On Point Page 7

  ***

  True to his word, Chief Freeport finished cutting the alloy wall in ten minutes. A large rectangular piece fell out and the first mule rolled through. The machine-gun mounted on the back rattled as the vehicle rolled over the low rim. Four Marines raced to keep up with it.

  “Clear,” a Lance Corporal yelled over his shoulder.

  “Take them in,” I directed the drivers of the stacked vehicles waiting in line.

  The first three mules had machine-guns mounted in their beds. While Captain Djamila didn’t have squads to spare, there were lots of heavy weapons. Each mounted weapon had a gunner, a driver to act as the loader, and two riflemen. Enough firepower to repel an attack until reinforcements arrived.

  Before the large urban assault vehicle entered the hole, I jogged in and sprinted diagonally across the empty storage deck.

  ***

  This side of Construction station built capital ships of war. On the exterior fabrication deck, the ribs of a new Navy Frigate sat exposed. No longer under construction as Naval Command deemed it more important to shift to the construction of smaller ships. Smaller warships were more cost effective for fighting rebels and pirates. Of course, that was before the Empress and her Royal Constabulary arrived.

  The container deck sat empty as there were no pieces stored and waiting for the assembly of the forgotten Navy Frigate. I jumped on a gun carrying mule and directed the driver towards the far corner. We passed the first gun mule. Parked in the center of the deck, its crew watched the two side entrances for enemy activity.

  Following my mule, the convoy headed for the far corner. Chief Freeport’s cart arrived right behind mine.

  We followed the same procedures of me marking the bulkhead and the Navy cutting a passageway. Fifteen minutes later, our rolling detachment entered the next empty material storage deck. I ordered another gun mule and its two Marine escorts to take up a sentry position. The rest of the convoy rolled with me to the far corner.

  ***

  Two breaches later, the last gun mule, Chief Freeport and the other Navy tech, and the assault vehicle entered the final container storage deck.

  I leaped from where I clung to the side of the vehicle and ran the last few steps. At a spot indicated by my PID, I drew a circle. Then, I drew a bigger circle around the smaller one.

  “We need four hook anchors welded on the inner circle,” I explained. “That’ll be our lifting platform.”

  “We’re on it, Lieutenant,” Chief Freeport assured me as he and the other tech pulled the generator and a few work containers from the mule.

  While they attached the anchors, I jogged to a wall mounted control panel. Like the last crate lifter, I didn’t know which motor hung from which overhead track. After a few false starts, one motor moved on the track above where Freeport was welding the anchors and cutting the holes. I let it travel beyond the hole and lowered the four straps and attached hooks. Then, I left the panel and jogged to the assault vehicle.

  “There’s the supply drop area,” I explained while pointing to the hooks. “Put it together there.”

  Five Marines climbed over the long beams sticking out of the rear of the assault vehicle. They jumped to the deck and began pulling the beams out and arranging them on the deck. Before long, they had the runners of a crate long sled bolted together.

  One of the Marines ran to Freeport’s mule and drove it to the back of the runners. There, cross pieces were attached over the back of the small utility vehicle. The mule would steer the back of the sled because backing up to navigate around corners was impossible. Plus, the mule, traveling backwards, would help push the load. Although it couldn’t apply much power, any assistance would help the assault vehicle pull the sled.

  “Lieutenant. We’re pulling the rings,” Chief Freeport yelled.

  The other tech stood at the panel and, under his manipulations, the straps tightened and the entire cut section lifted. It drifted to the side opposite the sled. While the deck piece hung suspended, the Chief climbed on and began the final cuts. Soon, the center circle fell loudly to the deck.

  The ring moved further along the path before the tech sat it down. By the time I reached them, the hooks were attached to the center disc of decking.

  “Ready for a ride?” I asked Freeport as I climbed on.

  “You know, Sir, I’m better with fiber-optics than with welding,” he replied while kicking at one of the anchors.

