“Sir, they’re using those maglevs for weapons,” Exemplar protested.
Before replying, Geary checked to ensure the bombardment had stopped. To his relief, it had. “They tried, and you did a great job taking them out. But our own engineers might need the rest of that line.” He paused. “Good job. Excellent accuracy on your weapons.”
“Thank you, sir. Understood. Exemplar will fire on threat activity.”
Fair enough. Geary checked his fleet status for information on Exemplar’s commanding officer. Commander Vendig. Very good marks. Recommended for command of a battle cruiser. Why not a battleship? Geary frowned as he put together for the first time that every one of his best commanders was a battle cruiser captain. Conversely, many of his problem officers were battleship captains, including the most serious pains like Captains Faresa and Numos and new problems like Captain Casia. I hadn’t realized that, hadn’t seen the pattern, and whatever it is may be obvious to officers in the current fleet. There weren’t that many battleships in my time, and they were then seen as the command that every good officer aimed for. Something happened in the last century that seems to have changed that. I’d better find out what.
The shuttles were approaching the mining facility now, swooping in like birds of prey heading for their targets, their engines firing hard to match velocity with the mining facility as fast as possible. Geary kept switching his gaze from the overall fleet display showing the entire light-seconds-wide span of the Alliance formation, to the close-in display showing the area around the mining facility, to the tactical view the Marines would use. Symbols representing enemy forces were popping up on the tactical display now, here and gone as individual defenders were spotted dodging among the mining equipment and facilities.
Geary tagged one of the threat symbols, and a frozen image flashed into existence along with helpful explanatory text. Damn near idiot-proof, Geary thought, admiring the simplicity of the system, then frowned as more windows popped into existence, multiplying too fast to follow their information as they provided exhaustive details on estimated enemy weaponry, endurance time, power usage and power systems, defensive armor, and dozens of other pieces of trivia that a fleet commander had no real need for. Somebody had set the default for all this junk to flood his display, though. But then there’s always plenty of idiots to figure out how to screw it up anyway.
Geary cursed as he painstakingly closed window after window of meticulous data until he could actually view the image and a few essential pieces of information. He studied the picture, seeing a glimpse of someone in what appeared to be a survival suit, not battle armor. The text confirmed that, noting that the individual’s appearance matched that of someone wearing an obsolete version of the standard Syndic survival suit. The weapon being carried by the defender was some sort of pulse rifle with too little power to seriously threaten Marines in battle armor, the text told Geary, and was probably intended for internal security. Internal security? At that small a facility? Oh. They’d need people to keep the Syndic citizens on this installation in line. With those maglev rails it wouldn’t be smart to let any rebels get their hands on a facility that could launch rocks at the inhabited planet in this system.
He checked the other threat symbols and confirmed they were all the same. “No actual soldiers. Internal security forces and occupants of the mining facility handed weapons and sent out to fight. What the hell is the sense of that?”
Desjani frowned over the same image projected before her seat. “All they can hope to do is slow us down. Unless the Syndic commanders in this system are completely delusional, that has to be their intended mission.”
Slow us down. Geary checked the tactical display again, wondering what ought to be there but wasn’t. Then he realized. “They’re not sabotaging anything. Why hasn’t stuff been blown? We’re not even seeing equipment shutdowns that would accompany wiping their operating systems.”
“A trap?” Desjani wondered.
“It wouldn’t be the first time.” Geary tapped his screen for Colonel Carabali. “Colonel, this is looking like a trap.”
Carabali nodded, looking harassed. “Yes, sir. It bears all the signs of that. My assault forces have been ordered to search for any and every thing that might blow up in our faces. There should be lots of small-scale demolitions on hand, but my experts say a mining facility like this shouldn’t have the means to generate a huge explosion, especially not in the limited warning time they had to work with.”
“That doesn’t seem to be reassuring you, Colonel.”
She gave Geary a quick, humorless smile. “No, sir. By your leave, sir, I’d like to get back to overseeing the assault.”
“By all means, Colonel. My apologies.” Geary tried to relax, annoyed with himself for violating one of his own rules by bothering an officer who was trying to carry out the orders that Geary had given her.
“Admiral Bloch always kept the Marine commander on his screen,” Desjani noted in a low voice. “The admiral liked to offer comments and suggestions, and of course wanted any questions answered right away.”
“You’re kidding.”
Desjani shook her head.
Geary laughed shortly. “At least I’m not that bad.”
“I just thought you should know that Colonel Carabali probably isn’t all that upset with the way you deal with command, sir.”
Of course, as far as Captain Desjani was concerned, Geary could do no wrong. But he still shuddered at the idea of working for a commander who kept him on-screen during an operation, demanding attention that was needed for the battle.
Speaking of which, the shuttles were sliding into landings, bay doors opening and Marines in battle armor tumbling out as the shuttles kept moving so that the ground troops were spread out instead of being clumped together into a mass target. Twelve shuttles deposited twelve lines of Marines, then accelerated upward again. “Nice job on the delivery,” Geary observed. “Were the flight paths automated?”
Desjani frowned, gestured to a watch-stander, then waited for the reply. “No, sir. The shuttle pilots prefer to use personal control. The Marines have a deal with them. As long as the shuttle pilots do a good job, the Marines let them fly their birds.”
“That’s a reasonable arrangement. And if any pilot screws up, then the Marines require them to use automated controls on the next drop?”
“Uh, yes, sir,” the watch-stander confirmed. “After any Marines who survived the failed drop catch the pilot and beat the hell out of him or her. Not that they’ve ever been caught doing that, sir.”
“Of course not,” Geary agreed, suppressing a smile. The lines of Marines were moving into the mining facility, dodging from cover to cover, moving in sections to provide covering fire for each other.
Not that the precautions seemed needed. Geary watched the display with growing uneasiness as clusters of enemy symbols fell back faster than the Marines were advancing. Leading elements of the defenders were already vanishing into some of the mine shafts littering the surface of the moon. “What the hell?”
A moment later, Colonel Carabali called him. “Captain Geary, the defenders aren’t really trying to hold. They’re falling back fast into some of the mine shafts.”
“I just noticed that. Any guesses as to why they’re not fighting?”
“Sir, I’d guess they want to evacuate the installation before something happens. We’d already speculated that this looked like a trap.”