Galactic Ops: The Colony

Copyright © 2013 MICHAEL L. MULLER.

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ISBN: 978-1-4497-9374-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4497-9375-3 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4497-9373-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013907831

WestBow Press rev. date: 5/15/2013

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Preface And Acknowledgements

Chapter 1 The Yorktown

Chapter 2 Bravo Company

Chapter 3 The Colonial Militia

Chapter 4 Sweat In Peace

Chapter 5 Haddi And Politics

Chapter 6 The New World

Chapter 7 A Serpent In The Garden

Chapter 8 Toltecca

Chapter 9 Answers

Chapter 10 Epilogue

Appendix: Maps

For Christ’s Crown and Covenant

PREFACE AND ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

M y generation grew up in the epic genre of science fiction movies. Our heroes were on the silver screen and in comic books. Our children have been weaned on these stories in theatre and games, and they have furthered them to greater artistic splendor; but these stories are flawed at the core. Ultimately they distort right and wrong, glorify a false sense of manhood, and reject the Creator in favor of the creation. This book takes aim to place faithful teaching right in the heart of our modern entertainment culture. It creates a fictional universe wholly devoted to Christ with the same action-packed excitement of its secular counterparts. The characters and events in Galactic Ops appeal to the adventurous, but the lessons are that of history, the battlefield, and the Bible. I pray it fulfills is purpose.

I began writing Galactic Ops while I was at war in Iraq in 2007. The idea had been swimming in my head for a few years and I finally found myself with a bit of quiet time in those long, dull moments when the enemy faded out-of-sight. I had been reading a lot of theology and history and a bit of science fiction. These were always my passions and I longed for something to bring them together in submission to Christ. It was thus that this work began. I returned home where other priorities delayed the publication, but the pursuit never entirely fell off. What you are holding in your hands is, I pray, a small bit of my soul and a heavy dose of gospel for a lost and dying world.

The Colony is designed to be the first of an action packed trilogy to carry us from the early days of the Plymouth charter to the establishment of the colonies. I relied heavily on William Bradford’s Of Plymouth Plantation and George Grants collection of source material in The Patriot’s Handbook. I am deeply indebted to Pastor Steve Wilkins for his teaching series America: The First 350 Years. It re-molded my thinking on levels that took me over a decade to begin to understand. I also owe a good bit of thanks to Doug Phillips whose Vision Forum sermons rounded out some of the gaps in my history. Closer to home, I am greatly indebted to my mentors Nat Carswell and Pastor William Smith, and my dear friend Hans Anderson who encouraged me along the way and suffered through many of the early musings of the work.

It should be noted that I borrowed the names of some of my family, several of my closest friends, and a few honored Marines with whom I served to draft the book; partly to keep the characters straight in my head, but also to honor them. I pray I did both. For those who I may have missed, fear not, Lord willing there are more books yet to come and you are not forgotten. I have been blessed with the steadfast support of my loving wife Courtland and my children Ally, Ethan, Dominic, Grace, and Brock. I hope you enjoy reading this book as much as I enjoyed writing it. Keep the Faith. Semper Christo Fidelis.

CHAPTER ONE

The Yorktown

In war there is no substitute for victory.

- General Douglas MacArthur

J ohn Krighter sat quietly on his rack, leaning against the hard, metallic bulkhead of his tiny stateroom as he read an official communiqué projected from his DATEX. The message had taken two days by sub-space to arrive at that edge of the Empire. The DATEX, or Data Exchange, was a miniature personal computer with a library of information capable of performing multiple functions from correspondence and communications to navigation and training. With a tap of his finger the palm-sized device projected a holograph of an official letter. He thought anxiously, Perhaps these are the orders I’ve been waiting for .

John was a captain in the Western Alliance Imperial Defense Force, where he had spent the last eighteen years of his life serving in the Marine Corps Infantry. He served ten years as a platoon commander and company executive officer with the Sixth Marine Regiment, fighting skirmishes against Haddi guerillas in the Rigalian sector. He had learned a good deal about small unit tactics in the rugged terrain on the moons of Rigal Seven.

