The Depths - Part 6

    The deep-space stealth troop transport shuttle would be arriving any second now. One had never been aboard the Voyager before. Neither had his team. He remembered a conversation he couldn't help but overhear in passing when he was in basic training; two then-Lieutenants apparently went on a little ride as part of a duty assignment rotation. They both wanted to stay aboard that ship. They thought the Voyager was a beautiful ship, capable of holding her ground. Officially considered a heavy cruiser, most people unofficially considered it a battle-cruiser. . . He had been aboard a handful of ships during his ten years of active duty service in special operations. Scout ships, light cruisers, science ships, tactical cruisers. . . All of those ships saw some degree of action. All of those ships held their ground well with their respective variable tactical capability. He quickly respected every sailor he got an opportunity to work with on each ship he was deployed to because of operational necessity, and the ships they worked on. 
    He was absolutely focused on ensuring his team's mission ended successfully, but he was still notably curious about the Voyager. 
    The sun inched below the horizon. Night came in what seemed like seconds. 
    His radio clicked on using a particular frequency and classified encoding that is only accessible to special operators, “Voyager to Alpha One. We have a phase target on your group. Standby to board. Over.”
    “Copy, Voyager. Alpha team standing by.” 

    USSC Voyager 

    The right-wing phase officer signaled the front of the bridge. The Intra-ship Communications officer nodded acknowledgment and then promptly opened a public announcement channel to the rest of the ship. 
    “All hands: this is the bridge. Prepare to board the Shadows.”
    Every man and woman on board knew what that meant. Even the civilians. 
    The Captain turned to his navigator, “ETA to our next?”
    The calculations were swift coming. “Thirteen hours if we maintain maximum translight, sir,”
    The Captain had already made his decision on how fast his ship was going to travel once their special passengers come on board. When the Shadows enter the bridge, the Chief of the Boat (C.O.B.) would announce that the tactical command is with the team's leader. This would be the case until the mission was determined to be complete. 
    The intra-ship comm line's display lit up a light blue. She answered promptly. Ten seconds later, she hung up the handset and turned around. “Captain, the Shadows are onboard!” 

    The Shadows immediately sealed off all but the primary entrance to the shuttle bay to non-essential personnel and then began setting up their gear inside shuttle bay one. 

    “X.O. Get us underway.” The Captain commanded.
    “Eye, sir. Tactical. Set your alert status to Blue.” The X.O. commanded. “Helm. Set your new course to intercept point. Set your speed to maximum translight.” 
    The X.O.'s orders were carried out with haste. 

    *****

Steve H. of Portland, OR told Jordan Foutin, "You are the next Tom Clancy. You really are a gifted writer."

Make sure to check out our official website, like and follow the official StormTeam Simulations Facebook page and @StormteamS, and @JordanFoutin for the latest! 

Make sure to buy your copy of STORMTEAM, available on Amazon.com in Kindle eBook, softcover, and audiobook! Also available at these fine retailers:

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Thank you, and happy reading! 

The Depths - Part 5

    The Pentagon, Earth

   “When did this report come in?” General Hammond asked sharply, appearing alarmed. 

   “A few minutes ago. We've been able to establish Odyssey's general location, but the region of space they're in is making an exact trace impossible. We've never seen space behave anything like this before.”

    The Voyager was en route to the Odyssey and was scheduled to pick up a Shadow team before arriving. What the heck is going on out there? Hammon silently asked himself. He had a mission report due to the secretary of the space force by the end of the day. 

    This was going to be interesting... Then again, maybe this was a step in the right direction? He had an idea. 

    “Thank you, Lieutenant. Dismissed.” Hammon said, returning a salute from the Lieutenant and then watched as the Lieutenant turned about-face and then walked out of the room. Hammond's office doors closed. 

    Shadow Training Facility, Earth

    Alpha stacked up along both sides of the door that was estimated to be their best entry point. The team held their rifles at low-ready, rifle safeties switched off. The team's primary sniper was perched four hundred yards south of the entry team. Because the exercise was at night, he used a dynamic scope capable of alternating between night vision and thermal vision. The scope's targeting crosswires were thin and precise, and he appreciated the comparably designed measurements he could see in the scope to better help him do his job if he found himself having to open fire. The spotter gave him the necessary windage readings for him to adjust if needed-be. 

