Op File Revenge (Call Sign Warlock Book 1) Read online

  “Between planet Uno and Nafaka, the reports of pirate activities have reached an all-time high,” Ulric reported. “It does seem coordinated. The addition of two Striker teams isn’t a lot but it’ll make a difference.”

  “The difference will be time on target,” Diosa assured him. “Thanks to your training, the Strikers will cut down the resistance so the Marines can get in and deal with the bulk of the pirates. Quick in and out and we’ll be on to the next group of pirates.”

  “You have a graduation to dress for,” Ulric reminded her.

  “I do and thank you again, Master Gunnery Sergeant Ulric,” Warlock said.

  “You did earn two half demerits, Master Sergeant Alberich,” Ulric informed her as they walked across the dojo. “I did my job. Now it’s up to you and your team.”

  “We won’t let you down, Chief Instructor,” Diosa promised as she held the door for Ulric.

  ***

  Striker graduation was a march and review by the officers and instructors of the training division and groups of Phase I, II, III and IV candidates. After several speeches, the two new teams moved to the quartermaster building and drew swords, kinetic rifles and hand cannons, new armor and helmets. They packed everything in individual equipment trunks. Then everyone headed for the post club to celebrate with beverages and stories about the training.

  Warlock remained separate from the groups as her experiences exceeded any of the new Strikers. She didn’t want to hold a question and answer session with her as the guest speaker dominating the conversations.

  ***

  The yacht Mareva rested on the military level of Planet Uno’s orbital station. From the shuttle dock, ten Strikers pushed their cases towards the transport.

  “What’s it like being assigned to a battleship?” asked Alya, High Moon.

  “If the Navy does it right, we’ll be busy and won’t spend too much time on the Holy White Hawk,” replied Gurvan, the War Prince. “I was an airlock tech on a Heavy Cruiser. The Glynis Gavin has more mass and lots more personnel.”

  “So, no stateroom for us Strikers?” inquired Havoc.

  “You’ll have more room on the yacht than on the battleship,” commented Shepherd. Dewi gave Radko the call sign because he was the one who protected the other team members like they were a flock of sheep.

  “We’ll store our equipment on the gun deck,” Warlock informed her team. “One side is ours. The other is for Reaper’s team.”

  They reached the cargo doors of the yacht and entered. Five hours later, the yacht pushed back and entered the flight line. When it nosed through the first air curtain, the Strikers strapped in and waited for the acceleration.

  The pressure and shift as the yacht escaped the orbital station’s gravity and claimed its own gravity didn’t bother the Strikers. One of the qualifications to join the teams was the ability to handle shifting gravity fields. Everyone unstrapped and began to mill around. After consistent training for two years, they had nothing scheduled. During the next ten hours, they talked and joked before strapping in again for the first exterior evolution.

  The flight plan called for the Mareva to evolve to interior drive in a week to adjust for the second leg of the journey. Another two weeks of travel and they would reach the patrol area and rendezvous with the Glynis Gavin.

  “What are the orders for the day?” High Moon asked, expecting them to begin a training cycle.

  “Sleep,” replied Warlock. “Strikers sleep whenever possible because you never know when a mission will light up our action board.”

  “Sounds boring,” Havoc chimed in. “I prefer action.”

  Between strategy lectures, calisthenics, games, reading, and sleeping, the Strikers were bored. A week later, the Mareva evolved to interior drive to adjust for the next heading. As soon as the yellow ions cleared, the yacht’s radio lit up with distress calls. The boredom of the Strikers ended shortly after the Mareva’s Captain replied to the first call.

  Chapter – 11 Tramp Steamer, Osamu Kaito

  A blue streak flashed across the near heavens. It thickened and a blue comet head grew from the gash before a tramp steamer evolved to interior drive. Giving the cargo ship almost the mass of an Orbital Station was her tail of three Clipper ships. Each section carried two cargo sleeves clamped around the Clippers’ bodies. Four yachts in a wedge formation on the sides of a sloop’s bridge composed the nose and command deck of the vessel. Sections of old transport sloops connected the ends.

