The Day of Reckoning

Nightmares, we all have them. Keep you up at night, when it is pitch black and the dark clouds clot the sky and mask the moon. Things go bump and you start shaking uncontrollably. Your sense of hearing exceeds normal. You hear them slithering all around you, waiting. You sleep with a gun and you're a Marine, and yet you scrape your teeth pretending they don't exist. You keep checking your ammo, knowing all the while it won't do any good. You wonder why you volunteered to explore space. You want to know why? I don't even know anymore.
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John stood alone as the sun was setting and the desert sand dunes grew darker with each passing minute. He closed his eyes and felt the remnants of the retreating heat on his face. He longed for the end to come, for God to end the suffering of his men and his own suffering. This world was descending further into chaos every day. Trying to distract himself from his gloomy train of thought John thought about an interesting talk he had earlier with his sergeants.

A few hours ago he spoke with his sergeants and they all reached the same verdict. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that their next assignment would be very interesting. Being sent to a space research station qualified as an interesting assignment to anyone who served in the United State's Aerospace Corps. It was also one mission that everyone agreed should be short lived. John looks up at the sunset from which colors burst like bombshells, illustrating a battlefield in the sky. Not a cloud dares disrupt the fight for its own sake. He lets a sigh escape into thin air. This is the last time they will see a sight like this for a while. They might as well enjoy it while it lasts. Space will be a lonely place indeed. John brings his gaze downwards from the heavens above in an attempt to forget about what wonders and horrors await in space.

The sand around him is still as barren as it had been when they arrived here two years ago. Cautiously, he scans the barren death trap for them to show. He tries to make every square inch of his surroundings sear into his memory, just like a kid on the last day of summer break before school starts back up. The only problem is that it is only June. This God-forsaken desert seems like an eternal summer during the day and an eternal winter at night. It seems that anything can happen after the darkness comes out to play. Five nights ago they lost most of their communications equipment because of a dust storm that seemed to materialize out of nowhere. The sand fried the sensors and was so fine that it managed to get itself embedded inside some of the hardware. In the process it rendered several relays inoperable and the damage irreversible. It was bad enough that their boots were full of sand that they also had to strip apart the remaining comm. gear. That wasn't even the worst part. The worst part was John forgetting to give the order to patch it back up. Needless to say, the equipment was left out in the sun for too long and exposure got to it. Not all of it was ruined luckily. "How can a captain be so forgetful?" one might inquire. Try living for two years in this hell-hole they call a desert and not seeing any other human being. They had to move them to the most desolate place in the world. And by the looks of things they were not getting much of an upgrade.

John quickly looks down and steals a glance at his compass. They said that they were coming in due north. Of course that depended entirely on the weather up there. The time, too, was variable. He brings his attention to the horizon. They have been waiting half a year for this moment. That's how long it's been since their last audio contact with The United States Aerospace Corps. It's enough to make someone lose their mind. Still, audio contact was preferred to no contact at all. John turns around and lumbers over to the tent not far from where he is. The tent's flaps rustle as the wind gently brushes over it. Two privates sit at a table in the center of the tent analyzing an endless stream of data on their computers. "Contact anyone?" John asks as he moves a flap aside and fills the space with his body.

"ETA is T minus twelve minutes, sir!" one of the privates responds with a hint of enthusiasm. The readout on his laptop is thanks to a special piece of equipment that is a veteran from the dust storm. Although dented, the small piece of tech gives readable and reliable information. At least the distance measurements, local and global audio communications networks, and local area and global networks are online.

"Good. I want you to let me know when they are in secure comm. range. Don't report to your CO. Just come straight to me."

"Yes sir." The private puts what's left of the local communications equipment online and begins the Standard Operating Procedures for the encrypted network. Normally the process only takes seconds, but John does not want to take any chances for something to go wrong. They've come this far and John does not want anything to go wrong on his watch.

"And keep running that diagnostic until contact is initiated. I don't want to miss our chance. GPS is still up and running fine, so they shouldn't have a problem locating our signal." John walks back outside, the warm and dry air more annoying than ever as he strides towards his personal observation post. He turns to his right and motions for one of his sergeants to come over. The sergeant nods and whistles to another Marine in the next tent over. The Marine, a private, looks up at the sergeant from his fixated position at the table analyzing a collage of maps. John recognizes him as Carl, the "new" recruit. This place was his first assignment straight out of boot camp. Carl has been pouring over the maps now for hours, a regular activity for him. John can't help but think Carl deserves a break. All of them need a break. But John can't afford that now. Too many things can go wrong too quickly in this isolated sandbox. Besides, they will have a permanent break in a short while, John convinces himself. With a look of anguish spread across his face, Carl looks over at John. John nods, knowing he now has his attention, and both start jogging towards him.

