From ESTALKER@b205s1.ssc.af.milThu Jul 20 21:19:41 1995 Date: Wed, 19 Jul 95 12:10:00 PDT From: "Stalker, Edward, Capt AFLMA" Reply to: b5-creative@best.com To: 'B5-creative ' Subject: Kennicott - Part I of ? Here's the first chapter of Kennicott - my story of the first world blitzed by the Minbari. WARNING: This story is rated PG-13 for violence, language, some sexual overtones - it's a story about mud marines in combat - I doubt if human nature will change much in the next 250 years. Comments and criticisms are welcome. Please send comments to estalker@b205s1.ssc.af.mil or out to the B-5 creative - I'm an aircraft maintenance officer - I need my daily fair share of abuse! DISCLAIMER: This story is copyrighted by Edward C. Stalker. All rights will be transferred to Babylonian Productions upon request. ************** Kennicott Ne illegetemi non carborundum est.... 5 May, 2247 "SQUAD FALL IN" A shuffling of feet as the Marines formed up. "TENS-HUT!" A shuffle then SNAP! as 11 pairs of heels came together in unison. "AT FULL INTERVAL, DRESS RIGHT...DRESS!" Another shuffling as the squad sidestepped to open their ranks. "RAHT...HACE!" 11 Marines faced right as Lance Corporal Garibaldi faced left. "HORWAARD....MARCH!" The squad stepped out smartly, feet striking the asphalt of the parade ground. "DOUBLETIME...HEAOW!" The squad headed off the north end of the parade ground, up the gravel mine road into the hills. I fell in on their tail. Garibaldi's voice boomed out the time honored "Jody call" to and we echoed him back. "EVERYWHERE WE GO, PEOPLE WANT TO KNOW, WHO WE ARE, SO WE TELL THEM, WE ARE GYRENES, MIGHTY, MIGHTY GYRENES, SHARP SHOOTING GYRENES, BUTT KICKING GYRENES...." I kept on singing, but like any good Marine, I switched the running and chanting to "auto pilot" and let my mind float away. I don't HAVE to run with the troops. Colonel Craig didn't require headquarters company troops to do the mandatory PT that the line animals ran. If he thought you were getting soft, he'd just take you for a personal run, and if you didn't measure up, you'd find yourself back in a rifle company, quick. Most of us ran with the troops voluntarily, some ran by themselves. NOBODY in the 77th, no matter who you were, wanted to be on the wrong end of Col Craig's ire. I used to hate running when I was a kid, but the judge said "Four in the Corps or eight to ten in Attica." Well, even then I was smart enough to know that four was less than eight, and I wanted to see something more than the drab tundra of the Niagara plateau. I hadn't planned to do more than my hitch, but I got out of AIT just in time to catch the end of the Dilgar War, and I was hooked. Eighteen years I'd been doing this, and seen a lot of the galaxy in those years. So now I ran in the chill, predawn darkness of a world light years from Earth, and I felt just about as good as it's possible to feel.. Of course, a lot of that time had been on ugly, scorched slag heaps like Kennicott, or inside the haze- gray walls of Navy ships, but I'd seen both Centurai Prime and Narn Prime, as well as several Merkab worlds. It sure beat the hell out of herding cattle and sheep on the Niagara Plateau, listening to the rumble of the Ontario Glacier as it calved into Lake Ontario. The pace slowed a little as we moved up some of the steep grades, but not much. Garibaldi was a smart mouthed, wise ass SOB, but he'd taken over the squad two months ago when Sergeant Grey had succumbed to Le Cafard. The Doc had kept him sedated and shipped him out on the first ore carrier heading back home. Col C had decided to move LCpl Garibaldi, the Assistant Squad Leader to Squad Leader, rather than pulling a senior Corporal or junior Sergeant from another rifle squad. It had worked. The boys and girls had snapped out of incipient crapaud, and were sharp and on their toes again, the way Marines need to be on Rim Guard. I'd been observing Garibaldi and his methods from a distance for the last month, and closely for the last week. I'd made my decision this morning, though it'd never been in doubt. About three klicks down the road, one of the squads from C Company passed us coming back from their run. There was the inevitable catcalls and gibes. Garibaldi and Sgt Johnson came up with some hilariously ribald Jody calls for each other as we passed. Colonel C fell out from the tail end of Johnson's squad and fell in with me. "What'cha think, Gunny?" "I think he's ready." I answered. "Kind of young." the Colonel observed. "He knows his work." I answered as we pounded along in the dust. "He's a smart mouthed bastard." observed the Colonel. "Pretty much an endemic disease in the Corps." I replied. "Give me a wise ass over a dumb ass, any day, Colonel, any day." "Good enough for me, Gunny. You know how to call them." replied Col C with a grin, as he wiped some sweat back. "Hey, Colonel, you spent 19 years in the damned Corps, you gotta learn SOMETHING." I chuckled. " If'n you don't, you wind up DEAD." "S'truth, fer sure." agreed the Colonel. "OK, I'll meet you back at the Parade Ground." He peeled off and headed back. I caught up to the squad and joined back into the Jody call. ***** Despite the morning chill, I was working up a good sweat as we came around the 7.5 kilometer stake near the Washita mine and headed back to the regimental base camp. A few folks were starting to labor a bit, but most of the kids looked good. Garibaldi's red-and-gold sweat suit was just starting to show a few dark patches under the armpits as we loped along. Garibaldi slowed the squad to a normal march as we negotiated the steep grade on Hill 1571. Kennicott is a 1.4 G world, like most of the heavy metal worlds. No matter how physically fit you are, a fall in 1.4 G can be a real bitch, let me tell you! We resumed the double time at the bottom of the hill, and kept it all the way to the regimental base camp. By the time we got