    The radio clicked, “One to twelve, see anything?” Alpha One asked. 

    The sniper activated his radio. “Negative, One. You are clear for entry, over.”

    “Copy. All Alpha entry elements, on me. Standby for phase one.” He commanded. With that, the entry team raised their rifles as if ready to fire. 

    “Cut the power.” Alpha Two commanded. 

    The lights blinked out. Alpha Twelve kept scanning the windows and the rooftops. 

    Alpha One got on the radio, “Three. Two. One. Execute-execute-execute.”

    In a fraction of a second, Alpha Three squeezed the detonator trigger. The door exploded into dust as the entry team entered like a violent flood—

    *****

Steve H. of Portland, OR told Jordan Foutin, "You are the next Tom Clancy. You really are a gifted writer."

Make sure to check out our official website, like and follow the official StormTeam Simulations Facebook page and @StormteamS, and @JordanFoutin for the latest! 

Make sure to buy your copy of STORMTEAM, available on Amazon.com in Kindle eBook, softcover, and audiobook! Also available at these fine retailers:

Smashwords.com (Remember to like and share!)

Apple iBooks

Barnesandnoble.com 

Scribd.com 

Kobo.com

Blio.com 

Thank you, and happy reading! 

The Depths - Part 4

    USSC Odyssey

    “This is Captain Aaen Winter of The Union deep-space tactical starship Odyssey. Please identify yourself, over.” 

    A human silence filled the bridge. 

    The hull and the deck plating shuddered and rocked abruptly as though a meteor had struck the outer hull; the bridge lighting flickered as the crew jumped to brace against their stations. 

    Aaen leaned forward cautiously and looked at Smith; Aaen wondered why his ship didn't automatically go to Red Alert. 

    The bridge was quickly again still, and silent. 

    Aaen gradually eased his fingers out of the indentations he had forced into the front of his cushioned armrests. “Any damage?” Aaen asked Wilson. 

    Wilson evaluated the data on his computer monitor with professional precision and then turned his head over his shoulder. 

    Seconds later, Jones slapped a hand-written printout on Smith's station. Smith nodded acknowledgment as Jones her station. 

    Smith read the printout and then turned to his captain and read loud enough for the bridge to hear. 

    “Sir, you're not gonna believe this,” Smith said darkly. 

    Smith immediately got Aaen's attention. 

    Hayes' computer flashed thrice suddenly. “We just got an enormous data download.” 

    “From who?” Smith asked bluntly. 

    Hayes was quick to decode the download. “...From...” Hayes eyed her screen quickly and carefully. “USSC...” She gradually looked over her shoulder at the rest of the bridge with a shocked look. She struggled to swallow. Her thoughts blurred from sudden-onset stress and near-panic, she couldn't feel the cool air freshly cleaned by the Co2 scrubbers while the rest of the bridge stared at her curious about whatever was displayed on her computer screen. 

    An uncomfortably cold mystique flooded the bridge. 

    The crew felt almost painful chills—

    Classified Facility, North-Eastern hemisphere, Mars

    There was nothing like a long day on the gun range, but there was nothing better than a deployment. Despite the dangers of climbing into a helo, flying more deeply into enemy territory than any other special operations force is capable of, and then carrying out whatever direct action orders they are given, the men of the United States Interstellar Shadow Forces Corps detachment Alpha were going to keep themselves sharp in case the call came in. They had to. They wanted to. And they did. More often than not, they liked to make a competition of their range time. Sometimes the competition was monetary, sometimes the competition was over the team's favorite beverage, or a favor, a competition with other detachments, among other possibilities. This time the call came in, but there was some much-needed prep time before deploying. Where they were going, and what they were going to do, and why, were predictably absolutely classified. 

    Senior Master Chief M. Devreaux attached his rifle's suppressor, slapped a fresh 30-round magazine full of 5.56-millimeter rounds into his M42 assault rifle, and then sharply chambered a round like the action was simple muscle memory. The entire process took fifteen seconds. Five seconds slower than Omega team's leader, but he chose to ignore that fact. 

