Chapter 3: Operation Icicle
Posted: Mon Jul 19, 2021 1:17 pm
Captain Reeves stormed into C.I.C and barked, “Where the frak is the Admiral?!” Normally a calm person, his vocal assertiveness came as a shock to those present. The colonel responded that he was sleeping in his office and demanded to know what the captain’s problem was. A veteran, Bridgeford was not a man easily surprised. However, Reeves response, “I’ll deal with you later” as he marched past, momentarily left the man confused. He was not accustomed to this type of treatment. Throwing open the door to the admiral’s new office and quarters, the captain continued his insolence. “Admiral, get-up now! We need to talk!” Thinking they might be under attack, the old man of the ship jumped out of the cot, he had been sleeping on and demanded to know what was the situation. Compounding his confusion, was not the response for which his groggy mind searched, but the colonel entering and screaming, “Who the hell do you think you are?!” With a look that could kill, Reeves stared into marine’s eyes and coldly said, “I’m talking with the admiral about the water we found.”
Curling a fist, Bridgeford was almost shaking at having to restrain himself, from literally throwing Reeves out the door. However, the Admiral locked onto the precious word, “Water?” his voice perked.
Just then, Ford entered the quickly crowding quarters, shouting and pointing a finger at the captain. “He is letting enlisted men have sex!” The colonel got his third surprise as he turned to see the major. “What the frak happened to your face?!” Singularly focused despite the chaos, the Admiral tried again, “Did we find water?” But the captain drowned his question, “I belted the idiot!!” The colonel turned to regard Reeves, “You struck a superior?!” Hallis shook the sleep from his head, “What is this about water?”
The major shouted over the admiral’s voice, “He hit me because I caught him permitting the flight deck to be used for an enlisted orgy!” Bridgeford’s surprise at the recent turn of events was suddenly replaced by confusion, “Orgy??” Hallis once again tried to be heard, his patience wearing thin, “Tell me about the water!” Unfortunately, no one was paying attention and Reeves snapped at Ford, “I hit you because you were masturbating on the flight deck while watching enlisted personal frak!” The colonel was taken back and stumbling to find words. Having been ignored too many times Hallis yelled in a command voice to gain control, “Did we find fraking water!!” A momentary silence finally came across those in the room. The admiral, at last, had control.
Having taken several moments to listen to the captain’s explanation, Hallis appeared to be introspective before commenting. “So, a few day’s ago major Ford found water and didn’t say anything. And you didn’t catch his mistake because it was the pilot’s responsibility to inform you of any navigational occurrences.” He rubbed his chin, sighed stared down his nose at Reeves, “I’ll deal with your discipline later. Right now get on top of this.” He then dismissed the captain, who quickly saluted and returned to CIC Bridgeford offered to handle the discipline the lovebirds. But Hallis refused, “Part of the problem is we have two crews aboard this ship. We don’t need two commanders as well. I’ll handle it personally.” Having stated that he exited the room, leaving Major Ford and Colonel Bridgeford alone.
The major looked at the marine and started to say he wanted to file formal charges but found himself being interrupted. “Do you want to know what I think?” Bridgeford didn’t wait for response before continuing. “You’re a hotshot! And you have been riding that man’s ass because you’re jealous. Well tonight he kicked your ass. Unlike you, normally he is a good officer, and he is very well liked and respected by this crew. He left this room the man that found water and therefore hope. You, on the other hand, are the stupid astronaut that enjoys battlestar porno and kept this crew drinking desalinated piss for 2 extra days because he couldn’t figure out that a comet is a dirty snowball. And as you get hell out of my site, you might want to re-think your next actions! Major A-hole you are grounded and dismissed!” Without a further word, Ford saluted and left the room.
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Major Assuras was passed out from exhaustion in a corner of the galley. A combination of both the physical demands of long hours flying, lack of nutrition and the mental stress was taking its toll on her. Lapointe approached, tapped her on the shoulder and apologized for disturbing her. She rolled over mumbling that it better be an attack. Again Lapointe gently nudged her saying they found water and she slowly rolled over to look at him with one eye. Calmly and briefly he explained that it was a comet and they needed a pilot’s expertise and someone to get sensor data. Rolling away she smiled, “That’s wonderful news and Dagget can handle it.” Forever trying to be professional, lieutenant Lapointe found himself suppressing a grin, “There was an altercation. The major has been grounded.” Groaning and reaching for a hand to help her up made it clear that she wasn’t fit to fly. “You’re only needed in CIC for now. The admiral said you could use his office to catch up on your sleep. As for the major, captain Reeves beat him for masturbating publicly on the landing bay.” With her mouth hanging open, Assuras could barely say the words, “Oh frak sakes.” The two, then walked toward command.
“Given its current trajectory, the comet is going to pass relatively close to us. But it’s huge and we can’t land on it. I don’t have any ideas on how to make this happen.” Cupcake was busy rubbing her eyes and wishing she had a coffee. Chief Cain approached and the colonel wanted to know why she was present. Patiently Reeves responded that her knowledge might help, as she was his best hauler operator. Hallis quickly corrected the captain by saying she was HIS best hauler pilot and he welcomed the chief to the meeting. She took her seat and began listening to the dialog.
At one point during the discussion Hallis and Assuras started to form a plan where the Haulers would fly into the upper part of the comet’s tail and try to catch some ice particles. Alana’s eyes widened and she put her head in her hands as she heard the plan. Noticing her reaction Bridgeford spoke, “Chief, if you have something to say. Spit it out.” Alana cleared her voice and softly said she thought it was a bad plan. Everyone in the room focused their attention on her. “I’ll do my duty but I’m not comfortable trying to fly through a comet’s trail or use my craft to play catch with giant high-speed icebergs.” The room was silent for moment and Assuras said she would fly the hauler.
Nodding his head the admiral resumed talking about the plan. One again chief Cain spoke up, “Major is there enough time for me to train you?” The room went momentarily silent and Cupcake let everyone know she could fly any plane ever made. “Yes major, a hauler is a plane but it is also heavy equipment. You have to be able to do more than fly.”
