Admiral Sonya Berg

Location: CWS Spectre, Syracuse System, United Commonwealth of Colonies

A rhythmic pinging echoed through the hull of the small ship. The ship was a cross between a luxury yacht and a mail carrier. The exterior was unadorned, simple, and built for speed. Mail carriers were the fastest way beside an Alcubierre-capable drone to get information across the galaxy.

The interior was a different story. It was still a small ship, with room for less than a dozen people, but the crew assigned to it traveled in style. Most of the crew was crammed into the small bridge for the final approach to their destination. The captain was a young-looking lieutenant commander who doubled as the pilot of the small craft. The XO was also the navigator, and a Senior Chief Petty Officer was in charge of everything else. The NCO was a master engineer specifically trained to deal with the high-performance engine on the ship, as well as operating the formidable weapons system.

Anyone that tried to mess with the mail carrier look-alike would find it a tough nut to crack with some very sharp teeth.

Two other people were on the bridge as the three-man crew readied for transition. One was a large woman with a permanent scowl tattooed on her face. Despite being in a secure space with a crew they’d worked with for years the woman was still on guard. Her hand permanently rested on the handle of her holstered pistol.

The last person on the bridge was the one responsible for the rhythmic pinging that was echoing through the small space. Every time her foot hit the ground the crew became aware of her growing impatience. Since it happened twice a second it felt like she was screaming, “MOVE…MOVE…MOVE” at them.

Admiral Sonya Berg had a lifetime keeping her emotions a secret. Her face didn’t reveal anything that was going on inside her head, but her foot did. The crew didn’t dare to look back at the Chief of Naval Intelligence, but they knew something was up. It wasn’t every day that you got yanked out of bed and told to fly from New Washington to Syracuse system immediately. High profile visits by someone of the Admiral’s stature usually took a lot of planning and preparation. At a minimum, they would send word ahead to the local commander that someone important was heading their way.

“Transition in three…two…one…” The disguised mail carrier made a smoother transition than other ships in the Commonwealth’s fleet, but the tapping didn’t cease.

There was a line coming out of the launcher, but the Admiral’s personal code allowed them to bypass. Starships didn’t have horns like air-cars, but if they did the pilot expected everyone would be honking at them.

“Spectre, this is Orca-Actual.” We’ve been assigned to escort you in. Follow inbound course one-one-seven. The road is being cleared.” A nearby destroyer informed over TACCOM.

“Much appreciated, Orca. Following inbound course one-one-seven.” They cut the link before anyone could bother the Admiral. She didn’t look like she wanted to talk.

Course one-one-seven led them straight into orbit around Syracuse and toward a giant assault carrier that was Third Fleet’s flagship. The Agincourt was one of the most formidable ships in the galaxy. Her nanite armor and duro-steel hull with an added latticework of nano-tube weaving was six meters thick. She boasted forty energy cannons and two hundred and twenty missile tubes. She was nearly four kilometers long, with a crew compliment of six thousand that did not include the two brigades of marines assigned to her. She was a city in space all by herself, and Aggie – as she was affectionately nicknamed by the crew – was a city ready for war.

Which meant the arrival of one of the highest ranking admirals in the Commonwealth Fleet threw a wrench in everyone’s day.

“We shouldn’t have used my code. These spacers have better things to do.” Admiral Berg’s face soured as they approached the massive carrier.

She hadn’t spoken more than a handful of times since they left New Washington, so no one really knew what to say to that. They didn’t think the CNI waiting in line for several hours was the best use of her time.

Thankfully, the ADM didn’t bring it up again. Everyone kept their eyes on their holo-screens as they maneuvered for landing. The ADM turned to her security detail leader and gave a small cough. The woman nodded and turned her head away. When no one was looking, the ADM took a container from her uniform pocket; she popped it open, emptied two pills into her hand, and tossed them into her mouth. She swallowed without any water and placed the pills back in her pocket.

