Postal Marine 1: Bellicose (27 page)

It meant that if the Postal Service was going to subdue the Navy, they were going to have to break the sphere. When they tried, the claw would tear the Postal fleet apart.

“I think I'm all out of miracles.”

He took off his helmet. The darkness of the control room surprised him. He walked over to the central console, thinking it might be important. The touch panels looked more intended for video recording than fire control. Bophendze raised his head to see if he could see a more important-looking console.

The display wall stood out. It was a dome, with the star field stretched out in every direction. Speckled all over the display was a constellation of white squares filled with blue. Just beyond that constellation was a smaller cluster in red. The audio was quiet, except for the occasional staccato of incoming messages. The tone of the messages was one of calm professionalism. Bophendze was annoyed by the undertone of disdain coming over the wireless.

He concluded the console he was at had value. He sat down at the keyboard and looked back at the display. Some projector at the seat beamed an overlay at him. Bophendze adjusted the seat until the display was clear and centered. Then he saw that the display provided rich data on the ongoing fleet battle. The Navy was forming into a ball with some claw forming.

He saw a list along the left of broadcasts. The time stamp stopped about the time he entered the control room. “So this room assigns targets to the fleet?”

That looks like it. That means you're on the flagship.

He looked back down at the console, where he noticed the keyboard and a smaller display.
I type the target and it displays there?

Give it a try.

Bophendze looked back up at the display, trying to identify a suitable target. He set his eyes on a destroyer. He carefully typed in its target ID, ensuring the formatting was consistent with the target board. Satisfied, he hit SEND.

A moment later, the fleet's guns stopped, and then fired a single concentrated salvo at the destroyer. Its target marker dutifully winked away.

Idiot!

What?

That was one of your destroyers. Do you know which one?

Does it really matter?

Yes. Remember, your admiral and Litovio re-flagged to a destroyer. How do you know that one isn't the one they flagged to?

Bophendze felt the blood rush out of his face as he realized he just destroyed a postal ship, killing dozens of fellow marines. He might not have known the word fratricide, but the guilt and horror felt all the worse.

“Help me identify Naval ships.”

Give me your hands so I can peck around.

Bophendze nodded.

A moment later, Bophendze's hands started to tap across the keyboard. The display popped windows as Smee worked to understand the display. Bophendze tried to keep up with the displays, but Smee's ability to read was just a bit faster than his. The red cluster and blue constellation disappeared, only to be replaced by a blue cluster and red constellation.

There. I reversed the IFF, er, Identification of Friend or Foe. That means the Navy now sees all the Postal ships as friendlies. If I'm not mistaken, their weapons will not fire at a target marked friend on IFF.

Neat. Is there a way to target specific Naval ships?

Yes, do you want me to do it?

No, I can take it from here.

Bophendze felt his hands return to his control. He looked at the wall display, searching for a target. A giddy feeling came over him as he selected a pair of support ships. He carefully typed in the identity of the one that was flagged as “Navigation.” He hit SEND and a moment later was rewarded by watching the target disappear.

Good call. That was likely the fleet's jump computer. I'm surprised. Normally a fleet carries two of them. Maybe our fleet took out the other one?

What's a fleet jump computer?

That's a ship that maintains the overall gravametric configuration and maintains a jump solution. That way, if a ship needs to jump to safety it can.

Bophendze tried to grasp what Smee had said.
Do we have one of those?
Bophendze could almost hear a sigh in Smee's reply.

The Postal Marines are not large-fleet based. You might want to target faster. It won't take long before they realize what's going on and send somebody after you.

Bophendze typed in a queue of targets and broadcast them. The Navy started firing at the larger battleships, not as individuals, but
en masse
. The targets on the display grew in size, showing a white halo that turned slowly red. One of the ships that was mostly white suddenly exploded and the target marker disappeared.

“What's that?”

I'm not an expert in targeting. It looks like some attempt to assess damage of the capital ships. It must not be entirely accurate since that one just disappeared.