The admiral agreed to her point stating the major should stick to her viper. “Basically you’re saying these big boats can easily push or pull something the size of a battlestar or larger but it has to be stationary.” Alana began to explain that the machines had a lot of strength but were never designed for fancy aerial maneuvers. “They are equipped with magnetic locks and cables for pulling anything. And I’m sure we could construct some sort of grapple cannon. The trick would be to find a slow enough moving piece or break off a piece to tow it back.” Cupcake’s eyes brightened and a wry grin came across her face. It was apparent to everyone that she had an idea and as she looked at the chief, the same conclusion came to her as well. “Use the vipers!” said Alana.Assuras confirmed, “Exactly and go after the snowball itself. Blast a few chunks off!”
Lapointe chimed in that they needed a raptor to get some readings to choose the strike location. With a smug look the admiral dramatically put his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair commenting how much he loves this crew. Then he ordered a raptor in the air, scheduled a briefing for when it returned and commanded Major Assuras to go to bed. “You’re leading operation icicle in the morning.”
Despite the lack of food, adequate water and heating, each day that passed the crew cleaned scrap out of rooms and implemented daily procedures. Slowly the Argus not only began to look like a battlestar, it started to function like one. The news of operation icicle spread fast and once again the crew was talking about captain Reeves, or the Junkyard dog, as he had become known. Passing through the corridors, Reeves found it uncomfortable receiving the random compliments from his fellow crewmen, and he did his best to explain it was chief Cain that found water. But nothing could really dampen his good spirits. The possibility of water made him happy, but his current enthusiasm was held in the two cups he carefully carried in front of him. Triumphantly arriving at the admirals briefing room, his precious gifts in hand, he marched into the room and smiled at the recipients. “Alana, this is for you and Cupcake this is for you.” He handed them the cups. Alana looked inside it and was surprised to find milk, while Assuras blurted in her shock “Coffee!?” Mr. Lapointe and the doctor, who were also present, were the first to question where was the secret cache of milk and coffee. “Unfortunately, there isn’t one. I couldn’t sleep so I ended up cleaning out Haulers. The milk is from instant creamer packets and the coffee was some instant I found in a small baggie under a seat. Major, I hope you like your coffee black because I gave Alana all the cream.” Assuras responded saying she loved black coffee and anything tasted better than piss water.
Colonel Bridgeford walked into the room and immediately noticed the doctor. “Is there something of a medical nature to this comet?” Doctor Lewellyn responded that his alchemist was interested in its chemical composition and had decided to invite himself to the meeting. To avoid conflict, the doctor decided to come along in order to baby-sit the man. “So where is the dope pusher?” asked Bridgeford. Sensing the conversation was about him, Freddy let out an exaggerated moan and crawled out from under the table. “Was someone talking about me?” Emerging from his hiding spot was a late 20s – early 30s male with cherry red hair wearing military fatigues rolled to the knee and tied at the waist with a pink silk like scarf. The colonel’s eyes narrowed and he took his seat mumbling about disgracing the uniform. Cracking an evil smile the newly drafted drug dealer walked over to the marine and said, “Well that’s because I didn’t have a big strong soldier boy like you to help me get dressed today.” Bridgeford abruptly stood up and the doctor quickly interceded and removed his charge from the immediate area.
“Was my cot comfortable for you, Cupcake?” Hallis entered the room and took his seat and Assuras thanked him for the use of his bed. “What’s the deal?” Captain Reeves stood up and happily informed his admiral that operation icicle looked promising. He and lieutenant Lapointe examined the raptor’s data, there were 4 possible places to strike the comet and any of them will supply enough water to fill the tanks. As Reeves recommended one place, he referred to as zone 1, that should create multiple large fragments, a voice from the end of the table spoke. “Sweetie, before you do that. Do you have some kind of chemical analysis of the different strike areas I can look at?” It was the ship’s newest recruit, the former dope pusher, speaking.” As the captain passed down the makeshift portable data display the colonel stated that the private might find his service life easier if he learned how to properly talk to an officer. The man responded by blowing a kiss at the marine and then examining the data.
The room grew uncomfortably silent waiting for the man to speak. “Go for your number 3 strike position.” Everyone looked at him and waited for further information and when it became obvious none was coming the admiral spoke the question everyone wanted to know. “Ok private, why?” Rolling his eyes the response came, “Well honey, I mean Mr. Admiral, sir.” Flashing a condescending grin at the colonel. “You need all kinds of other stuff and there are crucial elements in zone 3 but not zone 1.” Bridgeford retorted with an equal act of condescension and asked for further explanation from private scumbag. Hallis shot his XO a dirty look but said nothing. “I changed my last name to Parts several years ago. So you can use that now Mr. Colonel, sir. The ships need fuel and there are trace amounts of tylium, as well as methane of a sufficient quality and quantity that I should be able to make something with enough kick that perhaps you can use it as a substitute for your regular aviation fuel. Or at least make this ship a warmer place to live.” He played with his hair and let his voice trail off saying perhaps even make some drugs. Everyone gave the private a hard stare and the doctor quickly defused the situation by saying it would be only used for legitimate medical purposes.
At the comet’s current speed and trajectory, by the time the mission would be ready to start, it would take the haulers 37 hours to rendezvous with the celestial body. They weren’t FTL capable and redesigning them wasn’t feasible. Zone 3 was estimated 85% likely to break into 3 large chunks, or else provide 2 even larger pieces. A raptor and viper would accompany the heavy equipment and to conserve fuel they would shut down their engines and coast. Using fighter missiles instead of demolitions is guess work and sloppy at best. Additionally factoring pilot fatigue, the possible size and speed of each fragment meant that this mission was extremely dangerous. Normally the admiral would have asked for volunteers but given their current circumstances he felt it was purely a command decision that rested solely upon his shoulders. “Chief Cain, the haulers just became a working squadron and you’re in command of it. Assemble you pilots and brief them. Cupcake, you’re on the viper. Grab a raptor crew and sit in on the meeting. And I want you to give the chief any support she needs on this mission. It’s her expertise and therefore her game calls. Those are my orders, dismissed.”
