: “ Preparation to Destiny ”

TASK FORCE 73, CARRIER BATTLE GROUP INDOMITABLE (CVBG-I)

TCS Mistral Sea; CO's Office, TCMC Alpha Company, First Battalion, 21st MEU
The Mylon System, Downing Quadrant, Vega Sector
MAR 17, 2681/2681.076 ; 1735 Hours (CST)

Captain Charles Mendieta, Terran Confederation Marine Corps, was thirty-three years old and was born in the Gemini Sector. He grew up in a very down neighborhood, and realized that living a gang life was not for him. Soon he enlisted in the Terran Confederation Marine Corps at the young age of seventeen, seduced by the Confed recruiting Marine motto of "We don't promise you a rose garden." The name of "Big Chuck" was weighed upon him by his boot camp instructors, and the name stuck.

All he wanted to be in the Marine Corps was to become a Gunnery Sergeant. As far as he was concerned, the rank of Gunny was magical. It was an honor, and a reward for all the hard work that he would put in at the Corps. Gunnies were the glue of the Corps, that kept everything together. He wanted to be a Gunny, and be nothing else.

But that was not the case. He was ripped from his unit, kicking and screaming, and was sent to Officer Candidate's School to become commissioned, with a college degree to boot. So he had bitched and whined, but it was no use. He was to become an Officer of Marines. And four years later, with a college degree in (as virtually all Marine officers major in) history, Staff Sergeant Mendieta became Second Lieutenant Mendieta. And with his new commission he also brought along his experience, and in no time, he got his own command of an infantry company.

And now he certainly was not in a very good mood.

"Goddammit, Roberts!" he yelled so loud that people can hear him for two hundred feet away, "Next time I ask you a question during a map exercise I don't want a frigging military history lecture!"

Second Lieutenant Danny Roberts, TCMC, nodded. And winced. And ached. Boy did his head hurt. And so did his ears.

Mendieta carried on, "I wanted to know where you would have placed your three rifle squads to support an assault up Hill Seven Thirty Nine. I do not give a flying fuck about fairy faggot fucking Lord Dipshit. Wellington and his patented, Waterloo-style, rear-slope defense. Do you read me, mister?"

Danny nodded again, cautiously, half-afraid that the top half of his brain would fall right out on his company commander's desk, "Sir, yes sir. Loud and clear, sir."

"Okay, consider yourself chewed out. I'll take your word it will not happen again." Mendieta rolled his chair back a few inches and went to his personal computer. "Anyways, the next simulation we were supposed to have in a few days. Don't count in it happening."

Mendieta then looked at Roberts and his eyes twinkled as he spoke slowly, "I am going to let you on a little secret. Tomorrow, all Marines will attend a briefing by the Skipper and the Colonel for what they are calling Operation Malibu."

Danny's mind raced. Malibu? What the hell?

Mendieta chuckled, "Don't look so happy, Lieutenant - you aren't going to see any bikini clad surfer chicks here. I can't tell you any exact details. But let's just say that it's going to be the real thing, well, hopefully. And for what god known reason what so ever, you're going to be part in it. I should write you off as not deployable. I don't know why, but CO told me to get all of my platoons ready for anything, and I'm telling you now, if you screw up, I will be shitting down your neck. You get me?"

Danny nodded, it was the only thing that he could do. Mendieta looked at him and said, "I'm telling you beforehand so you can get your shit prepared beforehand because knowing you, you take more time to get your platoon ready for combat than the other Lieutenants. So from now until the briefing, you have until then to get equipment, weapons, and logistics for each and every Marine in your platoon. If you don't do it on time, you will look like a fool. And since I am your CO, I will look like a fool. And if I look like a fool then you're a dead man. Do you understand?"

Danny nodded. What else could he do?

Mendieta threw a DCD holodisk right at Danny, who caught it one-handed without saying anything, "Roberts, this is the plans for equipment and such, signing-out procedures, and all of that junk that you need to do. It was drawn up by the officer who you replaced. Don't bother to change it, he knew what he was doing. Now get out of my face, dismissed." Danny saluted and then did an about-face and walked out the door. Once he was out he was already cursing his company commander to Hell.

Just a few days with the 24th MEU had taught Danny not to complain, at least not out loud. Mendieta was a good company commander, but he had a hair-trigger temper and it seemed that right now was not a good time to reveal any more gaps in the Captain's knowledge or experience. Danny hadn't been able to get the hang of handling the captain yet. Everything that he did set Mendieta off. The man definitely was not the nurturing type. First Platoon's CO, First Lieutenant Arajuo, told Danny not to worry too much about it.

There was a rumor going around that the captain and his fourth wife back in Terra were having "martial difficulties" and that was the real source of Mendieta's discontent. But still Danny felt uncomfortable. He frowned at no one in particular. Somehow he had to find a way to get off Mendieta's shitlist; trouble was he didn't know exactly how to do that.

Take the map exercise the grouchy bastard was pissed off at for example. Danny and the other Alpha Company platoon leaders had been simulating an attack to recapture a hill dug in by Kilrathi Imperial Marines during a hypothetical assault on a bug occupied planet. They were moving little electronic markers here and there on the tactical computer screen to show Marine deployments and engagements. Danny had been demonstrating how he was deploying his infantry squad riflemen and minigunners to support the attack when Mendieta had blown up and ripped him up one side and down the other. All because Danny had made an offhand comment about how much minigun support wasn't going to do much good cause most of the Kilrathi were dug in behind the hill, protected from line-of-sight support fire. It had made sense then. And it made sense now.

But maybe Danny shouldn't have pointed out that deploying troops on the slope was a tactic going all the way back to Lord Wellington's beating the French at Waterloo in the early 19th century. It had seemed like the right thing to say at that time. Danny shook his head slowly and now wished he hadn't said it. The ground didn't stop moving when his eyes did. He'd just next time shut his mouth about military history around the CO. Mendieta obviously wasn't much of a scholar.

TCS Mistral Sea; TCMC Third Platoon Barracks, Alpha Company
1817 Hours (CST)

The first thing Danny did after the chewing out was to go see his Platoon Sergeant, Staff Sergeant Jack Irons. "Deployment, sir?" he asked. Irons was considerate; today he kept his voice below his normal booming level.