back, the sun had climbed over the rim of mountains ringing Jackson's Whole. It looked like it was going to be a beautiful day. Garibaldi had halted the squad at the parade ground, and had ordered them to "FALL OUT when Col Craig's bellow cut across the parade ground. "BELAY THAT ORDER!" Garibaldi turned with a surprised expression, and goggled as the regimental commander strode across the grinder, resplendent in his dress blues. "WHAT THE LIVING HELL ARE YOU DOING OUT OF UNIFORM, LANCE CORPORAL?!" bellowed the Colonel. I'll give the boy credit, he snapped to attention and did NOT look down to check himself. "SIR," he replied, "I AS NOT AWARE THAT I WAS OUT OF UNIFORM, SIR." Colonel C turned to me. "GUNNERY SERGEANT MCFARLAND, DID YOU NOT SEE THAT LANCE CORPORAL IS, AND HAS BEEN OUT OF UNIFORM ALL MORNING?" "Sir," I replied in a normal voice, " I observed that fact, but I felt that it would be better to inform him quietly, after he dismissed the squad." "Gunny," replied the Colonel, "I believe that both praise and punishment should be public." He strode over to Garibaldi and unpinned the Lance tabs from the collar of his running suit. "Guess I need to do this myself." There were a few gasps from some of the troops, but Garibaldi maintained a stone face. Colonel C reached into his pocket and pulled out two shiny Corporal's chevron's. He quickly pinned them to Garibaldi's collar and stepped back. "Now," he observed, "you're in uniform, CORPORAL Garibaldi." and he stuck out his hand With a surprised grin, Garibaldi shook his hand, then popped a really first-class salute. "I don't normally care for alcohol in the barracks, Corporal, so I think you and your squad had better find something to do with that keg of beer in your squad bay. You guys are off all other duties for today." "SIR, YES SIR! We'll make sure it is properly disposed of, SIR!" replied Garibaldi. He snapped an about-face and told his squad, "You heard the Colonel, Ladies and Gentlemen. We got some beer to get rid of. FALL OUT!" The squad broke ranks with a cheer and headed for the barracks. Garibaldi remained behind. He stuck his hand out to me. "Thanks for your advice and help, Gunny. You sure straightened my butt out since I got here." "No sweat, GI." I observed. "You did the work. Just keep on the right track, and you'll be fine." "Better get some of that beer, son," recommended the Colonel, "before the troops drink it all." "Not that bunch, sir," replied Garibaldi, "they wouldn't dare." Just the same, he whirled about and sprinted away, as if he hadn't just run 15 kilometers on a high G world. **** From ESTALKER@b205s1.ssc.af.milThu Jul 20 21:19:49 1995 Date: Wed, 19 Jul 95 12:14:00 PDT From: "Stalker, Edward, Capt AFLMA" Reply to: b5-creative@best.com To: 'B5-creative ' Subject: Kennicott Part II of ? Here's the second chapter of Kennicott - my story of the first world blitzed by the Minbari. WARNING: This story is rated PG-13 for violence, language, some sexual overtones - it's a story about humans in combat - I doubt if human nature will change much in the next 250 years. Comments and criticisms are welcome. Please send comments to estalker@b205s1.ssc.af.mil or out to B5-creative. I need the abuse! DISCLAIMER: This story is copyrighted by Edward C. Stalker. All rights will be transferred to Babylonian Productions upon request. ************** Kennicott Ne illegetemi non carborundum est.... **** Chapter Two Few days later, I was sitting in the observation van, watching the troops on the live fire range. One good thing about a new colony world, there's plenty of room for live fire practice. Colonel Craig had managed to grab a bunch of live rounds ready to outdate, so we were "disposing" of a lot more than usual. My display came up with the unit ID : DELTA 1-3, 2/77, CPL GERALD GARIBALDI, which translated to; 3rd Squad, 1st Platoon, D Company, 2nd Battalion, 77th Marine Regiment, led by Corporal Garibaldi. They were doing a what we call a "1v1" scenario, trying to capture a hilltop observation post held by a squad of Narn. Yeah, I know the Narn have always been our friends, or at least never enemies, but in the Corps, out on the Rim, you prepare for ANYTHING. Besides, we had a lot of data from the (then) recent Narn vs. Centauri dustups. They moved up the hill in open formation. Good interval, nice spacing, no bunching up, I noted. This bunch was pretty good. I had heard that Mike had been drilling the squad pretty hard in the VR tanks, and it showed today. The chief observer was watching the bank of monitors. "Nice formation." he observed. "Yep." I agreed. "Baldy's a bit young as a squad leader, but he seems to have shaped this bunch up pretty quick." The Chief snorted. Garibaldi's new nickname was "Baldy" - both a shortening of his name and a canard, since he had a thick crop of jet black hair. He was always pressing the envelope on the hair regulations for length and bulk. I had hoped that making NCO would give him a little respect for the appearance regs, but it hadn't worked yet. "OK," said Chief Munson, "if'n they won't make some mistakes, we'll MAKE some trouble for them." The squad had approached to 50 meters from the Narn emplacement without detection. They were setting up a kill zone, with rifles positioned to hammer the Narn troopers from almost every angle. That was one thing I liked about the old rifles - you can't make a deflection shot with a PPG. They might have been heavier and not as effective, but you could make bank shots with tungsten penetrators in rocky ground. There was a minimum of chatter on the helmet links. I liked that. The scrambler keys shift the frequency over several bands in microseconds, but I still dislike too much radio activity. Some of these kids chatter like magpies as they "sneak up" on a target. A volley of six B-20 artillery rockets boosted over the ridge line in shallow trajectories. The IR seekers