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SpectreCx9
— 6, The Spaceman, Part 2
#sciencefiction
#spaceship
#spacewar
#militarysciencefiction
Published:
2019-09-17 21:17:08 +0000 UTC
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After our last op, which ended with a rather humorous confrontation between government operatives and the corporate saboteur(they beat the hell out of this man), we took our frame shuttle back to our little corvette, the Norman, and we plotted a course to Mars, where the Thunderchild would be docked on Thebes station, in orbit of Phobos. The unit was sad to have to say goodbye to the Norman, but she was in no way fit for ship-to-ship combat. She was a patrol ship, plain and simple, meant to fly us, the marines, to our destination without having to be cramped into a space shuttle (which was closer to the design of an old American space shuttle than the frame shuttles we use to land on smaller bodies with thinner atmospheres that won’t burn us to a crisp). Even if she had the right stuff, she’d never make it to a fight. Her Musha Drive was unfit for interstellar transit, as you’d expect, given her role. Of course we were still happy that at least in our absence, she’d be crewed by some new marines deployed for “Sol Patrol” as they call it. I really, really hate that nickname.
We spent some time preparing the Norman for her return and her new crew before reaching the red planet, and thus, the Thunderchild. Our precious Norman docked with Thebes Station as the new crew of marines awaited our arrival, fully suited. “She’s all yours,” Idoma said as he crawled out. “You take care of her or I promise you, I will make it my obligation to ruin your careers.” He gave them a nod as if what he’d said was not a threat at all, and stepped past them. The rest of us followed, and Number 8 looked over the railing as the rest of the ships pass about to and from their docking bays within the massive, round, domelike docking area of the absolutely titanic station orbiting Phobos, which in turn orbits Mars. The area was a carbon-nanotube-forged frame with massive windows placed in every open spot of the station. Even if they were polymer constructs that would bend and distribute impacts rather than break like glass does, I still saw it as a structural liability.
“Pretty weird to be home,” said Number 8 as he peered over the ledge at the steep drop. Number 8, Darius being his real name, was from Freedland, towards the northern hemisphere on the surface of Mars. I’d never been there, but he said it was the most beautiful country on the surface of the planet, apparently because of how much work was done into terraforming the landscape- along with the fact that the nation has a policy on practicing Ecology. Hearing about it, and at this point, looking down on it from orbit, made me wonder why he gave up such a life to end up as a Marine.
We continued to follow Idoma, not in a line this time but bunched together in raggedy-ass fashion. The little walk brought us to an absolute behemoth with an engine that I imagined would be enough to melt the whole station, or completely vaporize an area of land the size of old Rhode Island, along with launch tubes with magnetic coils that I could easily walk through standing up. On its side was plastered white; “THUNDERCHILD.” And this Missile ship was a “medium-sized” craft. Strange, isn’t it?
The sheer size of the thing along with the raw power it likely carried with it made me feel a bit anxious. It’s hard to describe, but it’s kinda like that feeling you get when you first learn how truly massive space really is. It’s a distance so vast that human minds literally can’t comprehend it, and have trouble understanding even when put into relatable terms, such as comparing the distance which hardly ever works if something isn’t big enough. Similar to that was me trying to comprehend the raw destructive capability of this weapon of war.
I feel like I was alone in my reaction, as the other marines were either indifferent or absolutely stoked to serve on something other than a patrol ship, not to mention it’s a ship of great reputation, along with its captain: the captain we were about to meet.
We’d cleared through the ship, now in line so as to look presentable, and entered the bridge, standing at attention. “Major Thompson,” Idoma shouted, “sir, 310th Marine Strike Unit reporting for duty, sir.”
Upon hearing this, the Captain of the ship (he was technically an admiral at this point, but by ship standards he was “captain” of the ship which means of course he was in charge of the thing) stood to face us. He was in his mid-50s, still color in his hair which was in a buzz cut. He wore a fleet jumpsuit like the rest of the bridge crew, albeit his was far more heavily decorated. The famous “Major Tom,” although he’d rose from the rank of Major years ago. Still, he’d became famous as a marine and a Major, so his title is stuck onto him like a parasite from New Earth(which is Proxima b in technicality). The “Captain” approached Idoma, saluted, and chuckled. “At ease.” We dropped our hands, still standing in formation. “I was expecting a sham due to how long you bastards have been stuck here in Sol, but it looks like you brought a unit that looks like they’re eager to kick ass.” Idoma nodded and stepped out of formation to look at us. “Yep, probably, they’ve had all the training and encountered pretty much every little dangerous thing you can encounter in the confines of the solar system, and it’s high time they get shipped off to at least have a bit of a challenge.” The Captain rubbed his chin and stepped away to get his drink from his chair and returned. “It really looks like they’re overdue on their combat deployments that they’ve been waiting for. I think they’ll get along with some of the other marines pretty nicely. But on that note, we aren’t ready to leave yet. We’re still loading shells and fuel mass onto this thing and it’s gonna take a while. Even with an exosuit it takes time loading such a large number of projectiles that are almost as big as you are. Until then, you’re free to move about. Dismissed.” We all saluted once more, which he would once more return, and we scoped out the ship. We checked out the drop bays, our quarters, and the gun decks. We decided to check out the engine later. We would’ve introduced ourselves to the other marines, but they seem to have scattered across the station.
After we’d went outside, I was gonna go take in the scenery when Grave and Darius approached me. crossed her arms and gestured to Darius. “This guy wants us to take a shuttle to the surface. See Mars.” Darius interjected. “Yeah, Mars. Freedland first, of course.” I pondered it for a moment before deciding I was a bit too tired for it. “I don’t know if I want to. I promise I’ll go with you next time we come back here,” I said, hoping they’d nod and head to the shuttle without me. Grave had other plans. “What are you, chicken?” She said, shifting her head and her hips to direct weight to the other side of her body. “That’s a shame. I’ll guess I’ll go down there. With Darius. Just us. Alone.” She raised an eyebrow and stared at me, trying to make something clear to me. Darius just stood there with some stupid smile on his face. Not a mischievous one, but a “I have no fucking clue what’s going on” smile. And usually he doesn’t. I tried staring back at Grave, but then I gave into the pressure. “Fine, Jesus, ill go.” I said as I let my arms fall to my side. That’s when Darius clapped and rubbed his hands together. “Great. I already got us a ride. Military flies free on Mars.” He started off to the shuttle bays, and I walked behind all of them. I whispered to Grave. “You owe me.” She turned back to me. To this day, I can’t tell if she winked or not. “Pshh. You know you don’t have to worry about that with me.” We entered a shuttle with a friendly looking dark-skinned man in a full body suit who sat down in the cockpit. We strapped into the shuttle, detached from dock and exited the station through shuttle bay 4 out into open space. From there, we’d enter atmosphere and land in a place that was a lot nicer in person.
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