Excerpt: "Not With A Whimper: Destroyers"

Not With A Whimper: Destroyers

CHAPTER 1

Saturday, May 22

Earth – Azore Islands

The scream of the sirens brought Major Karl Müller and crew to their feet. Seconds later they jogged past the work crew and onto the launch platform on the Azores Islands.

“Drill or real thing?” Hauptman Schmidt asked, breathing accelerated from the run and the adrenalin that reaction to the sirens had pumped into his system.

Müller smiled at his second-in-command as the support team gave them the final checks on their launch suits. The smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Drill. Probably.” He felt his own stomach jumping slightly. With tension in the world climbing, they just might launch into a shooting war.

Suited, they entered the shuttle-fighter’s cockpit and strapped down. Müller sat in the pilot’s seat, Schmidt took the co-pilot’s place, and Oberleutnant Kelner sat weapons. Their three back-up team members reported in via comm. The first team went through the checklist.

“Alles in ordnung, Herr Major,” Schmidt reported. Only then did he ask, “Why drill? The South Americans are angry enough to start something. The African Nations as well.”

Müller snorted. He checked to ensure that the comm to Control showed red – he didn’t need their private conversation going wide. Maximilian Weber’s mistake had cost him his career. “Were this the real thing, the announcement would have said, ‘This is not a drill.’” He allowed a couple of seconds to pass, and then said, “Probably.”

Schmidt appeared to relax slightly, and Müller answered the man’s weak grin with one of his own. The final indicator lit – they were launch-ready. He thumbed the comm to green. “Command, Flight Anton, Shuttle-fighter One ready for ignition sequence.”

They listened as shuttle-fighters 2 through 5 checked in.

“Roger, Anton Shuttles One through Five. Activate Simulation 22.”

Kelner grinned at Müller in acknowledgment of his prophecy.

“Activate Simulation 22, roger.”

Schmidt lifted the cover off the switch that turned all controls to simulation mode.

Müller gave a nod, and watched Schmidt throw the switch the switch. All green lights went amber. “Confirm Amber,”

“Amber confirmed,” Schmidt reported.

“Amber confirmed,” Kelner agreed. “Herr Major, primary target shows as African Nations Station. Probable defences: one flight of shuttle fighters, one missile battery. Station shields likely only re-enforced meteor shields. Secondary target…” he paused a moment, “civilian communications satellites.” He looked up at Müller. “Sir, civilian satellites?”

“Oberleutnant Kelner.” Müller’s voice became tight with anger. “Stick strictly to operational necessities. I’ll not have the efficiency of my crew downgraded by the questioning of Command. Especially not during an action.”

The Oberleutnant’s eyes widened, but he gave a short, sharp nod. “Sir. Satellites entered into targeting computer.”

Müller relaxed his posture. The Oberleutnant should know better. “Thank you, Oberleutnant. Hauptman, begin launch checklist.”

Müller wondered what surprises Command had put into Simulation 22. Their anti-shield missiles could easily deal with meteor shields – even re-enforced ones – and the AN shuttle-fighters couldn’t match those of the European Treaty Organization. The missile battery, on the other hand….

Müller thumbed on the comm to connect him with all members of his crew. “This is Müller. We shall execute Simulation 22. Data to your screens … now. Helmets optional. Simulated lift-off in two minutes.” He removed his own helmet, and hung it from his seatback. He ran his hand through his short black hair, and then started the ignition sequence.

Müller watched as Schmidt plotted a course that would take them into firing position. Below them, in the simulation chambers of the complex, the other four waves prepared for their own launches. Some had been called from sleep. At least the lucky bastards didn’t have to suit up and man their shuttles. His flight would need the showers after this.

He glanced at his vids. One screen showed the launch pads, vid fed in from the tower. Their twenty-five shuttle-fighters could lift off from the Azores in under three hours – if nothing went wrong. Too much could go wrong – especially if the enemy had cruise-missile-armed submarines close by. The SAU had several of those; African Nations only a few. The Americans – it didn’t pay to think about the Americans. Fortunately, the possibility of the Americans attacking sat at about nil. If they did attack without warning, however, masses of their submarine-launched cruise missiles would overwhelm the base’s defences, and perhaps only ten of the fighters would even have a chance to launch. The rest would die on their pads. No, it didn’t pay to think about that.