scanned the surface and located targets. Laser beams reached out and tapped three troopers who had neglected the IR protective cloaks. In reality, a live round would have fired a self-forging steel pellet into the unfortunate, but this was an exercise, so the troopers' weapons all went dead. "Shit. Shit. Shit." I heard Baldy mutter over his com link. His readout was showing that his three "dead." Now his careful plan had some substantial holes in it. BRAAAP! went the Narn MG as it started spraying the approach avenues. It was unaimed fire, because the computer "knew" the defenders had no clear targets yet. It was a standard Narn seven barrel 19mm Gatling, basically a copy of a Centauri design but under totally "manual" control. "Arlo, Bats," yelled Baldy, "can you nail that MG with a grenade launcher yet?". Think I can bounce one in, Corp. replied PFC Batsby. He lobbed a 40mm at the position, but it hit the rocks and bounced out, exploding harmlessly. The computer had the Narn defenders hose down his firing position. It continued on for some minutes like that, with the two privates alternately firing on the position, and being raked with fire from the position. A fair amount of ordnance was being expended, to no good end. I was beginning to wonder if Garibaldi was going to try an attrition strategy, when he told the two privates to hold fire. OK, folks, I m fresh out of ideas. Anybody got any? asked Garibaldi. Well, Corp, said Private Angle, If somebody can designate a firing slit for me, I m carrying the launcher and six anti-tank missiles. Seems like it might be worth it to expend one or two of them bad bays. Good idea, Tammy! replied Garibaldi. Lord my brain must be turning to tapioca today. Its the weight of that extra chevron... muttered somebody over the link. Garibaldi ignored the comment. He scanned his helmet readout, looking at the positions of his troops superimposed on a topographical map. OK, Lars, you ve got a designator, and you look like you re in a good spot to designate without exposing yourself. PFC Orn pulled out his music box and aimed the IR laser at the firing slit. Playing the music. he stated, to let Angle know he had locked the designator down. Gotta lock on your gadget she replied, to let him know the seeker head had picked up the reflected beam. She fired the rocket, and a thin white plume reached out from her position, intersecting the firing slit. A highly satisfactory blast followed, and the ammunition kicked off in the resulting fire, blowing the top off the bunker. You can lock MY gadget any time you want to, Tammy. said Lars. Better not make any rash offers, Lars replied Angle. I m half Amerind - in my family, we take scalps - and I might not take it off the head on your shoulders. You could hear the smile through the link, and the bared teeth too. Well, maybe I ll reconsider that, then. replied Lars with mock fear. I could tell it was one of those mock arguments so common in post-attack letdown. **** The troops set up a perimeter and defensive positions. They were supposed to menace a transport route on the far side of the hill. By noon, we terminated the exercise and brought the squad back to the regimental base. The computer had recorded the exercise from over 100 viewpoints, and went through the high points. The troopers that had been nailed by the A-20 attack were shown what they had done wrong, and what their comrades had done right. We went over several of the vids from inside the bunker, letting the troops see what their attack had looked like from the "enemy" side. I let Garibaldi lead the debrief session, and he did a good job of it. I kept quiet during most of it, sitting in a chair at the front of the conference room, watching and evaluating. He dismissed the squad and they trooped out. He shut the door and turned to me. "OK, Gunny." he said with a smile, "How'd I do for my first time?" I was almost sorry to bust his bubble, but it had to be done. "What the hell did you think you were doing out there, CORPORAL Garibaldi? Playing with tin soldiers in your sandbox? Christ, talk about rat's ass clusterfucks, what the HELL were you thinking of?" His smile evaporated like water on a hot griddle. "Geez, Gunny, I only lost three troopers, and we secured the objective." he hung his head down, just like a little boy getting a whipping. "THAT'S what I'm talking about, Garibaldi. Those are three LIVES you're talking about. If this were real, you'd be writing three "Regret to report the death of your son or daughter" letters right now. What would you tell them? I'm sorry that your son is dead because his squad leader had his head up his rectum?" I snorted derision. "Jerry, you have those stripes because I and the Colonel believed you had the cojones to wear them. But you gotta remember that those stripes don't just mean extra pay and authority. They also mean RESPONSIBILITY." "You have a responsibility to your troops to make the best plan, so as to bring the most of them through alive. We are Marines, we are tools, we are sent out here to die, if necessary." I thumped the conference table with my hand to emphasize my words. "The Corps makes a big thing out of "honored dead." BUT, the important thing is to meet the mission, and you can't do that with the troops that got killed yesterday." I could see the confusion across his face. "But, this stuff is dangerous. Folks get killed doing this crazy shit. You're telling me I gotta keep my folks alive, but I gotta take them into the shit to do my job... How the hell do I manage that?" "What you gotta learn to do, Jerry, is what every NCO and officer in the Corps has to learn...how to walk that knife edge between meeting the mission and getting your people through." I shuddered though he didn't see it in the darkened room. A lot of ghosts formed in the darkness behind the young corporal. "You HAVE to plan these missions to the best