Within a minute the incessant tapping of her foot stopped, and they made their final approach into the gunboat bay of the colossal carrier. Since Spectre was just over half the size of a gunboat they easily fit into the bay. It was all the troops that were lined up as the ship came to a halt that made it a tight squeeze.

The ADM’s expression remained unreadable, but her head of security raised an eyebrow. “They must have pulled every marine unit doing a uniform inspection.” There were a couple hundred marines in their dress uniforms lined up on either side of Spectre’s hatch that made a pathway toward the bay’s door.

“Docking complete, lowering gangway.” The pilot informed as the ship started to power down.

Without a word the ADM rose from her chair and headed toward the back of the ship. Two other agents from her protective detail met her at the rear hatch. Despite being on a friendly warship the three agents were on high alert. Their charge was one of the most valuable people in the Commonwealth Fleet. Nothing was going to happen on their watch.

“PRESENT ARMS!” The command echoed through the large bay as several hundred arms snapped salutes.

The ADM descended the steps with practiced grace, snapped her own salute to the Commonwealth flag, and then to the officer of the deck. “Permission to come aboard, Lieutenant.”

“Permission granted,” the young woman squeaked.

She stepped back immediately and a much less intimidated man stepped forward. “Welcome to Third Fleet.” Instead of saluting, he extended his hand.

As another full admiral with five golden stripes running down his CMUs, Admiral Michael Ward wasn’t required to salute his equal; even if her job was a little higher up the food chain.

“Thanks, Mike.” Sonya knew the commander of Third Fleet. They’d done a couple training courses together when they were both Captains looking to make flag rank, and they’d kept in touch.

“Your staff is looking a little light.” Mike nodded behind her to where her three security agents were scanning the bay for threats.

“This isn’t an official visit, so there was no need to roll out the red carpet. Can we walk?” As a matter of principle, Sonya didn’t like being in such an exposed position for so long. It dramatically reduced the chances she would lose her head.

“Sure.” The other ADM had half a dozen CAPTs and CMDRs behind him, but they all moved out of the way so the two admirals could move, and then they stayed out of the way when the three large security agents glared at them.

“Give it to me straight, Mike. How bad did they fuck us up?” Sonya waited until they passed out of the crowded bay to ask the question. Her agents would take care of any human or electronic attempts to eavesdrop.

“Truthfully, it could have been a hell of a lot worse.” Despite the blue in Mike’s eyes, his age was showing right now. “Two battlecruisers and three destroyers got caught trying to scramble out of the system. We lost three battleships and the Manchester with all hands. Three more battleships were too damaged to make the jump. We’re hoping the Blockies picked up the survivors and we can organize a prisoner exchange, but you never know with them. Two battleships disappeared somewhere between Rogue Island and here. I’ve got drones scouring the systems, but it could take months. Worst of all, the Blockie fleet has disappeared from the system.”

Sonya did the mental math. “So we’re looking at twenty-five thousand casualties not counting the marines, closer to forty total, and we’ve got another six or seven thousand unaccounted for.” That didn’t even take into consideration the sheer tonnage lost.

It was one of the worst military defeats in recent Commonwealth history – nearly fifty thousand spacers and marines – and Sonya had pushed for it.

“We’re still compiling the casualty list…but it’s looking something like that.” They reached the Fleet Commander’s cabin. The staff peeled off to resume their duties, and the security detail swept the rooms before taking up positions outside.

The two ADMS were finally able to let their guard down. Mike collapsed onto the couch and pulled himself a tall glass of fancy Earth-bourbon. One look at Sonya and he poured her one too.

The stoic CNI’s face had cracked. Tears were leaking down her cheeks and she looked on the verge of completely breaking down. “Mike,” she choked out. “Where is my daughter?”

Gunnery Sergeant Gwen Cunningham

Location: CWS Hoplite, Uncharted system, United Commonwealth of Colonies

“We’re losing her! Get me ten cc’s right now!”

Gwen’s eyelids were too heavy to open. She felt exhausted, everything was sore, and any attempt to move made her head spin.

“Doctor they aren’t programmed,” someone whined.