While his training had prepared him well, actual combat experience earned him a promotion to captain. After that, he managed to skip the normal Earth re-acquaintance tour in exchange for staff duty with sector headquarters on Rigal Two. It was fairly boring duty for an infantry officer, but he preferred it to Earth; too many memories and too much politics for his taste. Five more years on staff and a school rotation earned him command of the naval assault force aboard the Imperial Star Ship ISS Yorktown.

John was now a strapping young forty-four-year-old son of North America. Modern medical advances, making ages over two hundred quite common, gave the Corps time to season their officers before promoting them to the field grades. Tall, dark, and rugged, with the solid build and muscular physique of a Marine officer, he looked every bit the part of a poster Marine.

For the past three years, John had led his 180-man infantry company on a variety of missions to secure the shipping lanes for the niberium mines of Irriad near the border with the Haddi Empire. Quite different from his ground combat experience in Rigalia, most of this fighting was ship-to-ship. Merchant ships frequented the area to purchase niberium, the primary power source in the galaxy. With the high volume of merchant traffic, pirates were never far from the area, preying on poorly armed vessels. The Yorktown would take them to task.

John began reading the letter,

From: Headquarters Western Alliance Imperial Defense Force

To: Captain John Krighter, Marine Corps Infantry

20 January 3342

Subject: Transfer Orders

Captain Krighter, you are hereby directed to…

The letter cut out and was replaced with a projection of the ship’s watch officer. Captain Krighter to the bridge, the voice coolly sounded.

Usually the watch officer would request the captain to the bridge. A non-cordial order meant the matter would be urgent.

Acknowledged. On my way, he replied.

John swept his finger across the DATEX and it switched off. The communiqué would have to wait. He quickly zipped his one-piece battle suit, slapped the DATEX onto his sleeve, and strapped his pistol to his hip. As he headed out of the room, the airtight hatch, sensing his approach, automatically slid open. He worked his way up the winding, narrow corridors and a maze of ladder-wells to the ship’s bridge. Airlocks slid open and closed as he passed between sections.

The Yorktown was a 620-foot assault cruiser named for an obscure little battle in the Americas fought nearly two millennia ago. Now, only a handful of faithful men remembered the battle, desperately clinging to the idea of the ancient republic. The Yorktown was designed to fight independently in ship-to-ship or ship-to-ground engagements from near orbit. She was well armored and boasted a variety of weaponry, a dozen fighters, and a heavily armed Marine company reinforced with a platoon of four hover tanks. The ship was big enough, but every inch was crammed full of weapons, supplies, and men. Every ounce of the Yorktown was built for one purpose: war.

Standing an inch shy of six feet, John had to duck as he stepped through the last airlock and onto the bridge. The bridge was dimmed in faint blue light to reduce the radiant signature. The center of the room was filled with a large holographic display showing an array of planets and ships operating in the area. The bridge crew manned the various stations surrounding the display. Crewmen were strapped into heavily padded chairs with large harnesses for combat operations. The entire exterior of the bridge was fitted with transparent tritanium, providing an excellent field of view. The captain’s chair was situated prominently behind the display where he could best command the ship, with the bridge itself raised above the main hull. From there, the crew had a spectacular view of the star-filled space outside. In the foreground, the dark red hue of the planet Irriad formed a mosaic horizon as the Yorktown maintained her tranquil orbit. The majestic scenery of creation alone was often worth the price of service for her crew.

Commander Timothy Barrick was the ship’s captain, a proven officer, though modest in stature. Barrick spent the last three years honing his crew and working with the Marines to tailor them into a well integrated fighting force.

As John arrived on the bridge, the commander caught sight of him out of the corner of his eye. He turned his chair to face him.

John snapped to attention. A navy commander outranked a Marine captain, and as the ship’s captain, regardless of rank, he always outranked everyone on board and was referred to as captain. John reported in his deep, deliberate voice, Captain Krighter reporting as ordered sir.

At ease captain, Barrick responded.

John relaxed his stance slightly and came to parade rest, chest out, arms folded behind his back and legs shoulder width apart.

