Postal Marine 1: Bellicose (24 page)

Angel
looked over the Navy fleet, his old stomping grounds. The formation was classic, though not for fleet action. He searched his memory, knowing he had seen this formation before. Then he realized it was the classic planetary bombardment formation, a large parabola which allowed the Navy to concentrate fire. This allowed devastating fire to quickly silence cities. It was doing its best against the Postal Service. He looked to find the targets Litovio sought.

There. Perfect.
“Sir, I'm going to fly recon. They're using a cruiser as fire control for the fleet, classic suppression protocol. Next to it is the jump control cruiser. They've done a good job of protecting them, so launch some brilliants and follow me. I'll go paint the targets.”

Bophendze heard
Angel
yell. “All right cherubs. The
Spaka
is gone. I'm going to close with the Imperial fleet to recon where their weak points are.
Svyngle
, I'm going to drop you off close to the Navy fleet.”

“Roger.”

Bophendze felt his pulse quicken. A faint blue rectangle started to glow against the bulkhead. The other infantry marines fidgeted and adjusted their equipment, preparing for a jump.

They're getting ready to jump. What do I do now?
Bophendze watched the other marines checking their rifles and equipment, so he reached down for his rifle. His harness stopped him well short of his rifle. Bophendze could feel a flush of blood rushing to his warming face. He slyly looked around to see if any of the other marines saw him. That is when he noticed the others had slid out of their shoulder harnesses. They were still checking their equipment, though a few were waiting for the light to turn.

Bophendze slid the shoulder straps off of his harness and reached down for his rifle. He picked it up and set it in his lap. He glanced at the other marines. They were all now ready and waiting for the light to turn. Rather than look the fool, Bophendze stopped any further preparation.
It wouldn't matter if I kept preparing. I have no clue what to prepare for.
He felt like fodder. He tightened his grip on his rifle, and lowered his visor like the others.

What felt like a cycle later, the blue rectangle turned into an equally faint red plus.
Go time!

The shuttle doors opened quickly. The other marines rocked forward in their seats as if falling out of the ship. As their heads were pointing at the opening, they pushed with their legs, effectively jumping sideways. There was some order to the jump, from back to front. Bophendze was in the front, so he sighed relief. He would be going last.

Despite the moment's relief, the other marines quickly cycled toward the front. It was Bophendze's turn. He bent over like the others, reaching toward his toes. As he completed the bend, he tried to rock forward and jump. Instead, the lap belt of his harness held him fast. He let go of his rifle to release the lap belt's catch.

The belt was tighter than he remembered. He did not have time to think of the cause, though a fleeting thought leaned toward the near-perfect vacuum of space—1.8026 peridou at 10 light minutes from a F5 star to be exact.
why am I thinking about vacuum?
Bophendze continued to struggle with the catch as the doors started to close. He could feel the shuttle starting an aggressive acceleration.
I'd better get out of here.

At last the belt released its hold on Bophendze. He hastily balled up and jumped out of the shuttle. His left boot kicked the shuttle door as he barely escaped. He started to rotate in reaction to the impact. He quickly worked the controls on his suit to stop the spin. Bophendze looked after
Angel
's shuttle. What he saw stole his breath.

Bophendze stood, or floated, or whatever one does in deep space, surrounded by angry ships. He could barely tell which of the two sides was Postal and which was Navy. His guess went with the larger, more coordinated fleet being the Navy. The large ships of that armada focused their fire on the larger ships of the Postal fleet. Cruisers suffered one or two salvos before crumpling or jettisoning escape pods. A few of the destroyers jettisoned pods without having a single shot fired at them. Many of the Postal cruisers and destroyers fired back, some seemed to coordinate their fire at the big ships—battleships moron—battleships, but with no obvious effect.

As he stared in awe, he could feel his own insignificance. Nobody fired at him, despite his being close to some naval ship. He quickly realized he was completely alone. He looked around for the other marines from his shuttle. He adjusted the suit's controls until he activated the infrared filter on his visor. He scanned the area around him until he finally saw the others. They were several kilometers away, and forming into an organized cloud preparing to assault what they could. Bophendze watched as a Navy destroyer closed on them. It's smaller guns fired. Shells burst within the marine cloud, flinging body parts and marines from the cloud's center.

Had I managed to jump like the rest, I'd be in the middle of that bloodbath.
The minor relief he felt from that did nothing to overcome the horror he witnessed. Despite it all, he managed not to yell or soil himself; though he did have the urge to do both.

