First Strike - An Earth@War Novel

ESS London (SCV-7)

In Orbit, Travos I

June 9, 2487, 0912 UT

Rear Admiral Frank Kilgallon sat on the flag bridge of London, looking out at Task Force One now orbiting the only planet in the Travos system. The planet was an uninhabitable mass of super-heated gas surrounding a mainly iron core. It was moonless and of now value, making it an idea place to hide the task force.

ESS Mexico had been assigned officially now to Task Force One, replacing the destroyed ESS Ukraine. Still damaged, Mexico waited for the arrival of a supply ship and a repair ship that was enroute from Kylar II. All the ships in the task force needed resupplied and some of the destroyers needed some minor repairs for damage incurred during the battle. While waiting for the ships to arrive, the ships of Task Force One began repairing what they could and training their crews. Frank watched as fighters flew by providing cover for the task force.

As Frank watched, he was considering what to do next. Where do I begin? Frank wondered. It was a good question, an important one. It was much easier at Masic Point where others made those decisions and he simply went to where he was told and did what he was ordered to do. Now it felt as if he had to decide how to fight a war which, of course, was exactly what he had to do.

ESS Argentina (D-868)

In Orbit, Travos I

June 9, 2487, 0931 UT

Yeoman First Class Andrew Wilson made his way through Officer’s Country on the third deck of the destroyer. Officer’s country was the nickname for the section of the ship where the officer’s quarters were located. The quarters lined the passageway that was spotlessly clean, walls bright white and a deck that was highly polished. The wardroom, where the officers ate and held meetings was located at the end of the passageway. Andrew arrived at a door labeled “Gunnery (3rd Division) Officer” and knocked.

“Enter,” a voice said loudly. Andrew opened the door and stepped in. A Lieutenant opened the door and stepped in. A Lieutenant sat at a desk along the wall to the right with the desk light on and a stack of papers in front of him. A bunk and a locker were to Andrew’s left. The room was small and utilitarian, but lavish compared to the cramped berthing areas that enlisted crewmembers lived in.

“Sir, could I have a moment of your time?” Andrew asked.

“You’re the new guy on Mount 54, right?” the Lieutenant asked.

“Yes, sir. YN1 Wilson, sir,” Andrew replied.

“What’s on your mind?”

Andrew stood thinking for a second. “Sir, I think we have a problem,” he said finally. The Lieutenant raised an eyebrow. “When I qualified on the 75-mm gun, I scored a 97, almost perfect. But the targets were moving slowly and tracked in a straight line. They were easy to hit. During the battle, the Batronian fighters were fast and very evasive. I struggled, sir. I only hit two targets. A person who scored a 97 in qualification, could only hit two spacecraft during a battle of that size. Something must be wrong, sir.

“I thought maybe I was just rusty. But every gunner that I’ve talked to has said the same thing and had similar results. If that had been a larger force, sir, we would have been in serious trouble. We wouldn’t have been able to protect ourselves let alone London and Newton.

“Has anyone looked for a way to update our training? Maybe using faster drones? Ones that try to evade our fire? I we don’t, gunners like me, who score high in training and feel confident are going to get a reality check that we don’t want to have. Sir, we have to prepare ourselves for real battles, not just for a high score in qualifications.”

“Have a seat, Wilson,” the Lieutenant said. He took a drink of his coffee as he studied Wilson. “You used to work for Admiral Morris, right?” he finally asked.

“Yes, sir,” Andrew replied.

The Lieutenant looked coldly into Andrew’s eyes. “Well, you are not on an Admiral’s staff now, son. You are on a ship of the line and here you will not question how officers do their job or how they train you. You will follow orders; do as you are told and keep your mouth shut. Learn your place, son. Do you understand?”

Andrew stared at the Lieutenant in disbelief. Why was he acting this way? I’m not criticizing him. Why would he take it personally? Andrew asked himself. Still, Andrew recognized that he was being dressed down and self-discipline kicked in. “Aye, sir,” he replied.

“Now, if you are having trouble hitting spacecraft, perhaps you should go back to being an Admiral’s errand boy. Is that what you want?”

“No, sir.”

“Then get out of here and do your job. Understood?” the Lieutenant asked, his voice dripping with poison.

“Yes, sir,” Andrew said rising from his chair. He stepped out of the cabin, shutting the door behind him. He was angry. He had been in the service for over six years, had a stellar reputation and had never had an officer talk to him that way. And worse yet, Andrew knew that he was right. But he had no idea what he could do about it.