of your ability and resources, to do the job. If people get killed doing the mission, well that's what happens when you go in harm's way. Every Marine is a volunteer, we all learn about dying before we leave boot camp. What you gotta learn about now, Mike, is how to make sure that if they die, they die for a PURPOSE, and not just because their squad leader was a dummy." I could see lines in his face now, lines that hadn't been there this morning. Lines that would soon be permanent, like mine. He reached up and fingered his collar tabs. "Didn't realize how heavy these things are, Gunny." he said dully. "Don't sweat it too much, kid. I think you got what it takes to do the job, or else I wouldn't have recommended you for them." I said with a grin. "Really?" he asked. "Sounds like a job for a superman." "Naah, c'mon, Jerry. You think NCOs are born that way? We gotta take young punks like you and train them. Kind of like mining. Think of some of the folks you got. Some of them will become NCOs, most will serve out there terms as PFCs and go home to Earth or a colony somewhere." I smiled, "Hellfire, Mike, you're lucky. I got my Corporal's tabs after we hit the main body of the Dilgar fleet. Major Smith give me the tabs on the deck of the Deathwind. We were both bloody and grimy, and Corporal Sond's brains were splattered all over the front of my combat armor." I shuddered at the memory. Over the course of the next few weeks, we boarded ship after ship...grinding the bastards down, but they ground us too. I lost several troopers until I learned how to lead troops in boarding actions. "At least this is peacetime, so this is all computer simulation and holograms, not blood and fire." I chucked Garibaldi on the shoulder. I handed him a data crystal downloaded with the mission vids. "I want you to run this through the computer tonight. By tomorrow morning, I want to a mission plan that would have nailed this position without any losses on your part, using the resources you had available to you. 95% confidence on the simulation, anyway" He looked at the data crystal dangling from his hand. "Whew, that'll take some thinking." I looked at the clock. "Sun's over the yardarm, Jerry. C'mon, let's go to the NCO club and I'll buy you a beer to get your brain lubricated." **** To be continued C'mon, drop me a line, folks.... Talk to me, I can't improve without feedback. From ESTALKER@b205s1.ssc.af.milThu Jul 20 21:19:55 1995 Date: Wed, 19 Jul 95 12:16:00 PDT From: "Stalker, Edward, Capt AFLMA" Reply to: b5-creative@best.com To: 'B5-creative ' Subject: Kennicott, Part III of ? Here's the third chapter of Kennicott - my story of the first world blitzed by the Minbari. WARNING: This story is rated PG-13 for violence, language, some sexual overtones - it's a story about mud marines in combat - I doubt if human nature will change much in the next 250 years. Comments and criticisms are welcome. Please send comments to estalker@b205s1.ssc.af.mil or out to B5 Creative - I need the abuse! DISCLAIMER: This story is copyrighted by Edward C. Stalker. All rights will be transferred to Babylonian Productions upon request. ************** Kennicott Ne illegetemi non carborundum est.... **** Chapter Three It started a few days later. I don t KNOW how it started - I was a dumb grunt, and guys like us don t hear much till it starts looking like we might need to shoot someone. Probably, the first ones to notice were the EA Aerospace Traffic Control. Normally, a little world like NJ has a little ground-bound bunch at the main spaceport. Here, there wasn t MUCH traffic, but often enough, it was valuable metals and such. We d never had any trouble, but someone must have been thinking of the American West and the gangs of desperadoes that you always see in the old vids. So, EAAST had a little space station in geosynchronous orbit over Alcoa City. We d even gotten in a bunch of Spacers - a flight of eight of the old Starwolf Block II models. I mean, they were OLD and SLOW. I always wondered why they even bothered. I figured that these were probably odds-and-sods that some headquarters clown found too good to scrap. Good enough for a teeny mining colony on the edge of nowhere, you know what I mean? So anyway, it probably happened like this... ==================== Tachyon pulse forming in the gate, sir. barked Systems Tech 3/C Prindville. *Damn kid* thought Chief Smith, through his hangover. *Why s he need to yelp like that?* he thought. Enough professional pride remained to him that he didn t voice his thoughts. He knew that Prindy was damned proud of his Crow, and the new hadn t worn off the stripes yet. He desperately wanted to hit the emergency mask for a few breaths of pure O2, but he knew that everyone would snicker. That s strange, he muttered, nothing s on the schedule. He flipped through the listings on his PADD screen. Firming up, reported Prindville. Looks like a group of small ships. He looked back at the Chief. Escorts for a high value freighter? he suggested. ST2/C Wiltshire snorted, Be just like them not to tell us a high value shipment was coming through. They usually tell us, but it d just be like the Security freaks not to tell us.... mumbled the Chief. He straightened up. Prindy, alert the Starwolves. Both sections, Chief? asked the young man. Naw, not yet, just the duty section... and have them stand by. Don t launch. Lt Bell was complaining that we ve already gotten 15% ahead of fuel use projections. Ding-dong ought to be in finance, he acts as though his operating budget comes out of his own flippin pocket. said Wiltshire, sotto voce. Belay that talk, spacer. barked the chief reflexively. You got a problem with the station commander, you keep it to yourself, or go to him directly. *But he s right.