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  Both the Captain’s and the Sergeant’s eyes widened and they curled their lips bearing teeth. It was not a pleasant look, nor was it meant to be.

  “There was nothing easy about it,” Captain Djamila stated while reaching down to massage his stump. “When naval communications informed me about the destruction of Armory station, I had Echo Company draw a combat loadout and standby. An hour later, the Navy advised that a large force of unknown ships was inbound. We didn’t know if they were pirates or rebel forces. After consulting with command on the Navy deck, I divided Third Platoon between our standing guard posts. Then, I ordered Second and Fourth Platoons to the Navy deck on the alphabet side. They set up defensive positions at the primary intake tubes and docks. First Platoon was split and sent to secondary intake tubes and those flight docks. We had all of Construction station’s access tubes covered. The Constabulary shouldn’t have been able to breach our defenses.”

  He paused to take a sip of coffee. While his face was calm, the intact knee bounced. The Captain appeared to be a pacer and not someone accustomed to sitting, let along laying down, while talking.

  The Empress’ Royal Constabulary had attempted to destroy Armory Station for propaganda purposes in the past. It seemed for the invasion of Construction station, they made it a priority and completed the task. I felt for the good men and women who lost their lives.

  ***

  Captain Djamila stared into his cup as he gathered his thoughts. A few seconds later, he continued. “I sent the XO to command our positions on the secondary tubes and left my Company Sergeant in charge of our standing posts. The Admiral and his staff arrived on the primary flight deck while I reviewed the positions of Second Platoon. I woke up in a triage center back on A side. I don’t remember what happened.”

  The Captain of Echo Company looked at Sergeant Bima. The compact NCO nodded and filled in the blanks.

  “The Lieutenant assigned my squad as a reaction force,” Bima said. “We were stacked in a corridor off the flight decks standing by to support either Forth or Second Platoon. Shortly after the Admiral and his staff passed us, there was a series of explosions.”

  The intense NCO shook his head as if to clarify, or shake off, the memories. I couldn’t tell which one.

  “I sent two fireteams to render aid to Forth Platoon. Then, I led the other one to Second Platoon’s location,” Bima recalled. “The air handling units hadn’t cleared the smoke yet. But, through the haze, I could see bodies thrown across the deck. We established security on the intake tube and I called for medical teams. Among the dead bodies were wounded and others just knocked down by the blast. Captain Djamila and fifteen Marines from Second Platoon moaned and, those who could, called out for help…”

  He paused.

  I understood the helplessness of being in a situation where there was so much carnage, it was impossible to choose which victim to treat first. But that wasn’t the reason the Sergeant hesitated.

  “I received a call from one Corpsman. He was treating wounded Marines from First Platoon and couldn’t raise command or the medical deck,” Bima stated. “Then, an odd shaped patrol boat burst through the intake tube. It didn’t use a sled. Just came barreling onto the deck in a shower of sparks. When a second one followed, I called the Fireteam over and had them set up in a defensive position.”

  “Only twelve Marines from Second Platoon made it to their feet. We tied off bleeders and carried as many injured to the corridor as possible,” he continued. “We left a lot of good Marines on that flight deck. Left them because the patrol boat began vomiting big guys with automatic weapons. The only way any of us made it out of there was the Fireteam. At the airlocks, I had the survivors from Second lay down covering fire. As it was, only two men from the Fireteam made it through the hatch.”

  He curled his talon like hands as if crushing the throat of a Troop. It was obvious, the Sergeant carried a lot of resentment for the loss of so many Marines.

  “Once we had concentrated fire on the invaders, I ran to Fourth Platoon’s location,” Sergeant Bima said. “The two Fireteams were engaging units from one patrol boat. Another of the invader’s boats lay smashed against a wall beam. Twenty-Nine Marines survived that blast including the ones needing first aid.”

  “I ordered them to collect the wounded and clear the flight deck. We had half of them moved when two more patrol boats slid from the tube,” said the Sergeant. “In all that time, I couldn’t raise command or the medical deck. If it hadn’t been for the bombs on the flight decks, it would have been an easy day at the range for the Marines. As it was, we couldn’t hold the hatches and treat our wounded. I ordered a withdrawal.”

