Mars Orbit – Ares UTF Naval Shipyards
Warhawk Class Light Carrier El Oso in drydock
Chief Engineer Ethan Grimes and Exo-Armor Leader Commander Haley Odell
“That’s it, just ease it back, one step at a time,” Chief Grimes said over the radio. He was down on the tarmac using lightrods to guide the large exo-skeletal armor into its docking clamp. The Exo-Armors were brand new to the UTF Navy inventory. They were designed as close-range anti-air point support for capital ships. It wasn’t completely decided yet if the machines were successful in that role, so the El Oso was given one squadron of prototypes as a test case. The so-called Knights piloting the armor were a mish-mash of handpicked sailors. Most with space piloting backgrounds, they had all been given special training for the suits and were then dispatched to the El Oso for trial testing. So far, the jury was still out. The machines were extremely complicated, and therefore prone to problems. One of the biggest issues was docking, as Squadron Leader Commander Haley Odell was finding out. She cursed as she missed the step and had to quickly regain the large machine’s balance.
The Exo-Armors were in essence, a mechanical suit of armor that protected the wearer from everything. It was nearly four times the size of an average human, standing nearly twenty-four feet high. It was heavy, bulky, and looked unsteady on its pads, but it was capable of amazing movement. The pilot was strapped into a suspended activity suit that was lovingly called the “space diaper”. The armor mimicked the movement made by the suspended pilot. Holding weapons, martial arts maneuvers, anything was possible. The Exo-Armors were proving themselves highly effective for urban combat, but Odell’s squadron had been re-designed and re-outfitted for space flight. They had yet to be tested in true space combat situations.
“Easy now, easy. Just step behind and up onto the step,” Grimes said again in his rough voice. The maneuver was actually much harder than it looked. Odell had several screens showing her the step behind her, but judging the height of the step and how that translated into her own leg movement was tricky. She finally managed to get the foot pad on the step, and then came the trickiest movement of all, lifting the body and the left foot back onto the step while maintaining balance of the metal behemoth. She wavered once, but then managed to get the body lifted up and onto the docking rack. She sighed and pulled her hand out of the manipulator and tapped her combracer to bring a holo-display to life. She locked the clamps down and the Armor bucked as the bolts locked into place.
“Well done, Haley,” Grimes called over the line.
“They really need to invent an easier method of doing this. Can’t we come from the other direction? Like control the docking clamps instead of us stepping into the Cage?”
“Sorry girl, but you know we don’t have the funding to get something like that installed.”
“Yeah, I know. But if I’m having difficulties getting an Armor locked down, some of my squadron is in trouble. A few can’t even walk straight.”
“Thankfully, they don’t need to walk. Just hover and fire. They can do that, right?”
“Last I checked, and in the right direction too.”
“Amazing,” Grimes said, obviously lying. “Ok, get yourself out of that monkey-suit and get down here. We have five more to lock up before we can get out of here.”
“Roger that,” she said as she began undoing the safety straps securing her into the activity suit. It took her almost ten minutes to dismount and climb down the service ladder. She crossed the hangar bay to the large storage pod that had been delivered to the El Oso that morning. Odell had been transferred to the El Oso a few days prior to oversee the integration of the cages and Armors into the El Oso’s landing bay. The other six members of her squadron would be arriving on the next morning’s shuttle, so she was the only qualified Armor pilot, and so the only person available to load up each Armor into the holding cages.
Chief Grimes had not been thrilled at her arrival. The man was gruff, sporting a non-regulation beard and a true mouth of a sailor, but his hangar bay was impeccable. His engineers and technicians knew their job and the jobs of those around him. Odell had never really seen such efficiency before. And that was the reason he was most displeased at the mess she was bringing him: her toys gummed up the works. Still, he wasted no time getting the holding cages setup.
Odell hoisted herself up into the next Armor while Grimes kept himself busy shouting orders at his subordinates. Each of them was young, and all had a fear of Grimes like he was some demon chewing on their asses. He’d never been overly rude to her, except for the gruff little comments he always made. His attitude was the same pretty much to anyone he talked to, and that included Captain Willis, commander of the El Oso, and that had surprised Odell.
“Ok, I’m setup Chief,” she called after finishing startup procedures in the Armor and activating the Tru-Sight system in the cockpit.
“Alright, let’s start again from the top. One foot in front of the other, nice and easy, just like that.” The walking mechanism was actually very tight and easy to use in Earth gravity, but in the lower gravity in the hangar bay, even with the maglocks in the footpads ensuring the foot stayed in place, the Armor’s balancers were taxed. Odell had to perform much of the balancing herself.
“I think I’m starting to get the hang of this,” she said as she got into a walking rhythm. “All we need is some practice.”