"That's right, Staff Sergeant. The Captain wants us up and out of here by briefing tomorrow morning." Danny knew that him and his Sergeant were going to be very damn busy for the next few hours. The logistics in getting forty-one men, their weapons, and equipment ready for deployment was pretty complicated. Just thinking about it was enough to turn his headache into a migraine.

Irons eyed him closely. "Look, Lieutenant. Give me a while to get all the stuff together. It's all SOP (Standard Operating Procedure) anyway. Just come back in three hours and everything should be done."

Yeah, thank the Fairy fucking God Mother for SOP. Anything the Marine Corps had to do more than three times was written down in the manual was SOP. There were shortcuts for that experienced officers knew that wasn't in the manual. But Danny knew that he had a long way to go before he can consider himself experienced.

"You don't have to worry about a thing, sir. The boys have been to so many deployments that they could get all of their equipment in their sleep," Irons said matter-of-factly.

"Right, Staff Sergeant," Danny cleared his throat. "You go ahead and get started then. I'll meet you back in the barracks in three hours to get over the movements ops order."

Irons saluted and left whistling. Danny saw him leave, admiring his platoon sergeant's ability to take anything that was thrown at him.

Danny turned on his heel and headed for the barracks to find his Second Platoon counterpart, Lieutenant Choi.

When Danny had arrived on the 24th MEU, he hadn't seen Lieutenant Choi that much, but they talked together when they sat during the mess hall. Second Lieutenant Choi was the only other butter bar (second lieutenant) in the company. He was a graduate of the Terran Confederation Space Naval Academy. The other Lieutenants in the company told Danny that Choi had a silver spoon planted up his ass, but the battalion XO Major Hawthorne said that he had the potential of a topnotch officer who knew how to run his platoon, and suggested that Danny should learn a thing or two from him.

TCS Mistral Sea; 2nd Lt. Choi's TCMC Stateroom
1834 Hours (CST)

Second Lieutenant Bong Choi, wearing a crisp, newly pressed uniform, opened the door at Danny's first knock and waved him in. Except for a cigar smothering in an ashtray near the desk, the room looked perfect for inspection. Every book was perfectly aligned, his clothes hung in regulation order, and the sheets were so tight Danny could bounce a credit chip off it. Lieutenant Choi seemed just a ready for an inspection. He was about Danny's height but was slim and trim, and he had a lean, sharp face.

"What can I do for you, Lieutenant Roberts?" Like most Asians, Choi was a stickler for titles. The easygoing, informal way most people talked to each other was completely alien to the Academy plebes raised in an environment which demanded the need to show respect for authority. Choi would probably pissed his pants if Danny called him by his first name.

"I got movement orders - short-notice ones." Danny tried not to let his dislike for Captain Mendieta show. "I heard that all the platoons in the company has to be ready for deployment by some briefing that the Colonel is going to give us."

"Ah, yes, Operation Malibu. I heard of it. I am afraid that it will not be as glamorous or pretty as the real Malibu back at California on Earth must be."

"How the hell... did Captain Mendieta tell you about what exactly we are going to do?" Danny asked, irritated that the Captain might be trying to make him look like an ill-informed moron.

Choi looked apologetic. "Oh, no. That is not what you think, Lieutenant. The Captain didn't tell me anything. It's just that being from the Academy, I have some fellow classmates from the Academy serving on this ship, and we just pass rumors to each other. Strictly unofficial stuff of course, nowhere classified. Just rumors. And..." Choi paused, "I am a second generation Border Worlder. My people were caught sleeping once by the Black Lance. And then they were caught again by the Aliens. We shall never be caught this way again. I'll keep vigilant for the Confederation to keep my family and my people out of harm."

"Border Worlder?" Danny asked, "I thought you were from Terra, or the inner-rim of Confed planets."

"Appearances can be deceiving, Lieutenant. I was born in the Border Worlds and I was appointed to the Confederation Naval Space Academy after I graduated high school. It's a long story I'm afraid; if time permits later, I can tell you about it all." Then Choi turned back into a Naval officer, "So what brings you here, Roberts?" He asked with a smile.

Danny let that pass. "Yeah. Well, I was wonder if, maybe, you can give me some advice to what to do or to bring along. I mean, besides my usual, my combat gear, rifle, ammo, stuff like that."

Choi nodded. "Of course, I'd be honored to assist you in any way I can." He thought for a moment, "First, I should take a set of extra blankets. All the deployments I did was usually in harsher weather than the standard issue equipment is designed for." Danny nodded, "And when you eat, remember that as officers, we will be eating with the enlisted people. Here so far on the ship we have eaten with fellow officers of Marines. And now in deployment there is no formality; so we'll eat with them. Remember, Lieutenant, to always eat last. It's a tradition that Marine officers like you and me have to give, because we are leaders. We must set an example."

Danny nodded. "Right. Anything else that I should bring."

"Well, you might want to bring along a deck of cards." He twisted his Naval Academy class ring back and forth, "A good game of five card stud always helps to pass the time. Sometimes we should have a friendly platoon competition, Second Platoon versus Third Platoon if times permits it during deployment." Choi smiled again.

Ah, so Lieutenant Perfect, graduate of the Naval Academy, liked to play a little game of cards eh? So much for tight-assed Academy style. It wouldn't do to offend Choi by making a big deal out of the fact that he liked to play cards. After all, it wasn't as if he had a surplus of friends out here. Besides, Danny could hold his own when it came to cards.

Colonel, Majors, and Captains always seemed to read the least of indecision on Danny's face in military manners, but card games were something else together. Danny could hold his own there. Choi couldn't possibly know that playing poker that supplied Danny with spending money all the way through college.

"Okay, you're on. I'll see you in the briefing tomorrow," Danny said with a grin.

Choi smiled back. "As you Americans say, it's a date."

"And, Lieutenant..." he said as Danny moved to the door, "I thought your point about the miniguns in today's exercise was very interesting."

"Yeah, well thanks. But I'm afraid the captain didn't exactly think so." Choi didn't exactly smile, but Danny could swear he saw an eyebrow twitch upward.

Choi replied, "The Captain is, of course, a fine Marine and a good officer. Is there anything so perfect, however, that cannot be improved?"

Danny sketched a rough salute and stepped out of Rhee's quarters in a happier mood. Things might finally be looking up; hell, even his headache was seeming to be fading.