A sudden shape shot over Bophendze's shoulder. Unheard, the streak of light materialized into a shuttle. It fired cannons at the homicidal destroyer as it passed in a strafing run. As it passed the destroyer, it flipped over on its nose, keeping its bearing on the destroyer. It was
Angel
. Another burst from the shuttle pinpointed one of the destroyer's airlocks. It collapsed under the fire and vented atmosphere and crewmen. The shuttle almost came to a complete stop as it trained the guns on another airlock and fired.

The shuttle accelerated quickly, turning sharply to remain in contact with the destroyer. It closed enough to get within the destroyer's weapons range. The cannons fired again, picking at gun emplacements and what must have been other vulnerable parts of the destroyer.

One of the postal cruisers started firing at the destroyer.
Angel
pulled away and charged at another naval ship. This one was closer to the center of the Navy fleet. The cruiser fired four salvos and the destroyer broke in half in a fireball that quickly faded as the ship's atmosphere bled out.

Tune your radio, Idiot.

How do I do that?

As soon as he finished thinking it, his hand started adjusting the suit's controls again.

The frequency was garbled, a result of Navy jamming. Despite that, Bophendze could hear
Angel
. “Admiral, I'm going after the jump ship. They might think twice about continuing the fight if we can keep them from fleeing.”

“What's the point of that, we're getting slaughtered.”

“Concentrate your fire on the smaller ships in the fleet center. Those are the auxiliaries.”

Angel
continued to charge what Bophendze assumed was the jump ship Angel had mentioned. As he did, the Postal ships showed signs of increasing coordination. Then, Bophendze watched the smaller destroyers start to target
Angel
's shuttle.
Angel
started darting and weaving to avoid the fire, but the concentration stepped up. Three destroyers landed solid hits on the shuttle simultaneously. It disintegrated.

Bophendze watched the flash of the explosion. The gases curled in on themselves as the fireball grew. The impact of the missiles caused parts of the fireball to bulge to follow the missiles' former trajectory. The shock he felt ripped consciousness from him. The fireball finished growing and faded back to the blackness of space. The emotion washed over him as thought returned. Only then did he hear himself yelling, “No!”

The horror and sadness of the loss held him for a few beats. His mind raced through the few times he remembered of
Angel
. As crazy as he was in the cockpit, he was the closest thing to a father Bophendze had ever known. The sorrow fought to cloud his mind. Quickly overcoming that sadness was anger. The two emotions wrestled until rage took over. Bophendze clinched his fists and shouted again. “No.”

He looked to the marine corpses, which were closer. They continued to float apart.
I was not meant to die here. If I were, then I would have either been killed on the
Spaka
, the shuttle or with my team. Only then did it occur to him that
Svyngle
was also dead. His mind started to drift to the other marines he knew who were on the shuttle that were now dead.

No sooner were his thoughts put on them that his rage returned.
I was not meant to die here. I am an Imperial Postal Marine. I have not been ordered to die. I have been ordered to fight.

Bophendze realized he had no orders. All he had was the clich\`e to not die. Of course marines were not ordered to die. That was absurd. It was a way to instill a sober mind on the Marine. Bophendze was not in the mood to be sober of judgment. His anger sought a happier path.

Smee? Are you going to show up and help me or are you going to make me do this alone?

Smee did not respond.

That's what I thought. You're a coward, too.
He sighed. Part of him wished he could join Smee.
I suppose in a bet between me and the Imperial Navy I should be betting on the Navy. I need orders.

It occurred to him to try to tap back into his radio. He looked at the bracelet on his uniform and breathed another sigh of frustration. He never trained on how to use the radio. Smee had connected them earlier.
What had
Angel
said? Attack the auxiliaries.

Bophendze looked and saw the cruisers were listening to
Angel
's advice. The auxiliaries were breaking out of the Naval formation, and destroyers were following to screen them. That made the destroyers easier targets. The Postal cruisers slowly started to erase the destroyers from the Navy roster.
Attacking an auxiliary is a bad move. I'll only get myself killed by one of my own.

That he saw a worthy target. A battleship was pulling itself away from the marine formation, keeping itself with the auxiliaries.
The auxiliaries don't need that battleship to protect them, the destroyers are doing that. That battleship is trying to evade combat. Why would it do that?