“Practice and a lot of luck, opening holding cage number two,” Grimes said. Odell watched the sides and top move outward and the step lower towards the ground. The cages weren’t completely enclosing, but looked suspiciously like coffins to Odell’s eyes.
“Ok, clear to turn around,” Grimes said after checking to make sure no techs were underfoot.
“Roger, turning one-eighty,” and Odell mimicked the movement in her activity suit. The Armor responded and turned a complete one hundred and eighty degrees facing its back towards the cage.
“Two steps to lip,” Grimes called out waving the lightrods. Odell moved backwards with measured strides and picked up her foot and back using her first experience as a guide. She got the foot into the lip of the cage on her first try, and then expertly lifted the other foot onto the lip and squared the shoulders. Grimes whistled from below in admiration, “Not bad there. If you can get the kids to do that, I’ll stop badmouthing your project.”
“Right. We’ll see, Chief.”
Her combracer beeped and Odell removed her arm from the manipulator to accept the incoming communication. The holo-display popped up with Captain Willis’ chiseled jaw, furrowed brow, and dark brown eyes. “How’s everything going, Commander?”
“Getting the hang of it, sir. The lower gravity is throwing off the balancers a bit, but nothing some fine-tuning can’t fix. By time we’re ready to leave dock, you’ll have a deadly point-defense squadron running laps across your hull without leaving padmarks.”
“I look forward to it, Commander. Grimes,” the captain had conferenced him in as well. “Looks like they’re moving our mission timetable up a bit. I need you finished and moving on to the fighter catch and release systems by the end of the week. We’ll be getting the fighter squadrons almost two weeks before schedule.”
“You’re kidding, right, Cap’n? Are they pushing us out the door already? They’ve gotta know we’re half in pieces around here.”
“I’ve told them Chief, and I’m sure they’ve heard your cussing and banging from Shipyard Control, but the orders still stand. Thirty Switchblades will be delivered in two weeks over five shipments. We need the catapult system operational, and we need Hangar Bay One outfitted and ready to go to service them. Sorry for the short notice, Chief,” Willis finished. He didn’t like the situation either, but was confident it would get done.
“Aye, sir. We’ll be ready,” Grimes saluted. Odell followed suit.
“Good luck, Commander, Chief. Willis out,” and the holo-display disappeared.
“Well damn it all to Hell. Time’s up rookie. Let’s get the rest of these hunks of junk put to bed. So much for sleeping tonight.”
11-15-07
Mars Orbit – Ares UTF Naval Shipyards
UTFS El Oso
Captain Jeremy Willis
Willis signed off the line and looked over the deserted bridge. Most of the crew had yet to be assigned to the El Oso. The Kittyhawk class light carrier El Oso had been retired from active duty almost five years ago, brought into Ares shipyards, and had been there ever since. Now, after two years of intensive overhauling and reconstruction, the El Oso had been reborn as the third of a new class of light carriers, the Warhawk class. The class had been designed from the ground-up as a fast moving attack carrier. The old Kittyhawk class was a perfect base to rebuild into the new class. They were quick, reliable, and easily transformed into the Warhawk.
The idea for the Warhawk was to have a ship that could quickly bring space superiority fighters, bombers, and other fast-moving elements into battle. They needed to be quick and agile, and have enough room onboard to accommodate at least three wings of fighters and support craft. Not only that, they needed to be tough. They would be on the front line of the battle delivering her cargo of fast movers. They needed to be able to survive initial attacks and return to collect her fighter groups, so their Patterson reactors were the largest of any class of ship in her size. They could power polyhedron shields of the same magnitude that a Halo class super carrier could produce.
Willis surveyed the bridge again. The bridge was the definition of cutting edge. Almost all control surfaces were the free-floating transparent display screens. The entirety of the ship’s controls was found on those displays. Just in case of failure, however, the sub-bridge buried in the ship, contained old-fashioned controls that could be physically touched. Willis wasn’t entirely sure his new bridge crew would even know how to operate something so archaic. The bridge had room for twelve: two helmsmen, a communications officer, a weapons officer, defense officers, sensor operator, navigator, and several other technician positions. The Captain and his XO had their place in the center. The command trench ran around the central command dais towards the back of the bridge. The bridge itself was nestled in the aft hull just fore of the main engine block, and the decking had a constant low throb from the Patterson Reactor six decks below and one section aft.
For now, it was just him and his XO Thomas Marks on the bridge. The rest of the bridge staff would arrive over the next two weeks along with the rest of the crew. A skeleton crew of fifty people was maintaining the El Oso in her drydock state, but when she got underway, there would be almost four hundred. Willis was still having doubts about his mission. Albeit small, there was a chance that they would never return. But he kept those thoughts close to the vest. He never spoke of them to anyone except for the small of his mind.