TCS Mistral Sea; Operational Planning Center
MAR 18 2681/2681.077; 0806 Hours (CST)

The Operational Planning Center was a large cavernous room set at the heart of the Mistral Sea. When occasions dictated, this room could fit the each of the department heads from the Mistral Sea, and the major players from the entire Task Force. Right now, the room was empty. There was a serenity that has enveloped the room. It had no idea as to the amount of chaos that would soon occur in here.

The door just to the right of the massive trapezoidal table opened and in entered Lt. Vern Pemberton, the Admiral Putnam's Flag Lieutenant. He walked over to the computer station that controlled the holo-projector in the middle of the table. Taking a seat, he began to upload the files into the system. Minutes passed and people began to filter into the room.

The first person to arrive was Captain Jackson Zinc, the Captain of TCS Portland. A veteran of both the Kilrathi War and the Border Worlds incident, Captain Zinc's age and experience showed on his features. He was the skipper of one of the two heavy artillery cruisers assigned to the task force for naval gunfire support. He lumbered his 6'1" frame over to a seat located on the far side of the large table.

Colonel Dave "Bull" Dozer, the commander of the Marine Expeditionary Unit on the Mistral Sea, soon entered the room. He was six-feet three and 240 pounds of lean hard meat. He was also dressed in the color blending camouflage. He had always walked around with a cigar sticking out of his mouth, and he is proud to show off the Eagle/Globe/Anchor Marine Corps tattoo on his right bicep. He was an old-school, old-fashioned, lead from the front officer. He sat on another chair and puffed on his cigar.

Soon after, more captains of the Mistral Sea's escorts came into the room. Captain Campbell of the Baltimore, sister ship to the Portland. Commander Lester of the Fury. The three other destroyer skippers. Commander Butler, the Mistral Sea's CAG, entered the room as well. Bringing up the rear of the formation was Captain Greenberg, Captain of the Mistral Sea, and his executive officer Commander Stuart, crossed the threshold and took their seats flanking the chair left vacant for the admiral.

The tension in the room has so thick that you could have cut it with a proverbial knife. Chatter began to escalate as the captains looked toward Greenberg and Stuart for answers. The Admiral had called this emergency meeting and not one of them knew why. Even the captains of the escorts had to be shuttled over here for the meeting. In McAuliffe, while supplies were being acquired and preparations were being made for this little pleasure cruise, the admiral had briefed each one of them individually as to how this rescue operation was to be worked. At last they knew, all was well. This is the part that worried them. Amidst the chaotic chatter that had erupted, the doors slid open and in walked two Marines, a PFC and a Corporal. The Marine guards were wearing dress uniform and were packing laser pistols as sidearms.

"Room, Tench-Hut!" called the Corporal. "Flag officer on deck!" With that, the entire room came to attention. A couple of seconds later, Rear Admiral Joseph B. Putnam, the Commanding Officer of Task Force 73, walked into the room. He gave them a motion for them to be at-ease and walked directly to the place that had been left vacant for him.

There was no doubt that his figure was menacing. Rear Admiral Putnam is six feet four and barrel-chested, the assumed figure for a person who used to be the Fleet's heavyweight boxing champion at the Naval Academy. With a jawline like a T and a thick batch of white groomed hair, with bulging biceps, and chest half the size of a keg of beer, Admiral Putnam may have looked to be the classic "blue water" fighting Admiral. God he looked the part.

But he wasn't.

Career military officers pretty much fall in three types: politicians, bureaucrats, and warriors. Politicians do anything to enhance their careers, whatever it takes, just to get their tickets punched so they can be ready for the next assignment. Bureaucrats will bend themselves to do anything as long as they don't make waves. And warriors were warriors.

Joseph Putnam was a third-rate sailor but a first-class politician. His only command billet had been during the peacetime command of a light missile frigate, which he managed to keep in one piece. Barely. With such distressful seamanship skill and all the traits of unacceptable command material, he thought his career was over, until he was assigned as a liaison officer in the Terran Confederation Armed Services Committee. That was when his career broke loose and ascended faster than a Vampire turning straight up and punching in its afterburners.

Putnam became the perfect point man for hearings, especially budget hearings. If the Senate killed a weapons system, the Fleet would send Putnam up to Capitol Hill. He would walk into that hearing room, wearing his Fleet uniform like a glove. It was his charm and talking that got Putnam famous in the holovid news conferences. Unlike the warriors, the grizzled gravel-voiced Generals and Admirals that had nothing holding them back from saying that's exactly on their mind (which was rather devastating in front of the press), Putnam was different. He was not confrontational. His charm could knock the socks off the most liberal of congressmen.

As the Kilrathi became less of a threat, the fiscal axe swung heavily on the Fleet as the liberals searched for the nonexistent entity called the Peace Dividend. Putnam was personally credited with saving the Plunkett cruiser, the Vampire fighter, and the Devastator bomber from becoming the way of the dodo.

Putnam was chosen as Commander of Task Force 73 because he was politically acceptable to a nervous civilian Senate that was, in just 48 hours since the initial story, questioning the wisdom of sending carrier task forces to "maintain" the peace. But in a live press conference from the Pentagon, the Secretary of Defense had laid out what was at stake. Confederation patrol vessels were disappearing, civilians were left to die in what was left of their war-torn colonies. Smugglers were having a fun time looting Alien wreckages. Rumors of biohazard contaminations where making themselves known.

To reassure the Senate, the Joint Chiefs chose Admiral Putnam as commander of Task Force 73. He was a political asset. But the problem was, he knew virtually nothing about running a carrier task force. The Joint Chiefs knew it, and Admiral Leonard, the commander of the entire Confederation Fleet, knew it. Even Admiral Putnam himself knew it. His entire combat experience consisted of a single cruise serving as a junior grade Lieutenant on a light cruiser during the Kilrathi War.

So he was joined by the "Dynamic Duo," Captain Russ Greenberg, and Commander Jesse Stuart. No one in the Fleet had a better overall grasp of air power, sea power, and land combat than those two. And they had experience, as shown during the Battle of Cynium. Stuart was Ying to Greenberg's Yang. Russ Greenberg had the Spartan, conservative, strategic, by-the-book knowledge on military operations. Jesse Stuart had the unconventional, fight-by-the-balls, mince no words attitude that he learned while serving in the Border Worlds Navy. The two knowledges combined went for a very deadly combination.