As everyone left the office, Hallis began to immediately write in the logbooks. It was apparent on his face he was just doing his job and not taking any pleasure in it. The deck crews made certain that planes carried extra battery power for their suits and oxygen. Colonel Bridgeford made an announcement in the galley that if anyone was holding out or had saved a few morsels of food, to consider donating it now. Doctor Lewellyn gave all those involved a vitamin shot and the biggest surprise came from one of the raptor squadrons. They had given call signs to each of the hauler operators and painted them on the sides of the ships along with a squad name. They were now being called Squadron 001, “The Ass Haulers.” Hallis believed that military pomp was sometimes necessary because it was good to boost moral and therefore performance.
With the Argus crew facing possible death from dehydration, he not only indulged this behaviour, he added to it by giving everyone a military send off. Standing on the flight decks all available command officers and personal saluted the Ass Haulers as they took off. Operation Icicle was underway.
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“This is Hell’s Honey, all pilots form up on raptor 236 and prepare for shutdown. And if anyone wants to dump his pee bottle out the window try not to get it on anyone behind you. Running the wipers requires turning on the engine and this is strictly a downhill coast in neutral.” Obeying her orders Cupcake and Clubber the raptor pilot chuckled as they listened to Alana’s attempt at the lingo. “Roger that Hell, taking formation with raptor 236 and preparing to shut down on your mark.” After all the planes took position Alana gave the shut down order and one by one, each plane checked in. The chatter of their voices over the radio was the only sound heard in the silence of space.
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The colonel’s authoritive voice boomed and could easily be heard outside the Admiral’s office in CIC. He was making it clear that striking a superior officer was wrong and that if it had been anyone but Reeves, he would be in the brig. Standing at attention and looking straight ahead the captain responded loudly, “Sir, this captain was in error and accepts full responsibility for his actions! I ask to be put in the brig! Sir!” This approach to the charges levied before the captain appeared to appease colonel Bridgeford. But the admiral wasn’t buying into it. He leaned back and considered the man before him. Mentally trying to sum up the famous Junkyard Dog, he was careful of how he would choose his words. Removing the rank insignia from his uniform he began, “Drop the protocol for 10 minutes gentlemen; this is between men and off the record.” Raising an eyebrow but deciding to follow along the colonel removed his bars and put them on the table. The admiral thanked him and proceeded with his inquiry.
“Aboard the Poseidon I knew every officer under my command. Checked their personal records myself. But you, I don’t know crap about. You’re the infamous Captain Reeves who resurrected an old dead battlestar in under an hour, saved the Poseidon’s crew, found water, has a crew of men that adore him and can handle himself in a fight. I’m not sure if you were a complete jack-ass, the fleet’s secret weapon or it’s biggest frak up!” Hallis leaned forward, folded his hands and put them on the table, never taking his eyes off of Reeves. “Men that can do great things can also cause large problems. So tell me why you were stuck in charge of a garbage dump.”
Reeves’ scrunched this face, commenting that he never gave his reasons much thought. He was in the yard by choice and he really didn’t want to be anywhere else. Having dedicated their lives to climbing the military ladder, both his superiors were dumb founded that anyone would choose a dead-end assignment. The colonel voiced his wish for ambrosia. With sigh and resolving himself that he would have to discuss his private life, the captain began. “I joined the Colonial fleet because it just simplified things. My adopted parents are priests of Athena and they were in charge of a street kitchen and opened their house to troubled and abandoned homeless children.”
The man standing in front of Hallis began to take form but to the colonel he thought this environment should make a man a seriously motivated for success. As far as he was concerned, Reeves must have had sex with some admiral’s daughter. However, admiral Hallis voiced how it made sense. By joining the military the captain was part of something similar to what he knew. At the same time he cut down on life’s chaos and always knew what was expected. “Yes sir and it gives me a feeling of being wanted. When I was 8, my mother took me to the kitchen, sat me down and got me something to eat. Until then I lived most of my life in a squat. Well… she then went into the bathroom and killed herself.” Finally Bridgeford understood and saw that Reeves had learned to get his job done, not bring attention to himself and how to take care of his own problems.
Satisfied that he knew enough, admiral Hallis replaced his rank markings on his uniform and formally address his officer. “Thank you captain. I appreciate the information. However, for striking a superior officer and failure to adequately discipline the lower ranks…. During operation icicle, unless I need you, you’re in the brig.” The XO raised an eyebrow when he heard “brig.” Hallis looked at him and made it clear you don’t become an admiral by failing in one’s duty. As a gesture of respect to Reeves, the marine said he would escort the man himself but the admiral cut him off. “Colonel that won’t be necessary. I’m certain the captain knows the way. And I would prefer you take command of Major Ford. Case closed and you two can leave.”
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It was a long and rough flight for everyone involved. But slowly their objective appeared before them. Clubber had been the official radio DJ on this mission and made the long silence bearable. “Ladies and Gentlemen if you care to look out your forward window. You will see ahead of us a great big intergalactic snowball.” The raptor crew could have waited on the Argus and easily jumped ahead to met the assembled mission players. But the argument that less fuel would be consumed was correct. However, secretly it was more a case of this group of people wanting to be part of something from the start.
At first admiral Hallis was resistant to the idea, but after a few seconds of thought, he noted that Lt. Clubber and Dancer were always a couple of joking clowns in the officer’s lounge. When he looked at the lieutenant his only question was if the man could sing and an immediate off-key screech was the response given. Inwardly smirking, he noted that 36 hours could be a very long flight.
“Cupcake to Clubber, I need my steady position and strike coordinates for zone 3.” The raptor pilot affirmed her request and began make close passes on the comet to get as much surface information as possible. 30 minutes passed before he was ready to upload them to Assuras. Each of the next few moments of this operation was vital and the major found herself sweating in her suit. “Frak. I hope the chief did a good job fixing my computer. Switching from manual to computer controls. And…Mark!” The flyby-wire technology and targeting system lights came on, fluttered for a second and went out. Cupcake was not amused, “Double Frak!! Hell’s Honey, next time make your boyfriend fix the computer before you give him a piece of tail. Ok, trying this again.
On…3, 2, 1, Mark!” Again the computer systems fluttered with life, began to fade but then held steady. “Fraking A! Cupcake to Clubber, I’m ready for that data.” The raptor then transmitted the information without further incident.
