the edge of the landing tarmac, the officer crew of Eagle 7 stared into the landscape.
The Confederacy’s base sat along lee side of a ridgeline, nestled on the mesa between two very large valleys. The starport’s edge was right up against one side of the mesa, and Hawkers, Akesen, and Freeman stood there staring, mouths open, looking over a huge plain of sand and pack dirt. Gigantic rifts tore through the desert at regular intervals, and a foreboding-looking dolomite mountain range jutted out of the ground several kilometers to the west. They had some signs of green along the upper fringe, but at the current distance, it was far too difficult to tell. On the other side of the mesa, the sharp drop quickly flattened out into an expansive plain that stretched to the horizon. Occasionally, large rock formations jutted through the surface, lending their sun baked hulks to cast shadows across the parched land.
“That’s rather … lifeless, don’t you think?” Said Akesen.
“Oh yes. No Zerg are gonna get us here, ever,” added Freeman, squinting into the distance.
Behind them, Hawkers heard a shuffling of steps. She turned her shoulders, and saw Mike Ramirez and his XO, Lieutenant Commander Krista Lozupone walking up behind them.
“Hey, are you the Captain of that ship?”
Hawkers nodded.
“That was some fancy flying up there. Thanks for saving our asse- …”
Ramirez and Lozupone stopped in their tracks and staring, mouths gaping, into the wilderness.
“There’s nothing out there!” Shouted Lozupone.
Hawkers just turned back and smiled. After checking with Akesen and Freeman, she turned back around.
“You were saying, Commander?”
“Oh, yeah, um … thanks again for keepin’ our hides alive back there. We owe you one.”
“No problem. Where are you guys headed now?”
Lozupone spoke up. “My men are going over to the barracks. In fact, they should be shuttle jumping there right now. We’re going to TacCom to get our orders, for now, until we can blow out of here and find something to do. I’m imagining we’re going to be on this rock for a long time, judging by looking at your ship back there.”
Hawkers finally turned around, and noticed Eagle 7’s hull. It was charred and blackened all over, bearing battle scars and close calls with the Zerg during the big ship’s flight from the enemy. At one point, just aft of the bridge, the hull was actually blistered from the damage, where the atmosphere had pushed outward against the hull. The hole in Cargo Hold 1 stretched almost twelve meters across, and the larger blast scars on top stretched for meters across twisted, torn, blackened metal.
“Oh shit,” the three officers said, almost in unison.
Hawkers, staring, said “Yeah, we are gonna be here a while. Might as well make the most of it. Shit! I wanted to get on with life.”
“Actually, Captain, as I already said, we’re not going anywhere either,” quipped Lozupone as her CO was looking at the personnel roster.
“Hey, what are you two doing for meals tonight?” asked Freeman, who had waited until Hawkers had moved off to the landing tower, to get orders and directions to bunks.
“Umm, right now, nothing. Why do you ask?”
“Why don’t just you guys join us this evening? Officer’s mess, here in the Starport. I haven’t checked it out yet, but I’m assuming it’ll be in Sector 7-D, level 18. Come and join us. Cap’n wanted to talk to you guys.”
“Sure. That’ll work. But, actually …” Ramirez looked at his chronograph. “It’s 1356 now. Let’s meet, say, 1800? I need to check in with the men tonight, make sure everything is okay. We’re going to debrief and suit up for a night run.”
“That’ll work,” said Akesen. “I’m gonna catch up with Jamie before she runs away for good.” He smiled. “I’ll see you guys tonight, then.” With that, Freeman and Akesen trotted off, shouting to Hawkers through the wisps of fuel rising off the tarmac surface.
“What was all that about, do you suppose, Mike?” Asked Lozupone to her commanding officer.
“I don’t know. I wanted to check in with TacCom and see if my men could run some exercises tonight, after it gets dark. I want them to know this terrain. I don’t like it here. It’s too …dead. Something is out there. I can feel it.”
“Whatever, Mike. You always say that,” snorted Lozupone. “We’re safe here. Remember planetary bios coming in? The Zerg didn’t even last 48 hours on planet. After their brood was driven from orbit once, three years ago, they didn’t even bother coming back. And we’re deep into the Dead Zone, Mike. We’re safe here.”
“Krista, I never said it was the Zerg. I have a really bad gut feeling here. I don’t like it. That’s all.”
“Fine, fine, Mike. Let’s say we go check in with your boys, eh?” she said with a smile.