That's why the Admiral was glad to have the two with him. Putnam knew his own weaknesses, and he knew the strengths of the duo. Greenberg and Stuart forged a bond when they were forced to fight together at Cynium. Putnam quickly learned to tap the two's brains for insightful comments of amphibious landings, fighter weapons loadout, or a quote on what Sun Tzu said about warfare. With Greenberg's by the book tactics, Stuarts unconventional tactics, wrapped up and delivered by Putnam's polished delivery, the three have a little relationship that made them able to take on anything, whether it be Kilrathi, Alien, or bureaucratic.

"Okay, people," the Admiral began, "I know y'all must have questions as to why I have called this emergency meeting. Before we began this cruise, I briefed each one of you as to what you were to do, but a small snag to my..." He then glanced at Captain Greenberg and Commander Stuart, "I mean our plan, has emerged from the far jump point in the Ymir System. Twelve hours ago, we got an emergency communication from the colony of New Ralga on Ymir IV. Their limited sensing capability had detected a small Alien battle group emerge from jump point Baker Seven."

Admiral Putnam paused for a moment to allow the shocking information to settle in. The shock on their faces told the story all too well. He continued "We have since lost communication with the colony. Lieutenant Commander Shieh of Science Division thinks that the Bugs have set up one of their communication jamming fields. However, before we lost contact with the colony, they reported that a cruiser, three transports and two corvettes had jumped into the system."

Admiral Putnam looked over to Lt. Pemberton and nodded. A second later, the holo-projector in the middle of the table came to life. "This here is the Ymir System. We will be jumping into the system here, and here is the last reported position of the Alien battle group," he said as Lt. Pemberton lit up the locations on the map. "CAG, your word."

Commander Jack Butler, Commander Air Group of the Mistral Sea, stood up and walked to the podium, "Since we are unable to rely on the citizens of New Ralga for intelligence data, my hand has been forced. So, upon the recommendation of Captain Greenberg and Commander Butler, we vectored the CAP nearest the jump point, an SWACS and four Vampires to jump ahead of us. Their orders are to jump in, collect as much data as possible and get out. The little patrol is way out of the supposed scanning range of the Alien task force, so as of right now, they have not been spotted."

CAG pointed to Lieutenant Pemberton. You, open up frequency 336.49 khz." With this gesture, the large viewscreen located behind the admiral lit up and all turned so that they could see what was on it. "This is live footage of what the SWACS is gathering now that it's in Ymir. The callsign of SWACS is Eyewatcher Two." The room went dark and the live footage began.

"Janson, are you recording this?" asked the pilot of the SWACS.

"Yes, Major, I'm getting a clear picture. I am not getting anything but a starfield but there is a metallic sheen coming from just outside the planet. Magnifying." replied the enlisted camera controller which was toying around with one of the SWACS sophisticated sensor package.

The views on the cameras begin to fluctuate as the camera operator attempts to zoom in on the source of unknown gleam that he had noticed. It took a few moments for the picture to clear up, but when it did, the room was shocked the see what they did.

"Sir, I've got them," cried Petty Officer Jenson. "Holy shit, sir. Looks like we walked in on somebody's birthday party. I've got visuals on a cruiser, Hydra-class. I also see two destroyer escorts, Orca class. Three corvettes, half a dozen transports and lotsa fighters..." Just then a little alarm went off in the SWACS control room.

"Ummm, sir... sensors have picked up nearby multiple hostile contacts concentrated 35,000 klicks north-northeast from us. Where did they come from? They are changing direction and vectoring to intercept us. Computer reads them as four medium scout fighters, Moray class." Called the sensor controller from his position. He made a few more calculations, "From our speed and vector, it looks like the Alien fighters are going to come upon weapons range of us one minute before we hit the jump point out of here."

"Damn, they must have been hidden by the nearby nebula formation. All they need to take us out is about a couple of seconds, much less a minute" The SWACS pilot scowled, "'Aight, I think that is all the encouragement that we need. We are outta here," the pilot of the SWACs said as he started to turn his pig of a craft around. "Jenson, you picking up any transmissions from them?"

"No, sir."

"CAG, we are bugging out. Request additional orders," the pilot of the SWACS reported in.

Commander Stuart blunted in immediately before anyone had the chance to speak anymore, "Vampire escort leader, do you copy? Is that you, Major Wintersteen?"

The leader of the fighter escort, Major Wintersteen, radioed in, "Yes, Commander, it's me. We are standing by."

Commander Stuart spoke immediately before Captain Greenberg or Admiral Putnam had the chance to reply, "Major Wintersteen, arm long range weapons and destroy the enemy fighters."

Admiral Putnam's eyes went as wide as saucers, "Commander..."

Commander Stuart ignored him as he started to talk to the SWACS, "Eyewatcher Two, jam the fighters transmissions. Use the new jamming package." Every SWACS aboard the Misty had an upgrade on their jamming systems, a prized gift from Lieutenant Commander Finley's Science Division about the Midway. It was said to be the direct result of Finley's investigation and experiments. Now it was a chance to put it to work. The next sort of transmissions worked out as if they were read from a script.

"Yes, sir, commencing jamming. Enemy fighters can no longer communicate."

"Excellent, Major Wintersteen. Splash the bogeys."

"Roger that, Commander. All right Death Angels, you know the drill. Arm long range Trackers. Set firing mode to engage selected target. I got target 1-1. Finger, you got target 1-2. Spanky you got 1-3. Baby Timmy, you got 1-4." All the other fighter pilots clicked their mikes twice in acknowledgement.

"On my command... fire! Fox one!"

"Fox one!" "Fox one!" "Fox one!"

A few seconds went by before anything happened. Until the tracker missiles hit their marks and the scout fighters were blasted into another dimension.

"Splash Four. Eyewatcher Two, confirm kills."

"Roger. Eyewatcher Two confirms detects four confirmed kills."

"Roger that, we're going home." The transmission ended. "See you back at home plate." The video ended and the lights in the room came back up.

Commander Stuart explained his actions once the link was ended, "There was no way we could have escaped that without a fight. The scout fighters had detected the SWACS and were moving in to destroy it. Luckily they were too stupid to not radio for backup before engaging," Stuart grinned. "I had the SWACS jam their communications links so they couldn't radio back to their mothership. Without the ability to communicate with even each other, they lost the ability to coordinate the fight. So when the missiles started flying, they didn't know what to do. As far as the Alien task group is concerned, we are not here and were not picked up."