The sergeant reaches John first. "They're here already?" John casually turns towards the sergeant just in time to see Carl arrive, panting and doubling over to catch his breath. The running still got to him every now and then. It's a shame, John thought to himself. This was supposed to be a simple test mission on how the platoon would function in extreme conditions. With supplies cut to them after about a year this became a survival mission at its core. Hostiles were located to the East and although their location was classified, that didn't mean squat out here in flat terrain. That being said, they had to prepare themselves for the worst: their location being compromised and an all out attack against them in a weakened state. They conserved their energy, only pushing themselves to their limits in shifts every other few days. At least that's what John managed to convince himself they did. The reality was that they just did whatever whenever. As an added bonus, the hostiles turned out to not be a threat to them. The last communication John had with the U.S.A.C. told him that it was neutralized, but the area was still considered hot. This made John a little jumpy. Either way, he classified this as a survival exercise, with a stretch on that last word.

"Affirmative. ETA is 11 minutes." The sand blows in every direction as though it was the product of a hysterical painter. Particles of the dry powder were blown into the air at random intervals attempting in vain to reach the darkening sky. The private stands at attention, his eyes glued to the same area as John. He stares contently into the darkening horizon, waiting to see the humvees.

"Just relax men. No need to work yourselves up now. There will be enough time for that later."

Private Carl makes a grunting sound. "No way to tell with these people anymore. Sending us to space? Why?"

John laughs to himself, looks to his right and glances at the sergeant, a scowl on his face. "They think we can handle the isolation. Putting us in this place was probably a...conditioning exercise." He pauses for a second, trying to find a way to avoid the question. "As far as why they are sending us there I can only speculate..." Probably just another "exercise".

John keeps looking at the sergeant who shrugs off the question and then gradually returns his look to the north. Their intel confirms that there are five humvees for their transportation. They go to the infamous U.S.A.C. Omnivore after they are transported back to the FOB. "Sergeant, I want your men ready when they arrive."

"Yes sir. Do you want an update on our equipment now?"

John pauses, knowing that the check is useless at this stage. Since the camp is in a bad shape overall John shudders at the idea of knowing how bad. With this in mind, John decides to quickly run the list of equipment that is good through his head. "No, we should be good." John looks through his binoculars and spots three silhouettes out in the horizon. The dust, combined with the sand, leaps into the air higher and the wind spirals up. For a moment the trio lose sight of them in the little dust shield they have constructed around themselves.

"Yes sir." As he turns away there is a sharp change in the wind direction from north to south. The air becomes thicker and hits John's face. The mixture of dust and sand makes the men gag. Their eyes burn like they've been exposed to mustard gas, their throats scream for water, and after a few seconds they shut their eyes. Their pain subsides somewhat. John stops feeling the wind on his face and the smell seems to fade away. He opens his eyes and attempts to rub the sand out of them, to no avail. He then takes his canteen off of his belt and quickly pours some water into his hand, most of it dripping into the sand. He rinses his eyes with the water and the pain is reduced to a dull throbbing. He manages to screw the cap back on his canteen, return it to his belt and resume looking through his binoculars. John's eyes gradually adjust and with his vision still slightly blurry, he sights the convoy, their dust shield now doubled in size and threatening their visibility as the wind blows every way that it can.

Carl shifts uneasily on John's right. "This doesn't seem good sir. Kinda reminds me of...you know."

John lets out a sigh and lowers his head. "I know. I feel it too." He closes his eyes and prays to God this isn't actually happening. Again, that is. We don't need another storm, John thinks to himself. They have been getting more frequent over the past three weeks, with about one every three days. The last storm was an exception, however. "Go tell everybody to grab their things."

"Sir?" The private stands there and looks at John with a dumbfounded look on his face.

John picks his head up and turns around. "Carl, that's an order! Move it!" he says strictly. Now of all times this needs to happen? John does not want a repeat of what happened last time. He returns his attention to the convoy approaching. If he's right, if this storm is worse, they won't have a chance. John turns around, noting that Carl is already talking to the sergeant that was with them earlier. John heads back to the tent, whose flaps are opened by the wind as he enters and leans over one of the private's shoulders, watching the console diagnostic report flash red error messages every second. "Anything I should be worried about?"