  The Osamu Kaito began adjusting course. Her trading family crew spread out around the various hauls and engine rooms watching for fractures where the mismatched ships were joined together.

  Under exterior drive, the ion flow encased the tramp steamer in a cocoon of energy. When she evolved to interior drive, all of the ion walls came to interior drive. Although well maintained, the ion walls were tweaked to their maximum for generating blue ions. They all started life in a yellow configuration, but the ship needed blue to carry the massive trader. Out of necessity, the family engineers adjusted the ion cannons on the walls for blue.

  Spaceship architects and engineers cringed whenever a tramp steamer came up in conversation. As if a child had glued ship parts together, the monstrosities carried no certifications or guarantees that the hulls would stay together under the stress of maneuvering. Or, even if the ion walls would remain in the engine room and not jump through the bulkheads. Most of the professionals had never seen the Osamu Kaito as the huge steamer remained far from civilization. If they had, it would have become the subject of a cautionary lecture series.

  She was a mothership for other free trading families. After completing a course among manufacturing stations and a final stop at the food planet Nafaka, the Osamu Kaito set out for the sector divide between planets Uno and Dos. Once on station, she’d orbit and begin trading. This was the third adjustment as she cut diagonally across the upper portion of the Uno sector. That’s when the pirate fleet of two sloops and two old yachts streaked in, dropped into landing bays, and vomited pirate fighters who attacked the mothership.

  “Any Galactic Council Navy vessel in the Uno sector, this is the free trader Osamu Kaito,” the Captain radioed on all channels. Echoing down the corridors connecting to his bridge, he heard the reports of kinetic rifles and pistols. “We are under attack by four ships of armed boarders. Transmitting location and vectors.”

  ***

  The message repeated for an hour before the Heavy Cruiser, Tres el Fuerte, evolved to interior drive. As soon as the ions cleared, the communications department picked up the message. Minutes after the Tres el Fuerte’s Captain heard the plea, the Heavy Cruiser went to battle stations and set a course for the distressed tramp steamer.

  It was too far to send out Bricks because it was over kill for the situation and hard on the pilots. The same held true for a flight of fighters. Both would deploy once the Cruiser reached the area of operation. Instead of the attack crafts, the Heavy Cruiser tasked two patrol boats to go on exterior drive and begin operations. As the patrol boats disappeared in envelopes of yellow ions, the Captain of the Tres el Fuerte received another message.

  “Tres el Fuerte. You are ordered to the Galactic Divide. Investigate sighting of two Constabulary warships,” the message from Command Station directed. “Be advised, the presence of Escort ships may be the precursor to the arrival of a Constabulary fleet.”

  The Heavy Cruiser’s Captain was aware of two Empress fleets. One patrolled along the Planet Dos and Tres divide and the other held a position at Construction Station. If a third fleet appeared in the Uno sector, the Galactic Council Navy would be in a three-front war.

  “Sir, what about the tramp steamer?” inquired his Executive Officer.

  “The patrol boats have sixty-four Marines and four gunships between them,” the Captain replied. “That should be enough fire power to handle a bunch of pirates. Navigation, set a course for the Galactic Divide. Helm, ready all stations for exterior evolution.”

  �
��Aye sir, preparing for an exterior evolution,” Helm answered. Then on the ship wide system, she announced, “All hands, standby for exterior evolution in ten minutes.”

  Below the Bridge in combat control, a Marine Colonel watched as the course shifted and the warning for the evolution came over the speakers. He ran for the tube connecting combat control with the Bridge. As he reached the tube, a thought crossed his mind.

  ‘The Navy is leaving my Marines unsupported,’ the Colonel fought to keep the idea at bay, but the reality of the course adjustment and the warning told the tale. His stomach sank as he hit the tube controls that would shoot him up to the Bridge. The Navy had already abandoned his Marines.

  ***

  “Tres el Fuerte. Razor One and Two are on station,” Razor One’s pilot radioed. When the Heavy Cruiser didn’t respond, she called the accompanying patrol boat. “Razor Two, radio check?”

  “I read you loud and clear,” came back the reply. “The Fuerte isn’t answering. What do you recommend?”

  The gangly and enormous tramp steamer grew in their forward screens.

