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“I have a lock on the beacon, Major.” Mikado’s chief signalman glanced up at the tall officer standing behind him. “But it’s broadcasting something strange.”
“Why am I not surprised?” The Marine asked. “After all, we’re dealing with some of the weirder folks from naval intelligence.”
“Did we get the bugger yet, sir?” A gravelly voice asked from the door to the bridge. “The guys are loading up.”
“If the message ‘try to remember north is at the top of the compass’ means our drop zone party is in place, then yes.”
A sound very much like a volcano about to erupt rumbled deep within the newcomer’s barrel chest.
“I’m going to guess,” Sergeant-Major Augustus Vanleith said, “that Decker is sitting comfortably under a tree, making bets with his partner over how many of us are going to miss the tiny clearing he’s marked.”
“You may laugh all you want, sarn’t-major, just as long it’s secure, and he’s scouted out the target area properly,” Major Kal Ryent, commanding officer of the 251st, replied.
“I doubt spending time with intelligence has rotted Zack’s brains to the extent of forgetting where he came from, sir. He’ll have us in the stockade and out again before dawn, with the Garonne rebels and the Navy’s undercover guy.”
Vanleith fell into step beside his CO as they headed for the starboard hangar deck to join the assault group.
“Although,” he continued, “promotion to chief warrant officer sometimes does screw with an old command sergeant’s brains, I’ll grant you that.”
“Not for you then, that kind of promotion?”
“And do what? I’m not a specialist, and I don’t want to become one.”
“Decker’s a grunt and still got a warrant,” Ryent pointed out.
They climbed down a circular staircase and stepped into a cavernous hold where troops in battle armor were boarding black stealth shuttles.
The compartment, configured as a flight deck, took up half of the extra space in Mikado’s belly. Although at its core a fully armed frigate wrapped in a large freighter’s hull, the special operations Q-ship looked like nothing more than an innocuous merchantman.
“Scuttlebutt says he wasn’t given a choice,” the sergeant-major pointed out. “Not for the warrant nor the detail to intelligence, and considering the route he took to get there, via the bottom of an endless whiskey bottle, early retirement and all, no thanks. I’m just glad he’s back in the Corps and doing something he’s good at.”
“So I shouldn’t be worried about the drop zone or the target recon?”
“Not even for a second and if it makes you feel any better, remember that he’s got adult supervision with him.”
“Seeing as how I know Decker’s NILO personally, I’m not sure you’re giving me much comfort.”
**
The Naval Intelligence Liaison Officer in question checked their perimeter sensors one last time, to make sure none of them had decided to grow legs and walk away, or gone on strike; of course, sensors weren’t unionized, but one never knew with intelligent technology.
Satisfied, she glanced at her partner, who seemed comfortably ensconced between the gnarled roots of a tall tree, faced lifted towards the night sky, a satisfied smile on his hard face.
“You look uncommonly pleased with yourself, Zack.”
“It’s good to be on the ground for once and watch intrepid pathfinders fly down, trying hard not to crash into trees or other painfully solid terrain features.”
“Bullcrap.” She smiled indulgently at him. “You miss jumping out of perfectly good shuttles.”
“True, true.” He nodded happily. “But I can get sufficient gratification in other ways.”
She narrowed her eyes in suspicion at his pleasant smile. Though a commander outranked a mere chief warrant officer like Zack, Hera Talyn knew better than to take control of an operation involving his beloved pathfinders.
Decker had laid out the drop zone markers himself which meant he’d probably done or would be doing something to amuse himself at the jumpers’ expense if the message he’d attached to the beacon’s carrier wave was any indication.
“What are you up to?”
“Nothing, sweetie.” He smirked at her. “Just keep your eyes and ears on the perimeter and I’ll look up at the stars.”
“Don’t fall asleep while you’re waiting. You seem awfully snug.”
“No fear. We got a ping from Mikado. They have our signal locked in, and the drop ships are launching as we speak.”
“You were going to share this with me when exactly?”
“The ping came in two heartbeats before I told you. If you weren’t so busy clucking over my comfort, you’d have heard it.”
Talyn glared at him.
“You’re an ass, Decker.”
“So you keep saying and yet we’ve been traipsing across the stars together for almost two years, knocking off the odd menace to the Commonwealth. You want to change partners, I’m sure Captain Ulrich will be happy to oblige.”
“You think? You’re my rescue project. I’m responsible for you and likely will be until the day you screw up again and go for retirement part two or until one of us swallows a shot of plasma.”
“And I’m ever so grateful, commander, sir.”