"Well, it's taking longer than usual to run the diagnostic. I'm not exactly sure why. This isn't part of my area of expertise, sir. Now Mac on the other hand..."

"Thanks for the update Gary. Just keep running it. And keep me posted on our distance." And now the chaos enters.

“Yes sir." The private continues watching the errors pile on top of each other. John manages to read one line: "Weather report inquiry failed. Connection to satellite lost. Server unavailable." A frown manages to creep onto his face and drives his fears into reality. I need that weather feed, John says to himself. He knew that the communications equipment was in bad shape, but thought the LAN, and WAN for that matter, should still be in fair condition. John looks past the spiraling dust clouds outside and looks out at the convoy. Another gust of wind blows their way. The dust field that was surrounding them now resembles a more ominous thick cloud of sand that appears to be getting darker every other second. Clouds form overhead and all around us the sand starts to stir itself. If I don't get the feed we are sitting ducks, John says in his head as he ponders his next course of action. Of course, maybe we are sitting ducks anyways.

"Mac, can you get our satellite feed back online?" John looks to his left at the skinny private.

"Umm, I'm not quite sure, sir. Our main feed is now dead and even getting a local feed is going to become problematic for anything greater than two miles. How big of a feed do you need?"

"Just enough to get us a signal over our welcoming party out there." John points towards the convoy. More dust and sand stir up and the wind plays with it like some new toy. The wind scoops up sand from some of the surrounding dunes and flings it through the air. The mounds of sand begin copying themselves onto the vehicles causing a further decrease in visibility. "What would you say? Less than three miles out?"

"Negative sir. The feed says they are approximately 4.6 miles from our position." Gary's computer keeps writing error messages on the console prompt.

Mac frantically digs around in some bags and pulls out a hard-cased, weather-battered laptop. "There's no way that I can scan the area with our equipment. It's too damaged. I know another thing I can do, though it will take a few seconds." He glances up at John, waiting for his orders. Sounds funny. Here they are in the middle of an emergency, and they still rely on orders to dictate their survival.

"Well don't just sit there! Turn the damn thing on and do whatever you need to do! Everyone's lives are at stake here!" He nods and types furiously on the keyboard. John peers out the flap in the rear of the tent towards the rest of the soldiers. The sergeants are barking orders to the privates, who in turn run frantically back and forth packing up equipment. The sun is setting and their ride is still a few minutes out.

John notices the sergeant that was next to him just a few minutes ago, and he is within shouting range. John briefly steps out of the tent and shouts "Sergeant Grayson! Have Matt and TJ wait for me in the tent. Go ahead and join them!" Unsure if the sergeant hears him over the cacophony of noise John points to the tent. He gives John a nod and heads towards the other sergeants. Good men, John thinks in silence as he walks around the tent and anxiously gazes at the humvees. Everyone here should get a promotion. But we won't.

He sees the convoy break up and form a line of five vehicles. To their left some sand starts to spin in a counter clockwise motion. The spiraling sand begins to circle wider and wider and picks up more sand, quickly growing to be at least fifty feet wide. It starts to pick up more and more speed, growing dangerously close to the convoy which is now about 30 yards from it. The vortex shape is now identified as a dust devil. John looks through his binoculars and begins to trace the column of sand into the air. It looks like it's shooting up at about thirty or forty feet. He looks to the sky and sees a full moon hanging quietly, outshining the dull orange-red sunset. The clouds that dared not fill the sky earlier start to appear and the air now has a slight chill to it.

John sees the devil start to lose its shape. The rotating column of air starts to literally fall apart as the cooler evening air rapidly depletes the life of the vortex. The wind picks up again and plows right into the dust devil, causing it to lose its shape immediately. Thank God and good riddance. John enters the tent and looks at Mac. "Making any progress yet?" He dances his eyes across his monitor before commenting.

"Well I reestablished our network after rebooting it. Seems to look fine. Although..." He pauses for a moment and checks something, probably a stray readout. John walks towards him and looks at the monitor. "I'm limited to only about a two mile radius for our feed. And...shit! Are you kidding me?" He angrily types on the keyboard, no doubt in vain.