Barrick continued, We seem to have a little situation near the asteroid belt. It appears that a merchant vessel has been disabled and transmitted a distress call. They reported pirates in the area. We’re the closest ship, so we’ve been ordered to investigate. If there are pirates in the asteroids, and there probably are, I’ll need you ready.

He motioned toward the hologram where the disabled ship’s last known position flashed. We’ll be making the jump to hyperspace momentarily. It should take about thirty minutes to reach the asteroid belt, so you better get started. Once you’re in position, the OPSO will fill you in on the rest.

OPSO was short for operations officer, the primary planner on the ship. The ship’s captain would develop a basic concept for a mission and the OPSO would fill in the details. On the Yorktown the OPSO was a lieutenant commander, one rank junior to Barrick and one rank senior to John.

John knew the drill well. In the last three years aboard the Yorktown they had rehearsed and executed deep-space boarding and recovery operations countless times. By now, his men could anticipate one another’s moves, and their drills were nearly flawless. Yet even with their solid track record, a distress call in the asteroid belt was usually a bad sign. Too many places for enemy ships to hide, he thought. This could prove tricky.

Any questions, John? the OPSO concluded.

John smiled sarcastically. Plenty sir, but nothing we have time for now.

Very well captain, you’re dismissed.

Aye sir. John snapped to attention and pivoted toward the hatch. The airlock slid open and he stepped off the bridge. It closed behind him in a swift, smooth motion.

As he worked his way back to his stateroom he tapped his DATEX with one hand and announced, Gunny Neville. A moment later another holographic display sprang to life in front of him, though largely transparent so as not to obscure his view while moving.

Neville here, answered Gunnery Sergeant James Neville, Gunny for short. The company gunny was responsible for providing logistical support for the company. He also prepared the jump rooms for aerial assault and boarding operations. Of course Neville, like most company gunny’s, had a knack for finding his way into the thick of the fight from time to time.

Gunny, prep the aft jump room, the captain directed.

Will do sir. Who’s jumping?

Second Platoon. I’ll get them down there in a minute.

Aye sir, Neville replied.

The ship’s intercom hummed to life. All hands prepare to jump to hyperspace.

John quickly slid through the hatch into his stateroom and called, Lieutenant Burgin. The display again crackled to life, this time with a rugged, muscular officer, who was half dressed and shaving with a small humming device that emitted a green glow on his cheek. Rob Burgin was in command of Second Platoon, Bravo Company.

Yes sir, Rob said as he paused his morning routine.

We have a disturbance in the asteroid belt and I need your platoon to assemble in the aft jump room in twenty minutes.

No sooner had he finished giving the order, than the ship’s lights momentarily dimmed and the familiar rhythmic thump of the hyperdrive kicked in. The inertial dampers absorbed most of the acceleration, but John grabbed the bulkhead to steady himself anyway. Rob did the same.

Rob replied with cool confidence, Aye sir. Twenty minutes.

The display cut out and John changed into his G-suit. The standard battle suit was fine for working on the ship or fighting on the surface, but for deep-space operations the zero-gravity G-suit was necessary. It was a thin version of an astronaut’s suit with pressurized air and temperature control. It also had small inertial dampers to reduce the shock of impact when bounding from ship to ship. The dampers used finely tuned gravity waves to counter the effects of deceleration on the body. It was a complex and exacting science that had taken centuries to perfect. He zipped up the one-piece suit, which he kept rigged with armor plates from head to toe. Once zipped, he slapped on his magnetic breastplate and fastened his utility belt. Ready for action, he grabbed his battle rifle and helmet, and headed for the jump bay.

The jump bay was situated all the way aft and at the bottom of the ship. Most of the up-gun weapon systems were positioned further forward. This allowed the ship to provide covering fire while the assault force made the jump. Of course, this meant that the DZ (short for Drop Zone) would still be smoldering when the Marines hit the deck; just the way they liked it.

The Yorktown was equipped with two heavy cannons, a forward and aft torpedo bay, and a variety of smaller guns interspersed across the ship. The heavy cannons fired a spectrum of energy attacks to overload a target’s shields and power systems. Once their shields were down, the cannon would be loaded with a three-inch tritanium alloy slug and accelerated to near-light speed. This deadly mass-energy combination would devastate all but the most resilient defenses, ripping gaping holes in an enemy vessel. The smaller weapons worked on the same principle, trading size for an increased rate of fire.