  “We filtered towards what we believed was a safe area,” Bima said. “Our lead stretcher-bearers walked into an ambush on the way to the medical deck. It wouldn’t have mattered if they made it to medical. Other bombs had been triggered on the medical and command decks. I adjusted our march directing the remaining squads to go for the tram. That’s how we got the survivors to the A side.”

  When he stopped, Captain Djamila held out his arm and flexed his fingers in a come-on-with it motion. Bima inhaled deeply and stood.

  “The tram cars could only hold so many. While others waited for the next car, I collected twenty healthy Marines. We worked our way to the command deck,” he said. “We found ten living naval personnel among the dead. But as we evacuated them, the Constabulary hit us. We leapfrogged, folding back and setting up another line before collapsing back again. It was touch and go. We were almost to the tram station when one of the sailors, a technician, explained the tram controls were behind the station. If the Constabulary reached the controls, they could reverse the cars. Our wounded and the healthy Marines escorting them would return to the terminal. And into the guns of the Constabulary.”

  “Using the alloy walls on either side of the mag rails, I set a defensive position with my fifteen remaining Marines. The Navy tech volunteered to stay,” Bima explained. “While the tech worked on disabling the controls, the last tram full of our wounded left the terminal. I guess the Constabulary needed to regroup. We waited a long time for them to show up. When they did, it got ugly fast.”

  “They are big and don’t go down easy,” Bima continued. “Head on, we needed to triple tap them to open a hole in their armor. Then another two rounds to put them down. I lost six of my Marines and got mad.”

  Sergeant Bima began walking from one end of the communication’s center to the other as he told the next part.

  “I snatched up six rifles. We had plenty laying around. After loading grenades in each and slinging them on my shoulders, I ordered a mad-minute,” he said. “While my Marines emptied their magazines, filling the space between us and the Constabulary with kinetic rounds, I jumped over the alloy wall.”

  “A single kinetic round couldn’t penetrate the front of their armor. But a sonic grenade peels back their armor and eviscerates their bowels. A big piece of gut for every grenade. The volume of fire from my Marines drove the Constabulary back. I cleared the wall, fired a grenade as I ran, dropped the rifle, and fired another grenade. Four Constabulary fell before I noticed the small person in the black uniform with red and tan stripes.”

  “She was waving her arms trying to rally her Troop units. Invisible from my place behind the wall, I was halfway across the free fire zone when she came into view. I wasn’t thinking. I dropped to a knee, sighted in on the space between the gold leaves on her collars and fired. I expected to die. No one in the open, who remains stationary during a firefight, should expect to survive.”

  “There must have been twenty-five Constabulary soldiers targeting me. All of them waiting for the incoming from the Marines to let up,” Bima said. “The chest of the Constabulary officer splayed open. Her heart squirted out and bounced across the deck. Every one of her soldiers watched it mark the deck in red blotches as it moved. Then, the Constabulary soldiers just stood there looking around at each other. My Marines began yelling for me t
o get back behind cover.”

  “I tossed the extra rifle away, spun around, and ran for the alloy wall,” Bima said. “I leaped it just as the Constabulary resumed firing. As I lay on the deck, the Navy tech crawled up and announced the control panel was disabled. He explained it would take the Constabulary techs three shifts to repair it.”

  “I sent the Navy tech and three Marines down the maintenance path with orders not to stop for anything. Once they were out of sight, I pointed out three more Marines and sent them on their way,” Bima explained. “The Constabulary realized our volume of fire had fallen and they increased theirs. The last three Marines didn’t hesitate when I motioned them to disengage. With only my rifle responding the Constabulary became bolder. One stepped into the open. I still had a grenade loaded so I put him down.”

  “Now it was my turn. I low crawled to the end of the alloy wall,” Bima said. “Then, I jumped up and ran for the path. Rounds began pinging off the deck and I didn’t think I’d make the entrance. Suddenly, six rifles appeared above the mag rail wall. They fired volley after volley forcing the Constabulary back under cover.”