    He got into the prone position and rested the barrel on the sandbag mount in front of him, but he insisted on holding the rifle manually, tucking the butt tightly into his shoulder. 

    He enjoyed the sound of the loud suppressed POP of the other eleven riflemen in the lanes to his right as he glared and sighted the holographic generic target fifty yards downrange with professional proficiency. He took one more second to inch the small red dot in the center of his rifle's holo sight on the tiny white “X” in the target's center-of-mass, and then immediately thumbed the rifle to single fire. He momentarily strained to focus on the target. 

    Three suppressed shots later to his right, he squeezed the trigger like he was taking a breath. He watched the round impact like lightning in the distance. The target flickered as though the power to the holo emitters had been seemingly reduced. He thought he was slightly off. 

    He fired a second shot within a fraction of a second of the first. The target flickered more violently this time. He was pleased that he had been lucky enough to land a shot within a centimeter of the first. 

    He fired a third shot even closer to the second shot. A near-perfect hole formed within the target area. 

    He switched the rifle to automatic and aimed higher at another “X”; one much higher on the target, and then quickly held the trigger down. The rifle breathed a tongue of fire as the target was riddled with rounds in a reasonably organized grouping. 

    He still had it. But he wished he didn't have to. 

    The rest of the range depleted their ammunition for this phase of deployment prep. They stood up, removed the magazines from their guns, and then cased them. 

    Next was the demo test range where they would do the live-action practice. If there were to be any mistakes, this was the time to make them. They all knew their team leader would be watching them and criticizing them. They didn't look forward to that, but they knew the criticism was to help save their careers—even more importantly, their lives. 

    Even better, the base's second in command would be overseeing all of them and assessing their readiness for this op, and reporting to the President. Being a special operator and assigned to a team wasn't enough. If they wanted to get paid, they had to deploy. 

    They were well motivated to prove themselves. More often than not, innocent lives depended on them. 

    *****

Steve H. of Portland, OR told Jordan Foutin, "You are the next Tom Clancy. You really are a gifted writer."

Make sure to check out our official website, like and follow the official StormTeam Simulations Facebook page and @StormteamS, and @JordanFoutin for the latest! 

Make sure to buy your copy of STORMTEAM, available on Amazon.com in Kindle eBook, softcover, and audiobook! Also available at these fine retailers:

Smashwords.com (Remember to like and share!)

Apple iBooks

Barnesandnoble.com 

Scribd.com 

Kobo.com

Blio.com 

Thank you, and happy reading! 

The Depths - Part 3

Undisclosed Location

    “Sir,” a young lieutenant's voice called from twelve feet behind near the room's four-inch-thick-carbon-steel vault-like door, “the assets have reported they should be in their designated positions in a few days for the next phase. They've gone on a comm's blackout.” Security. 

    The light from the line of the command center's 72-inch viewscreens shined on the back wall. 

    The air gloomily reeked of molten steel, and there was a steely cold chilling the air. The Admiral exhaled stiffly as he eyed The Union's changing fleet positions across thousands of sectors of space. The resources, on the other hand, were right on time, as usual, and headed for the nebula, as expected. The deal was going smoothly so far. The folks at Groom Lake back in '47 would be proud, had they known. 

    This part was going to have to be handled delicately. . . If we're found out, the Admiral told himself. The key to winning shell games is keeping your eye on the cup the ball is under no matter how fast the cups move about the table. Of course, if the ball passes through the table while the cups are still in motion. . . It needed to. 

    And it would. 

    The interrogation room was nearly cave-dark. Eerie, and cooler than the adjacent hallway on the other side of the door behind him, or the maze of ‘office’ space he and the armed guards escorting him had to traverse to get here. The nearly cave-darkness was for the 'creature's comforts', or so they told him just before he entered the room through a darkened entrance. He casually leaned over the table looked through the two-inch-thick plexiglass window. The creature was seated behind another table. The creature's features were somewhat difficult to discern. He wanted to be sure he was looking at it in the eye like a normal person would do during a conversation, but there was enough light from the medical monitor behind the creature to discern its features. What he saw left him uneasy, subconsciously denying what he was seeing for the sake of his coping with the reality he had been handed, but he oddly didn't feel the urge to panic—

USSC Voyager

    The printer activated to the crew's surprise. The Chief of the Watch eyed the crisp black text beaming onto the body of the white lip emerging from the built-in wall unit. The words “PRIORITY-ONE” and “PENTAGON” caught his eye immediately. That declaration meant the document went directly to the Captain. 

