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The following Monday morning, a smiling Curtis Delgado stuck his head through Lieutenant Colonel Joshua Bayliss’ open office door.
“You summoned me, sir?”
Tall, muscular, with short red hair framing a sharp, pale-skinned face, he didn’t seem old enough to be a Special Forces major, certainly not compared to weathered warhorses like his squadron and regimental commanders.
When he noticed Colonel Decker in one of the chairs around the small conference table, he amended his question. “You summoned me, sirs?”
“We did.” Ghost Squadron’s commanding officer pointed at the chair next to Decker. “Close the door and sit.”
As he complied, Delgado grimaced theatrically.
“Nothing good ever happens when both of you want to speak with me together.”
Decker patted him on the shoulder.
“Then you’ll love the mission we’re about to lay on Erinye Company.”
“I remember the last time you called me into this office for a new tasking. And based on that, my gut tells me I won’t like what I’m about to hear, Colonel.”
“I thought you enjoyed the little jaunt to Earth.”
Delgado let out an amused snort.
“The trip had its moments, but Erinye Company isn’t made for that sort of thing. Fortunately, we carried out a proper job on the way back. It cleansed the palate nicely. Dare I ask what this next one is, or should I put in my notice of resignation?”
Decker tilted his head to one side and gave him a disapproving look.
“Admiral Talyn would be crushed if you walk out on the regiment. She’s become quite fond of the Erinyes and their talent for adjusting to any situation or mission.”
“When you lay it on this thick, I really know I won’t like what’s coming, sir.”
Decker winked at Delgado. “Want to bet?”
“I’ve learned betting with you, or Colonel Bayliss, is a losing proposition, sir. But please, go ahead and tell me about Erinye Company’s fate.”
As if a switch had been thrown, both Decker and Bayliss lost their amused expressions.
“What follows is top secret special access, codename Phalarope. As usual, nothing about this mission is to be discussed beyond the confines of Erinye Company.”
Delgado, now equally serious, nodded. “Understood.”
“Did you ever hear of an installation by the name Tyrell Station?”
The younger officer took on a thoughtful expression, then shook his head.
“No.”
“It’s a Fleet-owned mining operation on an airless planet in the Rim Sector, specifically in the otherwise uninhabited Keros system.”
A frown creased Delgado’s forehead.
“I didn’t know the Fleet operated mines, sir.”
“It’s a relatively recent development to gain greater control over the extraction and refining of strategic metals and rare earths used in warship and weaponry manufacture. Tyrell is a former Assenari Mining installation that’s been in operation for a long time. However, the only actual change is a naval officer overseeing the chief administrator and the security arrangements. Instead of private guards, a Marine company polices and protects the place. The folks operating the mine and smelter and most of the support staff are from Assenari under contract to the Fleet.”
A look of dismay replaced Delgado’s frown.
“No. Don’t tell me we’re going to Tyrell as overpaid and over-trained rent-a-cops.”
The grin splitting Decker’s square face could have lit up the darkest of nights.
“Tyrell is an interesting operation. Interconnected modules that can be detached from each other and airlifted by a small starship when ore veins play out. Remove the humans, seal the modules, detach them, move to a new location, reassemble, and off they go. The current location has been mined long enough that it’s due for another move within eighteen to twenty-four months.”
“With due respect, sir, you’re not answering my question.”
Decker’s grin widened as Delgado let out a long groan.
“Must I? Really?”
“Why always us?”
“Because you’re good at adapting to anything, Curtis. And right now, you’re the best I have for the job.”
“Give it to a company from the 42nd Marines. I’m sure they’d be glad to leave Caledonia for a bit.”
Bayliss chuckled. “Funny you should mention the 42nd.”
“Here it comes,” Delgado said in a theatrical whisper while rolling his eyes. Then, in a louder voice. “May I know why we’re going to Tyrell as a security detail from the 42nd instead of wearing the winged dagger?”
Decker raised a finger.
“Yes. So, listen closely.”
“I’m all ears.”