  “Really?” I asked watching his boot stomp on the freshly welded piece.

  I understood spot welding and soldering wires, but I didn’t know a thing about industrial welding. His admission caused me to worry a little. He watched as my eyes fixated on the weld beads.

  “Just messing with you, Lieutenant,” he said with a smile. “The anchors are fine.”

  The disc swung over the big hole then settled on the lip. After the welder and four more anchor pieces were loaded, the platform lifted, adjusted and we were lowered down into the next corridor.

  ***

  Below this deck were Corporal Nahia, her squads, and the supplies. Unfortunately, I had no way to speak with her. If I used a radio, the Constabulary could triangulate the signals and the decks would be swarming with Constabulary Troops before we completed the mission.

  Chief Freeport and I off-loaded the equipment. Once clear, the disc rose and disappeared through the hole in the ceiling.

  “How big a hole do I need to speak with Nahia?” I asked.

  “About two hands across,” Freeport replied.

  “That’s a pretty big hole for simple voice communications,” I said. “And there will be molten metal dripping on them.”

  “I could make the hole smaller. But, we’d sit around for two hours waiting for it to cool before you could put your face close enough to yell down,” he advised. “Besides, with a small hole, the Marines might not know who it is and begin firing at us.”

  “I bow to your expertise,” I said to the Chief.

  He tack-welded a handle to the deck then cut around it. When Freeport lifted away the laser tool, he nodded for me to pull the loose piece of deck.

  The Chief quick stepped away and I took his lead. Jerking the small disc up, I fell back. Three kinetic rounds pinged from the deck below and ricocheted down our corridor.

  ***

  “Cease fire! Cease fire!” I yelled at the hole. There was no way I was putting my face over it. “Corporal Nahia. Front and center.”

  “Who goes there?” a Marine challenged from below.

  The Marine had used the Corps’ eleventh general order. Training and tradition told me the rest of the procedure.

  “Senior Lieutenant Piran and Chief Freeport,” I stated simply.

  Most Navy officers would assume they could pull rank, talk fast, and get this straightened out quickly. But their verbose response would only lengthen the exchange. The Marine Corps teaches all Marines to be cautious when guarding their posts. The Marine’s next words would please any Drill Instructor.

  “Advance one to be recognized,” the Marine responded in the proper form.

  When a group approaches a Marine’s post, only one of them is invited to approach. To violate the Marine’s order, at that point, was a very dangerous thing.

  I motioned for Chief Freeport to stay back as I moved my head over the hole. The muzzle of a rifle was a meter away and aimed at my forehead. I might add, the barrel of a Kinetic weapon from this end looks really big.

  “Senior Lieutenant Piran for Corporal Nahia,” I said loudly and clearly.

  “Please wait, Sir,” the rifleman advised. Then without taking his eyes off me, he said out of the side of his mouth, “Go get Corporal Nahia. On the double.”

  After a quick conversation through the hole, Corporal Nahia put her Marines to work. They scrambled to clear the supply boxes, especially the rations and ammo, from under the cut. As the molten metal of the circle dripped, I heard a few curses from Marines who hadn’t moved far enough away.

  When t
he cut was complete, the corridor piece was hauled up to the container deck. Soon, the original disc reached us, and Freeport and I stepped on. We gripped the straps as the disc dropped through the hole and we joined up with the Marines.

  ***

  “Lieutenant Piran, good to see you again, Sir,” Nahia said as I came through the ceiling.

  “Load supplies on this platform and five Marines for unloading,” I advised while stepping off. “So far, the Constabulary hasn’t show up. But, our lines are stretched thin.”

  “I understand, Sir,” the Corporal replied. She turned and began issuing orders.

  The first load of boxes and five Marines disappeared through the ceiling. After looking around, I located Nahia and went to her.

  “What’s your status?” I asked.

  “We had contact with a small group of Constabulary,” she reported. “They withdrew after my Marines opened fire. That’s where I was when you appeared from on high.”