    The Chief of the Watch snatched the document and rushed the document to its recipient per protocol. “This just came in, Cap," 

    Cap took the document and then put on his reading glasses, immediately intently scanning the document. Without missing a beat, he looked wide-awake, faced forward, and sat upright with such posture that he got the entire bridge crew's attention. This was probably gonna be a long one, the Captain told himself, making sure to remain collected and professional in front of his senior officers, even though he felt ready to get some chow from the mess hall, eat, and then get some shut-eye in his cabin. There was nothing quite like an already variably eventful eight-hour shift turning into a days-long mission, or a days-long mission turning into a weeks-long operation at the speed of a printer. 

    “X.O., set your course to two-five-seven-mark-three-five by one-four-six-mark-two-one-nine. Set your speed to maximum translight. Put the ship on alert level three. Now.” The Captain commanded sharply. 

    The X.O. authoritatively relayed the orders like there was an echo in the room. The bridge crew carried out the orders with professional swiftness and precision.” The bridge dimmed to a near-movie-theater-like light level just before the beginning of whatever the feature film. All bridge crew members admired the fine and distinctive arrays of yellow neon ribbon lights throughout the floor, walls, and bridge computers. There was no question there had been some kind of development; they all asked the same question, and all asked that question in silence as a tactical readout confirming the new and sudden course change appeared on the screen below the main viewer. 

    “Cap, what's going on?” the X.O. asked discretely at a near-whisper. 

    The Captain handed over the document. 

    The X.O. read the document quickly. The look on his face was of a concerned 'game face'. “Are they sure about this?” 

    “The UIA seems to be confident that something's going on. One thing I've learned in my career in the Space Force—you don't argue with the UIA.” And when a certain ship is even rumored to be involved, you go out of your way to find out just how fast your ship really is when your ship's destination's coordinates are fed in.

    He had to address the crew to let them know what's going on. The question he had to answer next was one in his own mind—how was he going to explain this change in the mission? 

    He came up with a few possible answers that would preserve the ship, crew, and keep his insignia, and his command. 

    He proceeded to the intra-ship communications officer, a young 23-year-old ensign newly-transferred-in. The Captain gave the order to patch him into the rest of the ship. The order was carried out swiftly as the Captain took the handset off its base. 

    A subtle whistle sound filled every deck and room of the ship to get the crew's attention.

    “Attention, all hands. This is your Captain. As of three minutes ago, Earth time, we have received updated orders from the Pentagon. The Union Intelligence Agency has discovered a new threat to our great democracy. A threat that the Pentagon believes is significant enough to send us and our magnificent ship on alert on a heading into deep space to provide tactical and strategic mission support. Additional information will be provided to your department heads as additional information becomes available. I ask you to stand ready as we don't know what to expect when we get to where we're going." 

    With one touch of a button, the intercom disconnected. 

    What the heck is the Odyssey doing way the heck out there? The Captain asked himself, mulled over a few strategic thoughts on the matter, and then quietly ordered the ensign manning the inter-ship communications station to hail the four-star overseeing fleet operations in this sector. The order was acknowledged and then promptly carried out. 

    With that, the Captain proceeded to his private quarters adjacent to the bridge as the line was pinging beneath The Union's flag. 

   *****

Steve H. of Portland, OR told Jordan Foutin, "You are the next Tom Clancy. You really are a gifted writer."

Make sure to check out our official website, like and follow the official StormTeam Simulations Facebook page and @StormteamS, and @JordanFoutin for the latest! 

Make sure to buy your copy of STORMTEAM, available on Amazon.com in Kindle eBook, softcover, and audiobook! Also available at these fine retailers:

Smashwords.com (Remember to like and share!)

Apple iBooks

Barnesandnoble.com 

Scribd.com 

Kobo.com

Blio.com 

Thank you, and happy reading!