* he thought. Lieutenant Don Bell did look more like a finance officer than a fighter pilot, let alone the commander of a rim station... but such was the chinless wonders that the Space Force kept saddling him with... Gee, Chief, don t get your bowels in an uproar... said Wiltshire in an ingratiating tone. Chief Smith ignored him. What s the pattern and ETA on the possible inbounds? he asked Prindville. Looks like nine fighters, about the size of Starfuries, and they re coming out...NOW. Don t look like anything I ve ever seen before. said Wiltshire. Checking out all the alien databanks, Chief. What in the hell do we have here? said the Chief. It was a useless reflex, but he walked closer to the main screen to look at the ships coming out of the gate. We re being hailed, Chief. said Prindville. Put it on the main screen. Wilt, call the ell-tee and let him know we have a potential first contact situation forming. He ll want to come up for this. Aye. said Wiltshire. He might be a smart-mouth bastard, but when things got tight, he was a good man. No answer on his room line, trying the com link. he said. Lt Bell came striding through the hatch, zipping his tunic. Report, Chief. What s going on? he said. Actually, it was supposed to be a commanding, reassuring prescence, but with his angular form and reedy voice, it reminded one of Ichabod Crane. Ding-dong. mumbled Wiltshire. The Chief pointedly stood on Gary s foot. Neither said anything for a second. The Chief studied the readout on the main screen. *Jesus, they re fast!* he thought. Unknown ships, possibly one man scouts or fighter, eight of them, just popped out of the Jump Gate. he stated. Sensors webs are picking up what looks like one lifeform in each ship. Coming straight for us like a bat out of hell, and don t match anything in our databases, or anything we ve managed to get from any of our alien friends. He turned to look at the Lieutenant. I alerted the Wolfpack, Sir, duty section only, standby only. Good thinking, Chief. answered Lt Bell. No need to antagonize a new race, but let s be on our guard, just in case. They re requesting a visual link with the station commander. stated Prindville. Good, put them on the main screen. said Bell. Let s see who s shown up at the Vicar s tea. The screen lit up, and all the humans watching were taken aback. The humanoid face staring back at the looked human, but it was hairless, and it seemed to be wearing a wide strip of bone or plastic where a human might put a hairband. It seemed to be as taken aback as the humans. It barked smothing sharply at the monitor, sounding like a catfight in a machine shop. Nobody, not even the computer recognized it. We bid you greetings from the Earth Alliance. We welcome you to this system. We hope that your race and ours will be able to trade to our mutual satisfaction. said Bell, in English. *Not a real good chance he d be understood, but who knew?* thought Chief Smith. It tried something else, full of glottal stops and clicking noises.. Lt Bell tried Centurai Trade Talk. It answered back in badly accented Centurai I am D laarn of the Windswords. Are you humans? it asker premptorily. Yes, replied Bell. You have heard of us? Are there others on this world, that is, not humans, such as the Centauri or Narn. No, replied the Lieutenant. We do have off-planet visitors to buy our mwetal and ores, but not at the moment. Good. replied D laarn. The image dissolved. Damn! exclaimed Bell. what a time for the circuits to go Tango Uniform! Prindy, get that connection back, NOW! Sir, the comm is fine. said Prindville, with a strange look on his face. HE cut the connection. Curiouser and curiouser. quoted Chief Smith. OK, did I piss him off, or what? Bell banged his head against a bulkhead. SHIT! he exclaimed. C mon guys, ANALYSIS! What did I do wrong, and how do we fix this before it turns into a fiasco. I dunno, sir. said the Chief. I think you did it by the book, as well as I could see. His respect for the lieutenant had gone up quite a bit. *Maybe this chinless wonder is one of those that settles down and turns into a tiger when he s under stress.* he thought. I get the feeling that things are going to shit anyway, Skipper. said Wiltshire, eyes on the screen. Everyone turned to look at the main screen. Oh Hell. breathed Chief Smith. Ships were erupting through the jumpgate at minimum interval. BIG, ugly monsters, like mutated angelfish, with two ventral fins. The resulting three finned monsters had a lethal beauty. There was no way these ships were anything but warships. SHIT! said Lt Bell. Prindville, launch Alpha flight to go out and head those guys off. Get me Lt Taro. Aye, sir. barked Prindville. Lt Taro on-screen now. The face of Lt. Tamanaki Taro looked back from the cockpit of his F-19 Starwolf, boosting at max thrust toward the massive bogies. . Tom, I need you to get out there and try to salvage what we can, pronto. First Contact drill, try and get them to go into a parking orbit We ve been here ten years, but they might believe they ve got a prior claim to the place. I ll keep trying to talk to them from here. Aye, Don, said Lt Taro. Any idea who these folks are? Not a fraxin clue, buddy, and that s the abso-fraggin-lute truth. Rojj, copy on the no clue, Don. replied Tom as he checked his instrument panel, OK, boys and girls, you heard the skipper, let s see if we can herd these guys up and move em out. Alpha flight went to full boost and moved up to circle the massive ships. Chief, see if you can get hold of Col Craig, or at least notify the 77th Command Post that we have a situation up here. Wiltshire, keep hailing those guys, and ask em what they want. Tell them we want no incidents, but they re trespassing on EA territory. Roj, skipper, replied Wiltshire. I m trying, but no answer yet. Skipper, Alpha flight is closing to 20km, Beta flight is in their cockpits and ready for launch. reported Chief Smith. I ve got Col Craig on the uplink from the planet. Got time to talk to him yet? Shit, yeah, this crap is