  “The path runs parallel with the tram support structure before dipping under the mag rails. I slowed as I reached my Marines. They fired a few more rounds then climbed down. We’re calling this the Bima Run they announced as the seven of us picked up the pace and ran for our lives,” Bima reported. “The Constabulary chased us with rounds because, as we discovered, the big guys don’t run well over distance.”

  “We passed the engineers entrance to the first ion wall. Not that it’s important to this story, but a few weeks ago, a team of ours tossed a few grenades at that ion wall,” Bima said. “The alphabet side is running at about sixty-five percent power. Sorry about the side details, Lieutenant. The seven of us ran by the first Druid area and later the second Druid place. We started up the grade over the second ion wall and exhaustion set in. The hill is steep and after the day we had, all seven of us struggled to reach the top. At the top where the deck wraps over the top of the ion wall, we were challenged by a Marine Fireteam.”

  “Third Platoon’s Lieutenant decided, after the first tram of wounded arrived, the maintenance path needed to be secured,” Bima said. “Now, we have a machine-gun emplacement there.”

  “Have the Constabulary bothered the Druids?” I asked.

  “They have to cross over the first ion wall hill. It’s a long way, but we have that approach covered,” Bima replied. “If the Constabulary comes over the top and dodges our rounds, they’ll need to take a side path to the Druid areas. I can’t imagine the Druids would give them a warm welcome.”

  “I believe you’re right,” I said. “Now, about Corporal Nahia’s problem?”

  ***

  “That’s more of a problem then you might think,” Captain Djamila explained. “Nahia has a third of our Marines with her.”

  “You only have ninety Marines?” I asked in horror. “Out of an entire Company? Did the bombs do that much damage?”

  “The explosives devastated three of my Platoons,” Djamila stated. “But it was the refugees that did the real damage.”

  “I’m not following?” I confessed. “I can see Galactic Council Realm citizens wanting to escape the Empress’ Royal Constabulary. I sampled the air, it’s nasty.”

  “We felt the same way in the first weeks after the invasion,” the Captain said. “People came in by every route imaginable. Between walls, down paths, and through corridors, they flowed in around the watches. And, we let them in. Unfortunately, there were a lot of Constabulary collaborators mixed in with the citizens.”

  “There were that many? Enough to cause you problems?” I asked.

  “We didn’t realize it either. Unwittingly, we let them behind our lines,” Djamila said. “It turns out Empress sympathizers, turncoats, traitors and mercenaries had been infiltrating Construction station for months. The collaborators we let on to the A side attacked us. In two days of house-to-house fighting, I lost a lot of good Lieutenants and Sergeants. They were targeted by the insurgents. So yes, we are defending half of Construction station with about one hundred and fifty Marines, Sailors and Station security personnel.”

  I realized now why the Sergeant at the barricade had been suspicious of me. He’d survived a purge of the Marine’s leadership and didn’t want to face that again. If it wasn’t for Bima, I’d have been turned away or shot.

  “I see your issue. If you pull guards and get into a pitched battle going to, or coming from Nahia’s position, you’ll lose more than supplies,” I ventured. “You’ll lose a large segment of your command.”

  “The other side of the situation is, we desperately need those supplies,” the Captain admitted. “Not only ammo, but rations, and medicines. And, I should mention we need new sets of utilities. For our Marines and for our nattily dressed Sergeant Bima.”

  It was good to see Djamila relax and tell a joke. I wasn’t the only one. Bima let a smile pass over his rocky features. Obviously, the injured Captain had been under a considerable amount of pressure. Maybe sharing the story of the invasion with a fellow officer took a little of the load off him.

  “So, Lieutenant Piran. Now that we’ve shared our report with you,” suggested Djamila. “I believe it’s time you stated your mission. Just why are you on Construction station?”

  “I’ve a dual mission, Captain,” I explained. “One is to ascertain the situation pertaining to the Marine Guard Company Echo on Construction station.”

  “That language sounds as if you’re quoting a brief mission statement,” Djamila said. “A mission of discovery without an actual plan of action.”