The fighter plane took its position and waited for the necessary flyby and rotation of the comet to occur. Her breathing became heavy and she was worried. Fighting for mental control she began to verbally whisper, “Calm, calm, weapons are hot and it’s like hitting the side of a barn. Nothing to worry about.” Slowly the stellar iceberg moved into position and her thumb hovered over the firing button. At 10 seconds Clubber started to radio a countdown and was quickly told to shut up by the major. Although the airwaves were now silent, everyone was mentally keeping count. And just as they reached 0, the flame of a missile being launched was observed. Everyone held his breath as it made its way to the target. In what felt like an eternity, it scored a direct hit and ice fragments scattered from the surface into space. This left only one question on all minds, “was it enough?”
5 seconds after the strike panic started. The airwaves started crackle with everyone asking did it work and Clubber screaming he could do some more data sweeps for another run. But as the comet continued its rotation, the missile’s heat and the weakness in the ice it found began to give way. The fissure opened up further and velocity of the main body tore free 2 large pieces. They were sent far enough away from the comet that the haulers could grapple for them. Panic of failure became yells of joy erupting over the airwaves.
“Nice fraking shooting major!” Alana was eyeballing the two hunks of ice and considering their course of action. Although both pieces were enormous in size, one was significantly and visibly larger than the other. The preferred scenario was a fracture of 3 smaller objects and taking one of them back. Any of which would have been more than sufficient for their needs.
“I’m thinking the big boy. Honey to Dancer, give…” Scuds saying she was out of her fraking mind and he planned to form up on the small one, interrupted Alana. Chief Cain snapped at the man, “Stand down and you will form up on which one I say to. Ok, Dancer…” Again the man in hauler 2 interrupted telling her it was too big. “Scuds, shut up and that’s an order!” Unfortunately Honey’s peer wasn’t about to relent and pointed out that she couldn’t order him because they were the same rank. Major Assuras immediately interceded, “In that case I’m ordering you to shut the frak up!” The airwaves went silent and finally the major told the chief to proceed.
“Thank you Major. Honey to Dancer, can you give me a course and trajectory on the little guy.”
The raptor crew did some calculations and with a laugh cheered across the radio. “Yea! Hell’s Honey, you rule! Cupcake that was one hell of a shot we made.” Alana started to smirk and said she thought so. “Well Honey, if you’re so smart. How about you tell us by how much.” Clubber and Dancer were now starting to sing a re-worded love ballad to Chief Cain. The chief wet her lips and calmly said that she guessed about 4,000km out.
Dancer’s voice boomed out, “That’s a hell of a guess, calculations put it at 3,530km.”
Like everyone else Cupcake was annoyed and wanted to know what they were talking about. At last Clubber responded with the information, “Major at the current trajectory and speed that little iceberg is going to break away from the pull of the comet and pass within 3,530km of the Argus.” Dancer broke in demanding how in Hades did Cain know. “It’s my job to know. I’ve got a lot of experience shoving around big objects.” Once again everyone was ecstatic.
Scuds disobediently started to voice his disapproval of the Chief’s decision. “Scuds, it’s my call and I didn’t fly all this way out here for nothing. We are taking the big boy home too.” He argued it was too big to move, and that they would require at least 8 haulers to tow it. “We cycle the engines in 5 second full throttle bursts to slow it down. I promise it will slow.” The other two hauler operators were adamant in their objections and pointed out they wouldn’t even have fuel to land. “If we get this big thing, the admiral himself will come out with a jerry can and top us up.” Still the protests continued and once again the major was required to assert command authority. Her only concern was if chief Cain was certain she could haul it.
“Major, I know my job. Trust me.” Assuras simply stated that she was in charge and they better do as she says or else. Alana immediately gave the officers pause to worry when she did her own pass over the ice fragment and disregarded most of the recommendations from the raptor. She barked her orders and unlike previous times, there was no descent from her fellow operators.
One by one, beginning with Alana, each of the heavy machines took a position and fired the make shift grapple cannon in to the ice. Information from raptor scan confirmed that each one was locked deep into hard areas of the ice. On Cain’s mark they powered up their engines and slowly began to increase their thrust to full. “Ok folks we do this and drinks are on me. Full throttle in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, Go!”
The raptor crew and Assuras suddenly could see the massive power of the industrial machines as the towlines became extremely taught. Unfortunately, they had minimal effect on their tow. The squadron powered down and awaited the chief’s command to proceed again.
“Ok fellas, that was less than impressive. I want you to manually open the torque valves as far as they go and we'll do a 5 second burn followed by a 5 second over burn.” Again her squadron voiced their concerns and stated that a 5 second over burn could destroy the engines. But Alana didn’t flinch, “Noted and I accept full responsibility. We will begin again in 30 seconds.” The major broke in on the air wave saying this wasn’t necessary. Alana Cain retorted with, “My call, you said so yourself. We begin burn in 20 seconds.”
Major Assuras bit her lip and contemplated over-turning her authority but then decided she would wait a few more moments. Chief Cain’s voice came the airwaves again, “Burn on my mark in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1… Go!” The engines burned brightly and the raptor registered an increase in ambient temperature as they kicked in for maximal thrust. The block of ice started to slow and come to a stationary position. Demanding everyone give their status, the other two operators checked in.
Scuds was having problems, “Engines are ok but all my electrical systems are severely over-heating. It smells like crap in here.” Cain grunted her dissatisfaction and Cupcake said it was over. However, Hell’s Honey wasn’t ready to quit and enquired about her peer’s suit condition and confirmed it was in operating without a problem. “You have to be in your suit anyway. If worse comes to worse, you just keep your helmet on and you should be fine. We are going to coast back anyway. Besides if there is a serious problem, you’re just a short walk to the raptor.” The Major didn’t like the sound of this but the chief reminded her there was now more than water at stake and haulers were easy to repair compared to vipers and raptors. Once again Assuras relented and the procedure began again.