Captain Greenberg stood there with his arms crossed. "First kills of the new war," he said to no one in particular. Admiral Putnam didn't say anything.

Stuart stopped grinning, "But, gentlemen... they will soon know. In a while the mothership will try to find out why one of their patrols has not reported in, and they are going to know they were blasted to tiny bits. And they are going to think that we did it. In other words, we are compromised. I suggest that we move in as fast as we can to take the kill."

Captain Greenberg replied, "I concur with Commander Stuart. Whatever we have to do, we have to do it now and as fast as possible. We lost the element of surprise."

The Admiral rose from his seat to address them. "Okay, people, we know what we are up against. Once we jump into Ymir, this task force must be ready for anything,. All fighters from the Misty will be launched. CAG, how many fighters do we have on-line?"

Commander Butler replied on that, "We got eight squadrons online and operational. All of them are at full complement."

Admiral Putnam didn't like that, "CAG, this megacarrier is designed to have the fighting force of three carrier flight wings. That's an air group of fifteen full squadrons of fighters, about two hundred and fifty fighters. You telling me that we only have a little bit more than half of our full fighting complement?"

The CAG replied without any remorse, "Admiral, with all due respect, the losses from the first Alien invasion came to a shortage of front line fighters. When the Misty was being assembled, we could only bring upon at best two/thirds of the expected fighters." He took a breath, "Actually Admiral, the Air Group has nine squadrons. But Lieutenant Colonel Kugler, the CO for the second Panther squadron, and some new pilots just got transferred on the ship a few days ago and the squadron is not ready for combat for at least another week or so."

The Admiral replied like a certain villain from an ancient holovid about a certain swinging sex struck secret agent man, "Right..."

The CAG replied, "Admiral, we still have a fighting force. We have one Piranha squadron, two Tigershark squadrons, one Wasp squadron, one Panther squadron, one Shrike squadron, one Devastator squadron and one Vampire squadron. We have a total of a hundred and twenty eight fighters, bombers, and interceptors ready to go. In another week or so, we will add sixteen more Panthers to the array when I proclaim Lieutenant Colonel Kugler's squadron is fit for duty."

Admiral Putnam nodded again, "Mmm-kay. I assume we have a full complement of support craft?"

"Absolutely, Admiral. We have a squadron of Condor utility craft and a full complement of Marine dropships. Plus the squadron of Seahawks."

"Thank you, Commander. Colonel Dozer..." Admiral Putnam turned to the commander of the MEU, "Did you 'alert' your Marines like I told you to do a little while ago?"

"Yes, Admiral. I tipped off my battalion and company commanders about what might be going on and told them that they had a few hours to solve any problems or kinks that they had, whether it be related to personnel or logistics. Besides that, sir, the MEU is ready to go," Colonel Dozer said as he took his cigar out of his mouth for a bit. After replying, he put it back in and took a few puffs.

"Excellent, Colonel. Now, gentlemen..." Admiral Putnam said as he stood up from his chair, "At best speed we have three hours before we jump into Ymir. By half an hour from now..." He looked at Captain Greenberg and Commander Stuart. "We need to think up of a good and effective plan. Put on your thinking caps, gentlemen."

-200 H Hour

TCS Mistral Sea; Cargo Bay Two
0929 Hours (CST)

It was rather surreal to see a four hundred Marines in in one of the main cargo bays, Lieutenant Danny Roberts noted as he looked around the room one more time. He was dressed in the normal BDUs that were issued around the Fleet now, the type that senses its environment and then changed its colors to reflect the surroundings. So now Danny, his platoon, his company, and the other two companies were looking like dark fleet gray. So this was where the briefing was; it was had to be in this big hall because there wasn't any other room big enough to accommodate three companies of Marines.

There must be something big going on. Really big.

"Standby, attention on deck!" Sergeant Major Rodgers yelled out as everyone stood at attention for the CO of the Marine MEU to come out. He stormed into the room and then took control of the huge holovid sitting on one side of the screen.

"Listen up, Marines, and listen up good," Colonel Dozer said as he said on this screen. "Sorry to keep you uninformed lately, but stuff has been going on too fast. To put it bluntly, we have an emergency crisis that we have on our hands that we must resolve with force. Let me get you guys started. And keep in mind: what I'm going to tell you is classified. If anyone of you peeps to the press about it, I will personally see to it that I will boot your ass out of the Corps."

A few chuckles were heard around the room.

Colonel Dozer activated the holo-screen, "We are headed at full speed towards the Ymir System. It is one of the systems here on the edge of the Border Worlds colonies. It is a densely populated area. During the Alien intrusion, they came under attack by Alien forces. We lost our fleet detachment there, and the air base under Confed and Border World forces were wiped out. From what we know the Aliens landed any took everything they could find hostage. Luckily, not all of them were taken hostage. As you know the main colony, New Riga is basically an underground city with caverns were many people hid from the Aliens. We estimate that half of the colony were taken hostage, but the other half are still there, without food shelter and such."

"For the past week, the Mistral Sea Task Force had rendezvoused with this. A cruise liner that have been outfitted to evacuate these civilians to safety. We have been doing a high speed run out to the frontier to do this, but just yesterday we got a distress call, saying that IFF codes identified to be Alien warships are closing in their position and said that they are holding out. Afterwards, we lost all contact with the colony due to Alien jamming. All of our efforts to burn through the jamming has been nil."

"What's bad, when we arrive in Ymir, the Aliens will have already have two hours to land at the colony and do whatever they want to it. Traveling to the colony at full scoops will take another hour. So when you land, we will be interfering their the bug's planned operations. But make no mistake, they will be in the colony three hours before us." Marines now started to glance at one another.

"When the Mistral Sea jumps into Ymir, we will deploy two strike teams. The first team, combined of sixteen Panthers, eight Wild Weasel Tigersharks, and eight Shrikes will be launched to take care of the Alien orbital forces. For the amphibious force, we will deploy nine Marine LCs, eight Vampires for fighter escort, eight Tigersharks for ground support, and the heavy cruiser Portland. We will then proceed scoops closed at maximum velocity towards Ymir."