  “Unfortunately, you’re correct, Captain,” I replied. “I have no idea what the Navy or Marine Corps has planned. Other than they have a heavy cruiser standing off, way off, and running Fighter patrols.”

  “You mentioned a dual mission?” he inquired.

  “I’m going to meet with the Druids after we bring in Corporal Nahia’s unit and the supplies,” I replied.

  “You have a solution to our problems?” Djamila asked.

  “I believe I do, Captain,” I replied while scrolling through maps of Construction station on my PID.

  “I’d like to hear it. Afterwards Sergeant Bima will scrounge up a set of utilities for you,” Captain Djamila said. “Run around in traitor gray and someone is going to shoot you.”

  Chapter 6

  The problems were multifold. Nahia’s unit and the supplies were seven standard decks from the surface of Construction station and over two sectors from the command post. Captain Djamila lacked the manpower to physically fight his way to her and retrieve the merchandise. Any solution required low personnel involvement, speed, and the ability to move a massive volume of goods. Taken together, they posed an unsolvable riddle.

  However, I broke the mission into goals, added one more element, and viable solutions begun to form.

  ***

  “Sergeant Bima. Do you still have the urban assault vehicle?” I asked.

  “Yes Sir. It’s got a few more dents, thanks to the insurgents, but it’s available,” he replied.

  “We have smaller vehicles for the supplies,” advised Djamila. “The mules can navigate the stairs. The big truck can’t. There’s no other way to get it down to Corporal Nahia.”

  “We’ll need six of the smaller vehicles,” I said listing my requirements. “The big truck, cutting torches, four mounted machine-guns and a few other items.”

  “What are you planning?” demanded Captain Djamila.

  “We’re not going down to get the supplies,” I stated. “We’re bringing the supplies up to us.”

  ***

  On my previous trip to Construction station, I’d used a small hatch to access the ramp. This time, I had a Marine help. We rolled back the double doors. He and I started walking down the ramp. Along the way, we tossed abandoned boxes and other items posing hazards to wheeled vehicles. At first the trash off the side of the
serpentine ramp took seconds to fall before crashing to the deck. As we traveled downward, the items took less time to clang on the cargo container deck.

  “Send them down,” I radioed to the lead vehicle when we reached the bottom of the ramp.

  A soft whirl reached the Marine and me as the first motorized vehicle began the steep drive down the circling ramp. Unlike my first visit, I didn’t head to the Fighting Circle arena and the squatter’s camp. Rather, I turned in the opposite direction towards the back wall of the container deck.

  ***

  At the bulkhead in the corner of the cargo deck, I consulted my PID. Once satisfied the location was correct, I signaled the Marine. He yanked a folding ladder off his back and leaned it against the wall. I climbed the ladder and marked the alloy wall with an outline big enough for the assault vehicle to pass through.

  The first mule arrived and I pointed to the outline. Two Navy techs hauled short ladders and a bridge piece from the back. Once a platform was constructed, they pulled out a crate. In seconds, cables were run to a generator and a two-handed metal tool, shaped like a large mixing bowl, was pressed against the wall.

  A cut line appeared as the techs drew the laser cutting tool along the bulkhead. Usually the tool preformed the cutting in the void of space. Here with air and gravity, the tool caused molten metal to flare and flow down the cut line.

  “Fourteen kilowatts of laser,” one of the Navy techs explained. “Ten minutes and you’ll have your hole, Sir.”

  “Weren’t you with Bima at the tram station?” I asked because when the Sergeant selected members for this mission, he specifically choose this Sailor.

  “That’s right, Lieutenant. Compared to disabling the tram controls, this should be a walk in the park,” he replied and introduced himself. “Chief Freeport, Galactic Council Navy, Ion Science Division.”

  Chief Freeport was more than an electronics’ technician. Ion Sciences dabbled in practical physics and the application of ions. Everything from channeling power and gravity to communications and keeping the lights on, fell under the umbrella of Ion Science. And here he stood, over qualified and patiently waiting his turn to handle a laser cutter.