Schmidt reached the end of the checklist.

“Launch!”

The screens showed Anton Flight Shuttle One accelerating through the atmosphere, the others following every five minutes.

Inputted data to their screens tracked their shuttle-fighters’ trajectory, passing close by European Treaty Organization (ETO) Station Alpha. From there Anton Shuttle-fighters One, Two and Three would make an acceleration burn to send them winging toward the AN Station, while Shuttle-fighters Four and Five would remain in stable orbit with ETO Station Alpha, to protect her from retaliation. Following flights would make sure of the kill or – if Flight One succeeded, go after secondary targets.

“Commander,” Kelner said, words now clipped and clear. “AN Station launching shuttles.”

Müller opened the comm to the rest of his attack group. “One, Two, and Three will each fire three shield-killers. Follow them up with three penetrators twenty seconds later.”

Kelner looked over and raised his eyebrows. Nine of each seemed excessive. Müller ignored his look.

“All fighters engage Electronic Counter-Measures, level five, ten seconds after last missile launch.

This time, Schmidt looked at him in surprise.

He grinned at his second-in-command. “I have a hunch Erich. I think Command will mix it up for us. It would not show well were we to exhibit over-confidence.”

Icons on the display showed seven of the nine ‘killers’ making it through the AN station’s defenses to impact the shields.

“Shields down, Commander,” Kelner reported, “but it took six missiles to do it.”

“See?”

Schmidt nodded. “Enemy fighters turning to meet us.”

“Donnerwetter,” Kelner cursed mildly. “They’ve a second missile battery! They’ve launched.”

“ECM should take care of them, and our penetrators will make that their last stand. Stand by for maneuvers!”

The simulated AN shuttle-fighters succumbed quickly, and Müller gave the order to his three fighters to begin the orbit that would see them back with ETO Station Alpha. No other AN fighters rose to interfere, nor fighters of other nations. Berta Flight finished off the AN Station.

The instruments went blank.

“End of exercise. Well done, Anton Flight.” Müller recognized Oberst Dreschler’s voice.

Müller opened the comm. “Thank you, Herr Oberst. Permission to return to the Ready Room?”

“Permission granted.”

Müller cut the comm. “Back to the barn, gentlemen.” He glanced at the chronometer. “Two hours. That was a short one. Well, Berta Flight takes over in only 30 minutes. Let’s shut her down, and go finish the shift in the comfort of the Ready Room.”

* * *

“Major Müller,” Oberst Dreschler greeted him as he stepped into the Oberst’s office.

“Reporting as ordered,” Müller said.

“You did very well in the drill. The other flights each lost some shuttles when their shield-killers didn’t do the job first time.” The Oberst indicated a chair, which Müller sat in.

“Thank you, sir.”

“But that isn’t why I’ve called you in. I want you to watch Oberleutnant Kelner. I don’t think he’s as vigilant as we demand.”

Müller shook his head. “I don’t understand; he executed his duties without flaw.” Or did Command have a secret microphone hidden in their shuttle, and they heard his questioning the validity of the secondary targets?

Dreschler leaned back in his chair. “Not that sort of vigilance, Herr Major. He has become too friendly with some of the locals. And you remember what happened to Weber.”

Müller tensed. “And you think Kelner is headed in that direction.” The fool. “I’ll speak with him. I’ll not stand for that sort of thing happening in my crew.”

Dreschler smiled his cold smile. “Excellent. That will be all.”

Müller went to his own office and pulled up Kelner’s file. He began reading it, feeling angry. He had problems enough looking after his own career; he couldn’t look after Kelner’s, too. If Kelner caused difficulties, he would have to go; it wouldn’t look good if Kelner did something stupid while a member of Müller’s crew, under his command. No, he didn’t need trouble of that sort.  

CHAPTER TWO                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            

Fri May 28

DENVER BASE

Dr. Christy Burnett’s troubles began when she downloaded her file and then scrolled through the pages in her reader until she reached the tabulated results of her experiment – she just didn’t know it yet. A slow smile came to her face as her eyes scanned the report. This would impress the powers that be.

She stepped out of her office in the laboratory complex of the Denver army base, and began a quick walk to Colonel Westorn’s office. If she noted the soldier standing across the street from her quarters, she paid him no mind. Soldiers came and went on a daily basis. She had become used to them during the months she had worked on their base.