Steadily, other battleships started to explode and disappear. The wireless chatter suddenly started changing. The professional disdain from before became chaotic pleas for help.

Bophendze started typing in more targets. Looking at the display, he started to make out the patterns that the fleet was arrayed in. He pointed out one of them.
It looks like those are team leads. I'll just target all of them. Smee, is there any way to identify which of them is the overall fleet lead?
Bophendze heard Smee sigh.

Try target code ‘A300B2-203.’ While you're at it, issue command ‘JMP-611’ and ‘CG-49’

Bophendze typed that code in, along with those of the other ships that appeared to be in leadership positions. He smiled and pressed SEND.

The ship started to shake. Not once but repeatedly. Bophendze's helmet fell to the deck and rolled. He got out of the seat and scrambled for it. Another shake tripped him and he fell. “What's going on?”

You asked for the target code for the central ship. You are on that ship, remember?

A part of Bophendze's vision showed a yellow halo.

That number up there next to the ship's name is its code. JMP-611 is a jump command. CG-49, if I'm not mistaken, signals all ships to communications silence. What does it all mean? The ships will fire on auto until the commanders can tell their crews to stop firing. It also means they won't be able to change targets without severing their cooperative combat fire. Ships will also start jumping in a panic, which means a lot of them may well never be heard from again.

“All ships?”

Yes.

“This one?”

Yes.

Bophendze felt like he just wet himself. In his haste to target the Naval ships, he sealed his own fate. The ship's continued shaking was a constant reminder of how he had managed to screw up yet again. His mind numbed at the weight of his failure. He dropped back to sit back down into the chair, which had been moved in all the explosions. Instead he fell to the floor and onto his back. Rather than pick himself up, he clinched his fists and brought them up to his eyes. He had no way out, and he knew it.

Even if the ship was not destroyed by the Navy ships, the Postal Marines would continue to pound on it. If it did not, then the battleship might jump away without a good solution, ghosting them forever. It was not the thought of all the naval personnel killed that weighed on him, but of his own inevitable death. He had promised his mother that he would make something of himself. He had survived
Makaan
. He had even found a way to control Smee. But none of that mattered now. His life was over. He started beating the floor with his armored fist.

It took a couple of beats, but his despair started to wane. He pulled himself up into a sitting position and surveyed the control room floor. His helmet was not far away, so he reached over and picked it up. He looked at the helmet's face and saw a little reflection of himself. Bophendze resisted the urge to throw it across the room.

“Bophendze, think. What are your options? Dying is the default of doing nothing. Maybe I can surrender the ship? That wouldn't matter if the ship was already programmed to jump away. How long does it take a ship this size to do jump prep anyway?”

Bophendze stood up and went over to his rifle. He bent over and picked it up. It was a lot heavier than the helmet, but easier to handle. “Whatever I decide to do, I can't stay here. Maybe I can get to an escape pod, and hope that my side doesn't shoot survivors on sight.”

He walked over to the door. He leaned the rifle against the door jamb, and slowly put his helmet on. Once he had twisted it into the lock position, the HUD started synchronizing with the suit. The ship continued to shudder as ship fire kept slamming into it. He tried to figure out how to get to an escape pod without having to fight his way out.

Wait a second. I can order an abandon ship, can't I?

Bophendze sat back down at the console and pulled up the list of broadcast commands. He selected abandon ship. He smiled as he pushed the send button.

The ship's alarm started sounding abandon ship. Bophendze thought it was interesting that the command was the same on Naval ships as it was on Postal ships. He hoped the message carried over the communications silence.
Okay, Smee. Show me the way to the escape pod.

Silence. Bophendze started to get angry at Smee playing games. Then he remembered that intense emotions pushes Smee out. He could still feel the pangs of his earlier breakdown. He was still frustrated, but realized he had to rely on himself for a while.

He started tapping on the keyboard and searching the display. After a while he saw a tab for the ship's diagram. He called it up.
I'm only two decks above the bridge. There are escape pods right there.
Despite himself, he pointed at the diagram.
I'll bet the ship's commander leaves last.

