COMMANDER

“So you’re the clan’s contribution to doctor training, eh, trooper?”

“Not just me, sir. There are two others, as well, other than Dr. Dullin. We are doctors on Hanos but we need to be brought up to speed on advanced medical knowledge, procedures, and technologies.”

“Okay, good to know. Are you familiar with my case? With the results of my injuries, and all?”

“Not really, Commander. Arnon Dullin was assigned to you . . . the man who . . . If you could give us time to consult the AI, and perhaps some new test series to confirm. After all, if Arnon Dullin did all of this out of revenge, he may also have provided false test results in your case.”

“Get to it, trooper. We’ll sort out the rest later. Gather a team. Do whatever you have to do.”

“Aye, aye, sir!”

I accessed the Combat AI for my after-action briefing.

From the SOG teams we had lost six troopers; Boomer, Flyboy, and CanMan from Zulu, Rigs, Gremlin, and Speed from Yankee. Damn.

Flynn’s wedge lost two full Troops, and Harris’ wedge a Troop and two fire teams as well as Harris himself. Frankly, I was a little surprised the casualties were not much higher than they were for the SOG teams considering how much we had been outnumbered. The upgrades to the Gen6 suits and the weapons apparently had a very positive effect! The Shaquaree had outnumbered us overall by five to one in personnel, and by twelve to one in ships, if you counted the big slaver as only two normal ships. Yet, we had prevailed.

On the Rontar we had lost three AVs and an LC, plus nineteen fighters and pilots, four heavy and fifteen light. Forty-six of the fifty Wasp fighters were destroyed. Three full Troops and two fire teams, seventy-three personnel plus the crews of the AVs and LC, were gone outside.

Those troopers had taken their toll, though. We had killed thousands of Shaquaree, destroyed nine battleships, and captured one giant slaver ship along with officers and bridge crew. Strictly in terms of comparative numbers, this was the most lopsided victory we had ever experienced against the Shaquaree—by a vast margin.

Surprisingly, there were few wounded, and nearly all of those were walking and would heal within a week or two.

We had four Shaquaree prisoners of officer caste aboard the Rontar, and one hundred twenty-seven locked up aboard the captured, and extremely disabled, Shaquaree ship. The officers we held on the Rontar had fled their posts, which meant they had either received orders to flee or some of the officer caste had some level of free will decision-making ability. (Noted by Lt. Donner, of course . . . why else would she have gone off chasing them like some maniac Amazon?)

The Rontar had suffered damage, mostly superficial but some serious. Some of the skeletal girders had been damaged by the gravity well bombs which pulled and twisted her. The only thing which had saved her was the incredible upgrades in hull and frame materials, plus the massive increase in power.

The photonic and quantum missiles had been very effective once they were able to get through to the enemy ships. Shaquaree ship wreckage was strewn across the whole system. It was amazing how much more advanced the Torbor technology we had absorbed was over Shaquaree technology. Even so, we had already found new technology and new learning in gravity control.

Captain Lewellyn listed his priorities as damage control and repair, leveraging the Shaquaree ships (both wrecked and captured) for technology and intelligence, continued refit of the Phoenix, resuscitating relations with planetary government, and dealing with Shaquaree prisoners.

Clan lieutenants listed recommended clan priorities as repair, refit, or replacement of damaged or lost hardware, re-formation of clan hierarchies, training, and replacement of personnel. I added a few of my own.

I had been out of it for nearly eight days total, and unconscious most of that time. The Rontar had gone back out to the gas giant after ensuring the transporters on the ship and on the planet still worked. We placed a Troop on the Shaquaree ship to guard the prisoners and left it in orbit until we could find a suitable place to situate it in the rings near us.

Planetary reaction to the defeat of the Shaquaree was overwhelmingly positive despite some fears that retribution from the LCP would be swift and harsh. The new government had officially thanked the Navy and the Marines for helping them to defend the planet. My name was no longer associated with the bogeyman or fanged, child-eating monsters but, then again, they weren’t quite ready to erect any statues of me in town squares, either.

Woepel and his two cohorts kept interrupting me for tests or procedures so the report took some time to digest. And my damn leg kept itching like crazy. Yeah, the missing one.

Around dinnertime, Doctor Woepel came in and sat on the end of the medcouch with one hip, his other foot braced on the deck. “We are ready to give you the update you requested, Commander. We think the . . .”

“Just a minute, Doctor,” I interrupted him. “Let’s get protocol out of the way here. At this minute, I am just a patient and you are my doctor, okay? And you might as well know, I prefer straight talk. If my dick is going to fall off in two minutes, just tell me. Don’t dance around with hinting or anything.”

That brought a smile to his face!