way over my feeble head. Let the bird take over, that fer damn sure! Oh, HELL. moaned Wiltshire. The Chief and Lt Bell looked at him. Oh-shit-oh-dear. he cursed tonelssly. Talk to me! brked Lt Bell. Sir, those eight alien fighters went into a ball of yarn movement, then broke out in two finger-fours, headed straight for Alpha flight, then they vanished off my screen. Vanished? questioned Bell. Frax! Alpha Flight! You ve got inbound bogeys, eight fighters, but they just vanished off my screens. Must be some kind of active stealthing technology! Boost your scanners and try for burn-through! Aye, skipper, we re looking. Weapons hot, Don, Permission to fire if fired upon? Go ahead, Tom, it looks like this pooch was screwed before we got here. Better yet, why don t you break off and head back this way? I don t like this, but maybe we can salvage SOMETHING with a little well-timed humility. Roger that, let s get this flight turned - the transmission died in a jumble of static. CRUD! said Lt Bell. Wiltshire, they must be jamming us. Boost power and see if we can punch through. Negative, skipper, it isn t jamming. I read four debris clouds where Alpha flight used to be. DAMN! barked Bell, and he slammed his fist into the bulkhead. Tom had been a good friend - and his tiny, antiquated command had just lost half it s fighter strength for no good return. WHO ARE THESE GUYS! WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON! he demanded. Nobody answered. A comm light blinked red. Skipper, Col Craig wants to know what is going on up here. Put him on the main screen. Col Craig s face formed on the screen, his brow furrowed. Talk to me, Don. said Col Craig. What s going on. Sir, looks like we ve got a bad incident shaping up with some unknown aliens. Don t know who they are, or what they want, but they just wiped Alpha flight out like a boy swatting flies. OK, any idea what set them off? asked the Col. He turned his head and barked at someone Set Condition Bravo - red, NOW! The Spacers have four dead, and we ve got inbounds, MOVE! He turned back to the screen. Can you get Beta Flight out to a jump gate? Looks like they can t do us much good, so send them for help. Roger that, Sir. replied Lt Bell. We l download all the records to each of them, maybe one will get out. ************************ Chapter Four Bell briefed Beta flight quickly. His small force of maintenance troops pulled most of the weapons and fastened long-distance endurance tanks on the obsolete fighters. OK, folks, we got a First Contact situation, and it has gone sour as hell. Alpha flight got wiped out without warning, and our message drones will probably just give these guys some more target practice. We re going to simulate an explosion on the station. In the confusion, I want you to bust loose and drift on minimal power. Play dead, and maybe when they go for the planet, you can sneak away. Sheyit-fahr, drawled Ensign Able Dawson. Y all wahnt us tuh play possum and miss all the fuhn? Bell had to run that through his head a couple of times. Able was from North America, from a town called Pahn Leyvel, Ayalabama Bell had learned his English in Syrtis Major, Mars, and so had a lot of trouble with Dawson s dialect. One. Dawson, will you quit playing around and talk in Standard, PUH-LEASE? OK, Skipper, just trying to lighten the air of gloom and doom. Sorry bout that. No problem, kid. I make aloowances for En-swines, especially from -what s that place? Ayalabama? Roll Tide answered Dawson, So we run, right? You got it. No last stands, no heroics, none of that glorious fighter jock stuff, OK? Get the hell through the jump gate and get some help, got that? said Bell vehemently. Too bad we ain t got one of those tachyon transceivers. muttered Lt jg Ahmed Moi. Hey, if wishes came true, a frog wouldn t bump his butt every time he hopped. said Bell. We re scheduled to get on in the last quarter of FY 49. You want to wait? Chief Krag banged on the bulkhead and yelled, Skipper, we got the tanks hung and filled. Beta flight is ready to launch. Like most maintainers since the days of Orville and Wilbur, the Chief was partially deaf. Bell winced, and yelled back, Thanks Chief. He turned to the four pilots. You guys get out there and bring us back some help, you hear me? Betchyerass, Skipper. said the flight leader, Lt jg Ed Kramer. I got some scores to settle with these guys. He gripped Bell s forearm and slapped him a high-five in the time-honored tradition of naval fighter pilots. Now don t forget to pee before you leave, kiddies. he said. The other three pilots gave him some ribald comments right back. The station corpsman had already catheterized them for the extended mission. Bell was already headed back to the Command Center. Beta flight was ready to launch. Chief Krag launched a 50 gallon water blivet, and oxygen tank, and a hydrogen tank, with a 2 kilo scuttling charge. After two minutes, the charge exploded, and a bright flare of burning hydrogen spread a wide, opaque cloud of water vapor. Beta flight launched out and went dead, travelling along their carefully planned vectors. The station crew watched with bated breath, waiting for one of the stealthed enemy fighters to open up, but nothing happened. After two minutes of quiet waiting, Bell spoke. OK folks, looks like they might have got away. Now, what do we do? Anybody got any ideas? I dunno, Skipper. said Chief Smith. Them bone-headed buggers swatted Alpha Flight like they was swatting flies. Agreed. And they don t look like they re backing off either. answered Bell. They should be making orbit in about five minutes. said Wiltshire. OK, Chief, I want you to load all the station personnel on the shuttle and get down to the planet, NOW. Aye, Skipper, Plan BUGOUT, now. He slapped a switch on the console in front of him, and a warning klaxon started to howl. A pre-recorded female voice calmly stated to