"Upon arrival of Ymir orbit we will commence landing at the entrance of New Riga colony. There are three areas concerning the entrance, and we have assigned a company to take each area. Each company will be carried in three Marine LCs, a single platoon in each. Each LC will be landing at a different point, approximately a quarter mile away from any other LC. When the doors open, it will be the platoon leader's job to lead his troops." Danny looked at Staff Sergeant Irons, who was sitting next to him; Irons just give a smug smile and motioned Danny to pay attention to the briefing again.

"When landing, we are to sweep the remnants of any Aliens and proceed to each platoon's checkpoint. That means shoot to kill. Do not let any of these cockroaches lay a hand on anybody. If you see any Aliens, shoot first, ask questions later. I shit you not, people," Dozer turned serious, "If you see an Alien about to harm our people, you will kill the roach and think nothing of it. Because those are your orders. Do what ever it takes to save civilian lives. Any civilians encountered are to be evacuated immediately to each dropship. This is why we have one platoon each on a single dropship, to permit enough space for civilians to evacuate."

"Once we are deployed, we must secure the landing zone for the first waves of shuttle craft from the cruise liner SS Pride of Arulco to land. The time window from our landing to their landing will be exactly twenty minutes, so we have to make it quick. Once we have secured the landing zone and the surrounding regions enough for the craft to land, we will then proceed by platoon into the colony, searching every inch of that colony for any survivors."

"Now," Colonel Dozer said, "This is who you will face, and who you should kill. This Intell file on the Alien is a compilation of the information given to us by Colonel John 'Gash' Dekker, CO of the Marine MEU aboard our sister ship, the TCS Midway. I remind you this information is still TCIS-classified." Two pictures then showed up on the holoscreen for all to see. The first one is a computer-generated model of an Alien, the second was an actual photo taken of the Alien in combat. The photo was blurry and the quality wasn't exactly clear.

"This is your normal Alien 'warrior.' He is about eight feet tall, and he appears to have long spidery limbs and claws which he uses for his weapons. He isn't very smart, but he is potent. The Alien wears no armor - Intell thinks that that his crustacean-esque exoskeleton is his armor. The Aliens also have some variety of weapons that fire green, possibly plasma-based bolts of energy. Intell believes that these energy guns are about the equivalent in hitting power as our energy rifles and miniguns."

"Recommendations for combating this Alien. The Alien's armor appears to give very good protection out of high-explosive warheads, however grenades fired by the M-58A1's secondary grenade launcher have proven to be very effective against their armor. In addition, the Alien's exoskeleton requires that you fire directly at the Alien when firing. Combat reports have shown that the energy bolts fired by the M-58A1 and the M-297 have no problem penetrating the Alien's exoskeleton in a straight head-on angle, but have proven to be much less successful when the firing at the armor from an angle of deflection."

"When you fire at the Alien, fire it in short, controlled, carefully-aimed bursts. And fire at the center of mass. From the combat reports, it has shown that a single-shot is not enough to drop an Alien; but a couple of three-shot bursts into the Alien's center of mass has seemed to do the trick."

The Colonel moved among the platoon assignments and orders. Captain Mendieta's Alpha Company will be landing in their respective landing codenamed Beta Quadrant. Lieutenant Arajuo's First Platoon, Captain Mendieta and his topkick Gunny Sanderson, will be landing on Bulldog Four. Lieutenant Choi's Second Platoon will be landing in Bulldog Five. Danny's Third platoon was assigned to the Marine LC designated Bulldog Six.

"If there is any need for support, the Space Force liaison ground controller will be able to call up those eight Tigersharks for assistance. He will be on my side at all times. But if that isn't enough, the Portland's guns will be on standby." The Colonel then checked his watch.

"We will jump into Ymir in less than two hours. We will board the landing crafts at 1130 in Landing Bay Alpha. I already gave you your briefing. Now we must do what is done. You have around an hour to get your equipment and personnel issues finished."

He then turned off the briefing holovid, "That is all, Marines. If you got anymore questions, ask your platoon leaders or any of your officers in the company. Remember this people, we train the best, and you are the best. No one will stop us. Some of you might die, but always remember that the Marine Corps will live forever. Which means you," Dozer pointed at the crowd, "will live forever. Good luck... and I'll see you there."

He then started to walk out as Sergeant Major Rodgers yelled, "Attention on deck!" and everyone stood at attention. A few seconds waltzed by before the Colonel left the room and then the Sergeant Major turned around to address the topkick Gunnery Sergeants in each respective companies.

"Company gunnery sergeants, dismiss your companies and carry out the plan of the day!" The three Gunnys saluted the Sergeant Major and said "Aye aye, sir!" Once they did that they did an about face and each one started to bring their companies to attention.

"COMP-ny. A-ten-TION!" Gunny Sanderson barked up. Once everyone in the three platoons were in formation, he dismissed them. "Fall out!" The First, Second, and Third Platoons started to fan out before he gave one more order.

"THURD Pla-TOON," Gunnery Sergeant Sanderson barked out, "As you were." Danny and his platoon went back to attention. Danny's mind was flashing. Why us? Why me? No.

Gunny Sanderson continued to speak, "Third Platoon, Captain Mendieta wants a word with you all." The thirty nine Marines of the ranks stood at attention as the Captain came over. "Captain Mendieta, sir." Gunny Sanderson saluted him and Mendieta returned the salute. The Gunny then did an about face and with all the finesse of a drill team instructor, marched away.

The Alpha Company CO spoke up. "Marines of Third Platoon, I am making a short and last minute change in the roster." Captain Mendieta's voice then turned dark, "I do not think that your Platoon leader is ready for combat."

That got Danny's face red with anger. That fucking asshole! Had to tell him that, in front of his men! His Marines! Danny made sure to settle that score for later on as the CO explained, "That's why for now. I am going to assign the company XO, First Lieutenant Husted, to your platoon. He will be the commander of the Marines in your dropship, Bulldog Six." He paused, looked at Danny, and smiled, "Lieutenant Roberts is relieved of his command. Any questions?"

Staff Sergeant Irons was the only one to speak up. He, like all good platoon sergeants, put his faith on his Lieutenants and will do anything to back them up, whether they are green or not. Danny was, after all, Irons' Lieutenant and any good platoon sergeant will back him up. "Captain, I have one hundred percent of my faith and trust in Lieutenant Rob..."

