Last Full Measure - Michael A. Martin [44]
“So, as I was saying, we got our propulsion back up again,” McCammon said, scratching the top of his shaved scalp. “We pulled up in a steep forward curve. The Blagees had already turned around and were headed back and down, skimming the fog where they thought we had gone. Instead, we ended up behind them, on their tails. We pulled through a cloud bank with enough time to tag their weapons and hover systems. Both of their ships went down into the big briny. All the way.” He smashed his fist into his open palm.
Eby grinned, displaying a disciplined parade ground of even, white teeth. “So you’re really a veteran of the Battle of Blagee?”
Chang rolled his eyes at the exaggeration. “Some battle. Malcontent uprising is more like it.” The event was actually where he had met McCammon. A host of anti-human extremists on one of Blagee III’s three large continents had attacked several human mining settlements. Chang and McCammon had both been part of the four MACO companies dispatched to the scene, responding to a distress call after numerous humans had been killed, attacked, or kidnapped.
“Yes, ‘battle’ is definitely a misnomer,” McCammon said. “What we found once we reached the surface was that the Blagee extremists were pretty poorly organized, had only a handful of usable ships, and not much in the way of real weapons or defenses. The Blagee government said it wanted to maintain its trade relationship with Earth, but wouldn’t intervene against the attackers for religious reasons. Once we caught up with the terrorists ourselves, though, the Blagee apparently got a little bit stricter in enforcing their own laws.”
“What do you mean?” Eby asked.
McCammon tilted his head, hoisted his arm as if holding a noose, and stuck out his tongue as if gagging.
“Wow,” Eby said, chuckling under his breath. “I don’t have any cool stories like that. Guess I haven’t really seen all that much action yet.”
Chang playfully slapped the younger man on the side of the head. “We’ll wash the green off your hide soon enough, mister.”
“I hope so,” Eby said. “So far my time in the Expanse has been pretty freaking boring. I mean, I came here because I wanted to come kick some Xindi butt.”
Chang nodded in silent agreement. With the exception of some minor skirmishes, the most serious of which had been brought about by the Enterprise captain’s colossal ineptitude down in the trellium mines on Tulaw, the months the MACO company had spent bunking among the Starfleeters had produced exactly squat in terms of results. Even Captain Archer’s Starfleet crew seemed to be losing their patience and were itching for some real action.
He hoped they’d get some, and soon.
“You want some coffee?” Corporal Guitierrez asked, holding up the canister that she had brought up to the front of the shuttlepod with her.
Still stinging from her words, Mayweather looked over at the corporal, one eyebrow arched in a manner that he thought would have done Sub-Commander T’Pol proud. “What, you think you can trash my flying and then offer me coffee as a peace offering?” he asked, his tone bantering though his meaning was at least half-serious.
“Sorry, Ensign,” Guitierrez said, looking embarrassed. “You heard all that?”
“We squids have very acute hearing,” Mayweather said. He looked over his shoulder toward the aft end of the small passenger compartment. “You have to remember that this is a Starfleet shuttlepod, Corporal, not a cruise ship. It’s going to be pretty tough for you MACOs to keep secrets from me while you’re telling tales out of school—even if you whisper when you do it.” He briefly considered telling her that the cramped upper airlock chamber was relatively soundproof, then decided against it.
Guitierrez gritted her teeth and grimaced, still shamefaced. “Sorry,” she repeated, sounding awkward. “Didn’t mean to slam your piloting. I suppose I was just trying to blow off some steam.”
Mayweather sighed, feeling a surge of compassion for Guitierrez in spite of himself—and in spite of his not overly fond relationship with Chang.