“All right, Commander, I have it. Nice reference, by the way. Crude but very clear. Now, the transceiver and the nanos are no problem and we’ll do those in the morning. The leg is another story. You have three choices, basically. We can work with the AI and the nanos to force-grow you a new one, which will take about six months followed by three months of therapy. We can make you an artificial one and graft it in place so it feels and operates like a real leg. That will take several days and a week of therapy. Or, you can temporarily retire from ‘physically active’ duty and run the clan from your office and just use crutches and a gravchair to get around. Nanos alone will grow you a new leg in about two years.”

“Tell me more about the prosthetic.”

“First, it would not be a prosthesis, which you would take off at night and put on again in the morning. It would be a cybernetic implant, very similar to the transceivers. The designs were created by the AI over the last couple of days, and incorporate AC and other new technologies we have learned from the Torbor. It would literally be the most advanced artificial limb ever created. It would function and feel much like your own leg except for the skin, at first. It would have no skin. But there is every chance we could figure out how to give it skin and associated nerves eventually. Otherwise, it would ‘feel’ normal. Your brain would tell it to move a certain way, it would move, and your brain would ‘feel’ it move.

“As for your left eye, we have a composite replacement nearly finished. After surgery, you will be able to see out of it much like your right eye. We can grow you a new eye later, over about four months.”

“Sounds good, Doc. Let’s get cracking!”

It took the fabs two days to make the leg components and the Medical AI two more days to assemble it all in a gel-tank. Surgery to implant was four hours, and they replaced the eye during the same session. I was running on the new leg four days later. The new eye caused headaches, blurriness, and vertigo at first, as my mind had to learn how to accept the new input, but it passed soon enough. It had been a very busy nine days. I worked from the hospital using AIs and comms to coordinate as needed.

Carla had transported back to the planet to get the training facility re-operational and had taken the SOG teams with her. She commed me one night for advice. Evidently, Dog and Boomer had been together, a budding relationship, and Dog took her going outside very hard despite the fact she had gone out a true hero. She had thrown herself in front of one of those cannon things and taken the full brunt of the blast rather than let it take out the team. He was despondent and getting sloppy, not focusing on his job.

“He needs some significant experience to break him out of his doldrums,” I told her. “He’s hurting and angry. You need to give him a focus for that, somewhere to either hone it or to dump it. Run him hard then beat the snot out of him. It worked for you.”

She told me to perform a physically impossible act, and laughed.

“Well, it’s either that or throw some challenge at him and let him make the choice to succeed or fail. Truth be told, you don’t have a lot of time to babysit him. There’s just too much to do. Either he chooses to make it, or he doesn’t. I want you and your teams back here tomorrow night for the services, too, no excuses.”

At the services for our troopers gone outside, I had ordered their images placed on the Heroes Wall, and announced the medals awarded for valor. Then I did something no one had expected. Using a head-mike and standing on an AV so everyone could see me, I called them back to At Ease from the long, long moment of silence while standing at Attention facing the Heroes Wall.

“Thanks, to Lieutenants Flynn, Jenkins, and Donner for their eloquent descriptions of heroism and sacrifice from their troopers. Now, I have a few thanks of my own and some announcements.

“I would like to thank Trooper Adrienne Pall, SOG medic for Team Yankee, who ordered me, pushed me, relieved me of duty, and generally really pissed me off . . . especially when she tranked me against my explicit orders. Trooper Pall acted in the very best tradition of her craft and training, and took command of a situation despite the potential danger because she knew it was the right thing to do. I owe her my life. Thank you, Trooper Pall!”

Titters and laughter had sounded at my story, then evolved into loud applause and Hoo-rahs. I could see the Hanosians scattered through the clan, now fully integrated. We all had fought together and died together, and they would be forever brothers and sisters in our clan. I waited patiently for it to die down.

“Doctor Annsbury, as most of you know, has been severely injured in an incident in the hospital. I am told her recovery will require several months of therapy, so she has been relieved of her position as Ship’s Doctor and she is being transferred to Hanos to the best hospital they have.

“Trooper Woepel and the other two doctors in training now comprise the best medical practitioners we have aboard the Rontar. In honor of their training, commitment, and superlative efforts to treat and save our collective sorry asses, they are hereby relieved of their oath of service to the Marines. Further, they are invited to consider the invitation of Captain Lewellyn and myself to accept the position and equal rank of Ship’s Doctor.”

Thunderous applause greeted this announcement. It continued as the two Hanosian men and one woman moved forward to stand before the AV and wave. When it died down enough to be heard, they shouted, as a group, “We accept!” The applause started all over again.