“5, 4, 3, 2, 1… Go!” The ice began to move in the desired direction but Scud’s plane flamed out at the end. Calls for him to verify status were unanswered. The raptor did a flyby with a signal light. Scuds used a handheld and flashed back that he was ok but needed a tow truck. Being appeased of her crewman’s condition although one less hauler, Alana ordered another burn but full throttle only, no over burn. Their tow slowly came up to speed. Dancer eventually broke in on the radio, “You’re in the transit corridor. I guess drinks are on you. Nice job chief.”
Thanking Dancer for the compliment, Cain disengaged the grapple and flew over to Hauler 2 attaching a magnetic lock. “I guess I’m the designated driver”. She noted that although Scuds would be missed, he wasn’t a big radio star anyway.
Curling a fist, Bridgeford was almost shaking at having to restrain himself, from literally throwing Reeves out the door. However, the Admiral locked onto the precious word, “Water?” his voice perked.
Just then, Ford entered the quickly crowding quarters, shouting and pointing a finger at the captain. “He is letting enlisted men have sex!” The colonel got his third surprise as he turned to see the major. “What the frak happened to your face?!” Singularly focused despite the chaos, the Admiral tried again, “Did we find water?” But the captain drowned his question, “I belted the idiot!!” The colonel turned to regard Reeves, “You struck a superior?!” Hallis shook the sleep from his head, “What is this about water?”
The major shouted over the admiral’s voice, “He hit me because I caught him permitting the flight deck to be used for an enlisted orgy!” Bridgeford’s surprise at the recent turn of events was suddenly replaced by confusion, “Orgy??” Hallis once again tried to be heard, his patience wearing thin, “Tell me about the water!” Unfortunately, no one was paying attention and Reeves snapped at Ford, “I hit you because you were masturbating on the flight deck while watching enlisted personal frak!” The colonel was taken back and stumbling to find words. Having been ignored too many times Hallis yelled in a command voice to gain control, “Did we find fraking water!!” A momentary silence finally came across those in the room. The admiral, at last, had control.
Having taken several moments to listen to the captain’s explanation, Hallis appeared to be introspective before commenting. “So, a few day’s ago major Ford found water and didn’t say anything. And you didn’t catch his mistake because it was the pilot’s responsibility to inform you of any navigational occurrences.” He rubbed his chin, sighed stared down his nose at Reeves, “I’ll deal with your discipline later. Right now get on top of this.” He then dismissed the captain, who quickly saluted and returned to CIC Bridgeford offered to handle the discipline the lovebirds. But Hallis refused, “Part of the problem is we have two crews aboard this ship. We don’t need two commanders as well. I’ll handle it personally.” Having stated that he exited the room, leaving Major Ford and Colonel Bridgeford alone.
The major looked at the marine and started to say he wanted to file formal charges but found himself being interrupted. “Do you want to know what I think?” Bridgeford didn’t wait for response before continuing. “You’re a hotshot! And you have been riding that man’s ass because you’re jealous. Well tonight he kicked your ass. Unlike you, normally he is a good officer, and he is very well liked and respected by this crew. He left this room the man that found water and therefore hope. You, on the other hand, are the stupid astronaut that enjoys battlestar porno and kept this crew drinking desalinated piss for 2 extra days because he couldn’t figure out that a comet is a dirty snowball. And as you get hell out of my site, you might want to re-think your next actions! Major A-hole you are grounded and dismissed!” Without a further word, Ford saluted and left the room.
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Major Assuras was passed out from exhaustion in a corner of the galley. A combination of both the physical demands of long hours flying, lack of nutrition and the mental stress was taking its toll on her. Lapointe approached, tapped her on the shoulder and apologized for disturbing her. She rolled over mumbling that it better be an attack. Again Lapointe gently nudged her saying they found water and she slowly rolled over to look at him with one eye. Calmly and briefly he explained that it was a comet and they needed a pilot’s expertise and someone to get sensor data. Rolling away she smiled, “That’s wonderful news and Dagget can handle it.” Forever trying to be professional, lieutenant Lapointe found himself suppressing a grin, “There was an altercation. The major has been grounded.” Groaning and reaching for a hand to help her up made it clear that she wasn’t fit to fly. “You’re only needed in CIC for now. The admiral said you could use his office to catch up on your sleep. As for the major, captain Reeves beat him for masturbating publicly on the landing bay.” With her mouth hanging open, Assuras could barely say the words, “Oh frak sakes.” The two, then walked toward command.
“Given its current trajectory, the comet is going to pass relatively close to us. But it’s huge and we can’t land on it. I don’t have any ideas on how to make this happen.” Cupcake was busy rubbing her eyes and wishing she had a coffee. Chief Cain approached and the colonel wanted to know why she was present. Patiently Reeves responded that her knowledge might help, as she was his best hauler operator. Hallis quickly corrected the captain by saying she was HIS best hauler pilot and he welcomed the chief to the meeting. She took her seat and began listening to the dialog.
At one point during the discussion Hallis and Assuras started to form a plan where the Haulers would fly into the upper part of the comet’s tail and try to catch some ice particles. Alana’s eyes widened and she put her head in her hands as she heard the plan. Noticing her reaction Bridgeford spoke, “Chief, if you have something to say. Spit it out.” Alana cleared her voice and softly said she thought it was a bad plan. Everyone in the room focused their attention on her. “I’ll do my duty but I’m not comfortable trying to fly through a comet’s trail or use my craft to play catch with giant high-speed icebergs.” The room was silent for moment and Assuras said she would fly the hauler.
Nodding his head the admiral resumed talking about the plan. One again chief Cain spoke up, “Major is there enough time for me to train you?” The room went momentarily silent and Cupcake let everyone know she could fly any plane ever made. “Yes major, a hauler is a plane but it is also heavy equipment. You have to be able to do more than fly.”
The admiral agreed to her point stating the major should stick to her viper. “Basically you’re saying these big boats can easily push or pull something the size of a battlestar or larger but it has to be stationary.” Alana began to explain that the machines had a lot of strength but were never designed for fancy aerial maneuvers. “They are equipped with magnetic locks and cables for pulling anything. And I’m sure we could construct some sort of grapple cannon. The trick would be to find a slow enough moving piece or break off a piece to tow it back.” Cupcake’s eyes brightened and a wry grin came across her face. It was apparent to everyone that she had an idea and as she looked at the chief, the same conclusion came to her as well. “Use the vipers!” said Alana.Assuras confirmed, “Exactly and go after the snowball itself. Blast a few chunks off!”