The torpedoes, on the other hand, generated a small nuclear reaction, forming a concussion wave capable of breaking a vessel in half. Once launched, the onboard sensor searched for energy emissions to zero-in on its target, hence the reason that crew worked so hard to reduce their energy signature. If the warhead found its mark, it usually proved fatal.

The top of the ship, below the bridge extension, housed two fighter launch tubes and a hangar bay with twelve small, one-man fighters called Snubs. Each Snub was equipped with an air-to-ground cannon and two light guns near the fuselage for aerial combat. The Snubs were highly versatile fighters that could maneuver in deep-space or a planet’s atmosphere. Snub pilots were widely considered the best in the fleet and prided themselves on close air support for the infantry, akin to the Marine Harrier pilots of old.

With the bridge and launch bays atop the ship, the Yorktown preferred to keep her enemies below and to her front to maximize firepower on the target. From this profile, she could lay waste to most ships in a single pass, while protecting her vulnerable sections above.

John entered the aft jump bay where Second Platoon was already forming up. The men looked over their G-suits and checked their personal shield generators. Over their suits they strapped on alloy breast-plates and armored pads for added protection. The armor weighed about thirty-five pounds but could absorb a lot of damage if the shields failed. The trade-off between armor protection and maneuverability was an endless battle for every commander. John preferred to keep his men more heavily armored than most. It slowed them down a good bit, but he figured most ship-to-ship battles were a slugfest anyway, with little place to hide and even less room to maneuver.

For jump ops, each Marine was fitted inside an armored exoskeleton called a jump rig, complete with control rockets and inertial dampers to absorb the shock of landing. The rigs were bulky and difficult to manage under gravitational constraints, but performed quite well in the zero-G environment of deep-space. Once on the ground, however, they would jettison the rigs before boarding an enemy vessel. The gunny would recover them later.

The hard steel slap of Marines loading magazines into assault rifles echoed across the jump bay. Each man double checked his combat load ensuring his magazines and equipment were firmly magnetized to his G-suit. The platoon also boasted a heavy weapons section with two Mk-4 medium machine guns and two AG-6 light assault cannons for breaching and anti-armor operations.

In addition to their already bulky load, every Marine carried a back-up pistol and a liquid-metal energy blade. The blade could be formed into a sharp, hot edge, making it suitable for cutting, burning, or close combat. It gave off a slight fluorescent hue and could be extended to any length from a short knife to a long sword.

The squad leaders began looking over their men, checking every piece of equipment from kneepads to magazines. The pre-combat inspection was quick but thorough. Every man checked his buddy, then every team leader checked his team and the squad leaders checked the squads, all with John and Rob watching from a close distance.

John received a DATEX transmission from the OPSO. Right on time, he thought. The display again crackled to life with a three dimensional holographic map and the OPSO’s voice narrating into his ear. John, this is Lieutenant Commander MacArdle, announced the OPSO in his mild Scottish accent, You got me?

Roger, sir, he replied.

MacArdle continued, "Here’s the situation. The Nirobi is a registered merchant cargo ship loaded with niberium and a crew of twenty. Three hours ago, she reported departing Irriad headed for the theta quadrant. She reported being disabled by a pirate ship before her sub-space transmission cut-off. If it is a pirate vessel it is likely operating independently, and the attack was probably launched from the asteroid belt. However, we’re taking no chances.

We will jump out of hyperspace a few parsecs short of the target and launch a couple of Snubs to recon the area before moving in. The Yorktown will then jump in behind this small planetoid about a parsec away. The planetoid flashed green and the display rotated as he talked through the brief. MacArdle continued, That should mask our move until the Snubs can tell us what we’re up against. If they have already boarded the vessel we will be forced to do a rolling energy only barrage and insert you on the first pass. That’s our best chance to recover the ship and crew alive."

Roger, sir. We’ll be ready.

One more thing John, there’s a good chance they have taken hostages and the commander would like to take both ships intact if possible. We may be able to gain critical information from their data banks. If it’s too dangerous don’t risk your men, but capturing these pirates could be the brass ring.