When I could be heard again, I spoke, “Just a little more, troopers, a little more. Lt. Harlan Jenkins, front and center! Few of you know our Lt. Jenkins is a skilled, maybe even gifted, tactician. I certainly did not know it until Captain Lewellyn came to me while I was in hospital to thank me for lending him the Combat AI processing . . . and Lt. Jenkins. The captain told me our man Jenkins was buried head and shoulders in the holo-tank, counseling with the AIs, to help refine tactics as battle evolved. Despite Jenkins’ feeble attempts to divert me, I focused my finely-honed mind,” titters and laughter came again as I leered in humor, “and got confirmation from the AIs this was, indeed, true. For meritorious conduct in battle, Lt. Harlan Jenkins is awarded the Navy Captain’s Letter of Merit!”

Through the ringing round of applause I shouted, “Wait! Wait! There is more! Troopers, I have two final items. I want you to hold your reactions until I am finished, please. This is very important to me, and, to you.

“Lt. Carla Donner, join Lt. Harlan Jenkins, front and center, please,” I said as quietly as I could and still be heard. “Lt. Carla Donner, head of SOG, and Lt. Harlan Jenkins, commanding Wedge 1, Billet 1,” I paused for a long moment then roared loudly, “Your . . . clan . . . needs . . . you!”

Again, I paused and went on quietly, somberly, “Harlan Jenkins is hereby promoted to the rank of major and assigned command of PapaBravo Clan Billets. Carla Donner is hereby promoted to the rank of major and assigned command of the newly created department Marine Special Operations Group. Promotions and assignments are effective immediately.”

I finished quietly and waited. I suppose I had expected another round of thunderous applause. When the silence stretched out, it took me a moment to recall. On extremely rare and very special occasions, such as when a trooper who had earned the respect, loyalty, and devotion of other troopers was recognized in front of the whole clan, a wondrous thing might happen. I held my breath.

There were a few scattered attempts to start applause, a few random claps which were silenced immediately. Then it began . . . low, so low as to be barely heard, and slowly building, a chant. Hoo . . . hoo . . . hoo . . . building louder and louder until every throat was raw from the volume, HOO . . . HOO . . . over and over and over until at a crescendo it changed to RAH! RAH! RAH! accompanied by the stomping of hundreds of boots in rhythm. Then, there followed three Hoo-rahs, each separate and distinct, each as loud as possible and timed in cadence to the stomping.

I didn’t move a muscle. This display was always spontaneous. It always began with and ended with the troopers. It was the highest honor the troopers, as a group, could bestow.

Both Jenkins and my Amazon were humbled, as evidenced by the tears on both their cheeks, yet standing tall and proud.

“It is now sixteen days since we defeated the Shaquaree ships,” stated the captain. “We have the captured ship in orbit of the gas giant and all prisoners are separated by caste and held in unpowered vessels with life support only, and all orbiting with us as well. With the massive increase in computational power allowed by AC, the AI has cracked their computer systems and databases and we now have full access to their command structures and archives.

“Nothing we have found thus far indicates there will be any follow-up vessels T-jumping into this system. Obviously, with the other vessels destroyed there is no way to know for certain what their orders were, and no way to know if they were to report back in a certain amount of time or not. XO . . .”

“Thank you, sir,” said Cmdr. Dotes. “The Rontar will require four months of repair to her skeletal structure. Concurrent repair work to power and weapons can be completed in less than two. The space dock is six months from completion but already able to perform some repair work. The amount and types of repair work performed will increase as we get nearer to completion. Currently, the Rontar is at roughly eighty to eighty-five percent skeletal strength but otherwise operational. We will conduct repairs at a pace which will leave the Rontar battle-worthy, just in case.

“The Phoenix is about six months from completion, meaning total completion. She will be ready to fly short, full-power, full-weapons missions within a month. The Shaquaree ship will require two to four weeks of investigation and inspection to verify whether we can repair or refit for human use. We should be able to provide any required estimates at that time. Commander Hampstead . . .”

“Um,” Hampstead began, “we already knew the Shaquaree leaned heavily toward gravity control for both their shields and in-system propulsion. This is borne out by examination of their ship. What we did not know about was their ability to create such a massive gravity well in such a small space with their weaponry. Almost like a black hole, a singularity, but a very, very tiny one with around ten to the . . . um . . . with very small comparative mass and no detectable event horizon. These are the wells they created with their missiles and ‘gravity bombs’ which stressed our hull. They only last a few fractions of a second but they are very powerful for a short duration.”

“Nicely done, Commander Hampstead,” complimented the captain.

“Thank you, sir,” he said as he blushed and beamed a bright smile at us. “I have been working at my personal communication skills, as well.”

“It shows, Commander,” I added my own compliment, “and we appreciate your efforts on our behalf. For our briefing, gentlemen, I give the floor to Majors Jenkins and Donner.”

“Ah, I heard about the promotions,” said Captain Lewellyn. “Please allow me to add my own congratulations and a statement of well-earned, and well-rewarded!”

