First Strike - An Earth@War Novel

Naval Assault Forces, Recruit Training Command

Naval Base Bravo, Mars

May 13, 2487, 1320 Local, 1420 UT

Naval Base Bravo was the Navy’s primary training facility and housed the Recruit Training Commands for both the Navy and the Naval Assault Forces as well as numerous schools for technical training. The training station consisted of a series of domes connected by tunnels, with each dome housing a specific command. Dome 3 housed the Recruit Training Command for the Naval Assault Forces, the ground assault troops for Earth’s Navy.

Max Finley, in his fifteenth and final week of boot camp, was sweating. The dome for the Naval Assault Forces boot camp was intentionally hot and the gravity generators set to 1.2 G’s, forcing new recruits to excel under adverse conditions. Many recruits couldn’t handle it and quit. Max Finley, however was not a quitter.

Max tightened his grip on his L-29 assault rifle and belly crawled to cove behind a large boulder. He looked to his right and saw Phil Moore, originally from Atlanta, and another recruit named Lou on their bellies, L-29s at the ready. To his left was Dave Roberts and another recruit named Joseph using a shallow crater for cover. Max, Dave and Phil had met on the shuttle from Earth to Mars and had become close friends as they went through training together. They were all 19 years old, tough and willing to do whatever it took to make it into the Naval Assault Forces.

Max repositioned his L-29. The assault rifle was the standard for the Naval Assault Forces, replacing the L-27. At nine pounds, it was lighter than the L-27 and had a range of 200 yards. It fired 8-mm bolts in single fire, three bolt bursts or fully automatic modes. Max currently had single fire mode selected with the safety off. The laser was set on low power mode for this live fire exercise which still stung and often stunned you if you were hit. The low power mode only existed on the training version of the weapon, since in the field, you only fired if you intended to kill the enemy.

Max was the fire team leader for this team exercise. A fire team consisted of four team members and a team leader. As team leader, Max would maneuver his team through a two-mile course, engaging the enemy played by various drill instructors. He did this from the middle position, with two members of his team on each side. He would signal his teammates to move, cover or hold depending on the situation.

“What are you ladies waiting for? The enemy to come to you?” the Company Drill Instructor yelled through the ear piece Max was wearing. Easy to say advance when it isn’t your ass on the line, thought Max. Still, this was his mission to lead and he wasn’t about to fail, especially after almost 15 weeks of training. Failing this course would mean moving back in training if you were lucky, and being removed from recruit training and returning to civilian life if you weren’t, meaning the last three months of your life was wasted.

He wiped the sweat from his forehead and signaled to the left for Dave and Joseph to advance approximately 100 yards to some boulders they could use for cover. He sighted his rifle down range, covering for the two of them. Once Joseph and Dave were in position, he signaled for Phil and Lou. They advanced to a trench approximately eighty yards from the previous position. Finally, he signaled for the fire team to cover for him as he advanced to a mound that he would use for cover.

As he began to move, half squatting as he ran, a bolt hit in front of him, blowing red Martian dirt into his face. He instinctively dropped and rolled right as he heard return fire from his team. Pressing his body to the ground, he moved his rifle into position and fired two rounds blindly downrange. Another bolt flew above his head. This time Max located the source of the incoming bolts. The enemy was behind the same mound he intended to use for cover. He waited, L-29 sighted just above the mound. Thirty seconds later, although it seemed to be a lot longer than that to Max as he laid in the dry Martian dirt with his heart racing, a head appeared, peeking over the mound. Max double tapped his trigger sending two bolts into the head of the instructor who had fired at him, dropping the instructor. Max considered swapping out the power cell of his L-29 but realized that he still had at least 26 rounds left.

“Lucky shot. How about moving along? We don’t have all day,” the Company Drill Instructor, Sergeant Blake, yelled in his ear causing Max to smile. Max moved quickly behind the mound of dirt that the instructor had been behind, keeping his head low as he went. In the distance, he could see a low wall. It took almost thirty minutes to make it to the three-foot-high wall. The team engaged two more instructors along the way with Phil and Joe each scoring a “kill”. So far, the team was performing great, working together. Max didn’t feel it was necessarily his leadership, but was thankful that he had great recruits on his team.

The wall presented a unique challenge. While being great for cover, the team needed to get over it and into a safe position without getting hit. Max attempted to peek over the wall, but a barrage of bolts forced him back down. Damn, now what do I do? Max asked himself. He knew he needed to find a solution quickly or Sergeant Blake would be on his ass. Max signaled for Phil and Dave to join him. Staying low, they made their way over to Max who sat leaning against the wall.