tell All station personnel report to the shuttle deck immediately. Bell leaned forward and tapped a key on his panel, overriding the announcement. GET TO THE SHUTTLE NOW, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN. I can t promise when the next bus will be along - or even if there ll be a station here in five minutes. He grabbed Prindville by the arm as Smith and Wiltshire headed out. Not you, Prindy. I need someone to handle the comm circuits. ************************* To be continued.... From ESTALKER@b205s1.ssc.af.milThu Jul 20 21:20:00 1995 Date: Thu, 20 Jul 95 12:25:00 PDT From: "Stalker, Edward, Capt AFLMA" Reply to: b5-creative@best.com To: 'B5-creative ' Subject: Kennicott Chapter IV of ? Here's the first chapter of Kennicott - my story of the first world blitzed by the Minbari. WARNING: This story is rated PG-13 for violence, language, some sexual overtones - it's a story about mud marines in combat - I doubt if human nature will change much in the next 250 years. Comments and criticisms are welcome. Please send comments to estalker@b205s1.ssc.af.mil or out to B5 Creative - I need the abuse! DISCLAIMER: This story is copyrighted by Edward C. Stalker. All rights will be transferred to Babylonian Productions upon request. ************** Kennicott Ne illegetemi non carborundum est.... ************************ Chapter Four Bell briefed Beta flight quickly. His small force of maintenance troops pulled most of the weapons and fastened long-distance endurance tanks on the obsolete fighters. OK, folks, we got a First Contact situation, and it has gone sour as hell. Alpha flight got wiped out without warning, and our message drones will probably just give these guys some more target practice. We re going to simulate an explosion on the station. In the confusion, I want you to bust loose and drift on minimal power. Play dead, and maybe when they go for the planet, you can sneak away. Sheyit-fahr, drawled Ensign Able Dawson. Y all wahnt us tuh play possum and miss all the fuhn? Bell had to run that through his head a couple of times. Able was from North America, from a town called Pahn Leyvel, Ayalabama Bell had learned his English in Syrtis Major, Mars, and so had a lot of trouble with Dawson s dialect. One. Dawson, will you quit playing around and talk in Standard, PUH-LEASE? OK, Skipper, just trying to lighten the air of gloom and doom. Sorry bout that. No problem, kid. I make aloowances for En-swines, especially from -what s that place? Ayalabama? Roll Tide answered Dawson, So we run, right? You got it. No last stands, no heroics, none of that glorious fighter jock stuff, OK? Get the hell through the jump gate and get some help, got that? said Bell vehemently. Too bad we ain t got one of those tachyon transceivers. muttered Lt jg Ahmed Moi. Hey, if wishes came true, a frog wouldn t bump his butt every time he hopped. said Bell. We re scheduled to get on in the last quarter of FY 49. You want to wait? Chief Krag banged on the bulkhead and yelled, Skipper, we got the tanks hung and filled. Beta flight is ready to launch. Like most maintainers since the days of Orville and Wilbur, the Chief was partially deaf. Bell winced, and yelled back, Thanks Chief. He turned to the four pilots. You guys get out there and bring us back some help, you hear me? Betchyerass, Skipper. said the flight leader, Lt jg Ed Kramer. I got some scores to settle with these guys. He gripped Bell s forearm and slapped him a high-five in the time-honored tradition of naval fighter pilots. Now don t forget to pee before you leave, kiddies. he said. The other three pilots gave him some ribald comments right back. The station corpsman had already catheterized them for the extended mission. Bell was already headed back to the Command Center. Beta flight was ready to launch. Chief Krag launched a 50 gallon water blivet, and oxygen tank, and a hydrogen tank, with a 2 kilo scuttling charge. After two minutes, the charge exploded, and a bright flare of burning hydrogen spread a wide, opaque cloud of water vapor. Beta flight launched out and went dead, travelling along their carefully planned vectors. The station crew watched with bated breath, waiting for one of the stealthed enemy fighters to open up, but nothing happened. After two minutes of quiet waiting, Bell spoke. OK folks, looks like they might have got away. Now, what do we do? Anybody got any ideas? I dunno, Skipper. said Chief Smith. Them bone-headed buggers swatted Alpha Flight like they was swatting flies. Agreed. And they don t look like they re backing off either. answered Bell. They should be making orbit in about five minutes. said Wiltshire. OK, Chief, I want you to load all the station personnel on the shuttle and get down to the planet, NOW. Aye, Skipper, Plan BUGOUT, now. He slapped a switch on the console in front of him, and a warning klaxon started to howl. A pre-recorded female voice calmly stated to tell All station personnel report to the shuttle deck immediately. Bell leaned forward and tapped a key on his panel, overriding the announcement. GET TO THE SHUTTLE NOW, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN. I can t promise when the next bus will be along - or even if there ll be a station here in five minutes. He grabbed Prindville by the arm as Smith and Wiltshire headed out. Not you, Prindy. I need someone to handle the comm circuits. UH-uh, ok, sir. said the youngster as he went back and sat in his command chair. Two minutes later, Chief Smith called back and told Lt Bell , Buttoned up and ready to go, Skipper. Now you re SURE that you got everybody, Chief. Roger that, Ell-tee. Krag and I double checked. OK, Chief, get the hell out of here before them boneheads get here. said Bell as he opened the shuttle bay doors. You got it, Skipper, Good Luck! said Smith as he powered up and launched. The tail of the shuttle cleared the door just as it