“Sir, there is one asset available that isn’t in this
plan.” The lieutenant had that look on
his face, the one heroes and dead men wear going into battle.
The General, a weary man weary of the war took in the look,
processed, and decided what the hell. At
this stage of things a little insanity might be comic relief. It had been a long time since he’d properly
roasted a junior officer. He scrunched
his face into the look he’d spent a career refining to mean this had damn well better be good.
“So educate us,” he said, nodding to either side at the fifteen
senior officers gathered around the planning table. “Just what have we all overlooked?” For two weeks he and his staff had been
laying plans to mount a desperation counter attack over-hull to open a path
through the K’chaing to a dock, hold it open long enough for a supply ship to
unload and relieve the siege. Both
rations and ammunition were in desperately short supply.
The lieutenant drew a deep breath and to the confusion of
all smiled. He definitely had the
element of surprise on his side. “Sir,
the ballet was aboard when we were attacked.”
Nobody really meant to but every man in the room laughed,
the General loudest of all.
As the chuckles subsided the General actually smiled for the
first time in recent memory. “Son,” he
said around the last chuckle, “enlighten us here. Just how in the hell are twenty little girls
who are overweight at 45 kilo going to help us make war on 250 kilo monsters
who grow their own armor?”
The lieutenant walked forward, picked up a holopointer on
his way to the planning table. The others moved aside as he approached. Honor among the warriors, those in the
process of career suicide deserved the chance to make it a clean kill.
“Sir, like this. Have
you ever seen how fast those little girls can fly when they’re not
dancing? I found out they’ve been
practicing in the core, that’s where they’ve been hiding. Sir, they
can fly the tubes and we still control the grav generators. Knock those off line and the whole sphere
will be zero-g for a minimum of fifteen minutes before the emergencies can
charge up to come on line. That’s
fifteen minutes they’ll have unopposed access between the core and the
hull. The K’chaing ignore the tubes,
when we’re geared up they’re to small for us much less them.”
The lieutenant paused for a moment to let what he’d said
sink in, was rewarded with a cumulative gasp.
Instantly he had the full attention of every man in the room.
“Interesting that you mention 45kilo sir because that’s
exactly the maximum mass their dance belts are designed for and the girls
average just a shade under 42kilo.
That’s two kilo of explosives for
payload.” He lit the pointer, began
highlighting locations in the holomap of the station. “Charges here and here and most importantly
here and when they detonate it will vent radian KK to space. The K’chaing are monsters sir but they’re
still air breathers and we’ll still be suited.
Once back in hull we’ll be unopposed.”
“Oh hell yes,” the General said, his grin gone feral. This was manna from heaven. “Bring me whichever of the girls is in charge
of that crew of sweet creatures, tell her she just got drafted into the Space
Marine as a full captain!”
“Yes sir,” the lieutenant said, and chuckled as he turned to
go.
“Ok, so now what in the slam fucking hell is so damn
funny?” the General asked.
When the lieutenant turned to face his superior the look on
his face was priceless. “Sir, that means
my pacifist daughter is going to outrank me.”
