Space Force: Building The Legacy Read online

  ​Marina had to swallow a couple of times before she could squeak out, “Yes, sir.”

  ​The Captain leaned back in his chair and even smiled slightly, “Good, I just like to clear the air. I’m sure you’ll do fine. Dismissed.”

  ​As quickly as she could while maintaining decorum, Marina fled the office.

  ​A few moments after Marina left, the Captain’s aide stepped through the door.

  ​“A little hard on her, weren’t you, sir?” she asked.

  ​“Tsiarnov, you saw her records, I expect great things from that young lady. I don’t want any repeats of that academy party I heard about. If barking at her today saves her from a career damaging mistake, then no, I wasn’t.”

  ​“To paraphrase The General,” he continued, gesturing at the photo Marina had noticed, “To err is human, to forgive is not Space Force policy."

  ****

  ​Marina followed the directions to her quarters on auto pilot. Why had the captain given her that warning? As he’d said, her academy performance was exemplary. Her entire academy career flashed before her eyes as she walked. Every class she’d taken, everything she’d done was recalled and dismissed. Everything except the party that she’d worked so hard to put behind her.

  ​After putting her belongings away in by the book order, and checking in with base admin, she headed over to the Service Club.

  ​As she stepped through the door, familiar sounds and smells washed over her and drained away some of the stress.

  ​After a quick scan of the room, she chose a vacant table and looked at the menu. A civilian waiter came by, took her order, and scanned her common access card so they knew where the charges should go. This was almost like some of the jokes she’d heard about Space Force growing up. All that was missing was a snooty sommelier to present a wine list.

  ​No sommelier, but three members of the base establishment, two first lieutenants and a technical sergeant, were heading over to her table. Marina braced herself. The first social encounter with co-workers could be tricky; she wanted to get things right.

  ​“I haven’t seen you here before,” one of the officers said, “you new on base?”

  ​“Yes sir, Lieutenant Petran,” Marina said, rising from her chair, “I just arrived.”

  ​“There’s no sirs in the Club,” the other lieutenant said with a smile. “I’m Jack, he’s Fausto,” gesturing at the first officer, “and this stripey clown,” jerking his thumb at the technical sergeant, “is Phil.”

  ​“Hey,” Phil said with a smile of his own, “if it wasn’t for this stripey clown, you two wouldn’t have anything to do.”

  ​“Fausto and I are in sensor ops,” Jack said, still grinning, “Phil is the top sensor tech on base. But don’t tell him I said so.”

  ​Phil rolled his eyes, but looked pleased.

  ​“Hey, Petran, are you the new RC jockey we’ve been expecting?” Fausto asked.

  ​“Um, if you mean drone pilot,” Marina responded, “then yes.” She hadn’t heard that particular term before.

  ​“Yeah, RC Jockey,” said Jack, “You must be fresh out of the academy.”

  ​“Yes, I am. This is my first assignment.”

  ​Jack and Fausto exchanged a quick glance, “Well, you must have impressed somebody,” Jack said, his eyebrows rising.

  ​Marina didn’t know how to respond, but was saved by the waiter returning with her meal.

  ​“We’ll leave you to your dinner,” Fausto said with a wave. “See you around.”

  ​“Aim Higher,” Jack added with another grin.

  ​****

  ​The next year at Speicher was, thankfully, uneventful. Marina learned to apply her academy skills in the real world environment of drone operations, and made some new friends.

  ​At Captain Dawson’s “suggestion,” Marina signed up for advanced training. The course load, on top of her regular duties, was heavy. But with determination and hard work, not to mention friends who brought her food when she forgot to eat, she excelled, graduating near the top of her class. This new accomplishment brought with it a promotion to first lieutenant.

  ​Not long after this, Captain Dawson was promoted to Major, and rumor had it that he would be transferred to a new command.

  ​“You sent for me, sir?” Marina asked, stopping in the entrance of Major Dawson’s office.

  ​“Yes, come in and have a seat,Lieutenant,” he responded, continuing to organize some files. “First off, congratulations again on completing your advanced training. While not quite a record, those were some very respectable scores. The silver suits you,” he added, referring to her new rank insignia.

  ​“Thank you, sir.” Marina responded, wondering where this was going.

  ​“As I’m sure you know through the rumor mill, along with my promotion comes a new assignment. I’m being transferred to Space Base Schriever in Colorado.”

  ​“Yes, sir. We’ll be sorry to lose you,”

  ​“Interesting you should mention that, Lieutenant,” the Major said, his mouth quirking up at one side, “Because I have the option of taking a select few officers with me to my new posting, and I’d like you to be one of them.”

  ​Marina’s mouth fell open in shock. She quickly pulled herself together.

  ​“I, uh, I’m honored sir,” she stammered, “may I ask why?”

  ​“It’s quite simple, Lieutenant. You’ve impressed me with your ability to think on your feet, learn fast, and work well with others.”

  ​“Thank you, sir.” Marina repeated.

  ​“I can’t give any details, he continued, “but there’s a project coming up that, while challenging, I think you’d be a great asset on,” he paused, “What do you say, can I count on you lieutenant?”