came fully open. Bell turned the main screen back to the onrushing aliens. Keep hailing them, Prindy. he said. Centurai Trade talk, Interlac, English, and anything else you know. The alien ships matched orbits with the station, directly over Alcoa City. Gotta signal, Lieutenatnt! whooped Prindville. They re talking to us again Awright, said Bell. Put em on screen and let s see if we can get this sorted out before anyone else gets hurt. The screen filled in with the figure of the same alien as before. Bell still found the bony plate (or was it horn? -vestigial antlers, maybe?) diconcerting. Human, it stated imperiously. That s quite true. said Bell. He was standing easy, hands crossed in front of him, mimicking the alien. No point in offending it further with inadvertant miscues from body language. And you are -? the question hung in the air. I am De Laarn of the Windswords, as I said before. You are of an unfamiliar race. My people have no records of your people or your ships. What race are you? asked Bell. We are the Minbari, and you needed no records of us to kill the Holy One. *Uh-oh* thought Bell. *I don t like the sound of that. Some damn trigger happy fool of a trader?* His thoughts raced. Killed the Holy One? We know of no such being, good sir. Are you sure it was humans? The Ship of State was visiting the outlying colonies. When we saw a strange ship, we approached. The ship suddenly launched a full salvo of plasma beams and rockets. Since our shields were down, the Ship of State was heavily damaged. The Holy One, Dukhat, was mortally wounded, and died not five feet from me. *Oh shit* thought Bell. *Why me, Oh Lord?* he thought. Are you sure it was my people that did this terrible thing? he asked. We tracked the markings and design of the ship. Since the incident, we have found other races had heard of you. We found that you were a young race, a recent infestation to this part of the galaxy. *I don t like the sound of this* thought Bell. If you can give us a picture of the ship that did this, I am sure that my government will track down the perpetrators and make sure they are properly punished. Bah, what do we care of your petty assignment of blame? The Council of the Nine has measured your race, and found you wanting. You are a young race, but too immature to be allowed to play with the weapons you posess. It is the decision of the Nine that your race will be cleansed from existance. SAY WHAT! exclaimed Bell. Hold on there- Yes, human, we have come to eradicate your kind from our universe. It is too dangerous for you to continue to grow. Prepare to die, and may the Great maker have mercy on your soul - if you have one. De Laarn touched a stud on the panel in front of him. Bell felt time slow as he screamed EVACUATION POD, KID! NOW! Prindville turned a white, horrified face toward him. In a leap, Bell grabbed the young rating, and in another, slow motion leap, he jumped through the door of the escape pod. He snagged the launch bar as he fell into the cramped compartment, and with an enormous roar, the explosive charges sealed the door and launched the 5 man pod away from the station. Bell slid into the control seat and powered up the pod s electronics. He seitched to view aft, and saw what he feared - the station was now just an incandescent, expanding cloud of gases and debris. Prindville was screaming, but Bell dismissed it from his mind. He was too busy trying to make the pod look like another piece of debris, flying away from the explosion.He set up for a ballistic re-entry near the Alcoa spaceport, and then looked at Prindville. The boy was sobbing brokenly now, trying to regain his composure. From the jagged white bone sticking up out of his right forearm, it was easy to see why he was in pain. Bell ripped back the sleeve, ignoring the howl from Prindville, looking for signs of a torn blood vessel. With only 45 seconds to re-entry, there was no time for finesse. He pulled a strap off the bulkhead and fashioned a field-expedient torniquet. He shoved the man down in a crash couch and strapped him in, immobilizing the mangled arm on the armrest with another strap. He made it to his own seat and was still strapping in as the heavy G s of re-entry were upon them. He watched the screen cloud up and blank out as the fireball enveloped his little capsule. It looked as though the - what did they call themselves? - Minbari had bought his disguise as a piece of wreckage. He relaxed as the weight built up on him, and did not think of what he would do once he and his injured man were on the face of Kennicott. Somehow he doubted that the Marines would send rescue birds out to get them - they were too likely to be busy with the Minbari. ****************************** Little Jimmy Prindville survived, and told me what he could remember, while we were stuck in the NeverSweat copper mine. Lt Bell carried him 20 klicks to a Marine outpost before collapsing, and helped in the fighting. Jimmy said Bell bought it at the Battle of the Schoolhouse. In the last push, the Minbari came through like a breaking wave, and some got across the berm. Bell ran out of slugs, switched to that little piss-ass bayonet that the M-215 carried, and went down with half a meter of Minbari saber out of his back. Col Craig wrote him up for the Bronze Star and a Wounded Lion, and I got the data crystals back to higher headquarters. I don t know if they gave the medals to his next-of-kin or not. Jimmy lost his arm to infection, but they grew him a new one at the facility on IO when we got evacuated. I think he was on the USS Rocky Mount when it was blown up at the Battle of the Line. **************************** To be continued.... Yes, it's a gritty, dark story, but I guess I want to explore some of the dark paths I've been down, in the context of the B-5 universe. Please hope you can never compare this story to your own experiences. Ed