“I don’t care if they’re not programmed. Some jackass decided that flesh-printing to stop a cerebral hemorrhage was a bright idea. The body is attacking the new tissue, and it’s leaking again. If we don’t get something in there to stem it, this patient is totally and absolutely fucked.”

Gwen finally got her eyes open and immediately shut them. Light streamed down from directly above her. Sounds aside from some foul-mouthed doctor were starting to come back to her. There were lots of people moving around nearby, and the beeps and hums of medical machinery were familiar to Gwen after her lengthy career.

“Shit, she’s coding!” From nearby a steady beeping became a low screech. “Where are those nanites?!”

The sound of footsteps running made Gwen lift her head and look around. The normally clean and tidy sick bay was packed to the gills with people. Some had blood all over them, others were burned, quite a few were unconscious, and more than half had a vacant expression on their face as they stared at nothing in particular.

“Clear!” There was a jolting sound. “No response…Charging…Clear. One more time…”

Gwen knew the outcome even before the doctor started cursing again.

“Time of death, 22:21. Take the nanites back. They’re no good now.” The plastic screen moved and the surgical team stepped away from their patient.

The doctor looked more like a butcher than a surgeon. She was wearing a thick plastic apron over her CMUs. There were two golden stripes barely visible on her sides, so Gwen made the assumption she was the ship’s chief medical officer. She knew she was on a ship by the number of spacers and lack of marines. She could also tell that whatever had happened wasn’t good.

“Good, you’re up.” The doctor caught the GYSGT with her eyes open and walked over.

A PAD was attached to the side of the bed she was laying in. The doctor picked it up and moved it along Gwen’s body.

“You’ve been out for a full day onboard, and I don’t know how long back on the ground. I don’t know what happened to you, but I can tell you something big fell on you and you had pretty severe radiation poisoning.”

“Well shit.” The last thing Gwen remembered was talking with Beastmaster. “Do you at least know where we are?”

“Somewhere between a rock and a hard place.” The doctor shook her head. “Our task force got in a fight with a Blockie fleet, and it didn’t end well. I just know we took some hits, didn’t spend long in Alcubierre, and most of the crew is injured. Despite all of that, I was told by a scary looking sergeant major that I better save you, so you must be important.”

That was a surprise to Gwen, but she didn’t argue. Anything that kept her alive was good in her book.

“Most of your bones have mended, but I want you to take it easy for a few more hours. I’d like for them to set for at least a day, but something tells me that isn’t possible. The radiation is out of your system, but expect a challenge keeping solid food down for the next forty-eight hours. If you piss or shit blood tell me, but otherwise you’ll be fine with time. Try to get a little more sleep. Your body could really use it.”

Gwen would have loved to do just that, but there was a lot of yelling, groaning, and people constantly being brought in or taken out. It wasn’t conducive to sleeping.

It was only made worse by a screeching noise that just seemed to get louder and louder. Something tickled the back of Gwen’s brain, but since her brain still felt concussed she didn’t pay it any attention. It was only when the screeching noise was nearly on top of them did the lightbulb go off.

“Shut and lock the door!” Her body protested as she jumped out of bed, leapt over two people with burns over a good bit of their body, and hit the close and emergency lock button on the door.

“What the hell are you doing, Gunney?” The chief medical officer appeared with a scowl. “We’ve got people to transport.”

“If they’re out there then they’re already dead.”

The doctor looked like she wanted to roll her eyes, but the look on Gwen’s face stopped her short. “Shit you’re serious.”

“Everyone who can move needs to make sure there is no way into this room: vents, ducks, any opening at all needs to be plugged.” The screeching reached its highest pitch yet and then something impacted the other side of the door.

It wasn’t one big thump. It was a continuous racket, like there was a heavy rain pounding on a roof.

“Are we good!” Despite being an injured GYSGT, Gwen seemed to have taken command of the bay.

“Clear, Gunney.” A few marines answered.

“Mind telling me what the hell is going on?” The medical officer stood with her arms crossed across her chest.

“The Blockies left us a little gift, and we need to wait here until the exterminator arrives.”