Bophendze ran to the hatch. He checked his rifle to ensure he had enough ammunition. He was still a stranger on the ship and could not rely on panic to completely camouflage him. Satisfied, he opened the hatch and stepped into the passage.

The crew was not as panicked as he had hoped. They were abandoning ship, but not flying for fear. It was an orderly escape. Jumping into action, Bophendze ran to the ladder and resumed his descent. It took him only a few breaths to make it down the two decks necessary to make it to the bridge. He took a moment to regain his bearings. He pointed in the direction of the bridge, assuring himself of the right course.

He brought his rifle into the ready position and started padding forward. There were fewer crew now, and the ship stopped shaking from cannon fire. He approached the bridge steadily, its hatch clearly visible in front of him. Unlike the bridge of a postal ship, there were no guards posted outside.
That's odd. Maybe they've escaped?

Bophendze kept scanning for hostiles as he closed on the bridge's hatch. A few meters out, he saw the keypad. Thinking back to his entering the control room, Bophendze stopped to type in his access code.

The access indicator on the keypad went from red to green. The hatch catches clicked in response, and the hatch opened. Bophendze rushed through the hatch firing at anything he saw moving.

The tactic worked. His first burst struck one of the bridge guards. As Bophendze fired a second burst, realizing that the guard was not wearing body armor. He thought it was a severe breech of protocol for them to fail to wear their armor, but he focused on the task before him. He scanned for the nearest armed crewman. He fired quick, steady bursts and dropped them all. He then turned on the unarmed crewmen who seemed intent to resist.

In the adrenalin, he failed to notice the time it took him to suppress the bridge. When he stopped firing, the only crewman left raised his hands. Bophendze lowered his rifle and noticed that it was an admiral—the fleet's commander. “Well I'll be.” Bophendze raised his rifle and pointed at the admiral. “Sir. You're my prisoner.” He was surprised at the falsetto in his voice.

“It would appear so. Where are the rest of you?”

“There is no rest-of-us.”

The admiral gasped. “What do you mean? You're the only postal on this ship? I've been getting reports of all sorts of mayhem.”

Bophendze smiled, though it would not have shown through the helmet's visor. “Sorry, Sir. Just me. It would have been much more mayhemical if my friends were with me.” He lowered his rifle politely. “Order your fleet's surrender.”

“I already have. Whatever it is you did tore us to shreds. There are only a handful of us left. The rest are either destroyed or false jumped to who knows where. It was the best I could do to stop the crew from completely abandoning ship.”

Bophendze thought back.
Had the crew been trying to stop me from shooting at them under surrender?
He shook the doubt out of his mind.
The admiral could be trying to trick me.
“Open a channel to my fleet.”

The admiral slowly lowered his arms and walked over to the communications center. He worked the controls and picked up the handset.

Bophendze moved closer. “Set it down and back away.”

The admiral complied.

Bophendze lowered his rifle slightly and picked up the handset with his free hand. “This is Postman Bophendze calling the Postal Fleet.”

“This is Commander Litovio. Is that Bophendze?”

“Yes, Sir. I have the Navy admiral here as my prisoner. I guess that means I captured the battleship.”

There was a long pause on the other end. “Postman, you captured the Navy fleet, not just its admiral. I don't know how you managed it, but what you did saved all of us.”

Bophendze's smile grew. “I was just doing my duty, Sir. Could you send somebody over to help me out? If they realize I'm by myself I might find myself captured.”

“We already have a detachment of marines coming. I'll tell them to meet you at the bridge.”

Life settled into routine marine duties in the months that followed the battle. The first few days he was kept in sick bay, which for a destroyer was only two beds.
Litovio
remained in command of the ship until it returned to its normal duty system. At that point, Bophendze heard
Litovio
would return to his normal duties, whatever those were.