  “We’ll launch our birds for security,” Razor One explained. “Then we’ll ask our Marines what they want to do.”

  “Razor One, is there any doubt what the Marines want?” he inquired.

  “Not really, but I like the illusion that I’m in charge,” Razor One stated. Then over her ship’s comm, the pilot called, “Lieutenant Femke, pilot for Razor One-One and One-Two, and the ship’s gun Sergeant, to the bridge deck.”

  Soon her navigator and Executive Officer were trapped at their stations as four Marines crowded the narrow bridge. Lieutenant Femke stood in her space and the others shuffled around her. As a ground combat officer, she was accustomed to claiming territory. Just because it was the Navy’s bridge didn’t stop her from staking a claim to a piece of prime real estate. No on debated her standing in the center of the bridge. The two gunship pilots stood by the hatch while the Sergeant for the ship’s gun crews huddled in a corner away from the officers.

  “We’ve lost contact with the Tres el Fuerte,” the pilot reported. “Razor Two and I have decided to launch the gunships for security. Sergeant, I want our guns out as well. The question Lieutenant Femke, do we circle and wait for instructions or do we land the Marines?”

  “Please radio Razor Two and have him pass a message to Lieutenant Edgarda, ma’am,” Femke said.

  “Of course, Lieutenant. What’s the message?”

  “Two words ma’am, Semper Fidelis.”

  “I guess that means we’re landing the Marines,” ventured the pilot.

  “Yes ma’am. There are Galactic Council Realm civilians in danger,” Femke advised. “We wouldn’t be worthy of the title Marines if we sat on the patrol boats twirling our thumbs.”

  “Sergeant, get our guns hot and pilots, combat launch the gunships,” the patrol boat Captain ordered. Then she hailed the other ship, “Razor Two. I have a message for Lieutenant Edgarda. Rodger, the same.”

  The pilot for Razor One turned and looked at the combat officer before speaking.

  “Lieutenant, the reply to your message is Semper Fi.”

  “I’d expect nothing less,” Femke responded. “Now if you’ll excuse me, ma’am, I need to ready my squads.”

  As the Marine marched off the bridge, the Executive Officer announced, “Razor One-One and One-Two are warmed up and standing by.”

  “Launch them,’ the Captain ordered.

  “Yes, ma’am, launching,” the XO reported.

  In the rear of the patrol boat, the side elevators lifted exposing the gunships to open space. When two green lights appeared on her screen, the Captain ordered, “Secure the elevators. Set the ship for insertion.”

  “Razor One, no threats detected,” Razor One-One reported as the gunship flew away from the patrol boat.

  “Setting the ship for a sliding landing. I’m warning the Marines,” the XO advised. “Guns in, Sergeant.”

  The pilot brought the nose of her patrol boat up and it appeared she’d fly by an open bay. Just before it passed under her ship, she dove for the opening and reversed the cannons on the ion wall. Forward momentum carried the patrol boat into the landing bay and once through an air curtain, the undercarriage screamed across the tramp steamer’s deck. Gravities merged and the ion cannons took over, jerking the patrol boat to a stop.

  “Lieutenant Femke. It’s your show,” the Captain of Razor One announced.

  “Yes, ma’am, opening the sides,” the Marine officer advised. “Nice landing, by the way.”

  ***

  Lieutenant Femke’s network suddenly filled with hyphenated numbers and one-word orders such as four-four hold, four-two go, two-three push…

  Razor One turned down the volume on the Marine net and called her gunships.

  “Razor One-One, report,” the Captain requested.

  “Razor One, I’m linking our scanners with yours,” the gunship pilot advised.

  Three rings appeared on the Captain’s screen. Each circled in a different orbit making the screen useless as the edges shadowed each other out. Then, one settled, another layered on top and when the third locked in place, Razor One inhaled sharply in response to appeared on the screen.

  “Razor One-One, estimated time of arrival?” she asked although the Captain already had an idea.

  “I’d say the ten unidentified ships will reach the tramp streamer in a half hour,” the gunship pilot suggested. “Orders, ma’am?”

  “Hold your patterns and let’s see what we’re facing,” responded Razor One.