With that, they left, and headed for the freight elevators to head down to the shuttle dock. The two marines passed by the landing tower, where Hawkers shot them a wave, as the two trotted across to small, squat, black building. Stepping underneath the overhang and leaving the suns’ vicious rays behind, a small holographic diagram appeared. Lozupone waved her hand through it and found the shuttle deck. She stabbed her finger in the air, and about 5 meters above, red klaxons began to sound. A moment later, the elevator dropped out of sight, in relative darkness, and fell for a few seconds before coming to a stop. The two stepped off, as other passengers and Gravsleds boarded, and they made their way down a few corridors to the shuttle bay. The halls still smelled of metal and fresh paint.
Arriving at the shuttle dock, Ramirez and Lozupone waited for a few minutes until a long, slender shuttle zipped into the station, before settling down from the MagRail. Other military and civilian personnel disembarked, and Ramirez and Lozupone stepped on board and took their seats on the relatively empty car. A momentary humming sounded, as the doors closed and the automated train rose a few feet above the MagRail as the propulsion vents were re-activated. Then, with a rush of air and increase in pressure, the train sped off, down the shuttle tube, toward the Command Center.
While on the train, Ramirez and Lozupone gazed out the window at the newly built Confederate base. Although Ramirez was an experienced officer, with nearly eight years of experience in the corps, it never ceased to amaze him how big an army base really was. Having grown up on Salaris, a farming planet, Michael Ramirez had come from a small town, and a large family. When he entered boot camp on Tarsonis itself, he was completely shocked by the size of the buildings and the machinery. Farming tools and automatons had been big, to him, but the new robots and the sheer magnitude of the buildings had completely overwhelmed him. He stared now, across the sandy expanse of the interior of the Confederate base.
Around the nine kilometer square facility rose a thick wall of ferrocrete, probably fifty feet tall. At regular intervals there rose squat, pillbox-like towers. From past experience, Ramirez knew those towers held Corporate Strike Systems’ MK-23 “Thunkers” – twin barreled autocannons that made the ones mounted on the Goliath look like peashooters. Representing the newest line of Confederate Base Defense, “Thunkers” were capable of putting a hole the size of a hoverball in an AraTech Siege Tank. Each turret was automated, and there were two sets of autocannons per tower. Judging by their regularity, Ramirez assumed there had been some prior military maneuvering or fighting here on Danthor IX.
Scanning his eyes inside the wall, Ramirez saw the classic layout of a Confederate base. Supply Depots occupied the corners of the base and rode right up against the wall, except along the eastern edge, where the spires of two armories and an engineering bay rose into the bright sky. The remainder of the base was laid out in sixteen squares, with major cross paths every few hundred meters. The central four sections were reserved for all Tactical Control Units, and the Command Center. The Barracks were located in the four ‘corners’ of the inner sixteen grid. The four barracks rose into the sky like the rocks on Danthor IX did – dark, ugly, and unwanted. The barrack in quadrant 4-1 was where the 238th would be staying.
In the remaining sections of the grid, war factories and the occasional starport rose into the sky. To the northwest, Ramirez saw a starport taking shape as it was constructed, with the fighter hangar being build as he stared. Every so often, small sparks told him that SCVs were welding or cutting the sheets of durasteel that would make up the hangar decks and walls. Smaller droids or ships hovered around the huge starport like gnats or no-see-ums, delivering construction materials or supporting the construction process in one manner or another. Ramirez guessed that this particular starport would be operation inside of two weeks. The hangar deck was located only four levels below the Receiving Tarmac; the same sort of tarmac where Eagle 7 had landed only a half hour before.
Ramirez, however, was startled when his eye was caught by a large gaping hole, surrounded in metal and rising very low off the ground. Large elevators seemed to be carrying SCVs and other vehicles up and down, and a Vespene Refinery was being built near the bottom of the pit.
“Hmm, that’s interesting,” thought Ramirez, “they’ve never found minerals below the surface like that before. Vespene, in particular, always needs to escape to the surface. And from the looks of it, I bet that hole was already here when the Confederacy arrived. I’ll find the Chief Engineer here before we re-deploy. I want to find out how this place got set up.”
Ramirez had served three years in the Engineering Corps before joining the Mobile Infantry. He had fought on Char and had been one of the initial Alpha Squadron boys, who, under General Duke, had set down on Antiga Prime. Then Master Sergeant Michael Ramirez had been responsible for setting up Alpha Squadron’s base, before Jim Raynor and the Antigan Rebels had destroyed or captured it.