The Postal Service retained all the captured Navy ships, adding much needed combat capabilities to their arsenal. After he was pronounced fit for duty, Bophendze was put in command of a stick of marines as a lance corporal. He was assigned to the Battleship
Tannenberg
, what had been the flag ship he captured. He took responsibility for the lives of four other marines, many of whom had far more service time than he did. If any of his marines were upset by the assignment, none of them mentioned it in his presence. He managed to learn from them.

\Bophendze felt woefully ill-prepared, but he tamed Smee. He resisted the urge to release the emotional hold he had over his inner demon. Instead, he let the fear of inadequacy fuel the hold. It also fueled his drive to study marine procedures so he could do right by his more senior subordinates.

“Lance Corporal Bophendze.” The voice carried the weight of command with it.

Bophendze jumped to attention. “Sir!” He resisted the urge to glance at the officer, but caught the ensign rank on the officer's collar.
I have one thing he doesn't. I've been promoted.

“We're receiving a guest on board ship. You are to accompany us and report to the hangar immediately.”

“Sir.” Bophendze pivoted in place toward the hatch and walked out.
Did the ensign have fear in his voice? Why does he have an escort. The only other person alive that knows about Makaan was Litovio. Has he moved forward with charges after all I've done?

He made his way purposefully, but still at a walking pace. The
Tannenberg
's crewmen moved out of his way as he walked. It was something odd how they started treating him after the battle. It never occurred to him to ask why.

As he walked in the hangar, he stopped in shock. The hangar was filled with ranks of ship's crewmen and marines in parade formation. A shuttle sat in the hangar with the Imperial seal. The diamond was naval blue with gold piping on the border. A gold inverted, broad “T” sat atop a broader “T” with the curved cross member, with “Yu” symbol beneath. Bophendze snapped to attention, unsure what to do.

“Corporal Bophendze, present.”

Using just his eyes, Bophendze looked to see where he was being told to move to. He saw
Litovio
at attention, facing the Imperial shuttle. A gap was to his left, then a rank of other marines and crewmen stood at attention.

A middle-aged man standing imperiously in front of
Litovio
. Bophendze saw
Litovio
gesture carefully with his hand, as if saying “next to me, idiot.”

Bophendze carefully marched over to
Litovio
, trying to exhibit the ramrod straight back marines were supposed to have. He turned and faced the man. The face was familiar, but he could not place it exactly. Off in the distance, a voice called out. “Attention to orders.”

“The Imperial Medal of Honor is awarded to Commander Ambrose Kaarel
Litovio
. During the Battle of Tannenberg he skillfully commanded the First Postal Armada in the defense of the Emperor's honor against the renegade Naval forces. His keen understanding of fleet tactics ensured swift victory, bestowing honor to the Imperial Postal Marines and the Emperor himself.”

The man reached over and picked up the medal. He placed the broad ribbon around
Litovio
's neck. The medal hung high on his chest.

“The Imperial Medal of Honor is awarded to Chief Danel Bophendze. During the Battle of Tannenberg he single-handedly assaulted the renegade fleet command battleship. With thoughtless heroism, he fought through the ship until he reached a critical location that led to the ship's capture. His selfless dedication to the Emperor bestows honor to the Imperial Postal Marines and the Emperor himself.”

Reckless abandon, more like.

Shut up.

With the same ceremony, Bophendze felt the weight of the award, and a new promotion, rest on his breast. “My uncle was amazed at your heroism. I think you had to have had a death wish. Either way, we will need marines like you in the days ahead.”

Uncle? The Emperor?

“The Imperial Medal of Valor and Fidelity is awarded to Corporal
Makaan
posthumously. He manned a medium projectile cannon on the
Spaka
single-handedly, giving the ship's crew precious time to evacuate.”

Bophendze tried not to smile.
Litovio
must have put him in for the medal.
I guess you can't investigate the alleged murder of a combat hero.

The royal family member continued down the line.

Litovio
leaned over and whispered. “I owe you an eternal debt of gratitude. Consider this a down payment.”

“After this, where else can I go?”