"You may do, Staff Sergeant," Captain Mendieta replied, "But I don't. And neither does anyone else in your platoon."

Sergeant Porter, Third Squad Leader, raised his hand. "I have confidence in Lieutenant Roberts, sir."

Corporal Upton, Second Fire Team Leader, Second Squad, did the same. "Me, too, Captain."

PFC Vaslov did the same. PFC Grizzly, too. Now even Lance Corporal Shitz. And so did a number of Marines in the platoon. And eventually the entire platoon raised their hands.

"PLATOON, TEN-HUT!" barked Gunny Sanderson, "You are are attention, and you still stay at attention!" He stood ready to chew all of them a new asshole.

Captain Mendieta raised his hand. "Gunny. Let me." Sanderson stopped as he deferred to the Captain.

Captain Mendieta turned his eyes towards the three rifle squads in the platoon, scanning all of them, "You people, may have the same opinion of your platoon sergeant. But remember that you are in Alpha Company..." Mendieta stopped and raised his voice to a yell, "... and Alpha Company is mine! I give the orders. You obey them!" Mendieta walked through the ranks lowering his voice, "You people are Marines. You take orders. You swore to take orders, on the very first day of boot camp! On your honor! You disobey orders, you disobey the Honor of the Corps, and you lose the privilege of being Marines." Mendieta then stopped and rose his voice a little.

"So all of you will follow orders, and you will like it." The Captain scowled upon the men of Third Platoon and then raised his voice to the same tone he used when he chewed out Roberts yesterday afternoon, "This isn't a training mission! This is combat! Real combat! In real combat there is no second chance. When someone dies, he stays dead! There's bugs out there, waiting to kill you, and they will! Unless you kill them first!"

Mendieta continued, "My job is to get everyone back alive! But to do this I have to switch the chain of command, for the good of your fire team, for the good of your squad, for the good of your platoon," He then looked at Roberts, "And ultimately, for the good for your platoon leader. I have to put the needs of the service above the needs of his."

"But if you people want it, fine. Lieutenant Roberts will still technically be in command of your platoon, I hope you are happy people, especially you Staff Sergeant Irons," he glanced at Irons, but Irons didn't say a word or moved a muscle, "But Third Platoon, you will listen to Lieutenant Husted."

Captain Mendieta walked across the ranks of the Second Squad has he barked, "Look at you! You are a bunch of whiners! I bet in this state of yours, when you go into combat, you will freeze at the moment of truth! And you will be dead." Mendieta then rose up to his scream, "AND NONE OF MY MARINES ARE GOING TO BE DEAD, ESPECIALLY IN MY COMPANY! WHEN YOU GO TO BATTLE, YOU WILL LISTEN TO HUSTED AND STAY ALIVE! YOU ALL GET ME? SOUND OFF LIKE YOU GOT A PAIR!"

The platoon responded, "Sir, yes sir!!!"

Captain Mendieta grinned, his job of psyching up Third Platoon was done, as far as he was concerned. And he made his point known. "Okay, Marines, I'm done with you for the time being. Dismissed."

After the platoon was dismissed Roberts went up to Captain Mendieta. He tried to come up with a mature, disciplined question, "Captain, sir, with all due respect..."

Mendieta looked upwards for a good answer. "It's nothing personal, Roberts, it's just that Lieutenant Husted is a combat vet. He's got experience. Been out there and back. He's a mustang, knows what to do." Mendieta then put his head nearer to Danny, "So Roberts, when Husted tells you to do something, you better damn well do it. Because when he speaks, I speak. When he gives you orders, I give you orders. You will follow him in the same way as you will to me. Do you understand, Roberts?"

Danny nodded, "Yes, Captain."

Mendieta then continued, "Okay, Roberts. I want you and your platoon ready with your gear aboard Bulldog Six. Report in to me right before you get in, understand?" Roberts nodded.

"Okay, Lieutenant. Carry on."

"Aye aye, sir." (Go to hell, Captain)

-0030 H Hour

TCS Mistral Sea; Marine LC Bulldog Six, aboard Flight Deck Alpha
1430 Hours (CST)

The dropship was for the most part vacant. For a dropship equipped to hold over a hundred and fifty Marines, forty two men seemed like a piece of cake. Everyone was strapping on their respective seats to get ready for the ride. Staff Sergeant Irons and Lieutenant Roberts were now strapping themselves in, after making sure that the rest of the platoon was ready, securing their weapons and stowing them so it wouldn't be knocked out of reach when the dropship enters the atmosphere.

Second Lieutenant Danny Roberts checked his personal equipment for the tenth time already. He was wearing his personal body armor, which covered this entire body except for this head. The armor was light weight, at only 5 lbs in all, but it gave outstanding protection against energy blasts, shrapnel, and projectiles. Over that was his vest, in which stored his personal equipment, and his ammunition.

Danny had six extra battery packs for his M-58A1 assault rifle that he has slung over his shoulder; that with the one already loaded gave him seven hundred high-powered blaster bolts to fire before he ran out. He also had a mini-grenade pouch which carried twenty 35mm grenades to reload his five-round secondary grenade launcher. Ten of them were stun grenades, designed to knock someone out during the few crucial moments of combat. Five more stun grenades were already loaded in the rifle. The other ten were plasma-based high explosive shaped charges.

Danny also had three flashbang/stun grenades attached to his webbing, as well as others. They included a bayonet, a k-bar knife (and another knife in his boot), an emergency medical kit, and binoculars. On his webbing were also a hundred feet of rope, a datapad with an internal GPS locator loaded with digital maps of the planet Ymir IV and the known underground city. Danny's helmet also had infra-red, magnifying, and night vision devices, in addition to a communications heads up display mounted on the helmet that allowed him to communicate with his platoon and the company.

The laser pistol strapped to his right thigh marked him as an officer. As did the image of the gold bar (the insignia of Second Lieutenant) that was on his helmet. Danny was wearing a lightweight combat pack from his shoulder, also the self-coloring camo type. The pack itself was loaded with two days of combat rations, a change of socks, along with official and unofficial equipment (including the blankets Lt. Choi told him to take).

All of his armor, BDUs, vest, webbing, and pack were the standard-issue Fleet Marine issue camouflage, the one that senses the surroundings and blended the colors to match with it. So Danny and his platoon now looked deep Fleet gray.