John disregards his profanity for the moment. "What happened? Did you lose the connection?" He looks at the monitor, searching for the problem. Suddenly he finds it. A tiny message on the bottom right of the display reads, "A local network cable is unplugged." John forgot about that. He turns around and sees a group of privates packing up the network gear. He pats Mac on his right shoulder. "Nice try kid. Weather's cleared up anyways." Mac slumps into his seat, the day taking its toll on his weary soul.


END SCENE


The wind dies down and the shadowy silhouettes glide silently over the glassy moonlit sand. In the blink of an eye, and almost on cue, they separate themselves from the darkness engulfing the desert and the sun by drowning out the cries of the shadows with their overdriven floodlights. Even at this distance the lights blind John and send a chill down to his very core. There's something about seeing such a sight in the middle of the desert at night. A feeling that you can't shake even when you are surrounded by the most hardened Marines ever known to mankind. With a heavy sigh Mac stands up on his cramped legs and stretches out his full form as he looks towards the approaching vehicles. "You know for a fact that these are friendly?" A hint of his own sarcasm mixed with uncertainty reaches John, a habit of his when he starts to become agitated or nervous.

"Yes, Mac. Relax. Breathe." John casts a glance at the private. "They are still within the standard deviation of their ordered time limit to arrive here, so the chances of them being an ‘enemy’ are extremely low. Just focus on your duties and leave everything else up to me, okay?"

Mac nods his head and sits down once more at his station. John leaves Mac and heads towards the main tent. He walks inside, greeted by the faces of his three sergeants. The trio are standing towards the opening of the tent, waiting for him patiently. "We need to have a talk." John allows himself to fix his uniform and cautiously begins the meeting. "Now, you all know that we are going up to the U.S.A.C. Omnivore as soon as we check in back at Triton and are briefed. Do you have your summaries?"

Sergeant Grayson reaches into one of his side pockets and pulls out a small palm-sized object. After exchanging glances, Matt and TJ do the same. "Just like you asked sir." They resume their rigid posture. John scoops up the palm-sized recorders and puts them in one of his pockets.

"At ease gentlemen. Thank you for the reports. It'll make space better for us all. So, everything looks like it's running smoothly from my end. Anyone want to comment?"

TJ crosses his arms. His figure looms over the rest of them, but everyone is used to it by now. His size makes him a hard opponent to fight. Unfortunately, that is his only real strong suit. "My men are fine. All of our equipment is accounted for anyways."

Matt nods his head and adjusts his glasses. "Same for me. Network gear is secure."

Grayson looks down at the sand, depressed. "I'm still waiting. Comm. gear took a big hit. Lucky it's still operational."

"Excellent. It only needs to remain in operation until they arrive, which should be any minute. "

There is a moment of silence as the wind blows over the vast expanse of the desert outside. John's commlink suddenly cracks to life and he feels his heart skip a beat from the sudden static outburst. "Sir! The convoy is now within the range of our communication link. Do you want me to initiate contact?"

"Yes, private. Go through with the standard procedures for contact initiation. Mac, how far out are they now?"

"They, are...let's see..." Mac's voice is digitally amplified through the comm. channel making it sound a little tinny. John notes that his voice is not shaken. Good, he thinks to himself, he must have composed himself. I've noticed that he is becoming better at this, a skill that will do him justice in space. "According to my calculations, which are sketchy, they should be about one and a half miles out."

"Good, you are dismissed Mac. Pack up your stuff and help the others pack up the equipment."

"Yes sir." The tininess die out as his comm. goes silent.

"Okay, you heard the private. Grayson, go ahead and monitor the communications. I want authentication. You two just double check everything. Dismissed." All reply with a satisfying "yes sir" and exit the tent, leaving John alone. John takes out his PDA and a familiar voice greets him.

"I don't know why you dislike the idea of going into space. Why is that?"

He shrugs and responds to her. "Not sure."

"Come on, I know you better than that. If you won't tell me I can always nag you to death. And I know for a fact that I'll outlast you."

A smile spreads across his face and he tries to keep his laughter down. "I know you will. I mean that I really just don't know why. Call it intuition if you will. A gut feeling."

Her tone suddenly turns to mocking. "Oh, no. You and "gut feeling" don't go well together."

John frowns, trying to brainstorm an idea as to what she is talking about. "What do you mean? Since when?"

