don't?'
'Maybe they do. We don't care for now,' RADM Wallace Jefferson responded. 'Our orders were to take this system, and it looks like all that is left to do in achieving that goal is the mop up. So, let's mop up.'
'Damn right, sir,' the XO agreed in as much an enthusiastic manner as the old Marine mecha jock ever spoke.
'XO, get us a courier back to find out what is going on. Hopefully, soon we'll be able to control that facility and won't need the damned couriers.'
'Aye, sir.' General Chekov turned and in his gruff Marine voice shouted for the quartermaster of the watch.
'CO! The enemy ships just jumped. As far as I can tell, they are out of the system,' the STO announced.
'Good . . . I think.' Wallace studied the battlescape in his mindview for a few seconds, scrolled through the casualty list, glanced at the piling-up damage reports, and lingered on the intel. There had yet to be any sign of the Arcadian government officials. Well, he didn't expect they would find them on this trip anyway. He'd wait to see what the marines dug up from inside the bunker under where the governor's mansion used to be. He laughed to himself about that damned Ramy Roberts and his Robots. Then he focused in on how the ground campaign was moving along.
The tank numbers had been more than replenished from the new supercarriers in the system. Marine and Navy mecha had dropped on the ground in overwhelming numbers. AEMs and AAIs filled the gaps where they needed to. All said and done, there were over thirty thousand troops covering the planet in state-of-the-art military fashion. The first waves of mecha needed a rest.
'Air Boss, Ground Boss, pull back our guys to rear positions and give them a break for a while. I'm passing along similar orders to the
'Aye, sir,' the ground boss replied.
'Sir, it might be a good idea to bring in the mecha to reload them. Just in case, sir,' the Air Boss said.
'Just in case of what, Michelle?' the XO interjected.
'Well, XO, in case they come back, sir.'
'She's got a point, Admiral.'
'All right. Order all the first wave mecha back in.' Wallace unbuckled his seat belt. They hadn't been hit by a missile, DEG, or so much as a spitwad in a while now, so he wanted to get up and stretch his legs. 'I'd say a seventh-inning stretch is in order. Good job, folks. Good job. COB, I think I'm gonna walk around my ship for a while. Care to join me?'
'I'd love to, Admiral.' Charlie grabbed his coffee mug and released the magnetic base from his console. 'Would you like one to go, sir?'
'Don't mind if I do, Charlie. Larry, you have the bridge.'
'Aye, sir. I'll let you know when that courier gets back.'
'Keep me posted if anything happens.'
'Aye.'
The COB handed the admiral a cup of his special coffee, and the two of them stepped out the bridge hatch into the foyer by the elevator. Wallace sipped at the coffee and tried not to make a face. Goddamned COB's coffee had been known to kill junior officers just from the smell. It took a tried and true boat captain to take a real swig of it. It took a fleet admiral to take a gulp of it and not keel over. Wallace took another hit of the stuff. And then hit the elevator button.
'Seven, sir?' the COB asked. Wallace didn't even think about it. The COB knew where they were going. He just nodded in agreement.
The three times they had survived bad scrapes over the last decade or two, the first place Wallace wanted to go was to the triage and see his wounded troops. He had done that back before the Martian Exodus, during the Seppy Reservation skirmishes, and the Battle of Triton. He had done that at Kuiper Station. As long as he sat in the captain's chair, he would do it.
The door opened to the mid level just outside sickbay that had been retrofitted with a QMT pad. Before the QMTs, the casualties would be brought in by Starhawks in the hangar bays. The QMTs had made a big difference in reaction time to extract the wounded, and Wallace hoped it would reduce the number of fatalities to zero.
'Admiral on deck!' an ensign near the hatch shouted through the room.
'As you were! As you all were!' He turned and saluted the young pilot standing near the hatch. He was in Navy pilot gear, and his left arm was gone from the elbow down. It was sealed in an organogel patch. His nametag said Wheeler. 'What's your call sign, pilot?'
'Tarzan, Admiral. Ensign Francis 'Tarzan' Wheeler at your service, sir.'
'Glad you're with us, Tarzan. You're a Demon Dawg, right?' Wallace double-checked with Uncle Timmy before he said it.
'Yes, sir.'
'It