  She had about twenty minutes to make a decision. If they were sloops or yachts, her gunships were more than capable of handling them. On the other hand, if four or five of the incoming vessels were armed patrol boats, Razor One would have to determine if she would strand her Marines and go join the fight. Or, she could pull her gunships in and they’d all become sitting targets. There was a third option. But, she wouldn’t abandon her Marines and fly off to safety. That option was quickly swept off the table.

  “Razor Two, are you seeing this?” she called the other patrol boat docked on another bay of the tramp steamer. “I’m looking for solutions.”

  “Too soon to tell about their composition. But, I’d say there are no good solutions,” Razor Two replied. “It’s your call Captain. I’ll back your choice.”

  ***

  Five of the pirate vessels began circling and as they crisscrossed around the Osamu Kaito, their rear side elevators opened and ten gunships separated from the patrol boats. The other five spacecrafts vanished into the tramp steamer. Then the hostile gun boats ducked into landing bays, deposited fighters, and rejoined the vigilance in space. With each new vessel, the number of pirate fighters, entering into the battle for the Osamu Kaito, grew.

  “Razor Two, I’m positioning so my rockets are available if any of them line up with my landing bay,” Razor One informed her fellow Navy patrol boat. “Also, I’m initiating a distress call.”

  Flanking her docked patrol boat, the two gunships also hovered just off the deck to allow clearance for their rockets and guns. If any pirate vessels peeked into the bay, they were in for a rude welcome.

  “Razor One requests assistance from any Galactic Council Navy vessel,” the message reported. “Location and vectors are embedded.”

  The message repeated for an hour before the yacht Mareva evolved to interior drive.

  “We are receiving a distress call on the Navy net,” the yacht’s navigator announced. “Wait one! We’re also picking up a call on the merchants’ shipping channel. Both are from the same location and vectors. Both report active engagements with armed boarders.”

  “What am I supposed to do with only two gunships for offensive weapons?” questioned the yacht’s Captain.

  “Sir, we have two teams of Strikers on board,” the XO reminded his Captain. “Maybe we should ask them.”

  ***

  “Combat-drop the gunships as you pas
s through the operational area,” Warlock suggested. “The gunships should be able to make it into landing bays before the pirates can sort out if we are one of theirs or targets.”

  “You’re going to be packed in pretty tight in the back of a gunship,” offered the Captain.

  “Strikers are tested for claustrophobia, sir,” Warlock informed him.

  “That’s not what I meant, but I see your point,” the Captain replied. “Okay people, we are a Navy vessel and we respond to mayday calls. Even if it’s only with two gunships. Master Sergeant Alberich, Sergeant Bhreac, load up your Strikers. And good luck to you.”

  “Thank you, sir. Just get us on the vessel and we’ll be your offensive weapons,” Warlock assured the Captain. Team Leader Reaper, standing beside her, nodded his approval of her sentiment.

  ***

  “This is impossible,” complained High Moon as she crawled over the Earth Elements.

  “Nothing is impossible,” Warlock replied from where she was crushed against the hatch on the other side. “Alert?”

  “Alert, team leader,” responded the other four Strikers.

  The back of the gunship could accommodate two gunners and four passengers. The yacht’s gunship didn’t carry gunners. Rather it used an automatic system controlled by the pilot. But, that meant the ammo drums were linked and stacked taking up room on the deck. The gunship’s design allowed for four normal sized and armored Marines as passengers. War Prince and Shepherd, in their armor, equaled the mass of four. The Strikers needed to pack three more bodies into the cargo deck.

  “Warlock. Mareva One-Two reports they are loaded,” their pilot, Warrant Officer Enno Metta, informed the team leader that the other Strikers had boarded the second gunship . “Standby for a short exterior evolution.”

  Usually, the Strikers would strap into seats for the transition between drives.

  “Place a hand on the overhead,” urged Warlock and five hands reached up and braced against the top of the compartment.

  Outside the gunship, the yacht’s interior drive rattled like a kettle drum filled with pebbles. The rattling stopped, replaced by the humming of the exterior drive. Fifteen seconds later, the rattling began again.