  “And almost got my face shot off,” I complained.

  “We thought it was the Constabulary trying to cut their way in,” she replied. “For the record, Sir, I’m glad you ducked.”

  Marines in combat situations do not apologize for anything. Nahia’s expression was the best I was going to get.

  The next load out carried more boxes and the bodies of the two dead Marines. I didn’t dare point out the massive load we had to move and the time crunch we were under. If I had, there were a lot of Marines around who would take exception to my point of view. They would never leave a Marine behind so neither would I.

  ***

  It wasn’t long before the supplies were being passed forward from the far ends of the corridor. They were stacked around and below the hole. Each load out forced the Marines to move the boxes again and stage the next layer closer to where the platform touched down. The more they moved, the more each box had to be handled three or four times. In other words, the process started fast but slowed as it went on.

  I had lost track of Chief Freeport. He’d done a good job for me and I didn’t expect him to help move boxes. At the end of the corridor, I stood guard with a Fireteam.

  “Do you think they’ll come back, Sir?” a Lance Corporal asked. “It’ll be bad if they do while we’re on the lift.”

  “I don’t know,” I replied. “Hopefully, we’ll be long gone before they return.”

  From behind us, the sounds of someone grunting and the screech of metal grating across the deck reach me. I turned around to see Chief Freeport lugging a plate of alloy.

  ***

  “Sorry I took so long,” the Chief gasped. He was out of breath and sweat poured down his face. “This is the last piece.”

  “What is it?” I inquired while studying the slice of metal he rested against the bulkhead.

  “A moveable shield,” he stated. “As the supplies move back, the Marines can drag the shield with them.”

  “Lance Corporal. Your opinion?” I asked calling the Fireteam leader over to inspect the plate.

  For protection, the Marines had stacked a few boxes in front of their position. The barricade was composed of crates of utilities and soft covers. Not substantial enough to stop rounds, it was more a physiological barrier. Besides being mostly useless, they had to move the supplies, box by box, every time they pulled back.

  After rapping on the alloy shield with his knuckles, the Lance Corporal announced, “It’s a thing of beauty, Sir.”

  The plate had short legs welded to a flat-bottomed edge. After tossing the supply boxes behind them, the four Marines placed the shield across the corridor and stepped behind it.

  “So that’s where you went?” I asked Freeport.

  “The shields were an afterthought,” he said. “The slides were a priority.”

  “Slides?” I asked.

  ***

  I followed Chief Freeport to where the bulk of the supplies were moving slowly forward. Except, the boxes and crates weren’t being lifted and handed off to the next Marine. Now the containers were placed on a flat piece of alloy and pushed down next to a waiting container. The slide rested on the stacks of unmoved containers.

  Far down at the lifting platform, containers were pulled from the slide and stacked on the lift. The next box moved forward waiting to be loaded. Gone were the staged boxes crowding the area and limiting the movements of the Marines.

  “I thought the deck plating would be too heavy,” I stated.

  “Exterior plating is thick and solid,” he explained. “Interior decks are layered. It took me awhile to heat and separate the layers. But once they began peeling apart, I had the slides.”

  “Nicely done, Chief,” I said.

  “Thank you, Sir,” he replied.

  ***

  The ends of the lines of supplies were growing shorter and I could clearly see the Fireteams at each end of the corridor standing behind their shields. With no contact from the Constabulary, I decided it was time for me to go topside.

  Containers were stacked high on the platform forcing me to reach for hook straps. I stepped on a box and jumped up grabbing a strap in each hand. By pulling my legs up, I was able to place my feet on the highest box. But my head and shoulders hung over the edge.

  “Better tuck it in, Sir,” a Marine warned as the platform rose.

  I pulled forward and the hole in the first corridor brushed my back. At the cargo deck, I pulled harder and easily cleared the edge.

  ***

  What was a bare framed sled had become stacks of supplies from the front near the assault vehicle’s rear bumper to the mule in the back. The mule was buried except for the driver’s seat. The Marines had resorted to using the ladders to reach the top as they added boxes.