Next to him, Lieutenant Commander Krista Lozupone was staring wide-eyed at the base. Although only twenty-three years old, she had every bit as much experience as any of her subordinates in the 238th. Born and raised on Mandrowl, a planet with almost 85 percent of the surface covered with water, and having gone through basic training there, Lozupone was unfamiliar with an environment with so little water. She had deployed on Chau Sara, which still had had it’s far share of lakes and oceans. But here, there was nothing.
The buxom young XO stared out the window, past her semi-reflection, looking around at the buildings. Lozupone had never ‘officially’ been stationed at a Confederate base. Her doomed deployment on Chau Sara had consisted of sleeping in ten and fifteen-minute intervals while hunkered down in bunkers, or on the bare ground, when no space was available. Having served only two years of official duty in the Marine Corps, both with the 238th, Lozupone had never set foot inside the walls of a Confederate base. And now, having arrived at one, she marveled in its size.
Like Ramirez, she was shocked by the expanse of land covered by the fort. She saw the Command Center, glistening like a metallic mushroom, growing up out of the center of the establishment. It was gigantic compared to the shuttle tubes that ran out of middle level at regular intervals. The tubes, being about six meters wide, looked like nothing more than fine threads emanating from its sides. Up, towards the top, another ring of shuttle tubes came out, being a little bit larger in size for freight and troop ferrying. Lozupone marveled in its size, and thought to herself that the building must have been at least 300 meters wide, and 150 to 200 tall.
Focusing her attention on the barracks, she saw them grow up out of the ground. Each side was covered with small, identical windows that rose fifteen or twenty high. The building itself glistened in the high afternoon sun, with the light reflecting off the walls and striking nearby objects, casting secondary shadows. The huge, compact landing gear buffered the barrack, as it rocked ever so gently in the gusting winds. The northern and eastern faces of the building were sandblasted and scorched by the heat of the sun, lending an air of danger to the pervading atmosphere. Down, on the ground, marines the size of ants walked out of the exit ramp, and seemed to be wearing their CMC-300 powered combat suits. Must be an afternoon patrol, she thought to herself quietly.
Turning around, Lozupone stared for a moment out the far side of the shuttle’s windows. She saw small clouds of dust being kicked up by Vultures, but quickly dissipating as the winds blew them away. Patrols of three or four were criss-crossing the terrain, probably mapping out any surface irregularities. Farther, toward the horizon, several HAPCs sped towards the maw of the main gate on the southern edge of the base. As they neared, Lozupone noticed they had small sand drifts on top. The hover transports slowed as they neared the entrance, and then zipped in, heading towards another barracks to drop off their human cargo of marines, firebats, and probably a few comm. engineers.
The shuttle swung left, shooting past a series of rising girders of some building under construction, and then sped off towards the command center. Lozupone turned back in from looking out the window, and faced Ramirez.
“So, Mike, what do you think they’re gonna make us do here?” she asked matter-of-factly.
“Shit, Krista, I don’t know. I just don’t want to get stuck on some godforsaken babysitting job, watching the little SCVs gather mineral and gas while we make sure that the stupid crystals don’t attack them. I take back what I said earlier. There’s nothing here,” Ramirez said, again surveying the landscape. “I want to get out tonight and tomorrow morning, get some maps and play some games with the troops. Make sure they’re still up to doin’ their work.”
“That’d be fun. Being in transit for the past few weeks has taken my edge off. I want to go down to the range and get a little bit of practice in, then, if we’re going to go off and do that tonight.”
“Hehe. You do that, Krista,” Ramirez smiled. “Then, tonight when we’re out poppin’ off at each other, the guys’ll laugh at you when you fall down from exhaustion and start snoring right in front of them!” Ramirez started to laugh, almost uncontrollably. Lozupone just glowered at him, her brown eyebrows frowning at her commanding officer.
“God, Mike! Do I need to remind you that I was on Chau before? I can go for days without sleep, and get by on caffeine and adrenaline.” She snorted at him, defiantly. “I’ll be okay.”
“Whatever.”
The shuttle train finished its three-minute long run, and pulled in to its stop at the command center. The light humming came to a stop, as the train settled down on its MagRail. Doors hissed open, and Ramirez disembarked, with Lozupone right behind him. Carrying themselves with authority, they strode down the pale gray hallway into an open junction, one of many communal gathering centers within the command center.