ESS Iwo Jima (AS-38)

In Orbit, Rankus I

June 9, 2487, 1028 UT

His eyes flickered open in the bright light. At first all he could see were shadows before he was forced to close his eyes again to shut out the bright light. Again, he opened them. This time shapes began to form before again his eyes closed. Where am I? Dave Roberts asked himself. His head ached. He tried to take a deep breath and found a new source of pain. Something was seriously wrong. He struggled to open his eyes again.

An image flashed in his mind. A puff of smoke coming from a hole in his chest. Oh my God, he thought. I was shot!

He forced his eyes open again. A nurse was standing over him. He was in a hospital he realized. No, that’s not quite right, he thought to himself.

“Where am I?” Dave asked. His voice was week. He was having trouble drawing a breath.

“You are in sick bay aboard Iwo Jima,” the nurse, a woman in her late thirties replied. “Do you remember what happened?”

“I was shot…on Omar IV,” Dave said. “Can I have some water?” His lips were dry and cracked. The nurse poured him a drink and handed it to him. As he drank, he noticed the nurse looked to his left. He turned his head and saw Karen Baker sitting in the chair beside his bed, sleeping.

“She wouldn’t leave your side,” the nurse said. She leaned over to Karen. “Karen, he’s awake.”

Karen looked over at Dave. Her eyes brightened and she smiled broadly. “About time you woke up, lazy,” she teased Dave as she stood and moved to his side.

“You saved my life,” Dave said. He looked at her. She was in uniform, but for the first time since meeting her, she was cleaned up, not running around in the hot sun and sweating, firing her rifle. She was uncovered, her blond hair clean and silky. She was wearing a little makeup, especially around her blue eyes. She’s beautiful, Dave realized.

“You saved mine, too,” Karen reminded him. There was a moment of awkward silence as the two admired each other hoping the other one didn’t notice. They were interrupted by a figure appearing in the doorway.

“Hey, you’re awake,” Max Finley said as he entered the room. He walked over to Dave, bent over and hugged him. The two friends from bootcamp finally reunited.

“Hey, what are you doing here, Max?” Dave asked surprised to see his friend out here.

“First Regiment has been assigned to Iwo Jima and we were sent to help evacuate the base on Omar IV,” Max replied.

“We evacuated?” Dave asked looking over at Karen.

“Yeah. Just after you were shot. We couldn’t win. There were only 78 of us left from the whole regiment and most of us were wounded, many of those like you, were no longer able to fight. Six died since we arrived here. We just couldn’t hold out any longer,” Karen said, her face downcast as she remembered those last moment of the battle.

Dave remembered too. The firefights. The death around him. The struggle and the fear. He remembered it all. He would never forget the sights, the sounds or the smell of his first battle. He remembered Sergeant Pachenko and carrying his body back to the line. And, of course, the third member of the group that went through bootcamp together, Phil.

“Phil didn’t make it,” Dave said, tears filling his eyes.

“I know,” Max said softly.

“He died right beside me,” Dave said as he relived that moment. Karen reached over and squeezed his hand. The three troopers fell silent as each recalled their personal battles.

Headquarters Destroyer Squadron Ten

Naval Base Oscar, Kylar II

June 9, 2487, 0817 Local, 1437 UT

Admiral William P. Morris sat at his desk reviewing the final report from Captain Harrington and Rear Admiral Kilgallon. Admiral Morris had taken a lot of heat over the loss of Omar IV, but he knew it couldn’t be avoided. Actually, he was pleased with how the battle had went. True, Batron did capture Omar IV, but Morris was certain it cost the Batronians more than they wanted to pay.

Morris got up and walked over to the window. He looked out at the activity on the base. Construction was proceeding quickly, beginning to replace what Batron had destroyed just over three weeks ago. A new Fourth Fleet Headquarters was already rising out of the ground where the old one was. A new control tower already stood at the Space Center and new hangers were being erected at an incredible rate. Debris from the attack had been almost completely removed. What few pieces of ships that came crashing down on land were being recovered. Wrecked spacecraft were being broken up and prepared for shipment to a recycling facility.

In orbit, docks were being repaired and new docks were being constructed. Plans were to increase the capability to support over one hundred ships in orbit. Due to the war, the Fourth Fleet would be greatly increased in size and strength. Naval Base Oscar would also be expanded to support both more ships and more troopers as the Naval Assault Forces began to move addition units into the sector. A new army base was being constructed to support the planned four divisions the army would be moving into the Young-Wise sector to support war efforts.

Work also continued on ships damaged during the attack on Kylar II. With more docks available, Morris was able to send the repair ship Appalachian Mountains (RS-3) and the fleet supply ship LaSalle (FS-2) to Rankus I to resupply Task Force One and make repairs to Mexico. But as Admiral Morris stared out the window, he realized what he really need was a mission for Kilgallon and Task Force One.