She laughs and her voice lightens up. "You really don't remember the last time, do you? Okay, well good thing I have it in my database. It's actually quite hard to forget, although I never really forget anything. Your species on the other hand would forget its 'brain' as you call it if it wasn't wired to your body."

"What are you talking about?" John shifts uneasily, concerned that eavesdroppers are near.

"You really don't remember? How about the time when you blew up the engine room because there was a spider in it."

"Still not coming back to me, Aerial."

"Really? Your species is very interesting indeed. Even by your standards it shouldn't be possible to forget blowing up an engine room onboard a Military Class-D Transport Frigate. I saw the entire thing. Actually...I have a copy of the video footage handy."

"What? You mean that you had video footage of the whole thing? Why didn't you tell me?!" John tries to keep his voice low, hoping no one hears.

"Yes. I was monitoring the engine room at the time of your episode. Why were you in the engine room again?"

The roar of the humvees sound as they tear through the camp. It is closely followed by a chorus of shouts of relief, one in particular John singles out as TJ's. "I was just in the area and wanted to check on things."

"Uh-huh...okay, whatever floats your boat boss. You got those reports yet? I can't wait to start analyzing - I mean logging them for...them." Her cheerful tone turns sour on the word.

Just as John is about to reply Gary's voice sounds through his comm. "They're here sir. Do you want us to start loading up?"

"Affirmative. Tell the others to switch their comm. to the global net now. Channel 125; section AO7 with pass code alpha-lion-seven-bravo. Please acknowledge and repeat, over."

"Roger cap. Switching from local to global comm. on channel 125 under section AO7 with pass code alpha-lion-seven-bravo. Awaiting authorization and acknowledgement, over."

"Green across the board. Go ahead and start packing up the system. Load it up when you're done. Over and out."

"Yes sir." John waits until the comm. is silent once again and resumes his conversation with his AI.

"Yes I did get the reports. Here." John takes out the recorders and places them on the desk. He then takes out their memory chips and inserts them into a converter before plugging it into his PDA.

"Well, it's about time I get to know you people better. Let's see what we've got here."

John clears his throat and sets the PDA on the table. He lets out a sigh and tries to relax his shoulders and rubs his temples. Free, he thinks to himself. That's the best word to hear right now.

"Well that's interesting. I have found some text files stored on these as well."

"Are they reports or personal data? Keep in mind these are personal storage devices."

"They appear to be some type of report but the data appears to be encrypted. Do you want me to try to break the encryption?"

"Focus on the reports for now. Those have immediate priority above anything else." What could be in the files? "You'll have all the time in the world to figure it out once we are in cryo."

"67.2 days to be exact. I don't think it's a hard code to break. I think it's a hashing algorithm. Shouldn't be too difficult to solve. There has to be a password kept somewhere. You humans clearly can't remember things very well, so it seems pretty likely that you write things down. I'll look into it later."

"How long will it take you to go through those reports?"

"Probably about an hour. But I need time to...add things...you know, just fix them here and there."

"I don't want you doctoring reports. No one knows about you, and I want to keep it that way. The last thing I need is a demotion."

"All right you joy kill. Give me forty-five minutes and I'll give them back. Oh, and I switched your comm. channel for you."

"Roger that." John picks up his PDA and the three recorders and slides them into his pocket. She's the only thing that kept him alive while caged in this sand pit. Well, God and her, that is. He checks his watch. Eight-o-clock. Good, that means Sergeant Major Kelly is on time.


END SCENE


John leaves the tent and looks towards the parked humvees. Larger than their earlier counterparts, they can easily hold fifteen men each and still have room for equipment. Although they were not meant for combat they had two light 7.62 mm machine guns on top ready to protect both sides of the vehicle. As John stares at them they reflect the moon's light, making them seem more dangerous than the rocket launcher that rests on their hood. No, they were not tanks. But given a choice between the two John would pick the humvee. They were able to carry more weight than a tank, but this came at a cost. These humvees were prone to energy spikes from their plasma engines, which either rendered the vehicle useless as the plasma dissipated or the plasma core itself reached a critical level which could not be fixed. The latter almost always resulted in a large explosion as the rockets and plasma combined firepower. The resulting explosion was the equivalent of an old-school small tactical nuke that burnt until the plasma was consumed. So, the sooner John got these nukes on the road the better.