“The real reason why the Fleet forced Assenari to sell Tyrell isn’t because our superiors desperately want control over raw material supplies, but that’s a nice add-on. The same applies to other facilities and properties the Fleet bought in recent times. You’ve no doubt read somewhere in the intelligence briefs I circulate that countless ammunition and ordnance depots from the Second Migration War remain undiscovered because the records were lost.”
Delgado nodded. “Sure. Apparently including a number with weapons of mass destruction that were banned on pain of death after the war.”
“A while ago, intelligence came across incomplete data about several of the lost depots, and one of them is located on Keros, in the general vicinity of Tyrell, exact location unknown. Or at least it was when the records were uncovered. Assenari was persuaded to sell, and when we took over, the mining scout droids used to sniff out new ore veins quietly received an addition, a droid programmed to find the depot. Three days ago, it did, and immediately acted on its programming by sending an encrypted message directly to HQ with images of the depot’s contents. Of course, it couldn’t exactly operate without Tyrell’s commanding officer knowing, but part of the programming was placing a top secret special access restriction on the find. However, while he knows about the depot’s existence, no one on Keros is aware of its contents. We, on the other hand, are in the know because the images showed clear markings.”
A faint smile crossed Delgado’s lips. “Is this where I’m supposed to ask what the droid found?”
Decker nodded, smiling. “Yes, it is.”
“So, what’s in that ammo bunker?”
“Our worst nightmare. Biological and chemical warfare payloads. And it’s in a spot near where Tyrell is likely to relocate during its next move.”
“Oh, goodie.” Delgado shook his head. “The sins of the past come to haunt us. I shudder at thinking what evil beings might do with such things. But why is the Admiral sending us there instead of making sure the current garrison keeps an eye on the depot until someone retrieves its contents and renders them harmless?”
“Because we suspect either Tyrell or, more likely, HQ has a leak, Curtis. We never found every last Black Sword traitor. Word came from our friend Miko in Geneva less than a day ago that the Sécurité Spéciale got wind of an exciting development in the Rim Sector. Considering what’s happening these days, Intelligence decided the probability it’s related to the ammo bunker was high enough we couldn’t ignore the threat.”
“Seen. Those bastards will want to retrieve the forbidden ordnance before we make it vanish. The Almighty knows what they may do with that nasty stuff, but it can’t be good.”
Josh Bayliss tapped his index finger against the side of his nose.
“And if worse comes to worst, the resident Marine company won’t be capable of keeping them away until Fleet HQ organizes a retrieval operation, simply because they’ve not been exposed to the realities of our fallen galaxy. They neither know about the depot, nor can they be told, and they don’t have experience dealing with the Sécurité Spéciale and its hired goons. You and the Erinyes, on the other hand...” Ghost Squadron’s commanding officer left the rest of the sentence unspoken.
“When do we leave?”
“You’re at twelve hours’ notice to move from this moment on,” Bayliss said. “The Admiral is organizing transport as we speak. It’ll be whatever is in orbit now or will arrive within the next day. Prepare your Erinyes. You should receive the necessary insignia making you H Company, 3rd Battalion, 42nd Marine Regiment shortly. And yes, their CO knows the 1st SFR will re-badge a company to the 42nd for an unspecified operation of limited duration. That way, if questions land on his desk, he can at least back our story while making it clear H Company is on a classified task. Colonel Decker spoke with him personally just before we called you up.”
Decker fished a data wafer from his black tunic’s left breast pocket and placed it on the table in front of Delgado.
“Everything you need to know about Tyrell Station. Digest what’s on the wafer, discuss the mission with your people and let Josh know when you’re ready to back-brief us. Needless to say, this is another one which interests Grand Admiral Larsson personally.”
“Story of my life, sir.” Delgado stood. “It shouldn’t take long.”
“Dismissed.”
Once back in the corridor, he pulled out his communicator and called First Sergeant Hak.
“What’s up, Skipper?”
“Assemble the command team in the squadron conference room, stat.”
“Wilco.”
“Delgado, out.”
