Last Full Measure - Michael A. Martin [61]
Mayweather was liking this less and less. “Suppose your tether lines trigger some sort of security measure?”
“Then I’ll have to depend on you to make us very scarce, and to do it very quickly. But absent that eventuality, the four of us will suit up and ride the tethers down to our respective targets. We will then plant our tri-thermite charges around the perimeters of each of the three tanks. Then we’ll evac back to the shuttlepod, and detonate the devices from a safe distance.”
Mayweather pointed at the forward window, where the fuel depot lay mostly in darkness, lit only by the running lights of the docked ships. “Let’s hope all the interference out there doesn’t make that impossible. The ‘detonate the devices from a safe distance’ part, I mean.”
“Our equipment is designed for adverse circumstances, Ensign,” Chang said, his eyes narrowing in evident annoyance. “At a minimum, we’ll destroy the storage tanks. And I’m betting that the yield of all that volatile fuel will wipe out the entire refinery platform for us.”
“What if some other Xindi ship lurking in the dust nearby sees the big ‘kaboom’ we’re about to make and comes after us?” Eby asked, looking up from the preparations he had already begun making to the quartet of dark gray MACO-issue environmental suits.
“I thought I already covered that,” Chang said, then gestured in Mayweather’s direction. “Under the cover of the explosion, Mayweather will get us the hell out of here as quickly as humanly possible. I don’t particularly like running, but as the ensign keeps reminding me, we do need to get back to Enterprise with a complete report, at the very least.” Chang paused to glance significantly in Mayweather’s direction before continuing to address the entire group. “I never planned on this being a kamikaze mission.”
Seeing the unshakable determination in Chang’s eyes, Mayweather came to the realization that he, Mayweather, might be the one embarking on a suicide errand—if he kept trying to dissuade Chang from his plan.
And despite feeling nettled by Chang’s jab, he felt another surge of grudging admiration at the sheer ballsiness of the MACO leader’s scheme. While growing up on the Horizon, Mayweather had become used to implementing seat-of-the-pants solutions in response to unexpected problems, but only rarely had the stakes been quite this high.
Nevertheless, there were aspects of Chang’s plan that still bothered him, and he felt obliged to speak up about them. “We won’t have long to pull this off, Corporal. If there’s anybody aboard that depot, and if they get the least bit suspicious, they’ll probably run some sort of scan of the exterior of the tanks. Then they’ll probably spot us.”
Chang nodded, a grave expression on his face. “Solutions, anyone?”
“Isn’t there some way to camouflage the suits the same way we camouflaged the shuttlepod?” McCammon asked.
Mayweather thought that wasn’t a half-bad idea, though he could think of no practical way to do it. “Not unless you want your mobility and your visibility stripped down to almost nil,” he said.
“Can we disguise the suits somehow so that anybody scanning them will see them as part of the tanks?” Guitierrez asked, looking up from where she had been assembling multiple stacks of the disk-shaped miniature tri-thermite bombs.
“If we had samples of the hull metal, several extra hours, and a couple of Starfleet engineers, maybe,” Mayweather said with a glum head shake.
“Seeing that we apparently have no other options, we’ll just have to work hard and fast to get it done,” Chang said. “It’ll be just like one of our favorite training scenarios. Except this time, it’ll be real.”
With that comment, Mayweather decided to give voice to another misgiving he had about the mission. “I’m going to prep a fifth environmental suit. I’m going with you.”
Silence descended over the cabin, and quickly became deafening. The MACOs looked first at each other, then at Mayweather, disbelief etched into their faces—except for Chang, whose countenance