Lapointe chimed in that they needed a raptor to get some readings to choose the strike location. With a smug look the admiral dramatically put his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair commenting how much he loves this crew. Then he ordered a raptor in the air, scheduled a briefing for when it returned and commanded Major Assuras to go to bed. “You’re leading operation icicle in the morning.”
Despite the lack of food, adequate water and heating, each day that passed the crew cleaned scrap out of rooms and implemented daily procedures. Slowly the Argus not only began to look like a battlestar, it started to function like one. The news of operation icicle spread fast and once again the crew was talking about captain Reeves, or the Junkyard dog, as he had become known. Passing through the corridors, Reeves found it uncomfortable receiving the random compliments from his fellow crewmen, and he did his best to explain it was chief Cain that found water. But nothing could really dampen his good spirits. The possibility of water made him happy, but his current enthusiasm was held in the two cups he carefully carried in front of him. Triumphantly arriving at the admirals briefing room, his precious gifts in hand, he marched into the room and smiled at the recipients. “Alana, this is for you and Cupcake this is for you.” He handed them the cups. Alana looked inside it and was surprised to find milk, while Assuras blurted in her shock “Coffee!?” Mr. Lapointe and the doctor, who were also present, were the first to question where was the secret cache of milk and coffee. “Unfortunately, there isn’t one. I couldn’t sleep so I ended up cleaning out Haulers. The milk is from instant creamer packets and the coffee was some instant I found in a small baggie under a seat. Major, I hope you like your coffee black because I gave Alana all the cream.” Assuras responded saying she loved black coffee and anything tasted better than piss water.
Colonel Bridgeford walked into the room and immediately noticed the doctor. “Is there something of a medical nature to this comet?” Doctor Lewellyn responded that his alchemist was interested in its chemical composition and had decided to invite himself to the meeting. To avoid conflict, the doctor decided to come along in order to baby-sit the man. “So where is the dope pusher?” asked Bridgeford. Sensing the conversation was about him, Freddy let out an exaggerated moan and crawled out from under the table. “Was someone talking about me?” Emerging from his hiding spot was a late 20s – early 30s male with cherry red hair wearing military fatigues rolled to the knee and tied at the waist with a pink silk like scarf. The colonel’s eyes narrowed and he took his seat mumbling about disgracing the uniform. Cracking an evil smile the newly drafted drug dealer walked over to the marine and said, “Well that’s because I didn’t have a big strong soldier boy like you to help me get dressed today.” Bridgeford abruptly stood up and the doctor quickly interceded and removed his charge from the immediate area.
“Was my cot comfortable for you, Cupcake?” Hallis entered the room and took his seat and Assuras thanked him for the use of his bed. “What’s the deal?” Captain Reeves stood up and happily informed his admiral that operation icicle looked promising. He and lieutenant Lapointe examined the raptor’s data, there were 4 possible places to strike the comet and any of them will supply enough water to fill the tanks. As Reeves recommended one place, he referred to as zone 1, that should create multiple large fragments, a voice from the end of the table spoke. “Sweetie, before you do that. Do you have some kind of chemical analysis of the different strike areas I can look at?” It was the ship’s newest recruit, the former dope pusher, speaking.” As the captain passed down the makeshift portable data display the colonel stated that the private might find his service life easier if he learned how to properly talk to an officer. The man responded by blowing a kiss at the marine and then examining the data.
The room grew uncomfortably silent waiting for the man to speak. “Go for your number 3 strike position.” Everyone looked at him and waited for further information and when it became obvious none was coming the admiral spoke the question everyone wanted to know. “Ok private, why?” Rolling his eyes the response came, “Well honey, I mean Mr. Admiral, sir.” Flashing a condescending grin at the colonel. “You need all kinds of other stuff and there are crucial elements in zone 3 but not zone 1.” Bridgeford retorted with an equal act of condescension and asked for further explanation from private scumbag. Hallis shot his XO a dirty look but said nothing. “I changed my last name to Parts several years ago. So you can use that now Mr. Colonel, sir. The ships need fuel and there are trace amounts of tylium, as well as methane of a sufficient quality and quantity that I should be able to make something with enough kick that perhaps you can use it as a substitute for your regular aviation fuel. Or at least make this ship a warmer place to live.” He played with his hair and let his voice trail off saying perhaps even make some drugs. Everyone gave the private a hard stare and the doctor quickly defused the situation by saying it would be only used for legitimate medical purposes.
At the comet’s current speed and trajectory, by the time the mission would be ready to start, it would take the haulers 37 hours to rendezvous with the celestial body. They weren’t FTL capable and redesigning them wasn’t feasible. Zone 3 was estimated 85% likely to break into 3 large chunks, or else provide 2 even larger pieces. A raptor and viper would accompany the heavy equipment and to conserve fuel they would shut down their engines and coast. Using fighter missiles instead of demolitions is guess work and sloppy at best. Additionally factoring pilot fatigue, the possible size and speed of each fragment meant that this mission was extremely dangerous. Normally the admiral would have asked for volunteers but given their current circumstances he felt it was purely a command decision that rested solely upon his shoulders. “Chief Cain, the haulers just became a working squadron and you’re in command of it. Assemble you pilots and brief them. Cupcake, you’re on the viper. Grab a raptor crew and sit in on the meeting. And I want you to give the chief any support she needs on this mission. It’s her expertise and therefore her game calls. Those are my orders, dismissed.”
As everyone left the office, Hallis began to immediately write in the logbooks. It was apparent on his face he was just doing his job and not taking any pleasure in it. The deck crews made certain that planes carried extra battery power for their suits and oxygen. Colonel Bridgeford made an announcement in the galley that if anyone was holding out or had saved a few morsels of food, to consider donating it now. Doctor Lewellyn gave all those involved a vitamin shot and the biggest surprise came from one of the raptor squadrons. They had given call signs to each of the hauler operators and painted them on the sides of the ships along with a squad name. They were now being called Squadron 001, “The Ass Haulers.” Hallis believed that military pomp was sometimes necessary because it was good to boost moral and therefore performance.