Home of Tony Fillmore

Village of Lansing, Omar IV

June 9, 2487, 2003 Local, 1703 UT

Jack Mitchell approached Tony Fillmore’s house just after dark. Now that Omar IV was under Batron’s control, he had to be careful. Movement of humans was restricted to begin with and a curfew had been established at 1800 local. But, Jack Mitchell’s years in the navy had taught him how to remain under the radar. The Batronian soldiers in Lansing, seemed to trust him. But they shouldn’t, thought Jack. He tapped lightly on the door and was let in by Amy.

“He’s in the basement,” she whispered. Whispering was unnecessary but seemed appropriate for what they were doing. Amy closed the door as Jack entered. He headed for the basement. The basement of Tony’s house consisted of a large open room. It was okay for now, but they would have to find an alternate place soon. Jack found tony at the workbench studying the portable sensor display that the Navy had dropped off just prior to the end of the battle. Jack had set up the small sensor array, hiding it in the growth of the fields. It had a very limited range, extending just beyond the Omar system, but with it, Tony and Jack could monitor the movement of enemy ships around the Omar System.

“Any luck?” Jack asked.

“It’s working,” Tony replied taking notes on what he as seeing on the sensor display. “They have moved a huge number of soldiers here already. Maybe 100,000 even.”

“Damn! Have you told Fourth Fleet?”

“Not yet,” Tony replied. “I want to get an accurate count on everything they have here and send it all in one message. No reason to risk the tall and uglies getting lucky and detecting messages going out from here.” Tall and uglies was a term that the humans on Omar IV had started calling the Batronians. It was derogatory, sure, but it was hard not to think of an enemy who had violently taken control of your planet in anything but derogatory terms.

“Let me see,” Jack requested. He looked at the display and was shocked by the sheer number of ships in the Omar system. Not just a dozen, but scores of ships. He wondered how many additional ships were just outside of the system or on their way here. “Wow,” he said to Tony as he backed away.

“Yeah. Obviously, they are planning on using Omar as a major forward base. They aren’t done doing whatever they are planning,” Tony said. He looked up at Jack. “How is your part going?”

“I better prepare the message,” Tony said.

060924871708U

From: Hawkeye 12

To: Fourth Fleet Intelligence...

the message began.

ESS London (SCV-7)

In Orbit, Travos I

June 9, 2487, 1928 UT

Chris Davenport sat in his stateroom. He had just finished the final draft of his Action Report on the Battle of Omar IV. He was shocked and saddened by the way the war was going. Not only had the Batronians captured Omar IV, but now, Earth was completely cut off in the Young-Wise Sector from anything beyond the Omar system. Batron had occupied many smaller systems as well. Only Antron was still fighting and it was unclear how long they could hold out without Earth’s support. For the normally cocky fighter pilot, this realization was sobering. Earth was losing. During his time in the navy, Chris had steadfastly believed that his navy was indestructible. And slowly his cockiness was being replaced by somberness.

He leaned back in his chair taking a deep breath. On the bright side, they did have a couple of stealth ships operating between Omar and Batron. He knew through unofficial channels that they were having some success intercepting cargo ships heading to Omar and destroying them. He didn’t know exactly how the stealth ships were able to be in exactly the right place at the right time. Obviously, someone had a source of intelligence, but no one seemed to know exactly where that intelligence was coming from.

And, of course, there was Task Force One. It wasn’t much, but in Chris’ opinion it was a start. He hoped that once repairs were complete to Mexico and the ships were resupplied, that they would get back out and, well, do something. Anything. This war had to start changing soon or Batron was going to win. His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Enter,” Chris said. The door opened and Donald Franklin entered the stateroom.

“Busy?” Don asked

“No, just thinking,” Chris replied as Don sat in the chair beside his desk.

“Yeah, my mind has been racing. This isn’t how war I thought war would be. I thought we were the toughest beings in the universe, but now, it just seems that we keep losing,” Don said.

“I know what you mean. But, this is just the beginning of what will likely be a long war. Two lost battles don’t mean anything. It’s what we do from here. After all, Masic Point started off worse than this in many ways. But in the end, we won. And we’ll do it again. Remember, Kilgallon, Morris and the others fought in that war. They know what they are doing. We will win,” Chris said.

“Well, we’re flying the patrol at midnight, so I better get some sleep,” Don said.

“Me too,” Chris replied. “And Don, you’re doing great.”

“Of course, I am. What did you expect, C-Dog?” Don said, his cockiness still there despite all that had happened. “Don’t worry, we’re going to get them.”