  ​Marina’s mind raced, Schriever was where bleeding edge equipment was tested. Was she ready for that environment? There was only one possible answer, “Of course, sir. When do we leave?”

  ****

  ​Major Dawson hadn’t been kidding about new challenges. Over the next three years, Marina often found herself working on multiple projects at the same time, while simultaneously administering others.

  ​Marina was put in charge of one project that was a mare’s nest of cost overruns and performance shortfalls. She was able to turn it around, while at the same time running interference between the techs doing the work, and higher ups who wanted answers “right now.”

  ​Shortly after the successful close out of this project, Marina was promoted to captain. Another promotion so quickly was unusual, but she was assured she’d earned it through her own efforts.

  ​“Lieutenant, I’d like you to have something,” Major Dawson said, stopping by her office a few hours after he’d informed Marina of her upcoming promotion. He slid a small box across her desk.

  ​Upon opening it, she saw a set of captain’s bars. They weren’t new, but they’d been polished to a mirror finish. When Marina looked up from the box, Major Dawson said,

  ​“Those were mine, I’d like you to have them.”

  ​To Marina’s amazement, he looked uncomfortable.

  ​“I’d just like to say how proud of you I am,” he continued after quietly clearing his throat, “and that you have exceeded my every expectation. I know you’ll continue to do so.”

  ****

  ​After a small ceremony, it was business as usual, with one minor difference. Marina was assigned an aide, a first lieutenant who’d gone into admin after the academy. They clicked as a team immediately and because of the way their skills and abilities meshed, things ran smoother than ever. This was important, because there really was something big in the works. The rumors were accurate, it was coming to Schriever.

  ​Finally, the day foretold by the rumors came. Marina’s team was told to be at a specific location, at a specific time. They arrived to find a large object surrounded by a hanging curtain in the middle of the cleared hanger.

  ​Major Dawson was standing
in front of it with an assembly of other officers. From the look of things, he may have been the lowest ranking officer in the group.

  ​As Marina’s team filed in, a general she didn’t recognize stepped to a lectern at one corner of the curtain.

  ​“Ten-hut!” a voice called, and they all snapped to attention.

  ​“At ease, people,” the general said, “I’ll try to make this quick.”

  ​“What you are about to see is the result of over a decade of research and development. All of which is possible because of an initial study made by the British Interplanetary Society way back in the 1970s. They called it Project Daedalus.”

  ​He paused to take a sip of water.

  ​“They proposed a fusion powered rocket for use on interstellar spacecraft. Technology didn’t exist to actually build it at the time, so the concept was shelved. Until now.”

  ​After a pause to let that sink in, he continued.

  ​“With recent improvements in materials and power generation, we dusted off Project Daedalus and updated it with new technologies.

  ​“What we came up with, is a nuclear powered, fusion propelled, low earth orbit capable, drone and sensor platform,” he paused for dramatic effect.

  ​“I give you the Icarus class drone,” as he concluded and stepped aside, the curtain fell, revealing the drone.

  ​It was about the size of a double wide trailer, streamlined for atmospheric operations. Marina knew that her techs and engineering crew were itching to take it apart and put it back together again. For her part, she wanted to see how it performed in flight.

  ​After the buzz died down, Major Dawson stepped to the lectern.

  ​“This crew,” he gestured at Marina and her team, “will be the first to work up our new toy. You’ll have a few months to get to know her, do simulator ops, some low altitude runs with the conventional turbojets, and then finally,” he paused to give them a grin, “a full test, to orbit and back.”

  ****

  ​Training started the next day. Not in the hangar or the simulator, but in a classroom. Even with all the technological advances, death by PowerPoint was still a constant.

  ​They went over every aspect of the drone. Every part, from power plant, to propulsion, to sensors, to control systems was covered in detail. Special attention was given to the fusion power plant. One mistake there, and they could spread radioactive debris across half a continent.

  ​Eventually, they moved on to the simulators. The user interface had also been completely revamped. Because of the complexity of Icarus, there was a suite of rooms with separate areas for different systems.

  ​Marina, as pilot, had her own small compartment lined with instruments. It resembled the cockpit of a cargo plane, but more comfortable. The sensor section was just as complex. Propulsion and power systems each had their own spaces as well.

  ​The separation would help keep the crew from being distracted by others moving around nearby. All the rooms were connected by intercom, so communication would be instantaneous if needed.

  ​The first week of simulator operations did not go well. It took time to learn the systems, Icarus was an experimental prototype with the occasional bug to work out. The engineering department had some particular difficulties, so one of the low level developers was called in to assist, Lieutenant Tom Rodgers.

  ​Marina was nervous at first, but either Tom didn’t remember the academy party, or he’d successfully put it behind him. Marina struggled to do the same. Soon, they all began working as a close knit team.

  ​Icarus’ flight characteristics were also unusual. Marina had never flown something so large and ungainly before. Due to the weight, it was sluggish under conventional power. Once they switched to the simulated fusion pulse jet, the power to weight ratio changed dramatically, and the control systems became much more sensitive.