With the Argus crew facing possible death from dehydration, he not only indulged this behaviour, he added to it by giving everyone a military send off. Standing on the flight decks all available command officers and personal saluted the Ass Haulers as they took off. Operation Icicle was underway.
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“This is Hell’s Honey, all pilots form up on raptor 236 and prepare for shutdown. And if anyone wants to dump his pee bottle out the window try not to get it on anyone behind you. Running the wipers requires turning on the engine and this is strictly a downhill coast in neutral.” Obeying her orders Cupcake and Clubber the raptor pilot chuckled as they listened to Alana’s attempt at the lingo. “Roger that Hell, taking formation with raptor 236 and preparing to shut down on your mark.” After all the planes took position Alana gave the shut down order and one by one, each plane checked in. The chatter of their voices over the radio was the only sound heard in the silence of space.
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The colonel’s authoritive voice boomed and could easily be heard outside the Admiral’s office in CIC. He was making it clear that striking a superior officer was wrong and that if it had been anyone but Reeves, he would be in the brig. Standing at attention and looking straight ahead the captain responded loudly, “Sir, this captain was in error and accepts full responsibility for his actions! I ask to be put in the brig! Sir!” This approach to the charges levied before the captain appeared to appease colonel Bridgeford. But the admiral wasn’t buying into it. He leaned back and considered the man before him. Mentally trying to sum up the famous Junkyard Dog, he was careful of how he would choose his words. Removing the rank insignia from his uniform he began, “Drop the protocol for 10 minutes gentlemen; this is between men and off the record.” Raising an eyebrow but deciding to follow along the colonel removed his bars and put them on the table. The admiral thanked him and proceeded with his inquiry.
“Aboard the Poseidon I knew every officer under my command. Checked their personal records myself. But you, I don’t know crap about. You’re the infamous Captain Reeves who resurrected an old dead battlestar in under an hour, saved the Poseidon’s crew, found water, has a crew of men that adore him and can handle himself in a fight. I’m not sure if you were a complete jack-ass, the fleet’s secret weapon or it’s biggest frak up!” Hallis leaned forward, folded his hands and put them on the table, never taking his eyes off of Reeves. “Men that can do great things can also cause large problems. So tell me why you were stuck in charge of a garbage dump.”
Reeves’ scrunched this face, commenting that he never gave his reasons much thought. He was in the yard by choice and he really didn’t want to be anywhere else. Having dedicated their lives to climbing the military ladder, both his superiors were dumb founded that anyone would choose a dead-end assignment. The colonel voiced his wish for ambrosia. With sigh and resolving himself that he would have to discuss his private life, the captain began. “I joined the Colonial fleet because it just simplified things. My adopted parents are priests of Athena and they were in charge of a street kitchen and opened their house to troubled and abandoned homeless children.”
The man standing in front of Hallis began to take form but to the colonel he thought this environment should make a man a seriously motivated for success. As far as he was concerned, Reeves must have had sex with some admiral’s daughter. However, admiral Hallis voiced how it made sense. By joining the military the captain was part of something similar to what he knew. At the same time he cut down on life’s chaos and always knew what was expected. “Yes sir and it gives me a feeling of being wanted. When I was 8, my mother took me to the kitchen, sat me down and got me something to eat. Until then I lived most of my life in a squat. Well… she then went into the bathroom and killed herself.” Finally Bridgeford understood and saw that Reeves had learned to get his job done, not bring attention to himself and how to take care of his own problems.
Satisfied that he knew enough, admiral Hallis replaced his rank markings on his uniform and formally address his officer. “Thank you captain. I appreciate the information. However, for striking a superior officer and failure to adequately discipline the lower ranks…. During operation icicle, unless I need you, you’re in the brig.” The XO raised an eyebrow when he heard “brig.” Hallis looked at him and made it clear you don’t become an admiral by failing in one’s duty. As a gesture of respect to Reeves, the marine said he would escort the man himself but the admiral cut him off. “Colonel that won’t be necessary. I’m certain the captain knows the way. And I would prefer you take command of Major Ford. Case closed and you two can leave.”
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It was a long and rough flight for everyone involved. But slowly their objective appeared before them. Clubber had been the official radio DJ on this mission and made the long silence bearable. “Ladies and Gentlemen if you care to look out your forward window. You will see ahead of us a great big intergalactic snowball.” The raptor crew could have waited on the Argus and easily jumped ahead to met the assembled mission players. But the argument that less fuel would be consumed was correct. However, secretly it was more a case of this group of people wanting to be part of something from the start.
At first admiral Hallis was resistant to the idea, but after a few seconds of thought, he noted that Lt. Clubber and Dancer were always a couple of joking clowns in the officer’s lounge. When he looked at the lieutenant his only question was if the man could sing and an immediate off-key screech was the response given. Inwardly smirking, he noted that 36 hours could be a very long flight.
“Cupcake to Clubber, I need my steady position and strike coordinates for zone 3.” The raptor pilot affirmed her request and began make close passes on the comet to get as much surface information as possible. 30 minutes passed before he was ready to upload them to Assuras. Each of the next few moments of this operation was vital and the major found herself sweating in her suit. “Frak. I hope the chief did a good job fixing my computer. Switching from manual to computer controls. And…Mark!” The flyby-wire technology and targeting system lights came on, fluttered for a second and went out. Cupcake was not amused, “Double Frak!! Hell’s Honey, next time make your boyfriend fix the computer before you give him a piece of tail. Ok, trying this again.
On…3, 2, 1, Mark!” Again the computer systems fluttered with life, began to fade but then held steady. “Fraking A! Cupcake to Clubber, I’m ready for that data.” The raptor then transmitted the information without further incident.
The fighter plane took its position and waited for the necessary flyby and rotation of the comet to occur. Her breathing became heavy and she was worried. Fighting for mental control she began to verbally whisper, “Calm, calm, weapons are hot and it’s like hitting the side of a barn. Nothing to worry about.” Slowly the stellar iceberg moved into position and her thumb hovered over the firing button. At 10 seconds Clubber started to radio a countdown and was quickly told to shut up by the major. Although the airwaves were now silent, everyone was mentally keeping count. And just as they reached 0, the flame of a missile being launched was observed. Everyone held his breath as it made its way to the target. In what felt like an eternity, it scored a direct hit and ice fragments scattered from the surface into space. This left only one question on all minds, “was it enough?”