What really caught his attention was that the battleship was getting closer to him, relatively speaking. He had expected combat fleets to be zipping past one another at hypervelocities. Instead these fleets stood toe-to-toe.
They must have known we were here and sat in ambush. How could they have managed that? I guess that really doesn't matter does it.

The battleship was getting closer. Bophendze realized that he could board the battleship—if he timed it right.
If Smee were here I could do it.
He decided not to let that bother him. His rage still engulfed his sensibility. He tried to guess the heading and speed of the battleship and what he thought the suit's thrusters were capable of.
Besides, it's a big enough target. I am not meant to die today.

He pointed himself in what looked like a good direction and fired the thrusters.

Litovio stood on the bridge, horrified by the carnage he was witnessing on the tactical display. “What do you recommend, Sir?” Litovio looked at
Bence
, remembering that the fleet commander should be giving orders to unify the fleet's actions. The battle display continued to report enemy battle damage as best as it could assess, while simultaneously processing battle reports transmitted from the Postal fleet.

Bence
was speechless. He stared at the display with his mouth agape. For a beat, Litovio thought the Admiral had died of a heart attack. Litovio then walked around the display to get closer. He shook
Bence
gently to see if he could get a reaction. He shook harder.

“What's that Colonel?” Bence remained in a daze.

“Sir, we are in the thick of battle. We need you to guide the fleet.” When the Admiral did not respond immediately, Litovio placed his hand on
Bence
's shoulder and turned him around so they stood face-to-face. “Sir, what are your orders?”

“Litovio, you are going to have to command this fleet. I can't do it.”

Litovio could feel his heart drop out of his chest. He did his best to keep his voice level and calm. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I am putting you in command of the fleet. I can't do it.”

“I got that, Sir. Why can't you lead the fleet?”

Bence
looked down to the deck and slowly started to convulse. Not long after the sobs came loud and heavy.
Bence
doubled over and tumbled to the deck, the rubber mat surface helping break his fall. He caught himself with his hands, ending up on all fours. The sobs continued and
Bence
put his forehead on the deck.

Litovio could feel his anger rising. He crouched down and grabbed
Bence
by the shoulders. Forcefully, he pulled
Bence
into a standing position. Keeping a firm gripe on
Bence
, he said, “Tell me why I have to take over command.”

“Ambrose, I'm a fraud.” He stopped himself from heaving again by taking a deep breath.
Bence
took a few measured breaths before he continued. “I am not an admiral. I'm not even military.”

“What?” Litovio looked around the bridge to see if he was the only one who heard. The other bridge crewmen looked just as horrified.

“I never found the right time to tell you. I'm a bookmaker. A bookie. One of my rivals told me he orchestrated the Naval revolt and then convinced me to bet on the outcome. I'm a bookmaker, I never take bets, I make book. It was so obvious the Emperor would crush the rebellion that I took the bet. Then I found out that the fight was fixed. The Emperor had already decided to negotiate instead.”

“So why are we here?”

“Because I couldn't lose that bet. It was billions of quid. I bribed a few of the Emperor's cabal and they persuaded him to break off negotiations. But then the Navy refused to take up arms against their rebellious brothers because of the Emperor's capriciousness. So he called on the Postal Marines. Naturally, I didn't want my bet to be lost, so I reached out to a
Bafiktuy
friend who said he could find me somebody who could win this fight. That somebody is you. So, take command and save my money and your fleet.” By the end of his explanation,
Bence
had stopped sobbing. He had regained his sense of presence.

It was Litovio's turn to feel crushed. He looked around the bridge to see if he was hallucinating. The other members of the bridge crew looked as he felt. Rather than expose the bridge to his shock, Litovio walked off. He entered the passage and closed the hatch behind him. His anger was too great for him to cry. He hammered the bulkhead repeatedly with his fist. “How could he draw thousands of marines—the pride of the Postal Service—into this?” He turned and looked at the opposing bulkhead. It was the command escape pod.
Pull the release, board and you're free, Litovio. What are you waiting for?

If I do that, then I'll be a prisoner of war. Eventually I'll be exchanged, and my father will be proven right. I'll return home in shame—even if he will let me return. I chose to be a marine. I have to fight as a marine.

He knew there was only one thing he could do. He would have to save the fleet. He took a moment to straighten his tunic. He opened the hatch and walked back onto the bridge. He confidently strode over to
Bence
. Almost reflexively, he drew his service pistol from its holster. He aimed at
Bence
's head and pulled the trigger. The incident happened so slowly as the adrenalin kicked in.
Bence
fell slowly as Litovio's reactions and senses quickened.