She gave him the rigid digit salute and for some reason, that seemed to amuse him more than it should have, but he settled back into his carefully smoothed out hollow and dropped the eyepiece of his night vision sensor down in front of his eyes. Then, he leaned his head against the rough bark of the exposed root at just the right angle to catch the pathfinders when they’d be on final approach. Decker had learned long ago that any idiot could be uncomfortable.
**
Mikado ejected its stealth shuttles moments after it was hidden from the orbital station by the bulk of Marengo, a minor and not very profitable colony near the Shrehari frontier. With the geosynchronous habitat out of sight, the assault force had little to fear from the civilian-grade satellites that encircled the planet’s equator.
The craft sped downwards on a shallow approach, cutting through the upper atmosphere without leaving a trace. No light reflected off their black skins, no sensor wave bounced back to betray them. They made a full orbit around Marengo before reaching the planned jump altitude, some fifty kilometers southwest of Decker’s position, at an altitude of twenty thousand meters, in a zone of rarefied air and intense cold.
Three pathfinder troops spilled into the night air, quickly pulling into a tight formation that would allow them to land near each other. Wind howled over their helmeted heads, but their battle armor sealed them off from both noise and chill.
Decker heard brief clicks from the lead shuttle over his receiver, signaling they’d dropped their load, and he began scanning the sky in earnest. Though only the pathfinders should be able to see the drop zone markers, it wouldn’t do to turn them on too soon.
“We’ve got a flock of birdies in the sky, Hera.”
Though his words were light-hearted, his tone had become deadly serious. She could never tell when Decker would act the consummate professional Marine or when he’d be the sarcastic, if not cynical warrior who’d long since grown weary of the Fleet’s chickenshit. Evidently, manning a drop zone warranted the former.
“Yeah, I heard that signal. All is quiet on the perimeter.”
Finally, after a long period of silence, the short-range link came to life with a human voice.
“Rookie Trooper, this is Grey Goose. I need a compass.”
Zack glanced at Hera.
“This is it. Light up the markers and keep your eyes glued on the sensors. If the opposition got wise and made us, now would be the moment to attack.”
Talyn touched her control pad and nodded.
“Done.”
She could have sworn she heard Decker laugh softly in the darkness.
**
The kite parachutes opened at one thousand meters out and up from the drop zone just as the markers came on. When the command push crackled in Augustus Vanleith’s ears, he knew exactly what his commanding officer’s words would be.
“Please tell me I’ve had a stroke, sarn’t-major.”
“Sorry, sir. You’re no more confused than the joker who set those markers. If it’s any consolation, there’s no doubt now that Decker’s in charge of the DZ.”
“Who in his right mind programs them to transmit a profoundly obscene sexual invitation in gutter Shrehari?”
“Decker?”
“He’s not in his right mind.” Ryent sounded resigned.
“Zack would be the first to admit it. Intelligence work isn’t going to improve his sanity either. I just hope he didn’t extend the prank to having us land in a fragrant cattle pasture or some reeking swamp.”
“You’d think his NILO would be able to stop him from going that far, but I’m not sure I trust her any more than I trust him.”
**
“Jumpers inbound.” Decker climbed out of the comfortable hollow and grabbed his weapon. “Turn off the markers when I give you a shout, then make them vanish. I’ll go greet my little airborne buddies.”
“Zack?”
“Yeah?”
“You look much too pleased with yourself. What didn’t you tell me?”
“Look at your controls.”
He grinned at her, teeth shining white in the shadows.
“Really?” She said, shaking her head in disgust after scanning the readout. “The day you decide to grow up, let me know. I’ll have the Fleet Times there to record the blessed event.”
“It’ll never happen, sweetheart. I may not be able to stay young, but I’ll always remain immature. Besides, practical jokes are a tradition in the pathfinders.”
He blew her a wet kiss and then vanished between the shrubs at the edge of the wood line.
Moments later, she heard the soft rustle of kite parachutes and then the equally muffled sound of feet touching the ground. Decker uttered a single word: off.
Talyn swiped the pad’s screen, ordering the marker array to self-destruct and leave nothing behind but mounds of dust that would disperse on the morning breeze.
Ryent saw a dark silhouette with the correct IFF patch emerge from the gloom. By the size and the way the shape moved, it had to be Decker. That was soon confirmed when he dropped into a crouch and whispered a few nonsense words – the pre-arranged recognition code.
“It’s Grey Goose, I assume?” Decker asked. “If it isn’t, you’ve got the wrong DZ and are going to have to move along. I’m waiting for some sex tourists.”