“We have to get a look over this wall and figure out what to do when we go over it,” Max began. “When I signal, the three of us are going to look over the wall, firing five or so rounds as we do, and then drop back down.”

The three men turned, kneeling behind the wall. Max counted to three with his fingers and the men raise up above the wall firing rapidly, using the top of the wall to steady their weapons. Each man fired five rounds, then quickly dropped back down behind the wall.

“What did you see?” Max asked as bolts hit the wall behind him.

“A lot of enemy,” Dave replied, wiping the sweat from his face.

“And nothing for cover,” Phil added. Max too had noticed there was no cover. Once they went over the wall, they would have to move quickly or they would have no chance. This isn’t going to be easy, Max thought. Of course, nothing about bootcamp had been easy. To become a member of the Naval Assault Forces, you had to show strength and determination. If you lacked either of those, you would never make it as a trooper.

“The way I figure it, this has to be the end of the course,” Max told the others who nodded their head in agreement as all three men changed out the charge packs on the L-29s. If it wasn’t the end of the course, Max didn’t know how they would make it. He assumed that going over the wall was going to cost him some of the team. What remained afterwards probably couldn’t go much further. Bolts continued to hit the wall behind them with a loud smacking sound. “Okay, go back to your positions. When I signal, we all go over the wall. Start firing as soon as you hit the ground. Full auto, don’t conserve your charge. Once you’re over, advance rapidly.”

“Aye,” Phil and Dave replied in unison. They returned to their positions and filled the other two fire team members in on the plan. Max just hoped the plan worked. If it didn’t he could imagine how Sergeant Blake would act. And worse would be facing his team, the loss would be his, but they would lose as well. And all of them would have to face the consequences.

A minute later, all five men were in position, kneeling behind the wall. Max signaled and scrambled over the wall dropping on the other side. Dropping to one knee, he began sweeping his L-29 right to left, sending a dozen bolts down range, not aiming at anything, but attempting to force the enemy to take cover. He rose up and began to cautiously advance, continuing to fire as bolts passed by him. With his eyes downrange, he concentrated, attempting to pinpoint enemy positions. A blast from an explosion to his left added to the confusion of incoming and outgoing fire.

Max heard a yell and out of the corner of his eye saw Lou fall, hit by an incoming bolt from an instructor. Max hit two instructors and, in his peripheral vision saw three others fall. He changed his charge back out, toggled his selector switch back to single round and began to sweep left and right looking for any remaining instructors. He fired, double-tapping at center mass as he had been instructed during initial training on his weapon, and watched the instructor fall as Joe hit one to his left.

“Cease fire,” ordered a voice over the comm unit. Relief filled Max’s body as the exercise ended. That was intense, Max thought, adrenaline still pumping. Medics came out to check on the people who were hit but no one was seriously injured. To Max’s surprise, Lou was the only one on his team who an instructor managed to hit. The three other members of the fire team ran to Max celebrating their victory.

A squat, muscular Drill Instructor came out on field. “Clear out!” he ordered in a loud, firm voice.

Max walked off with the rest of the team proud of their performance. His fire team joined the other teams who had completed the exercise on a set of bleachers near the course where they could observe other members of their company as they came through the course. He grabbed an energy bar, ate in quickly and drank from his canteen. It took another two hours for the rest of the recruits in his company to complete the exercise, the men in the bleacher enjoying a brief break from training.

Sergeant Blake walked up to the company after the last fire team finished. “Now let’s go for a little run,” Sergeant Blake ordered. Max was not surprised. If there was anything he had learned in bootcamp, it was that there was never a long break. Finish one thing and it was off to the next. He stood up, sweat dripping from his body. I love this job, he told himself only half believing it as he rose.

Headquarters Fourth Fleet

Naval Base Oscar, Kylar II

May 14, 2487, 0658 Local, 1338 UT

Admiral William P. Morris, Commander of the Fourth Fleet, arrived at his office at almost exactly 0700 as was his habit. The 6’2” Admiral had 33 years of service. Medium built at 215 pounds with cropped graying hair and wearing a clean and perfectly pressed uniform and a booming voice that commanded obedience, he was the poster child of what a high-ranking officer should be. As Commander of the Fourth Fleet, he was responsible for the entire Young-Wise sector. The sector stretched from Masic Point to Omar and then on to Kylar and finally reaching Batron and Antron, a total of 76 systems with approximately half of them populated, mainly by humans as far as Kylar and other species beyond that.