Everyone is running around the outpost packing up equipment. John looks around for Sergeant Major Kelly. He finds him talking to Sergeant Matt. Kelly looks over in his direction and nods. Matt looks over and gets the hint, stepping back and disappearing into a tent. As John approaches, a wide grin plays across Kelly's face. "Long time since I've seen you sir. How's life been treating you?"
"It's debatable. How about yourself?"

"I've been staying alive." Kelly looks around him. "Looks like you've managed anyway. Ready to leave this place sir?"
John finds himself smiling at the question. "Master Sergeant, I thought you would never ask."

He takes a look around and checks if everything has been packed up. Everything is; it just needs to be loaded on to the humvees. Although hazardous, humvees can still get the job done. The Corps simply can't afford a dropship so all that remains for practical transportation were humvees. And that was somewhat pathetic, let alone scary. "Well, enough talk. I'll start packing up the tents."

"Whatever you say sir. Do you want me to help?"

"Yeah, now that you mention it. I'll get this tent", John says nodding towards the one he just left. "You can go ahead and start with the others. My men are under your command for now. They'll follow your orders."

"Yes sir. All right boys; let's can the chit-chat. It has come to my attention that for a short while you are now under my command. Let's get these tents broken down and loaded up." There was a chorus of 'yes sir' and then the Marines quickly started on the tents. He looked back at John. "Sir, is it all right if I talk to my own men for a while? Some have slacked on their assessment reports."

"Yeah, go ahead. I don't care. I'm just glad I'm leaving this place." Kelly nods and walks towards one of the humvees. John turns around and heads back to the tent.

As soon as he reenters the tent Aerial talks through his comm. "I think you're stay at Triton will be very short. I've just learned that as soon as you arrive you might be dispatched for a rescue mission. That's all I have for now. I'll let you know if anything changes."

"Sounds good. Dismissed...I mean thanks."

She replies with a sarcastic "yes sir" before terminating the connection.

--------

John finishes loading his tent into a humvee and wipes the sweat that has been dripping from his forehead. He feels the cool evening air against his face, thinking for a second I'm at a beach in Florida and not some desert in the Middle East. The war has been going on for a long time. Drained most of the Corps' resources dry. The familiar sound of Kelly's voice pours through his comm. "Sir? Captain? Can you read me, over?"

"Loud and clear Master Sergeant. Is everything loaded up?"

"Sir, yes sir. Everything is accounted for. This was the last thing on the list. Ready to leave when you are sir."

John looks around him. Not a trace that anyone was here. The wind picks up a little seeming to wash away some stray impressions and tire tracks. Give it until morning and the place will easily recede into the sea of sand around it. The wind blows gently in the darkness. John realizes how much he'll miss this place. Aerial quietly talks into his comm. At first he mistakes her for the wind. "I've set up a private link for us. I've muted your channel briefly so it's safe. I'm done with the reports. I've placed the results on your PDA for you."

"Thanks Aerial."

"And your ride is the one in the middle."

John pauses for a second, his heart literally beating out of his chest. "Aerial! What did I tell you?! What did you...?"

"Relax. I sent an email from your account to the driver. He thinks you sent it. I'm still a ghost." John hears her let out a little laugh. "Don't worry boss. I've got you covered."

John feels a surge of emotions at her words. "Hey Aerial?"

Her voice once again sounds in the comm. "Yeah?"

"Thank you."

Her voice grows softer as she unmutes the comm. The last words I catch are "Anytime." John smiles as he heads towards the humvee. The thought of losing her was unbearable to John. The Corps has already taken everything from him. He promised her a long time ago that he would not let anyone separate them from each other.

John climbs in the humvee, the driver nodding as he closes the door. John returns the nod. "All right everybody, this is Captain John Lockley. Time for team check-ins."

Kelly starts first. "This is Master Sergeant Kelly. Alpha Team is green, over."

A few seconds go by and TJ's voice booms over the comm. "This is Sergeant Thomas Jones for Bravo Team. We are all here. Over"

"Roger that this is Sergeant Grayson with Delta Team. We're all accounted for, over."

"Sergeant Matt here with Echo Team. We are a-okay, over."

John takes out his PDA and switches to the FOB network. "This is Captain John Lockley, platoon number zero-zero-one-two-seven-five-eight calling Triton please acknowledge. I repeat, this is Captain John Lockley, platoon number zero-zero-one-two-seven-five-eight calling Triton please acknowledge, over."

He waits for the FOB to acknowledge. "This is Triton. What is your status, over?"

"Triton we are on our way home. Give us a warm welcome home party over."