Acknowledged sir. We’ll be in position in ten mikes (minutes)

Roger, OPSO out

The voice cut out and John signaled his men to assemble around him. Using the same display provided by the OPSO, John reviewed the situation and laid out the plan. He anticipated a single barrage with a platoon sized drop simultaneously on both ships. He began to detail his concept of the operation, We need to secure both ships simultaneously to prevent the enemy’s escape. First Squad, I want you to jump first and go for the…

Rob cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows with a mild look of irritation toward the captain. John had a bad habit of micro-managing his platoons and not allowing the platoon commanders to lead. However, he was aware of this flaw and he made a conscience effort to stop himself.

John paused briefly; then continued, Right. Lieutenant Burgin will give you the specifics on the landing sites and targets. Once inside, clear toward the bridge and if possible capture their onboard computers and senior staff. Their actions have proved hostile so deadly force is authorized. I will move with the first wave and monitor the platoon net if you need me. Comm checks in eight minutes. Any questions?

No sir, Rob replied, and then ordered his Marines, Suit up and move to your jump positions. Squad leaders form-up on me. Move!

The Marines moved with a purpose as if breaking from a football huddle. The platoon sergeant began barking orders to get the men in their rigs and into the jump tubes. The helmets went on first, with their DATEXs fastened to the side. The helmet offered a virtual aiming reticle, enabling the Marines to fire their rifles from any position, without needing to put it to their shoulder. Once attached, the G-suit pressurized and sealed them in.

The sound of Marines strapping into their jump rigs echoed across the bay and created an air of purpose. As each man stepped into his armor, it tightened around him and powered on with a hum. A quick verbal command to the DATEX engaged a holographic heads-up display and powered up the hydraulics.

Gunny Neville worked a console by the wall to adjust the artificial gravity in the room. He slowly backed it off to one-tenth Earth gravity, enabling the Marines to move around easier in their rigs. One by one, the Marines filed into the jump tubes.

Each tube was wide enough for one rig, with windows toward the bay and a transparent shield for a floor that would open during launch. Two rows of ten tubes each lined either side of the jump bay. One Marine loaded into each tube while another waited in position behind him.

While the Marines made ready to jump, Rob filled in the details for his squad leaders. When he finished, they broke from their huddle and joined their men in the tubes. On the bridge, Commander Barrick watched the display with anticipation, his lips moving slightly as he intently counted the seconds in his head, Battle stations.

MacArdle acknowledged the order, Battle stations aye. All sections report when REDCON one. REDCON one was Readiness Condition one, meaning they were ready to fight.

Load torpedoes and standby.

The ship’s intercom blared to life, Battle stations, battle stations, all hands man your battle stations! This is not a drill!

In a moment, the ship was a flurry of activity as every man moved swiftly to his post. All loose items were quickly locked down and men not on-duty strapped themselves in place. No one liked being off-duty during a fight, but a single battle could last for several days and watch rotations were necessary to keep the crew alert.

Across the ship, lights dimmed and all non-essential systems were turned-off to reduce their energy signature. In the hangar bay, four pilots were already in their fighters standing by. Two Snubs were in launch position with the faint glow of their twin engines illuminating the back of the launch tube. The tubes were sealed, but the side facing the bay was transparent, allowing the hangar crew to observe the launch. Outside, the ship went dark with only the bridge emitting a faint glow.

One by one the sections reported in, Communications REDCON one, Weapons REDCON one…

MacArdle acknowledged each report, REDCON one, roger. The repetition was necessary to ensure that no one misunderstood an order. When they were all up, he reported to the captain, Sir, all stations report REDCON one.

The captain acknowledged the status change with a nod, Very well. A short pause followed as Commander Barrick looked intently at the display and timed his next action. All stop, he sounded.

The helmsman acknowledged the order, All stop aye.

The rhythmic thump of the hyperdrive gradually slowed and settled into the dull hum of the maneuver thrusters as the ship glided out of hyperspace and into in the quiet darkness. The streaking lights from the stars settled into a celestial panorama. Except for