11-16-07
“Communication from Ares Control, Captain,” Marks said dismissing the display from his combracer. “Seems there’s a problem with the bombers they’re sending us.”
“Now what?” Willis sighed. As it was almost tradition, the preparation of the newly reborn El Oso was a long chain of foul-ups one after the other. Willis, by this time in his career, was completely used to the status quo, but even so, Ares and UTF Naval Command were testing his patience.
“Seems there was a defect built into the craft. They’re being recalled. Ares Control says not to worry; they’ll find us another batch in time for delivery.” Marks couldn’t keep the derision out of his voice.
Willis snorted. “Right they will. Keep and eye on it, Thomas. Set wildfires if you have to.”
“Aye, sir.”
“You have the bridge, Thomas,” Willis said as he got up.
“Meeting with Director Filburn?”
“Yes. He and Grand Admiral Miller wish to discuss the finer points of our mission with me. I’ll be off-ship for about two days. The El Oso is yours until I return. Try not to let the shipyard grease monkeys break her while I’m gone.”
“Aye aye, skipper,” Marks answered with a grin.
Mars Orbit – Deimos II Space Station
Interim Office of Sergeant Major Michaels
I wouldn’t say ‘shot’, sir. I’d say it was more like I ‘assisted in a breaking maneuver’ to allow time for the rescue vehicles to catch up.
“You shot it,” Michaels repeated, certainly not amused. “You willfully fired upon UTF property with civilians on board.”
“At my order, and it was the only means of slowing such mass down. What we did, sir, was save lives.” Shyla shot back in Nate’s defense without really thinking on what she was saying.
“What you did,” he paused for effect, “was learn how to become a true pair. I’m surprised, I really am; you’re actually defending your EWO. Honestly, Redding
“Still, UTF Command wasn’t entirely pleased with your method. They did, however, think enough of it to award you both with Merit Citations for Bravery. Actually, it’s the first time in UTF history that a Cadet has earned such an honor. There will be a ceremony for it, 1400 hours tomorrow. Dress uniform. I guess the only thing left for you two will be to graduate.”
Shyla wasn’t completely sure how to react. Beasley had a dumb grin plastered on his wide face, but Shyla was conflicted. She should be rejoicing: the entire time since they’d launched in the Swift she’d not even thought of Beasley as anything other than her EWO. Besides that, they’d proven their skill and quick thinking and saved nearly forty people. So why was she holding back? Was she afraid it was all some ruse concocted by Michaels? That was rather doubtful, his intention were clearly not that convoluted. So what was it? Was she afraid Beasley wasn’t the real deal, that he was a fake?
“You’re not smiling, Redding. Is a Merit Citation not good enough for you?”
“Oh, uh, no sir, it is. Absolutely it is, sir. I’ve just got some things on my mind.”
Michaels looked at her quizzically. “Hopefully it’s what you’ll be saying at the acceptance speech,” he said after a moment, and then changed tone waving his hand dismissively. “Okay, enough complimenting you two. Don’t forget you’re still cadets and we have space maneuvering training tomorrow morning oh dark thirty. After today’s performance, I’ll be grading you excessively hard. Now get the hell out of my office,” he said saluting lazily. Redding
Not even twenty steps from Michaels’ office Beasley turned to Shyla and said, “Thank you.”
“For what?” Shyla asked slightly confused, still rolling things over in her mind.
“For backing me up. Look, I don’t hold to any illusion of how you think of me. I know I irritate you more than anything. So, thank you. I appreciate what you said.”
“Oh, well, you did do it because I said so. I wouldn’t let anyone take blame for something I said to do. Annoying EWO or not.”
Beasley stopped and looked at her a second. Shyla felt her cheeks heat up a bit as he looked at her. “Well, I’m going to get some sleep, tomorrow will be pretty rough,” he said gesturing toward the micro-gravity section of the station.
“Er, right. Big day. Maneuvering training, right,” she said lamely.
“No! Not just that, the ceremony. They expect speeches for crying out loud! Me? Giving a speech!” he laughed at the thought. “No really, that will be much worse than flying around with you tomorrow. I need to get started writing that thing right away,” then after an awkward pause, “see you tomorrow.”
“Right, tomorrow. Night,” she said in the same awkward fashion. Beasley walked off, glancing back once or twice. Shyla felt her face grow hotter. Stupid! She’d had no trouble badgering or insulting EWOs and now suddenly she couldn’t even talk to one in straight conversation. Shyla slapped her cheeks to help clear her mind. She found herself hungry.
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