The unemotional voice comes back on. "Acknowledged. Proceed with your run sir." The voice lightens up suddenly. "Welcome home sir. Time for arrival is t-minus three hours."

"Roger dodger. Okay people, let's roll out."

"Yes sir." The humvees move forward.


END SCENE


The endless expanse of sand stretches out before John's eyes. They would have been screwed if they didn't have GPS. It's impossible to tell one area from another. He closes his eyes and rests his head on the headrest. Don't think I can thank God enough for not having any combat out here, John voices to himself. True, the area's remote and under U.S. control. But as far as friendly? Hardly.

He takes out his PDA and pulls up Aerial's report. For an AI she writes better than humans, as there are no grammatical errors that would have been expected in some of his personnel reports. He scans through a couple of pages, okaying them in his head. Then he comes across Grayson's report and pauses. Some of it has been redacted before he has seen it. As a rule, no, not a rule but a regulation, it is required that no part of a report be redacted before they are reviewed by a superior officer. At that instant John's PDA formats itself into a split screen with a command prompt on the bottom and the report on the top. A line in the prompt section reads: "Yeah, Grayson is hiding something from you. Not sure what. Out of all of the encrypted files I've analyzed on the memory cards he has the most. My guess would be mutiny?" Mutiny seems like a rash judgment, but anyone here is capable of anything after two years in a desert without human contact. He hesitates before responding for two reasons. The first is less of a problem; He needs a way to communicate with her that doesn't involve talking, remembering the driver next to him. The problem is fixed as the command prompt splits in half vertically, and a cursor blinks awaiting his input on the right half. The second problem is that if Grayson is planning a mutiny, he has hid it really well. He writes back to her "I do not think he is planning a mutiny. He has exhibited no signs to indicate this." He quickly glances at the driver, his eyes fixed on the scenery. He continues typing, "Any other possibilities come to mind?" He readjusts himself in the seat.

A few moments later he receives a reply. "No other suggestions available. He HAS to be planning a mutiny. Do you want me to start working on the hashed files? Remember, these are personal PDA files. That means they would be able to communicate without scrutiny. The Corps simply doesn't have the authority to go through personal data anymore. Makes it easier for a mutiny anyways. Of course, failure in following this regulation is punishable under Article XXI Section 6. But, since I'm not part of the Corps, who would know?" John pauses again for a moment. The humvee starts to climb a sand dune and the gees pull both driver and passenger back into their seats. "Grayson has left no physical indications of a mutiny. I have to admit, though, I can't say that he wouldn't be one to." He faces the fact that if someone in his company was going to start a mutiny, it makes the most logical sense that Grayson would lead it. After all, he is second in command. That is until Kelly showed up. She responds: "I get it. It's hard to imagine someone trying to relinquish your command. Not a very smart move on their end though. They don't know what I'm capable of." John smiles as he thinks of the ways that she could ruin their careers if they did try to take control.

"Very well, start working on the files. I'll approach him about it when we reach the base." Aerial sends a smiley face image onto his PDA screen. He stifles a chuckle as the humvee heads down the sand dune at a constant gradient. He does his best to lean back and close his eyes, trying to remember what it's like to be back at Triton. Home. He thinks to himself, maybe all of us can catch some sleep before the briefing. The thought becomes clouded with Aerial's earlier message about a possible rescue mission. It must be a pretty important rescue mission if it involves a captain of the most dangerous ship in the U.S.A.C fleet. He clears his throat and talks through the comm. "If anyone wants to get any shuteye, now would be your chance."

"Yes sir." Kelly says, making an audible yawn. John glances down again at the device. The command prompts are gone and screen is once again filled with Grayson's report. He checks the time on his watch, which reads 9:06. We should arrive at FOB Triton a little after midnight, John thinks as they go over another sand dune. The next hour flashes by as he finishes reading the reports. He notices the battery level of his PDA is at 20%. He was slacking. God didn't teach him how to program a safety to Aerial in case of a power failure. If a system loses power...she's done. And she won't even see it coming. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his charger. Wasting only a few seconds he turns it on and hooks his PDA to its magnetic connector.

Aerial pulls up another prompt: "Yeah, I was wondering when this thing had to be charged." He responds back. "Sorry. I almost forgot." She switches connections and he hears her respond through his comm. "I know. It happens." She closes the prompt and shuts down the device. At the same instant she has momentarily stopped existing.