With tensions mounting between Batron and Earth over Batron’s war with Antron, his job was becoming more difficult. Even though Earth had declared itself neutral, mainly to avoid becoming involved in another war, Earth continued to sell arms to Antron despite Batron’s strong objections. Tensions were increasing in the sector, with Batron threatening Earth’s cargo vessels, attempting to cut off Antron. Between the tensions with Batron and continued cuts to the fleet’s budget, the stress on the Admiral was building.

Admiral Morris’ office was large. Opposite of the door was a large dark wood desk with two chairs that sat empty in front of it. On top of the desk was a computer display and three comm units. One connected him to his Administrative Assistant, one was a general comm unit and the last was a secure unit when the purpose of communication was sensitive. A couch ran along one wall with pictures of the various ships that the Admiral had serve on hanging above it, including ESS Charleston (D-614), his first ship, which the Admiral had served on as a Lieutenant during the War at Masic Point, the last war that Earth was involved in. The war had started in 2464 and ended in 2467 and resulted in Earth using far less automation on her ships. Computers now assisted the crews of ships, but did not control the ships themselves.

The walls in the office were painted white with beige carpeting, standard colors for naval offices. Two flags were behind him to the left the Naval flag and to the right the flag of the United Nations, Earth’s primary governing body. Painted on the wall behind the desk was the large seal of the Fourth Fleet. The Admiral had barely settled in behind the desk when the door chimed.

“Enter,” the Admiral commanded.

Yeoman Second Class Andrew Wilson entered the room holding a stack of papers. The 5’10 African-American from Miami was the Admiral’s Administrative Assistant in charge of the Admiral’s busy schedule, screened visitors and comms, maintained records for the Admiral and served the Admiral in whatever other way that was needed. He was a tremendous asset to the Admiral and a very dedicated individual. Since his boss arrived at 0700, Andrew was here at 0530.

“Overnight dispatches, sir,” Andrew said placing the papers on the desk. He had sorted them, of course, with the one’s that needed the most needed the Admiral’s attention on top.

“Thank you, Wilson,” the Admiral responded.

“And Rear Admiral Kilgallon is here, sir.”

“Send him in.”

Rear Admiral Kilgallon was Commander of Destroyer Squadron Ten (DesRon10) and assigned to Fourth Fleet. His command included 29 destroyers, 17 cruisers, 21 supply ships and 2 repair ships. He still occasionally grumbled about having cruisers assigned to his squadron, but with budget cuts came the elimination of Cruiser Squadron Four, and the cruisers assigned to other squadrons, including Destroyer Squadron Ten. Many years ago, as a newly commissioned Ensign, Kilgallon had become the junior officer on ESS Charleston, replacing then Lieutenant Morris in that role, just before the war at Masic Point. The two served together and remained good friends throughout their careers.

“Have a seat, Frank,” Admiral Morris said as Kilgallon entered.

“Thank you, Admiral,” Kilgallon replied as he sat down.

Admiral Morris pushed a button on the Comm Box. “Bring us some coffee Wilson.”

“Aye, sir,” came the reply.

“So, what’s on your mind?” the Admiral asked.

“Well, I’m becoming concerned with my squadron’s state of readiness. We aren’t getting enough training time between deployments and it’s beginning to show,” Kilgallon said. “Mistakes are being made and new officers and crew just don’t know what they are doing.”

“What’s the status of your ships?” Morris asked.

“Of my destroyers, seventeen are here, three are deployed to Omar IV, six are at Masic Point and three are in the lunar shipyards. I have eight cruisers here that haven’t been underway in almost a year, two are at Earth in the process of being decommissioned, one is in the lunar shipyard, one at Mars and one at Omar IV. Admiral, almost half of my destroyers haven’t been underway at all in over six months.”

Andrews entered the office carrying two coffee cups and a pot of coffee along with cream and sugar. He silently poured a cup for each of the officers and stepped out of the office.

“The carriers haven’t been out for nine months. I’ve been warning the United Nations that we need time underway, but they say budget problems are limiting the funds they can give the fleet, “Admiral Morris said as he watched Kilgallon add cream and sugar to his coffee.

“All I’m saying, Admiral, is that my crews are going to need training if we are going to maintain any level of readiness.”

Admiral Morris looked thoughtfully at Kilgallon and took a sip of his own coffee before speaking. “Tell you what, Frank. I’m going to take the initiative here. Let’s deploy half of your ships and all the carriers for a 12-day workup starting tomorrow. Keep this information to only necessary personnel and we’ll do a rapid, emergency deployment drill and sortie. Divide the ships into black and gold and run a combat exercise. I’ll take the heat, but you get the men ready. Do me a favor and inform the commanders of the other squadrons involved. I’ll have the orders prepared.”