“Thank you, Captain,” answered Jenkins. “It came as somewhat of a surprise to both of us,” he added as Donner nodded agreement. “To begin, our clan is at approximately sixty-five percent strength, and you have our hardware fab requests. The Marines have been working with the Navy Science Department on the weapons angles, both in upgrading our own to surpass the enemy capability and in reverse engineering theirs to see what advantages may be gained. We are on the verge of being able to produce something similar to the Torbor yellow energy bolt weapons. As you know, theirs were DNA-locked and useless to us. By the way, we learned how to apply the same DNA locks on our own weaponry and can now dispense with the RF control implants.

“Upgrades to our Gen6 armored suits proved quite successful in battle. Our more powerful lasers and plasma cannon were very effective against Shaquaree shielding. As well, our projectile weapons now fire at velocities making them effective at penetrating the alien body armor shields. We can now honestly state we have superior capabilities in ground battle. What surprised us the most was how effective our power lances were in both blade and club. We would very much like to do more testing under controlled conditions to measure how and why these weapons were so effective. I am working with Commander Dotes to arrange proper testing parameters.

“On that note, I would like to give Major Donner the opportunity to speak, to present the idea she has . . . Major Donner.”

“Thank you, Major Jenkins. Gentlemen, my idea is this; if we can now use transporters to send us and our equipment across the system with ease, why not use them to transport bombs into the interior of enemy ships? Or, transport gas canisters to incapacitate or destroy? There are dozens of possible scenarios where this technology could be used in such a manner.”

“Discussion, Major?” requested Dotes.

“Certainly, sir,” answered Donner.

“First, there are safety issues involved. To transport a functional device would almost certainly cause the device to either function during transport or fail completely. To have even a hand grenade explode during transport would be catastrophic on both the sending and the receiving transport sites, nuclear explosion level catastrophic. Robots, suit AIs, those types of functional electronics work fine because of the safety protocols built into them. But a bomb?”

“Then why not place the same safety protocols into the bomb as there are in suits and robots? With AC, it should not be too tough to do.”

“Well, that would entail . . .” began Dotes.

Hampstead interrupted him. “Intriguing, Major Donner, but, the bomb idea is, actually, not feasible in any way. We have already investigated that quite thoroughly. However, your idea and argument has sparked a thought in me. Why could we not just send a suit, an empty suit with an AI with full safety protocols, and then command it to go critical with the power supply?”

“The same reason we can’t send an inactive bomb and then send a transmission to signal the countdown timer to start,” Dotes argued. “Common jamming techniques and shield harmonics deny signal transmission.”

“Not subspace,” said Major Donner quietly.

Hampstead grinned and Dotes’ eyes popped wide open as his jaw dropped.

After a moment, his eyes still wide, Dotes muttered with exasperation, “I am such a flaming idiot!”

“Now, Robert,” interjected Hampstead, “flaming is my department.”

A testament to how close we had all become, and how the walls between the Navy and the Marines had been battered down by our need to rely on one another, to respect one another, Hampstead’s joke at his own homosexuality was perfectly timed and delivered. Even the captain laughed out loud, a series of muted chuckles compared to the robust peals of laughter from the rest of us.

The lead Hanosian doctor, Gar Nopke, was taken a bit by surprise but then joined in.

Dotes waved his hands at us to calm down, chuckling all the while. “No, no, I really am embarrassed at not having thought of it myself. With everything else going on, I just missed it. With the new technologies there is no reason at all we could not use the subspace transceiver in a suit AI. Heck, it wouldn’t even have to be a suit, just the AI with the normal safety protocols in whatever container we choose!”

“Congratulations, Major Donner,” stated the captain. “It is a rare thing to see our executive officer in such a position. I believe I can say with certainty we will have a team working on perfecting your idea straightaway. Do you have anything else for us?”

“No, Captain, thank you.”

“Very well. Doctor Nopke, I believe it is your turn.”

“Thank you, sir. The medical team is settling in quite well. We all feel we still have a lot to learn to come up to the standards of the Fleet but the AI is extremely helpful, and I am told we will have our simulator delivered in just a day or two. Oh, I see by the blank faces I have been remiss. We have requested a simulator, a trainer, to be adapted to allow each of us doctors to actually train, hands on, in the techniques we need to learn. Doctor Woepel had the idea that if simulators could be used in conjunction with hypno-training to deliver pilots of starships, why not doctors, also?

“The hospital is currently empty of patients other than the normal transient flow of minor training wounds and sore tummies. Doctor Annsbury is in good condition, all things considered. Her physical health is decent and her wounds are healing quickly. She has shown some improvement in brain function, as well. We believe she has a good chance for a full recovery, over time. With the help of the AI, we have been able to reconstruct the unlawful activities of Trooper Dullin and have logged our reports with the Medical AI, and sent copies to both the Navy and the Marines. That is all I have.”

“Thank you, Dr. Nopke,” said the captain. “Commander Rawlings, how about you? Any input?”