Once
Bence
's body landed on the deck, Litovio turned to the bridge guard who was starting to react. “You heard him. He made me the fleet commander. Do you want to get out of this alive?”

The guard relaxed. After a moment's hesitation he nodded his assent.

“The loss of an admiral is what makes a massacre. I guess this makes it a massacre. Somebody get this carcass off my bridge.” He turned to face the display. “Out the airlock, if I see that carcass again heads will roll.”

His focus on the display intensified such that whenever the body was removed he did not notice. He studied the Navy formation, looking for the fissures. “We need to identify the jump ship and target painters. Which one of these looks like—” He looked around the bridge. “Get over here. I'm not going to pick targets.” He put his hand on his service pistol.

The officers reluctantly came over to the display.

Litovio started barking orders. “You, identify the jump ship. You, look for interdictors. Find the target painters.”

“What—” one of them started to ask.

“Painters are going to be near the center of squad formations. Interdictors are going to be faster moving ships looking for gaps in our formation to cut through us and hit targets of opportunity. The jump ship will be the most protected.”

One of the officers pointed at the display. “This is a painter?”

Litovio followed the finger. “Yes. Feed those targets to the cruisers and order them to target the closest ones.” He debated explaining that painters helped improve targeting in fleet actions. He decided not to waste the time, especially as it could lead to a question and answer session.

The officers started issuing orders. The first target painting ship winked off the display. The officer's confidence jumped and he started tapping targets faster.

Litovio turned to the communications officer. “Tell the fleet to break formation. They've got us in the focal point of their firepower. We need to make them split up. Break them into squads.” The more he studied the map, the more he realized it was a hopeless fight. He was determined to do as much damage as he could before the first postal fleet in existence was exterminated. He smiled as he watched the Postal fleet start to break ranks chaotically.
The Navy fleet will need a few beats to adjust to a disorganized action. Maybe that will buy us enough time to find the key ships and take them out.
“All we need is a miracle.”

Bophendze's thrusters continued to accelerate him toward the closing battleship. The HUD showed that he was traveling at 18.026 meters per second, then the thrusters cut off. The feeling of weightlessness returned and he stopped clinching his teeth. Then he realized he had no idea how large the battleship actually was, so he would not know how close he was getting to the monster of a spaceship. To make matters worse, he realized he had no idea how to stop. His anger mixed with panic.

Are you ready to listen to me now?

“What, now you show up?”

Fancy that. I see you want revenge. I can help.

Bophendze did not notice the mechanical nature of Smee's voice. “Right now I want to know how to stop. I'm going to slam right into it.”

More than likely, it is going to slam into you. Larger things do the slamming. Smaller things get slammed.

“Is now really the time to argue over semantics?”

Every event is a teachable moment.

“Yeah, well can we postpone the lesson? That thing is getting bigger.”

No. That battleship is getting closer. It is not growing.

“Enough with the word games. Help!”

Bophendze's fingers uncontrollably worked the controls on his left bracelet at the same time he twisted himself around. The suit's jets fired slowing Bophendze to a near stop.

“Thanks.”

The jets continued firing, sending Bophendze away from the battleship.

“Wait. Where are you going?”

Silly human. That battleship has a course, I put you on a real intercept course.

The suit's HUD lit up. Two faint red lines formed a narrow ‘V’ with the apex pointing toward the battleship. As Bophendze looked around, the lines adjusted. He tried to follow the ‘V’ to its end, when he noticed a much smaller, green ‘V’.

Those are the two courses. The battleship is that big red line and the green one is you. You'll see that the two of you will be coming together in about four beats. Had you kept going in the direction you were going, then you would be mush in less than a beat.

Then how do I board?

Isn't this your plan?

Bophendze thought for a moment. He saw the battleship's main guns fire a volley at the postal fleet.
Those guns, how big are they?

They are 720 millimeter. Wait, are you going to go down the tube?

I've been around guns like that for months now. Even with this suit I should be able to make my way down, right?

I don't like how you say ‘should.’ Nobody should be going down an angry gun tube. It's one thing to perform maintenance on one of those, but quite another to try to go down the tube in combat. In case you haven't realized, the breech-end of that gun will be reloading right about now. Any second it will fire another volley.

“Then time the volley. It has to be operating at maximum firepower. I need to dive down the tube when it's reloading.”