Speakers around the walls relayed orders and information to various personnel. The Confederate AI system could be heard paging several people at once. The room, however, was expansive. It stretched probably forty or fifty feet into the air, and was probably just as wide. The large circular floor plan was aesthetically laid out, with a small fountain with a few shrubs and trees growing, up in the center of the room. Industrial style stairs led to the upper level, where even more hallways led off to even more junctions. Transteel windows along the outer wall let some natural light in, but a soft white light coming from the glow panels on the ceiling was enough. Overall, the room, like many others in a confederate installation, was designed to calm its occupants and remove the outside world.
Ramirez strode over to a wall mounted AI interface unit, while Lozupone looked up and slowly spun in circles, taking the room in. She had never been inside a command center.
“Krista, come here. It’s really not that great. Plus, not all of the command center is like this. Most of it, down below, has the processing facilities for the gas and minerals. That’s some ugly rooms.”
“’Kay boss,” replied Lozupone nonchalantly. She slowly walked over to the interface unit where Ramirez was busy bringing up building schematics from their current location to head the TacCom, the nerve center for the entire confederate base.
“Display.” Ramirez spoke in a flat, even tone, as he command the AI to map their current position from their junction to TacCom, apparently located near the top of the command center.
A holographic logo of the Confederacy appeared, rotating in the air, while the AI blandly spat out “…Working. Please wait. … Here, Commander Michael Ramirez.” A solid hologram of the command center appeared, and then was lightened as the AI adjusted the light to give an interior view. A green line traced from Ramirez’ and Lozupone’s position through the command center. The line changed to yellow, and then red, indicating the security clearance required to get into those parts of the command center. When the line had ended in a red blip, marked ‘TacCom,’ the AI spoke again.
“Commander, all personnel traveling above level thirteen must have S-2 clearance. All personnel wishing to access TacCom must have S-3 clearance. Do not attempt any form of military takeover or coup. Resistance will be neutralized. Welcome to Fort Jacobs, Commander. Thank you.”
“So that’s what this place is called,” spat Lozupone at the computer, as the map faded back to the rotating confederate logo. “It’s my first time in one of these behemoths, and I already hate the AI.”
“Get used to it, Krista. Let’s go. It’s already 1422,” Ramirez said as he checked his chronograph. “It’ll take us a while to pass security for the first time, especially with us being uninvited. Let’s get going. I want to meet at 1800 for dinner with our saviors.” Ramirez winked.
With that, they strode off to the elevator, located at the end of one of the long, faceless corridors. While passing other military and civilian personnel, Ramirez and Lozupone attempted to brush up their uniforms as best as they could. Having been in transit in heavy fatigues, the marines had arrived and promptly changed to lightweight clothing. The mottled green, tan, and olive uniforms had been in good shape, yes, but they still looked bad. After stepping onto the S-2 elevator, both Ramirez and Lozupone stripped out of their BDU top and rolled up the sleeves, and then put the shirts back on. Dog tags were tucked away, and formal ID badges, issued by Military High Command, were put directly below the sewn on nametags, and were clipped right below the right breast pocket. When the elevator stopped a few moments later, Commander Michael Ramirez and Lieutenant Commander Krista Lozupone stepped off, looking sharper than before.
In front of them was the first S-2 entryway. Two marines stood at attention by the doorway, each armed with a service sidearm. Holsters were unbuckled, and the marine’s eyes followed the two new arrivals approach down the short corridor. A third secretary was sitting behind a thick transteel window. He had a 2D computer, and small access port, similar to a bank. Ramirez and Lozupone walked over to him, and presented their ID badges under the slot. Each badge had a photo ID, serial number, retinal scan, rank, and fingerprint ID on them. However, at this checkpoint, only the photo ID and serial number were necessary to achieve entrance to certain parts of TacCom. A few clicks with a holographic mouse and typing on the keyboard led the secretary to return the ID badges and state a simple sentence.
“Welcome to Tactial Management Center. Enjoy your visit.” The secretary had been kind, and had a bit too upbeat of a voice, but Ramirez ignored him. Lozupone followed suit, and the two walked through the opening doorway of durasteel.
Passing through, Lozupone noticed how it was almost half a meter thick. The electronic locks whined and hissed, and the door, despite weighing several tons, slid back into place as if weighed nothing.
