Vig sat down beside his brother in the Mess. Everyone was packed shoulder to shoulder, hoeing into the evening meal.
“Wallis has given us twelve hours to figure out a plan,” said Sam, a spoonful of stew hovering over his plate. “He wants us fully deployed, and he’s right; we’re of no use lounging around in the desert. I’ve suggested the Levant, and he’s said that’s a strong possibility.”
“Way I see it, Ireland should become a priority. Sir,” he added with a wry smile.
Sam chuckled. “No, you’re right. The Levant is a stone’s throw from Ireland, and I hear the Marines are getting a couple of Fobs up and running as we speak. This blockade is costing lives, and the ground fighting is going to be even worse.”
“Only a matter of time until CSTO puts a few brigades into the ring. Then it’ll be a massacre.”
“Right. Best choice of the Levant homeworlds would be Tarsifa; at this time of year its orbit makes it the closest of the four planets to Ireland. We can go over the fine details later; I intend to make the most of those twelve hours.”
Vig agreed and they ate in silence for a few moments.
“You really think there’s any resistance movement on Ireland?” asked Vig.
“O’Maera says it’s likely. She might know somebody down there who can point us in the right direction.”
“Sure. What’s the story, by the way? Between you two.”
“Story?”
“She seems to hang around you a lot, seems pretty close.”
Sam shrugged. “Me and Danny are the only guys she really knows around here, probably just feels comfortable around me because everyone else is a stranger.”
Vig was silent a moment. “Well, that’s fair. I just wondered if there was a little something between you.”
“Nah, wouldn’t think so. Besides, I’ve got Veraa.”
There was a long pause.
“Sure,” said Vig quietly.
“Yeah, I know. I don’t know what I was thinking. She was cute, I hadn’t seen another person in eight months, you know how it goes. I guess I wasn’t thinking. Don’t get me wrong though, she’s sweet and friendly and all that, but…”
“But she’s not… you know who.”
“Yeah. Exactly. Still, she’s Marine Cavalry now; pretty impressive.”
There was another long pause. The Kelly brothers had known each other long enough that they could conduct entire conversations through shrugs, nods, grunts, and eyebrow movements.
“So, next time you see her…?”
Sam gave a slight nod, midway through spooning more stew into his mouth.
Thirteen hours later every bag was packed, every crate was stacked, and the Australian sun was rising over the desert. Every member of the 3rd Independent Company (Raider) wore the apprehensive but excited expression of a soldier about to deploy to a warzone. Vehicles were piled up and strapped down with crates and driven up into the back of an Atlas-class transport. Fitting a hundred and twelve commandos and support personnel into the Atto, along with vehicles and gear, seemed quite a bit like putting twenty clowns into a small car.
The transport launched itself across the desert, touching down at the Naval Air Station outside New Melbourne. From there, it was launched on a railgun into the sky. It punched a hole in the stratosphere and began to alter course for NS Coonawarra, the asteroid used as a last waypoint for ships headed for White Rim. The Damocles had already returned from White Rim, and on Coonawarra the advance party of Raiders linked up with the rest of their unit. Staff Sergeant André Coulter, the leader of the advance party, had some interesting findings, but nothing that the CCIB hadn’t already predicted. His report to the Raiders’ commander ended with a brief look at the possibility of using small-scale nuclear explosions to taint the mineral deposits at White Rim, making them worthless to the American mining barges; a last-ditch ‘if we can’t have it, nobody can’ tactic, but a necessary part of planning nonetheless.
Life on the Fringes 