“Thank you, Admiral,” Kilgallon said sincerely. “It’s the right thing to do.”

“So how is Evelyn?” Morris asked.

“She’s great. Excited about the grandbaby coming. And Rose?”

“Same as always, wanting me to eat healthier,” the Admiral said with a laugh. “We ought to get together this week. Maybe play a round of golf, then barbeque with the wives.”

“Sounds great, sir,” Kilgallon said as he sipped his coffee. Ten minutes later, he stood. “Well, sir, I better inform the Squadron Commanders.”

“Very well. I’ll get the sortie order ready,” the Admiral said as he stood and shook Kilgallon’s hand. “Make it worth it Frank.”

“Aye, sir,” Rear Admiral Kilgallon replied as he left the room

Office of the Secretary General

United Nations Headquarters, Earth

May 14, 2487, 1446 UT

When humans realized they were not alone in the universe, things changed. It was quickly determined that a planet wide system of government was needed. Although individual nations retained their sovereignty, Earth’s political affairs were centralized and the United Nations changed to managed those affairs and represented Earth in intergalactic matters.

The United Nations was made up of elected representatives from its 193-member nations. With the discovery of extra-terrestrial life, the Unite Nations quickly determined that an executive branch of the U.N. would be needed. But a worldwide general election was not feasible. So, the representatives select the Secretary General from among its members to serve as head of the Executive Committee. Vincent Colón was selected the position in 2484 and won the respect of people around him. The heavy set, yet remarkably fit man from Mexico City endured the triumph of his selection just three years after his wife Maurice had passed away. His poise during her yearlong battle with cancer, while still serving as a representative was well publicized and earned him much respect.

The Secretary General entered the conference room in the newly refurbished executive wing of the United Nations. This room had a small conference table. Three chairs sat on one side of the table, the two on each end currently occupied, while the center chair was empty. On the other side of the table was an empty chair. The Secretary General walked over and sat in the chair between the other two people.

“Good afternoon,” the Secretary General said.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Secretary,” replied Carol Anderson. The former embassy worker who had served on Batron and considered by many to be the leading expert on Batronian affairs. She was one of only a few dozen humans fluent in their language and understood their customs and culture. She had become increasingly valuable to the Secretary General as tensions increased between the two planets. She had a silent demeanor, preferring to silently observe what was going on and offering her opinion only when asked.

“Good afternoon, sir,” Alex Weber, the Minister of Earth Defense Forces said. A war hero during the War at Masic Point, twice wounded, Alex had been born in London and accepted his appointment out of sincere respect for Vincente Colón certainly not out of a desire to become entangled in politics. As former Commandant of the Naval Assault Forces, he had seen politicians in action and had little respect for the games they played, often placing their own desires ahead of what was necessary for security.

“Send in the Ambassador,” the Secretary General ordered an orderly at the door. Thirty seconds later, the Ambassador from Batron entered the room. Like most Batronians, he was tall by human standards at 6’8”, had gray skin and a thin, wiry form. His large, dark eyes were set apart by a strangely shaped flat nose.

“Mr. Secretary, Miss Anderson, Minister,” the Ambassador said in heavily accented English, the standard language for most of Earth, nodding to each person as he greeted them.

“Mr. Ambassador, please have a seat,” the Secretary General said. The Batronian sat at the table opposite of the humans. “I am under a great deal of pressure from our shipping companies because Batronian warships have been threatening our cargo ships in interstellar space.”

“I’m sorry, but my government does not keep me up to date regarding military operations,” the Ambassador replied carefully. “Perhaps they are concerned about weapons being shipped to Antron.”

“Earth has the right to engage in free trade,” Colón said.

“We don’t see it as free trade. We see it as Earth arming our enemies,” the Batronian replied.

“Mr. Ambassador,” Alex piped in, “we are looking for a way to deescalate the situation between our worlds. Threatening to board our cargo ships or to fire on them is going to force us to send armed escorts with them. And that increases the chance of someone firing a shot, which I know neither of our worlds want.”

“Mr. Weber, as long as your government continues to sell weapons to our enemy, there will be tension,” the Ambassador replied.

“That, Mr. Ambassador, sounds like a threat,” the Secretary General said.