By the time Delgado arrived, Hak and Command Sergeant Rolf Painter, who led Alpha Troop, were already there. In quick succession, the other troop leaders — Ejaz Bassam, Isaac Dyas, and Faruq Saxer of Bravo, Charlie, and Delta Troops, respectively — along with Sergeants First Class Metellus Testo and Enrique Bazhukov, Erinye Company’s operations and quartermaster sergeants filed in.
When they were seated, Delgado looked around the table. “What follows next is top secret special access, codename Phalarope.”
Everyone present was intimately acquainted with TSSA designations since Ghost Squadron never operated under any lesser classification, and they merely nodded.
As he retrieved the data wafer from his tunic pocket and placed it in one of the conference table’s readers, he relayed what Decker and Bayliss told him.
When he fell silent, Hak grimaced. “I thought I’d heard it all, Skipper, but standing guard on an old, forgotten, weapons of mass destruction cache is a new one.”
“Saves us from endlessly playing practice dummies for the divisional buildup, Top,” Sergeant Painter said. “At this point, a mission, any mission, will be more interesting than handing the MLI their collective heads time after time.”
“True. Although they’ve come a long way since their first lesson courtesy of Erinye Company.”
“Right. Let’s see what we’re facing.” Delgado’s fingers tapped the reader, and the room’s primary display came to life with the image of a planet labeled Keros.
“Airless, in a system with no habitable planets. The scientists say it once had an atmosphere and could probably support life. The crust is unusually rich in strategic minerals, especially around Tyrell Station. Tyrell gets its oxygen and water from underground ice veins.”
A schematic of the mining and smelting installation appeared.
“Pretty primitive, on a par with most such operations in uninhabitable places. The actual work is done by Assenari Mining Corporation under contract with the Fleet. There are four-hundred and fifty civilians — miners, smelter operators, support personnel, and administrators — and one company of Marines to provide security. It’s commanded by a Naval Engineering captain, a four-striper, but an Assenari chief administrator runs the place except for security.”
As Delgado ran through the various views of the installation, Sergeant Testo let out a low whistle.
“That thing is huge. And it can be disassembled and moved? Impressive.”
Delgado nodded. “Whenever they exhaust the ore veins within reach. It’s already shifted several times over the decades. Let’s see what it says here. Mining and smelting operations run twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Workers wear pressure suits in the mines because the shafts and galleries are airless. One ship visits every fourteen days to pick up refined product shot into orbit by a giant railgun. It also lands fresh workers and supplies and takes those whose tour is over back home.”
“Sounds like real fun.” Command Sergeant Saxer made a face. “Must drive the Marine garrison mad. How long do they stay?”
“It says three months at a time.”
“By the Almighty, I hope we don’t stay a full three months.”
Delgado gave him a shrug. “We’ll be there until everything is removed and spend our days carrying out the usual garrison duties. Which could mean knocking rowdy mine operators over the head if they don’t calm down. And, oh. It’ll be as H Company, 3rd of the 42nd, not as Erinye Company.”
“Masquerading as line infantry. Excellent.” Hak let out a soft groan and rolled his eyes.
A lazy grin crossed Delgado’s features. “You may recall my favorite principle of war, Top. Can’t use it if we show potential enemies right away that we’re not ordinary troopers.”
“I suppose so.”
“Let’s talk gear.”
Delgado turned to Sergeant First Class Testo and his comrade, Bazhukov.
“Draw a tactical AI from regimental stores. I’d rather not rely on Tyrell Station’s system, just in case it’s been compromised. We’ll set up our own parallel network and node constellation. See what ammo and supplies the garrison already has — it’s supposed to be on the data chip.” He tapped the reader. “We should bring two sets of small arms and munitions, non-lethal for policing and our regular ordnance for combat.”
Bazhukov nodded. “So needlers and scatterguns, then.”
“While the mine is probably well equipped with explosives, detonators, and the like, I also want us to bring our own demolition kits so we can fashion devices that suit combat needs, especially triggers and control mechanisms.”
Another nod. “Got it.”
“Alright, everyone. Go through the material we have. We’ll reconvene right after lunch and go through questions, concerns, and comments. I plan on back-briefing Colonel Bayliss and Decker at sixteen hundred.”
Delgado stood. “Dismissed.”