  ​After a few weeks of low level flight operations on conventional turbojets, it was time to initiate the reactor and load the deuterium pellet fuel for the fusion pulse jet. It was time to reach for the stars.

  ​“Listen up,” Marina began, “This is what we’ve all been waiting for, what we’ve all been working for. By this point, I expect you can all do your jobs blindfolded. Please don’t.”

  ​A chuckle went through her team.

  ​“I have faith in you; Major Dawson has faith in you. Do your jobs as well as I know you can, and we’ll show everyone what Space Force is capable of. Aim Higher!”

  ​“Aim higher!” came back from her team.

  ​“Okay people, report to your stations,” Marina said, struggling to keep the excitement out of her voice, “it’s time to pull chocks.”

  ****

  ​Everything had gone by the numbers, the first test to orbit and back of the new drone was a success. Marina’s crew had every right to be proud of themselves. She could hear chatter over the intercom about a post landing party.

  ​They were coming on to final approach when, for an instant, all the telemetry vanished into static. When it returned, something was seriously wrong. The air breathing thrusters had cut out, the ship was losing altitude rapidly, and had started to both roll and yaw.

  ​They had to regain control, and quickly, because one way or another, that ship was coming down.

  ​With half her board an angry red, Marina grasped their one chance. It was madness. Even if it worked, the consequences would be terrible. If it didn’t, the cost was too disastrous to contemplate.

  ​“Prepare for main drive burn in,” the numbers flashed through her head like lightning, “four seconds.”

  ​“Captain, that’s totally against regs,” came over the intercom, “We could try a cold restart.”

  ​“No time,” she snapped, emotions held firmly in check.

  ​“Captain,” said another voice. It sounded like Rodgers. “I must protest. A main drive burn at this altitude…”

  ​As if she didn’t know. Marina had a better understanding of the location, attitude, and altitude of the probe. She knew exactly what the sun hot plume of plasma exhaust would do.

  ​“Protest later,” Marina shouted him down, her iron control slipping for a moment, “just do your fucking job, mister.”

  ​There was an instant of silence. None of the crew had ever heard her curse, and few of them had even heard her raise her voice.

  ​A subdued, “aye aye, sir,” came over the intercom.

  ​Now the months of training told. Her crew acted as the well-oiled machine she’d forged them into. Not an extra word or fumbled action marred their response to the emergency.

  ​The burst of power from the main drive, gave them enough altitude and time to restart the turbojets. Less than five minutes later, the drone was down safely, after making a controlled landing in a nearby field. Already crews were racing out to determine what had caused the failure. Other crews were racing to what was left of Pueblo to assess the damage and give what aid they could.

  ​Marina robotically thanked her crew and released them to mission debrief.

  ​They didn’t know yet what they’d done. What she’d ordered them to do. But they soon would. One small city in exchange for half a country, a hundred thousand people in exchange for tens of millions, maybe even a hundred million. If the ship had crashed, its reactor would have breached and the devastation would have been unimaginable.

  ****

  ​The compartment door opened behind her, and a moment later a hand came to rest on her shoulder.

  ​“I know you don’t want to hear this right now, Captain” said the major, in a quiet, gentle voice, “but you did an amazing job, saved countless lives,” there was a pause, “I’ve made an appointment for you with the base psychologist,” another pause, “We take care of our own, Marina. Never forget that.”

  ​The compartment door quietly closed. Marina sat in her chair and wept.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Brena was born and raised in New York City. She lived in the Capital Regio
n of New York State until moving to East Tennessee. After spending over 30 years in different aspects of IT (hardware, software, and training but happily not programming) and almost that long in technical and historical writing, it was time for a change. Brena transitioned to part time firearms training, including volunteering with Operation Blazing Sword, and got back into creative writing. Brena and her spouse are the sole providers for three feral rescue cats who allow the humans to feed and shelter them. With hobbies and interests ranging from role playing games (starting with original D&D and Traveler) to woodworking, metalworking, firearms, cooking, baking, and of course reading, Brena is always looking for another area to explore. The most recent addition was wine making.

  EDITOR’S NOTE

  ​And as every pilot knows, there is always one way to hit the target.

  CAG

  Richard Paolinelli

  ​"Carrier 464, you are on track for orbital insertion, turning you over to EarthCom for final approach. They'll bring you the rest of the way in."

  ​"Appreciate the escort, Viking-1," the pilot of the ore carrier replied. "We never worry about any pirates when you and Viking-2 are watching over us."

  ​"All part of the service, 464. You boys can buy us a beer next time we're all in port at the same time."

  ​"We'll make it two," the carrier pilot replied. "We owe you that much at least."

  ​"Sounds like a deal to me. Viking-1 out."

  ​The ore carrier lumbered on toward the orbital docking station where it would offload its

  cargo. The defenses arrayed in Earth's orbit would keep the bulky ship safe the rest of the way.

  ​Space piracy had been a concern for decades now. But once a ship reached Earth orbit it was safe. The two Vikings - the workhorse Y-wing fighters of the United States Space Force - which had escorted the ship just beyond the Moon, peeled away.