“You boys,” I said, pointing to the three privates. “Scout the outer walls, inside and out. I want a damage report.”
As they started for the hatch, I called after them over the interLink. “Keep an eye open for weapons, armor, debris, anything that might give us a clue about recent battles. Got it?”
“Sir, yes, sir.” They saluted and left.
“The rest of you unload this transport. Be quick about it. I want to seal the base by 1500.”
Moving at a quick jog, the remaining Marines left the transport and crossed the landing pad. In Ravenwood’s dark atmosphere, I noticed that their green armor blended beautifully against the ice and rock. If we were unable to get the energy systems running, if the security system was damaged beyond repair, we might still be able to take the enemy in an open-field ambush.
I watched my men hustling to unload the supplies. The boys knew the gravity of their situation. They would remain alert and disciplined. We had, I thought, a fighting chance.
A crackling sound reverberated along the station wall as a flood of bright light ignited around the grounds. In the brightness, I saw the dull sheen of frost on the walls.
“Lieutenant,” a voice said over the interLink, “energy systems are up and running, sir.”
“Nicely done, Marsten,” I said. “I’m impressed.”
“The power generators were in perfect order, sir,” Marsten responded. “Gubler says the security and heating systems were damaged, but not badly. The energy rods are still intact. It’s as if the last platoon powered the station down to prepare for us.”
“I see. What is the condition of the shield generator?”
“Shorted out, sir. It’s an easy repair. I think we can have it going in an hour.”
“Really?” I asked.
“The communications system is a bust, though,” Marsten said. “Whoever attacked the base made sure the occupants could not call for help.” We all had mediaLink shades, but those were not made for battle. Using them left you blind to your surroundings, and a sophisticated enemy could easily jam their signal.
“Maybe they were making certain that future occupants would not call for help either,” I said. “One last thing. I want you to check for radar. This used to be a fuel depot. It may have radar-tracking capabilities.”
“Yes, sir,” Marsten replied.
The area around the base looked clean when we landed. I would send a small patrol out to make certain of it. If the area was clean, and we could get a tracking system running, we might be able to track the enemy’s landing. That was, of course, assuming they flew in. If they broadcast themselves in stolen Galactic Central ships, our radar would give us very little warning.
“Lieutenant,” a voice came over my interLink.
“What is it?” I asked.
“We found out how they entered the base. You might want to see this.”
I looked in the AT’s cargo hold. My men had mostly emptied the compartment, but a few crates of supplies stood piled on a pallet in a far corner. “I’ll be there in a few minutes. How bad is the damage?”
“There are a lot of holes, but the wall’s still pretty strong. I think we can patch it.”
As we spoke, a few men carried off the last of the supplies.
“Lieutenant Harris,” the pilot’s voice spoke over the interLink. “I understand that the cargo hold is empty.”
“You in a hurry to leave?” I asked.
“This is my third drop on Ravenwood over the last two months, Lieutenant. As far as I know, the other teams are still here because no one came to pick them up. Yes, god-damn it, I am in a hurry to leave.”
“Understood,” I said. “Thank you for your help.” I climbed down from the cargo hold and watched as the hatch slid shut.
“Cleared to leave,” I said as I stepped away from the AT.
“Godspeed, Lieutenant. With any luck I will pick you and your men up shortly.” There was no mistaking the lack of conviction in the pilot’s voice.
I did not respond. Its jets melting a newly formed layer of ice, the boxy transport ship lifted slowly off the landing pad. It hovered for a few moments, then rose into the sky. Watching it leave, I felt an odd combination of jealousy and fear.
“Do you want us to get to work on the wall, sir?” one of the privates asked.
“Wait up, Private,” I said, as I started around the base for a look at the damage. A thin layer of long-frozen snow covered the ground. My boot broke through its icy crust. I found my scout party examining the back wall—the wall farthest from the launchpad.
The wall was made of foot-thick concrete blocks coated with a thick plastic and metal polymer for added protection. Using a ramming device, or possibly just a well-placed charge, somebody had made seven holes through a thirty-foot section of wall.
“Can you fix this?” I asked.
“It shouldn’t be much of a problem, sir. We have the materials, but, ah…”
“Private?”
“If the wall didn’t keep the enemy out the first time, I don’t see how patching it will make much of a difference.”
“Point taken,” I said. “Do what you can here and look for anything that tells us who made these holes and how they made them.”
“Yes, sir.”
“We did find these,” the private said, pointing to an unexploded fractal-field grenade—a messy device that overloaded shields by flooding them with radioactive isotopes.
A couple of those bangers could certainly have shorted out the generators on this base.
“Son of a bitch,” I said. The U.A. military stopped using those grenades decades ago, possibly even forty years ago. I picked the grenade up and rolled it in my palm, being careful not to touch the pin.
“You might want to be careful with that, sir,” the private said.
“Private, this banger is forty years old. If it wasn’t stable, it would have blown years ago.” Just the same, I carefully replaced the grenade on the ground.
“While you’re patching the walls, I want you to check the grounds for radiation. Let me know if the soil is hot, would you?”
“Yes, sir,” the private said.
“I’ll send some men out to guard you,” I said. I did that for his comfort, not his safety. Whoever had attacked Raven-wood didn’t care if we fixed the walls and started the shield generators. That much was obvious.
Everything I had done up to that point made perfect sense. In fact, it was obvious. If you inherited a base that had been ransacked, you fixed the holes and restored the security systems. The previous platoon would have taken the same precautions.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The war began on November 8, 2510. Hoping to find a response from Admiral Klyber, I went into the command office and slipped on my mediaLink shades.
NORMA ARM SECEDES FROM THE REPUBLIC
November 8, Washington, DC—Announcing that they had formed a new organization called the Norma Arm Treaty Organization, 27 of the 30 colonized planets in the Norma Arm declared independence from the Unified Authority.
Other territories may follow suit. There are reports that the Cygnus Arm has a similar treaty organization.
“Shit,” I gasped. An entire arm of the galaxy had declared independence. If the Cygnus Arm followed, would Scutum-Crux be far behind?
I did not tell my men about the secessions. Knowing that a civil war had begun would hurt their morale and possibly weaken their resolve. In the new state of affairs, they would need to fight more than ever. With entire galactic arms declaring independence, the Navy would not waste time worrying about an all-clone platoon on an ice cube like Ravenwood. We were on our own.
While I read the news in my office, my men scoured the base for bodies and signs of fighting. We found them everywhere. Bullets had gouged and scratched many of the walls. Somebody had fired a particle beam in the building, too. We found places where beam blasts had exploded parts of the walls.