The wide sidewalk lay empty before her, most denizens of the complex having work hours at this time of the morning, and she walked quickly past the training buildings – both those that held classrooms, and the others, which she knew nothing about – until she came to the Headquarters Building, which housed the Camp Commander’s office.

“Good morning, Dr. Burnett,” the commander’s adjutant said.

“Good morning, Lt. Phelps. Has the colonel a moment for me?” She asked the question, though she had made an appointment the previous day. At times, Colonel Westorn eschewed those not of the military, though his position as Base Commander demanded that he meet with them on a regular basis.

“Yes, Doctor.” The adjutant smiled, well knowing why she asked, and nodded appreciatively. “He will see you immediately.”

Lt. Phelps rapped twice on the door, and opened it.

“Doctor Burnett to see you, sir.”

“Send her in.”

Christy shivered at the growl in his voice, but knew that her report would not antagonize him in any way, which relieved her. She couldn’t afford to antagonize him. He held the key to future contracts. If he became dissatisfied with her work, the military would never offer her another one – and that position would get around. The military’s business, she could afford to lose; the loss to her reputation, she couldn’t afford. She smiled at the lieutenant, and stepped into Colonel Westorn’s office. Lt. Phelps closed the door behind her.

“Good morning, Colonel,” she said, taking in the man’s square face, intelligent blue-grey eyes, and brush-cut hair. That hairstyle style had gone out of fashion centuries ago, but he seemed to like it. But something niggled at her, and she tried to place it as he turned his attention from the reader on his desk to her. He did not smile in greeting, but gave a short, almost imperceptible nod.

“You have something to report, Doctor?”

The tone of his voice, something in the way he said that sentence had warning lights flashing in her brain. He knew. He already knew what she would say, and that meant that he had access to her password-encrypted files. It also meant things she dared not contemplate at the moment – not with the colonel waiting for her reply. Instead, she plastered a smile on her face, and gave him an enthusiastic look.

“Yes, sir. I just received the data from the latest experiments. A compilation of results shows that we’re on the right track.”

Colonel Westorn leaned back in his chair, and allowed a smile to cross his face. It looked practiced to Christy. Everything in his posture screamed out that he already knew, that he gave her exactly what she might expect.

“That’s wonderful, Doctor,” Westorn said. “I don’t pretend to know the intricacies of your work, so if you’d just give me a short synopsis that I can pass up the line, I’d appreciate it.”

He lied. She could feel it. He knew a hell of a lot more about her work – about all their work – than he let on.

“Yes, sir,” she replied, and began to order her thoughts. “Our sleep-learning program has cut the time to learn a new physical skill by thirty percent over traditional methods.”

“Yes, Doctor, but we’d already achieved that goal.”

“True, sir, but with the latest refinements, we’ve upped the success rate from twenty-four percent of subjects to thirty-five percent. That’s the news that you can pass up the line. And some few of our participants have exhibited an achievement rate of fifty percent faster than traditional training – a further ten-percent gain.”

“Excellent.”

Colonel Westorn rose to his feet and held out his hand. Christy took it, feeling the strength in his grip, the calluses that belied the armchair-warrior persona he liked to present to the unwary.

“Come, walk with me.”

Christy blinked. He’d never spoken to her outside his office. She smiled, thoughts in turmoil, and nodded her head. “Of course, sir.”

“Good, good.”

He opened the door, and led her past the lieutenant, who looked about as surprised as one could look while trying to not show it. They walked down the hallway, and Christy wondered where it led, never having had a tour. In all the times she had had occasion to visit the HQ building, she had never gone past the Colonel’s office.

“Have you given any further thought to our offer, Doctor?” Colonel Westorn asked.

“Sir, you know that I’m only on loan from my institute. I’m more than happy to set up a program here – like I’ve done – and even to go a bit beyond that with some experiments to tweak the program for the military’s needs. However, I like the freedom of my own lab, where I can move in whatever direction my whims take me.” She could think of no argument that might get her to join the confines of government scientists. Everyone knew – or at least thought they knew – just what those poor souls endured. Freedom of thought, speech, or action didn’t touch any of it.

Westorn just laughed. “Sounds good, though that’s not quite true, is it? You may have a slightly greater latitude in choosing your directions, but you still need to show a profit. That makes your whims subject to practicalities. But I understand your point.”