  “No higher than the assault vehicle or it won’t clear the cut on the pass-throughs,” I said as I walked around the load.”

  “We’re on it, Sir,” a Marine replied as he leaned down and another box was passed up to him.

  Captain Djamila hadn’t been specific other than to say he needed the supplies. From the happy expressions on the faces of the Marines, I gathered the existing supplies were low. I’d stress the need for resupply in my report to Naval Command.

  ***

  Eight Marines and Corporal Nahia came level with the cargo deck and I exhaled. The supplies were on a manageable level and the Marines extracted from the corridor. So far, both missions accomplished without contact.

  “Constabulary are in the corridor,” Nahia shouted as she landed on the cargo deck. “What’s our line of march, Lieutenant?”

  “Through that cut,” I replied while pointing to the far away corner. “And three more container decks beyond.”

  I jogged to the cab of the assault vehicle.

  “Slow and steady, Marine,” I said. “Take her out, slow and steady.”

  The driver reached an arm out the window and circled his hand in the air. In front of the vehicle, two Marines began walking backwards signaling the driver to move forward. The vehicle, sled, and supplies moved towards my first worry. The short lip at the bottom edge of the cut.

  ***

  The assault vehicle’s tires rolled easily over the lip. I squatted down beside the bulkhead to get a better view. As the edge of the curved runners slid forward, my concern grew. Sliding across a smooth deck with little resistance was easy even for runners bearing a lot of weight. But as the runners traveled over the lip, it would create uneven pressure. If the sled buckled at any point, it would be stuck.

  I heard a rattling and a mule rolled up.

  “You might want to hold them up for a second, Lieutenant,” Chief Freeman said as he stepped off the mule.

  “Hold! Hold!” I called out.

  The assault vehicle stopped. Its back tires in front of, but resting on, the lip.

  Freeman hauled long ramps from between the machine-gun mount and shoved them against the lip. Then he placed another set beside the assault vehicle.

  “If you had checked with me before starting, I
’d have warned you about applied pressure on a fulcrum,” he stated. “We can use the ramps to reduce the pressure on the sled’s rails.”

  “The raised lip didn’t seem that high on the way in,” I explained. “But as the sled came closer, it seemed to grow in height.”

  “Functional problems always do,” Freeman stated. Then he waved his arm at the driver of the assault vehicle. “Move it out.”

  The forward edge of the runner screeched up the ramp. As the truck pulled ahead, Freeman and the other Navy tech shoved the second set of ramps on the other side of the lip.

  I glanced around the near empty cargo container deck. Corporal Nahia had her units positioned on either side of the cut. Once the sled cleared the opening, they would advance, providing security as the sled moved through the next storage deck.

  “Drop the machine-gun,” I ordered the mule driver who had delivered Freeport. “You’re now on ramp transport duty.”

  ***

  The sled was halfway across the cargo deck when we heard reports from a machine-gun. Seems the Constabulary had decided to come calling.

  “Corporal Nahia. You want to check that out before we get there?” I asked.

  “We’re on it, Lieutenant,” she replied while signaling with five fingers to one side and five to the other. Then, Corporal Nahia led ten Marines at a jog towards the approaching cut and the gunfire from the next storage deck.

  I wanted to go and help. To do what, sightsee or rubberneck? I wasn’t a Sergeant of Marines any longer. The only thing I could do was get in the way of the Marines. So, I continued to walk beside the sled as it scraped across the deck.

  One of Nahia’s Marines came racing through the cut waving his arms. I thought it was to get my attention. I perked up for a second at being needed. But, the Marine angled away from me and motioned the other machine-gun mule to follow him.

  I couldn’t stand not knowing what was going on in the next storage deck. As the mule sped by me, I looked, then ran and jumped on the back. My butt slipped and suddenly a hand gripped my arm and pulled my seat closer to the gun mount.