The angrier and more off-balance Cooper got, the better, Compton thought. “Governor, that is not what you requested. You want me to carpet bomb an entire inhabited sector with nuclear weapons. Such an operation, were it to be carried out, would surely kill thousands of innocent civilians in addition to whatever rebel installations were destroyed.” He paused, taking a breath. His tone remained calm and professional. “If you provide me with a list of purely military targets, so we can execute a bombardment plan that at least minimizes civilian casualties, I will be happy to reconsider your request.” That was a lie, but one that might buy some time.
“But there are no purely military targets!” Cooper was seething, but he was also afraid of Compton, and that helped temper his rage. “These cowardly rebels hide in and among the population. The civilians aid and support them. They are not innocent.”
“Governor, if there are civilians engaged in illegal activity it is your job to arrest them and put them on trial.” He paused again and almost grinned; on one small level he was enjoying tormenting Cooper. “But don’t ask me to indiscriminately bomb populated areas because you believe there are rebel sympathizers there.”
He imagined Cooper in his office, nearly apoplectic with rage, and he finally let a momentary smile cross his lips. “Now Governor, with all due respect, I have many duties. When you have specific intelligence on rebel military targets, contact me again and we will discuss.”
“I will report your failure to obey orders to the Naval High Command, admiral.” Cooper was trying to sound threatening, but he was too intimidated by Compton to make it work.
“Governor, that is your prerogative, of course.” Compton’s voice remained calm and even. “Now, I am afraid I really do have work requiring my attention. Goodbye, governor.” He cut the transmission before Cooper could say anything else. Go ahead, Mr. Cooper, he thought. Send a message to Washbalt. For just an instant there was a self-satisfied smile on his otherwise impassive face.
“Commnet control, this is shuttle Beta-9. Conducting final docking approach.” Cain sat in the co-pilot’s seat speaking into the com unit.
“Shuttle Beta-9, you are cleared to dock.” The response was lackadaisical; service on the Commnet stations was boring at best, brain numbing at worst, and it didn’t exactly attract the best and brightest. “Report to the control room after you dock…directly down the main corridor from the access hatch.” They’re too lazy to send anyone down to meet us in the docking area, Cain thought. He was disgusted with the poor security, though grateful it would make his task easier.
Commnet was an interstellar communications network connecting the planets of the Alliance. Radio and laser signals cannot pass through a warp gate, only matter, and Commnet was developed to address the need for high speed interstellar communications. There was a control station positioned near each warp gate. Messages were sent within each system to the station, traveling at lightspeed from any transmission point. Once received, the communications were queued based on priority and downloaded into small drones. The vehicles launched on a regular schedule, but some senders – military and government, for example - had override authority, and a priority message could trigger the immediate launch of a drone. The drone would then transit the warp gate and transmit the communications to the matching station in the next system. From there it was then forwarded to a station at the desired exit gate, moving through each system at lightspeed. The network allowed communications to move far more quickly than any ship could travel.
Virtually the entire network was automated, and the crew was mostly a redundancy. Typically, there was a team of four assigned to each station, but recently several additional members had been added, censors who reviewed many of the messages before they were relayed.
The shuttle eased closer to the station, gently sliding into the small docking cradle. There were five of them on the tiny ship - the pilot, one of Compton’s most trusted officers, as well as Cain, Jax, and two Marines from Holm’s staff. Shuttle Beta-9 had requested permission to dock because of a complete life-support system failure. But that was a fiction; its real purpose was to gain access and capture the facility.
There was a loud thud as the ship connected firmly with the cradle. Cain got up from his seat and walked back to the hatch, joining Jax and the two Marines. They were all armed, but they hoped to avoid bloodshed. They were here to get the crew off the station…before they blew it to plasma.
“You ready, Jax?” Cain had a wicked grin on his face. “Back into action…such that it is.” The two had been in some very hot spots before; rounding up half a dozen communications specialists wasn’t likely to overtax their battle-tested reflexes. Still, if their training and experience had taught them anything, it was never to get careless about any operation, no matter how simple it seemed.
Jax nodded, gripping his assault rifle tightly. “Ready.”
Cain pressed the button and the hatch slid open. There was a short delay, maybe ten seconds, and the second hatch, the one leading into station, opened. They ran inside, Jax in the lead, Cain taking the rear, bound for the control room.
Most of the station’s volume consisted of storage compartments full of drones. The occupied area was small, just a control center and cramped living quarters. The station rotated on its axis, creating modest artificial gravity, but it was only one fifth Earth normal. Cain and Jax hadn’t fought in low gravity environments for years, and even then they’d been fully armored. They moved methodically, gripping the rails along to corridor to stabilize themselves.
Halfway down the corridor, Cain gave Jax a silent nod and split off, climbing through a large access panel. He had made his way about five meters down the crawlspace when he got to a large metal conduit – just where he’d been told it would be. He took the small power saw hanging from his belt and, switching it on, cut through the metal tubing to sever the cable inside. The conduit was plasti-steel, and it resisted for a few seconds, giving way only after he pushed against it as hard as he could. Once again, he missed his armor – the molecular blade would have sliced the conduit like a knife through butter.
As he cut through, an alarm sounded in the station. Jax should be bursting into the control room now, he thought. With the main communication trunk line cut, even if one of the crew managed to send a distress call, it was only going to get about 15 meters.
Cain tossed the saw aside and worked his way out of the crawlspace, backwards this time, which he found to be much more difficult. By the time he made it to the control room, Jax and the two Marines had all six crew members shackled and lined up against the wall.
“Good job, big man.” Cain was in good spirits as he walked into the control center. He motioned to the two Marines. “Get them back to the shuttle and keep an eye on them.”
The two troopers, both sergeants replied in chorus. “Yes, sir!” Cain and Jax were both senior officers and heroes in the Corps, and working so closely with them was overwhelming, even to veteran non-coms. The Marines pushed the still-stunned station crew ahead of them. “Move along now.”
“Let’s set the warhead and get out of here.” Cain watched as Jax activated the timer on the 10 kiloton bomb they had brought. It was a small nuclear device, even by tactical nuke standards, but it was quite enough to vaporize the station.
“Done.” Jax was kneeling next to the device, and he looked up at Cain. “Detonation in one-five minutes.” He got up and walked over toward the hatch. “What do you say we get out of here?”