He opened a door to a small lunchroom, its serving table filled with delicacies she had not seen in years. “Have a seat, Doctor. Help yourself.”

She took the officer at his word and sat. The ‘Lazy Susan’ inner portion of the table revolved, presenting her with treat after tempting treat. She pulled this one and that off the serving dishes and onto the plate that a server had placed in front of her at the colonel’s wave. A glass of excellent, chilled white wine also appeared.

Christy sampled a good variety of the delicacies on show, both because she desired just that, and also because she did not want to show independence in front of the Colonel. Westorn seemed to thrive on his authority, acting somewhat like the fairytale king of ancient tales, doling out largesse to those whom he favoured. The reputed fate of those he did not favour made Christy loath to enter that category.

“Absolutely delicious,” she told him, with no word of a lie.

Westorn grinned at her. “Just part of the inducement to get you to sign on permanently.”

She’d already come to that conclusion, but his easy confession surprised her. Then it didn’t. This man did not believe in subtle. He knew what he offered and what he wanted. He expected her to put up some resistance, and then to give in when he met her price.

“I’ll take that under advisement, sir,” she said. “However, I have ten days, and I fully intend to spend it doing all manner of things not related to work. R&R I believe you call it. Your people no longer need me and mine to guide them. They can develop the procedures needed for the various tasks you want instilled. When I get back, I’ll review their progress, tweak where tweaking is required, ensure every works as it should, and write you a final report.”

Colonel Westorn smiled. “But you’ll think on it. And when you come back, you’ll have a better idea of what exactly you wish to get for your services.”

Arrogant bastard.

She smiled in return. “Right on both counts, sir.”

He appeared very smug. He signalled the server. “Bring us a sample box, Private.”

“At once, sir.”

“I’ll leave you to it. Feel free to fill up the sampler, and take it with you. Enjoy some smoked salmon on your R&R. Private Wilson will show you out.”

“Thank you, sir.” She stood with him.

Wilson brought over the box and escorted her to the coolers. She reached in and put a package of smoked salmon in her box, then sifted through other goodies. In her peripheral vision, she saw Westorn watching her, the greedy civilian, getting all she could. She continued her hunt until he slipped out. Smoked salmon! When the fishery had collapsed, only the fish farms remained, and those that had used open nets in the ocean water had suffered disaster as well. Smoked salmon in the amount she had taken would cost the average worker a week’s pay. And Westorn had offered it up as a bribe.

Burnett hadn’t realized how much she disliked that sort of man until this moment. She considered putting everything back, but realized that he would probably get a report from Private Wilson. She didn’t want the colonel to know that she had already decided to leave after her contract expired. Let him believe he had her number. She filled the sampler.

“Thank you, Private. I’m ready to go.”

“Yes, ma’am. This way.”

She exited the HQ building with her sample box, and began the long walk back to her quarters. There, she’d pick up her small suitcase, make sure that she left nothing that might spoil during her absence, and head out the main gate to catch the bus into town, same as she did every weekend. But this time she had a whole week plus the weekend!

A whole week without salutes, without rank, without the feeling that someone watched everything she did. It sounded like heaven. Especially now that she knew that they had compromised her private files. They, or just Westorn? It didn’t matter. She wanted out.

On the corner, a soldier stood on the sidewalk with map in hand, peering down at the different possibilities. He smiled at her when he saw her coming.

“Good afternoon, ma’am. I’m afraid I’ve gotten myself lost. Could you direct me to Barracks 33? I’m supposed to meet someone there at 1545hrs; I don’t want to show up late.”

Soldiers, with their desperate drive for precision, amused her. She glanced down at her chrono. 1538hrs. He had only 7 minutes. It would take her half that to give him usable directions.

“Come with me. It’s not that far from where I’m going.”

“Thank you, ma’am. Corporal James Tieff at your service.”

She grinned. Hardly at her service, more like the other way around. “Dr. Christine Burnett,” she replied. “Hell-bent to get out of this place for a week.”

She stepped out, and he fell into step beside her. God, they couldn’t even walk naturally. They needed to lose their identity in sameness. She would feel only relief when this contract ended.

“Let’s cut across here. Behind that barracks, and then off to our right.”