With all these weapons and equipment. It sure damn well looked like that Danny was out playing soldier, like the games he used to play when he was a kid. But, he reminded himself, this isn't a game. This is going to be real life. There was no time for training. It was time to put his training into affect, to see if he could lead his men in combat.

Lead, yeah right. Danny turned his head to toke a look at First Lieutenant Seth Husted, who was getting strapped on his own respective seat. Husted was older than Danny, probably in his late twenties. He was also taller than Danny, he was tall and broad across the shoulders while Danny was short and stocky. He had the look that he had definitely been there and done that. Yeah, Danny... sure. Leader of your own goddamn platoon than the piece of shit Captain orders your Marines to follow someone else. Lieutenant Husted noticed the stare from Lieutenant Roberts and seemed to read his mind.

"Oh, don't worry, Roberts," Husted said as he clapped him on the shoulder. "This shouldn't be too hard. Hell, it's still your platoon. So if something good happens they'll think you did it, it's your platoon. If something bad happens they'll think I did it, I'm the one responsible."

Danny shrugged. "It could go the other way as well. If something bad happens, I'm still technically in command of this platoon. If something goes good, you are responsible."

"Hey, Roberts, don't let Captain Mendieta get you down." He lowered his voice and spoke in a conspiracy tone, "I sometimes think that he's a prick. So does Gunny Sanderson. And so does Lieutenant Arajuo and his platoon Sergeant. Don't let him get you down. Hell, he treated Choi even worse than you when he first got here."

"Yeah, but it seems that the chewing out worked. Choi is ready for combat, unlike me."

"Look at it this way, Roberts," Husted said, "When I was your age, I didn't know anything. The only way you can get experience is to be in a few battles. Before my first one I was nervous. After that, then I wasn't. Don't worry - you won't be nervous after this battle and I'm pretty damned sure the Captain will put more trust in you."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Husted," Roberts said bitterly.

Lieutenant Husted grinned. "Don't worry, Roberts, you'll do fine." He clapped Danny in the shoulder again. "Just follow my lead and you'll do okay."

-0020 H Hour

TCS Mistral Sea; Flight Deck Alpha
1440 Hours (CST)

Captain Russ Greenberg, skipper of the TCS Mistral Sea, was standing in awe of the operation that was going on. It was his ship, and once again, his men that will be once again taking the fight to the enemy. He took a look at one side of the flight deck. Last minute arming of the fighters and bombers were nearly complete and already the Panther squadron is getting ready to the launch tubes to commence launching. On the other side, the last of the Marines had boarded their dropships and the technicians were doing last minute checks on the flying behemoths.

The task force was almost at the jump point. By that time he expected all of his fighters and bombers to be lined up in the launch tubes, launching the moment the Misty pops in the system. So were the dropships, they had to be ready in line too for their own respective launch. Then there was also the securing for jump stations.

Captain Greenberg noted the Alert Five group that was standing by. They were to be called if there were anything wrong. The Skipper could see the eight Tigersharks and the four Shrikes just resting, their pilots probably asleep in their bunks back at their quarters. Russ also noted the eight Wasps sitting near the launch tubes at all times, ready to be launched if there were incoming bogeys.

Captain Greenberg was thinking of anything else to accomplish at the flight operations when he heard someone ask him a question. "Excuse me, Captain, got a minute?"

He turned he to see a main with unruly hair and a potbelly, wearing a polyester uniform with no insignia except for a tag on his pocket which read "Press." Great, that's what he fucking needed right now. Greenberg tried to smile; the attempt wasn't successful. "And you are?" he asked.

"Seymour Stephenson, Associated Press. I'm with the Pentagon press pool from Terra." Neither man made a move to shake hands as Stephenson looked out onto the flight deck and said, "Incredibly peaceful isn't it? Hard to believe there's going to be a war soon."

"Appearances can be deceiving, Mr. Stephenson. What can I do for you?"

Stephenson shrugged. "Oh, nothing much. I just have about ten thousand questions I like to ask about the captain of this fine carrier. Wondered if you can spare me five min -."

Greenberg cut him off, "Make it three. And this better be off the record. I will have you prosecuted if I see your news story saying any classified information."

"Okay, three. Is this Ym - "

Greenberg cut him off again, "Ymir."

"Yeah, is rescuing just a bunch of civilians really worth going to battle for? You are putting the lives of this task force into stake. It seems like you are willing to put your people's lives on the plate to save people who are already doomed."

Greenberg sighed. "Mr. Stephenson, I went through harder things like this, but I won't talk about that past. I will talk about the present. After the first incursion, there's people out there suffering, low on food, low on water. If we as the Confederation do not do anything to help them, then we aren't a Confederation at all. We'll be a bunch of inhuman tyrants. When people are in a relationship with Confed, they must know that we are willing to fight for them and to save them at all costs. And that means from these Aliens. If we can't get rid of the Aliens, then I suggest you better get a book and start learning how to speak in the Aliens' language."

"So when does the shooting start?"

Greenberg scratched his head. "It already had."

Stephenson jumped virtually five feet up. "What?!"

Greenberg told him about the SWACS patrol that happened a couple of hours ago and then finished off. "We jump into Ymir in twenty minutes. Once we completed the jump, rules of engagement will be shoot first, ask questions later. Anything around Ymir will be a free-for-all zone."

"Won't the Aliens be tracking us with long range sensors?"

Greenberg shrugged, "I suppose so."

The eyes on the reporters just expanded to the size of saucers with such astonishment. "You suppose so?!"

Captain Greenberg noted his watch. "Time's up, Mr. Stephenson. Please be careful not to step right next to the exhaust nozzles of the fighters getting ready to launch. The exhaust jets can burn you into a crisp rather quickly, I heard." And with that, Greenberg started to walk away towards the corridor that leads out of the flight deck. Mr. Stephenson wasn't satisfied.

He turned towards the rapidly vanishing Skipper. "But, Captain...!" Stephenson called out, "I thought everything was peaches and creams concerning the Aliens. Everyone thought so! We sealed off the wormhole, they have no means to invade our territories anymore. We won."

Greenberg turned around and called back, "Reminds me of something my grandmother used to tell me."

Stephenson cocked an ear in his direction. "And what is that, Captain?"

Greenberg crossed his arms in trying to remember the quote. "She used to say 'All the fools aren't dead yet.' Good day, Mr. Stephenson."

FINIS