He reroutes his comm. to the network that the humvees are using, making a note that he will need to revert back to his PDA later. They are still miles from Triton and the sand makes it seem even farther away. With nothing else to do John tries to get some rest himself. About five minutes later the comm. network booms to life. "This is Triton to platoon number zero-zero-one-two-seven-five-eight. Please acknowledge, over."

"This is Captain Lockley of platoon zero-zero-one-two-seven-five-eight. Go ahead."

"Sir! Triton is under attack!"

John sits up, almost bumping his head on the top of the humvee and startling the driver. He waits a few seconds as his heart skips a few beats. Triton is always cloaked. How is their position compromised? He shoves aside the question and focuses on the current situation. "How many? Have you been breached?" He takes his PDA and powers it back up. A transmission is sent back but is replaced with static. After a few seconds the screen on his PDA comes to life.

"Sir we are taking heavy fire from hostile Turan Class C gunships! We have confirmed reports of three in our airspace!" The transmission is replaced by the sounds of anti-aircraft plasma turrets and 50 cal. armor piercing Gatling guns. An explosion causes a high pitched squealing sound, like metal on metal, only to be replaced by a wave of static.

"Lieutenant? Lieutenant can you read me?" John still finds it hard to believe that the Resistance found Triton. The U.S.A.C cloaking technology is top of the line. They would have needed an inside source. The static clears up and a voice comes through.

"I'm here sir. They have started to use plasma bombs on our communications arrays! They want us to go down silent! Ah, sh-!" Another explosion resonates over the comm. "Sir, they have just let loose a dozen fighters." A few seconds go by. "No one has seen these before."

Another voice is heard over the comm. "John, those are Epsalon III attack fighters!" Aerial pulls up a schematic of the fighter. Powered by a fusion generator in the middle, it has three wings and carries a plethora of anti-matter bombs and a light dual plasma cannon. "These have just been released for combat duty. It looks like they'll need to use the anti-gravity mines and flood their airspace with them. Any other weapon is useless at this stage; they are too fast for target locks! These fighters should be their top priority."

The lieutenant's voice is heard over the muffled thud-thud-thud of Triton's massive pulse guns. "What are my orders sir?"

"Flood the area with anti-gravity mines. As they hit them mow them with the plasma guns!"

"Sir, yes sir!" John looks out the dashboard and sees the distant sky filled with plasma streaks, fire and missile trails. They are still a couple hours away from the action. Which means they have an advantage. Not much of an advantage, of course, but at least it is something.

Kelly's concerned voice sounds over the line. "This doesn't sound good sir. Your sergeants share my concern."

John lets out a sigh as he quickly switches back to his PDA network. "Acknowledged, Kelly. As of now we have the upper hand."
"How is that sir?"

"We're down here and not on Triton."

John hears laughter on the other end. "Roger that sir. You're orders?"

He hesitates, not having thought this far ahead. "Nothing for now. I'm going to try to keep Triton in the air as long as I can."

"Yes sir. Kelly out." John switches back to the global network. At least he bought Aerial more time. He opens a prompt and talks to Aerial. "I'm going to need you to do something for me."

"Why do I have a feeling that I won't like it?"

He clears his throat before writing back "Don't worry, you won't."

"Lovely. Well what's your brilliant plan this time?"

"Are the mines deployed yet?"

She pauses for one second and then replies "Yes. Lieutenant Perry has deployed 25 of them. I think he misunderstood your instructions. Flooding the airspace with mines does not mean only using a tenth of your arsenal."

"I know. We'll have to deal with the situation as it is. I need you to gain full access to Triton."

It takes a moment before Aerial responds. "Why?"

“I'll need you to lock onto the mines' locations. Then I'll need you to hack into our system."

The channel is on the verge of dropping out as Aerial screams into it. "What?! You can't be serious! You do realize that I would be found right?"

"No you won't. I'm giving you my back door. For all they know I'm the one accessing it. Don't worry it's secure. No one will know."

She calms down. "I don't like it."

"You don't need to. It's only the beginning of my plan. I also need one of those fighters."

"And how do you plan to do that? I suppose I could try to hack into one of those dropships and...oh right, I need a physical connection in order to do that remember?"

"I know. That's why we need to get on board one of those dropships."

"Straight into the belly of the beast, huh? That's crazy. Good thing I like crazy. After all, I am a part of you."

"Don't I know it?"