Upon entering, Ramirez quickened his pace and followed a yellow-lined pathway through the TMC. Around him, doorways led to various control offices or officer’s quarters. The area was luxurious, and almost rich. Lozupone stared with great interest, but Ramirez just grunted as they strode to another bank of elevators, with one marine on guard again. Ramirez pressed the elevator button, which turned red. Presently, a small yellow line zipped down the button, scanning his fingerprint. The elevator opened, and Ramirez entered.
Lozupone tried to follow, but a harsh, blaring alarm sounded, as the marine guard whipped out his sidearm and shouted “FREEZE!”
Lozupone stepped back in horror. A second marine sprinted from around a corner and drew his gun as he ran up, aiming it at Lozupone, and speaking into his collar-mounted microphone. The alarm stopped a moment later.
“Ma’am, I’d like to ask you to step away please and scan your finger on the access button.” Came the soft, stern tone from the second marine.
“Oh … um … I’m sorry. I’m … new here. I’ve … never … been in a comma-”
“Ma’am, just scan your finger.”
Lozupone stabbed her left thumb onto the button, and it turned red, with the yellow line scanning her fingerprint. A soft green tone sounded, and a scared Krista Lozupone stepped onto the elevator, next to a smiling Mike Ramirez.
“Have a good day, ma’am.” The second marine nodded, as both replaced their guns in their holsters.
“Thank … Thank you.” The door slid shut, and Lozupone turned to stare at her now laughing partner.
“What! Why you! You didn’t tell me! I’M GONNA GET YOU!” She screamed at him, her fair skinned face turning bright red.
“Ya … you look … like … a strawberry,” was all that Ramirez could choke out, as he was laughing harder than before.
“MIKE! I’M GONNA GET YOU!!!” howled Lozupone. But now, even she was laughing. Both of them began to laugh uncontrollably, to the point where Lozupone fell down on the floor and was rolling around, kicking her feet in the air.
A soft tone sounded. The elevator stopped moving, and a speaker announced “Welcome to TacCom. Please prepare all necessary identification.”
The door hissed open, and a dark blue hallway greeted them. They strode down, still giggling. Several paces, and the hallway opened up into a room that ended with a huge durasteel wall in front of them. This time, two marines stood at attention, dressed in light battle armor. Each one bore a C-16d “Shredder” machine gun, and as Lozupone walked up, she heard a soft ‘click’ as safeties were set flicked off. Her gut suddenly turned upside down, and she faltered. Ramirez simply proceeded to the first checkpoint station. Lozupone followed up behind him.
A computerized voice spoke, as the marines unslung their guns from their backs, and pointed the barrels at the ground, turning their bodies to follow the Ramirez and Lozupone. Ramirez stepped up first, and Lozupone stopped at the yellow line painted on the floor, as one of the marines held an open palm in front of her. He had a calm, stern look on his face.
“Please enter password now.” Ramirez punched in his thirteen-digit code number, one given only to officers and their XOs.
“Thank you. Please proceed to the retinal scan.” Ramirez bent over and placed his chin in the designated area, as a strobe light flashed. Ramirez stepped back.
“Thank you. You may proceed.” But Ramirez stepped back, and punched a keypad on the wall, next to the door. The voice spoke again.
“Will member two of Commander Michael Ramirez’ party please step forward.”
“That must be me,” Lozupone grunted under her breath, as she stepped up and repeated the same procedure as Ramirez had, moments before.
“Thank you. You may proceed.” Both stepped back as the door began to quietly click and hum. A small electric sound came from behind the door, and the door slowly rotated open, into it’s slot. They stepped through.
Lozupone looked around in amazement. The door had been built to take a beating. The wall and door combination was at least five meters thick, with the door mechanism being solid. The doors themselves were approximately one and a half meters thick, and on a rotating base, so that the inner and outer door opened at once. As she entered, Lozupone suddenly felt chilled. The climate control set temperatures in TacCom several degrees lower than the ambient temperature, and she shivered for a moment, walking behind Ramirez.
“Well, at least this time, you didn’t forget,” spoke Ramirez in a hushed tone, as the hallway’s only two occupants walked down to a second doorway, which hissed up into the ceiling as they approached.
Lozupone responded as they walked through the doorway, into TacCom. “Ha ha.” She glanced at her chronograph as they walked in. The time was 1453 CST. Seven hours.