“Rookie Trooper, eh? Still a dumb name,” Ryent replied, grasping Zack’s hand, “but I suppose intelligence pukes need something to make themselves feel better about their sorry business. By the way, don’t ever set the markers in a non-standard way for my outfit again.”
Zack chuckled.
“Doctrine says the DZ master can arrange them to transmit anything he wants, provided they mark the area correctly.”
“He’s got you there,” Vanleith said, going down on one knee beside his commanding officer. “The markers outlined the DZ magnificently. How’s it going, Zack? One still hanging lower than the other?”
“You know it, Gus.” Decker thumped his old buddy’s shoulder.
“Et tu, sarn’t-major?” Ryent shook his head. “Okay, I get it: non-com mafia. Subject closed and yes, it was funny in a stupid kind of way. Continuing the theme, therefore, what flesh pots do you have on offer, Mister Decker, and why are you wearing the local militia uniform rather than something more appropriate to a Fleet spook?”
Talyn joined their little cluster before Zack could answer, while around them, pathfinders packed their chutes and spread out to cover the perimeter.
“Our esteemed NILO I presume?” Ryent turned towards her. “How are you coping with your rescue project, commander?”
“He has his moments, Kal, but he’s actually pretty good at it when he stops horsing around.”
“Glad to hear. Perhaps one day, he’ll grow up and become an entirely reasonable adult.”
“I am here, you know,” Zack said in a mock wounded tone.
“So you are.” Ryent’s mouth twitched. “You were about to tell me how we’re going to liberate your colleague and his freedom fighter buddies, and also why you’re looking like rejects from the Marengo militia. We thought of bringing you some armor, but the mission parameters were pretty clear.”
“That’s because we’re going to waltz right through the main gate and take it from the inside.”
“This, I’ve got to hear,” Vanleith said, snorting.
“You’re going to love my plan, Gus.”
“The last time you said that we had to run for cover, but I’m willing to listen if the major is.”
“The major would like to listen.” Ryent’s tone signaled that the time for banter was over.
“Yes, sir. Here’s how I see it going...”
Decker went on to explain how he wanted to tackle the assault and when he fell silent, Ryent had to admit the plan seemed sound and unlikely to leave traces the local authorities could follow back to the Fleet. Plausible deniability was one of the pathfinders’ unofficial principles of war. It was a way of life for Naval intelligence operatives.
“You’re sure the sensor grid won’t trip?” He asked, trying to poke holes in Decker’s scheme.
“We found a way to spoof them. I won’t guarantee we found every single one, but the necklace close to the fence is definitely ours. You can move up the squadron through the woods and no one the wiser.”
“Comms?”
“We’ve got a cutter charge on the landline and a jammer ready to turn the airways into white noise on command.”
“How about the relief force?”
“Ten klicks on the other side of the pass. They come in at first light every morning to change the guard detail and always by road. The militia has aircraft, but they’re back at the main base outside Treves. We get in and out before sunrise, and they’ll be looking at an empty camp.”
Decker’s jaw tightened.
“I mean, empty except for the militia pukes who’ll get a taste of what they’ve been inflicting on the prisoners. There’s just one wrinkle to work through. Four out of the five, including Badhorn – that would be our guy - are on the wrong side of walking wounded.”
Ryent grimaced.
“And the orders say we need to keep Badhorn’s cover intact. That means we need a pick-up on site. I had hoped we could hoof it out far enough that the dropships didn’t have to come within sight of the prison. If we were only extracting him, that would still be an option, but I don’t want to try carrying four of them through the jungle.”
“As it happens, the central courtyard is big enough for your four birds. Where are they now?”
“Their glide path should have taken them to the off-shore island you designated.” Ryent turned to his commo tech. “Deran, get a link with Mikado. Have them warn the shuttles that the pick-up will be inside the target perimeter.”
“It’ll take us about an hour to get there,” Decker said, “and maybe another half hour to finish the operation. If your transport can loiter around the area starting in about ninety minutes from now, that’ll keep your time on the ground at a minimum.”
“Your time? Aren’t you coming back with us?”
“Two off-worlders arrived on Marengo to conduct legitimate business. Those same two will leave Marengo via Valeux spaceport, their business concluded. The bastards might get wise to our involvement if we simply disappear with you and maybe then they’ll start thinking it was a Fleet op and not a mercenary raid on behalf of the Garonne rebellion.”
“Sensible precaution from your point of view, I suppose. If you change your mind, there’s always room for two more.” Ryent rose to his full height. “Let me brief my troops and we can be on our way. Deran, you heard the chief. Tell the Navy ninety minutes for the dropships.”