5 seconds after the strike panic started. The airwaves started crackle with everyone asking did it work and Clubber screaming he could do some more data sweeps for another run. But as the comet continued its rotation, the missile’s heat and the weakness in the ice it found began to give way. The fissure opened up further and velocity of the main body tore free 2 large pieces. They were sent far enough away from the comet that the haulers could grapple for them. Panic of failure became yells of joy erupting over the airwaves.
“Nice fraking shooting major!” Alana was eyeballing the two hunks of ice and considering their course of action. Although both pieces were enormous in size, one was significantly and visibly larger than the other. The preferred scenario was a fracture of 3 smaller objects and taking one of them back. Any of which would have been more than sufficient for their needs.
“I’m thinking the big boy. Honey to Dancer, give…” Scuds saying she was out of her fraking mind and he planned to form up on the small one, interrupted Alana. Chief Cain snapped at the man, “Stand down and you will form up on which one I say to. Ok, Dancer…” Again the man in hauler 2 interrupted telling her it was too big. “Scuds, shut up and that’s an order!” Unfortunately Honey’s peer wasn’t about to relent and pointed out that she couldn’t order him because they were the same rank. Major Assuras immediately interceded, “In that case I’m ordering you to shut the frak up!” The airwaves went silent and finally the major told the chief to proceed.
“Thank you Major. Honey to Dancer, can you give me a course and trajectory on the little guy.”
The raptor crew did some calculations and with a laugh cheered across the radio. “Yea! Hell’s Honey, you rule! Cupcake that was one hell of a shot we made.” Alana started to smirk and said she thought so. “Well Honey, if you’re so smart. How about you tell us by how much.” Clubber and Dancer were now starting to sing a re-worded love ballad to Chief Cain. The chief wet her lips and calmly said that she guessed about 4,000km out.
Dancer’s voice boomed out, “That’s a hell of a guess, calculations put it at 3,530km.”
Like everyone else Cupcake was annoyed and wanted to know what they were talking about. At last Clubber responded with the information, “Major at the current trajectory and speed that little iceberg is going to break away from the pull of the comet and pass within 3,530km of the Argus.” Dancer broke in demanding how in Hades did Cain know. “It’s my job to know. I’ve got a lot of experience shoving around big objects.” Once again everyone was ecstatic.
Scuds disobediently started to voice his disapproval of the Chief’s decision. “Scuds, it’s my call and I didn’t fly all this way out here for nothing. We are taking the big boy home too.” He argued it was too big to move, and that they would require at least 8 haulers to tow it. “We cycle the engines in 5 second full throttle bursts to slow it down. I promise it will slow.” The other two hauler operators were adamant in their objections and pointed out they wouldn’t even have fuel to land. “If we get this big thing, the admiral himself will come out with a jerry can and top us up.” Still the protests continued and once again the major was required to assert command authority. Her only concern was if chief Cain was certain she could haul it.
“Major, I know my job. Trust me.” Assuras simply stated that she was in charge and they better do as she says or else. Alana immediately gave the officers pause to worry when she did her own pass over the ice fragment and disregarded most of the recommendations from the raptor. She barked her orders and unlike previous times, there was no descent from her fellow operators.
One by one, beginning with Alana, each of the heavy machines took a position and fired the make shift grapple cannon in to the ice. Information from raptor scan confirmed that each one was locked deep into hard areas of the ice. On Cain’s mark they powered up their engines and slowly began to increase their thrust to full. “Ok folks we do this and drinks are on me. Full throttle in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, Go!”
The raptor crew and Assuras suddenly could see the massive power of the industrial machines as the towlines became extremely taught. Unfortunately, they had minimal effect on their tow. The squadron powered down and awaited the chief’s command to proceed again.
“Ok fellas, that was less than impressive. I want you to manually open the torque valves as far as they go and we'll do a 5 second burn followed by a 5 second over burn.” Again her squadron voiced their concerns and stated that a 5 second over burn could destroy the engines. But Alana didn’t flinch, “Noted and I accept full responsibility. We will begin again in 30 seconds.” The major broke in on the air wave saying this wasn’t necessary. Alana Cain retorted with, “My call, you said so yourself. We begin burn in 20 seconds.”
Major Assuras bit her lip and contemplated over-turning her authority but then decided she would wait a few more moments. Chief Cain’s voice came the airwaves again, “Burn on my mark in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1… Go!” The engines burned brightly and the raptor registered an increase in ambient temperature as they kicked in for maximal thrust. The block of ice started to slow and come to a stationary position. Demanding everyone give their status, the other two operators checked in.
Scuds was having problems, “Engines are ok but all my electrical systems are severely over-heating. It smells like crap in here.” Cain grunted her dissatisfaction and Cupcake said it was over. However, Hell’s Honey wasn’t ready to quit and enquired about her peer’s suit condition and confirmed it was in operating without a problem. “You have to be in your suit anyway. If worse comes to worse, you just keep your helmet on and you should be fine. We are going to coast back anyway. Besides if there is a serious problem, you’re just a short walk to the raptor.” The Major didn’t like the sound of this but the chief reminded her there was now more than water at stake and haulers were easy to repair compared to vipers and raptors. Once again Assuras relented and the procedure began again.
“5, 4, 3, 2, 1… Go!” The ice began to move in the desired direction but Scud’s plane flamed out at the end. Calls for him to verify status were unanswered. The raptor did a flyby with a signal light. Scuds used a handheld and flashed back that he was ok but needed a tow truck. Being appeased of her crewman’s condition although one less hauler, Alana ordered another burn but full throttle only, no over burn. Their tow slowly came up to speed. Dancer eventually broke in on the radio, “You’re in the transit corridor. I guess drinks are on you. Nice job chief.”
Thanking Dancer for the compliment, Cain disengaged the grapple and flew over to Hauler 2 attaching a magnetic lock. “I guess I’m the designated driver”. She noted that although Scuds would be missed, he wasn’t a big radio star anyway.