“Yes, ma’am. I really appreciate this.”

He snapped a salute at an officer who walked out of the barracks and to a waiting car. She grew weary of the salutes.

“Very nice day, isn’t it, ma’am?” the corporal said.

“Call me Christy; I’ll call you James. I’m a civilian, and hope to stay that way. I like informality.”

“OK, Christy. Enjoying the sun?”

“Yes, James, I am. I’ll enjoy it more when I’m out of here, and can let my hair down – both literally and figuratively.”

“Sounds good. Ah, look. There he is.”

Christy looked. She recognized the soldier standing outside the open military transport car. Sergeant Frank Jensen. He had led her first batch of test subjects, and had scored slightly less than moderately well in the sleep-training.

“I know him,” she said.

“You do?”

Christy looked sideways at the man accompanying her. Something in the way he said the words sounded wrong. He already knew. Just as Westorn had known the contents of her files, this man knew that she had already met the sergeant. Something felt wrong here.

“Yes. Well, you’ve met your man,” she glanced at her chrono, “with a minute to spare. I’ll just leave you two.”

Sergeant Jensen waved.

“Looks like he wants to talk with you, say hi, or something.”

“Maybe later.” This didn’t feel right. She began to turn, but Corporal Tieff grabbed her upper arm, and pulled her along.

“That wouldn’t be wise, Dr Burnett,” he said quietly.

Jensen, seeing this, had jumped into the vehicle, and quickly moved toward them. Christy looked about to see if she could call to someone, but the street lay empty all around her. She opened her mouth to shout, when she felt the knife prick her side.

“Just keep quiet.”

“You don’t know what you’re doing.” She feared that he did, and only too well.

“Get in.” The car had arrived.

She looked in and saw a pistol on the rear seat. Tieff pushed her into the front, beside Jenson and fastened the seatbelt for her. He got into the back and picked up the weapon.

“Good afternoon, Dr Burnett,” Jensen said. “Just remain calm. We’re here to give you a ride into town. We understand you have leave.”

“You’ll never get away with this,” she told him. What the blue blazes did they want? How did they expect to get out of the facility with her? The military wouldn’t stand for any hostage-taking incident. They’d kill the lot, her included, before allowing that to succeed. They’d done it before – and not that long ago.

“If you give any sign to anyone, Corporal Tieff, behind you, will put a bullet in your head. Do you understand?”

They moved at a sedate pace down the street toward her quarters.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Do you understand?” This time his words lashed her.

“I understand. Now, why?” In the few seconds it would take her to unfasten the seatbelt and jump from the open car, Tieff could kill her. She needed to play along for the moment, but had to keep an eye out for her chance. She would have an opportunity at the gate.

“All in good time.”

He stopped at her building, but shook his head when she reached for the belt buckle. A third soldier, one she recognized from the second intake, came out the door with her suitcase in his hand. He smiled at her, and then climbed in beside Tieff.

Jensen put his foot on the accelerator and the car moved off smoothly and nearly silently on its electric motor. They took a right, and headed for the main gate. There, she would have her chance.

“Let me tell you what we expect of you, and what will happen should you decide to ignore our request,” Jensen began. “When we come to the gate, you will smile at the guard, and pass pleasantries, the way you normally do. You will call him by name, as you usually do. You will do nothing to excite his suspicions. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I understand,” she replied. Jensen didn’t even bother to look at her as he spoke. She understood, all right, but she would not comply. In the past, during a dangerous contract, her handlers had taught her what to do – or rather what not to do. Don’t allow anyone to take you away. The more you comply, the fewer your chances of coming back alive. If she were to die anyway, she’d die here where her kidnappers could not escape.

Jensen suddenly grinned. “I can almost hear your thoughts, Doctor. Let me elaborate. We have weapons, and we will use them. I will kill Private Walker first – the guard you know as William. We will leave his wife a widow. Corporal Tieff, meanwhile, will take out the other men in the guard post. This will all happen with five seconds of you making any inappropriate comment which may direct suspicion on us.

“That’s four men and one woman dead, Doctor. Private Cutter, behind you, will make a dash for the post, and lower the barrier. We will attempt to go through. He will provide a rear-guard action, and who knows how many he may kill before they overcome him. If we cannot get away, we will remain and fight, also. How many deaths are you worth, Doctor?”