“It was not intended as a threat. But I ask you, how would you feel if we armed your enemies?” the Ambassador asked. He looked at each of the humans who remained expressionless. “Your weapons are killing us!” he shouted, slamming his fist on the table in frustration. The sudden outburst caught the humans at the table off guard, but years of practice allowed Colón not to react in kind, but to remain in control of himself and the situation.

“Mr. Ambassador, please inform your government that any attempt to board any ship from earth, or to fire on any ship from Earth in interstellar space will be considered an act of war,” Colón said firmly. “That is something we are trying to avoid.”

“Very well. I will pass on your message,” the Batronian said.

“Thank you, Mr. Ambassador,” the Secretary General said rising. The Batronian had been on Earth long enough to know that this signaled the end of the meeting, so he stood as well and then moments later left the room.

“Well?” Colón asked taking his seat again.

“He isn’t bluffing. He feels they are right and if it was up to him, I think we’d already be at war. Let’s just hope his government is a little more level headed,” Carol Anderson said. The more she thought about the situation, the more concerned she became. She knew that the Batronians would never accept anyone assisting the Antronians in any way.

“What is the state of our military?” Colón asked turning to Alex.

“The only real forces in that sector are the Fourth Fleet and the Third Naval Assault Division. The Third Regiment is forward deployed to Omar IV and the remainder of the division is on Kylar II. Admiral Morris has decided to conduct a training exercise involving approximately half of his ships. They haven’t had any real training in some time and he’s concerned. I don’t know where we can get the funds, but I recommend we allow the exercise,” Alex said.

“Do it. We’ll get the funds from somewhere,” the Secretary General said as he stood. “We need to be ready for anything,” he added.

“Yes, we do, Mr. Secretary,” Alex answered.

Headquarters Fourth Fleet

Naval Base Oscar, Kylar II

May 14, 2487, 1710 Local, 2350 UT

Andrew Wilson left work just five minutes after Admiral Morris left for the day. Stepping out into Kylar’s bright sun, Andrew took a breath. Kylar II was tropical year-round. The trees on Kylar II were similar to palm trees found on Earth but with black trunks. The planet consisted of two large land masses: one in the northern hemisphere and one in the southern. Naval Base Oscar was located on the smaller northern land mass and was the larger of the two naval bases in the Wise-Young sector, the other naval base being located on Omar IV. Naval Base Oscar encompassed 140 square miles. In addition to being the headquarters of the Fourth Fleet, the Headquarters of Third Division, II Corps of the Naval Assault Forces was located on Kylar II.

Walking across the lot, Andrew headed for his personal vehicle, one of the perks for working for Admiral Morris. Few single enlisted personnel on Kylar II had their own vehicle or their own apartment. But given the responsibilities he took on each day, the Admiral thought that his Administrative Assistant deserved a little comfort while off duty. It was 86 degrees out, but with the humidity it felt like and Andrew was sweating by the time he got to his vehicle. He got in, set the temperature to 72 and drove to the Communications Center for Naval Base Oscar just five miles from Headquarters. He parked the vehicle and waited only ten minutes before a blond-haired woman in uniform made her way from the center and got into his vehicle.

“How was your day?” Andrew asked as she got in.

“Busy,” Kaitlyn Ryder, a third-class Communications Specialist assigned as a clerk in the Communications Center said. At 21, she was three years younger the Andrew. Originally from Baltimore, she was slim and attractive. Andrew and Kaitlyn met at the base club six months ago and had been together since. They were well suited for each other, both preferring quiet nights at home over partying. “With everything we have going on with Batron, we have more traffic than I’ve ever seen. Just sorting through it takes forever. I can imagine how crazy it must be at Fourth Fleet.”

“Yeah, we’ve been swamped,” Andrew said as he pulled out and headed toward the apartment he obtained two miles from the center. “I don’t think anything will actually happen, but nothing happening seems to be creating a lot of work.”

“Do you have to deploy for the exercise tomorrow?” Kaitlyn asked.

“No,” Andrew said, knowing he could speak openly with Kaitlyn since she, like himself, was cleared at the highest security level. “It may require a couple of extra hours here and there but nothing else.”

“Good,” she replied, taking his hand. Andrew had been out on deployment only once since they started dating. It was only a month-long deployment, on a carrier in orbit above Kylar II, not even out of the system, but it was something she was in no hurry to repeat.

“So, I was thinking,” Andrew said, “that we should go on a small trip this weekend. Maybe get one of those little cottages on the beach and get away from the base.”

“Really? That would be great,” Kaitlyn said with a smile on her face as they arrive at Andrew’s apartment.