It was dark and raining as the patrol jeep rounded the dockside cranes and pulled up to the south portico of the New Ashur Shipyards. Slowly, if not methodically, a heavy weight guard stood from his stool, straightened out his uniform, and opened the window to his booth. The news broadcast from his mini-television was temporarily drowned out by the thunderous downpour.
“In recent news, the Muloni Trade Confederation (MTF) has agreed to summit talks with representatives from the United Colonies regarding the mining rights to the Asaro Region of the Argon Cluster. You might recall that the Asaro Region, despite its large Dyxodrin Reserves, has been listed as a Free Fire Zone since the end of the Ravens March, 20 years ago….”
“Evening Gents, uh… the dockyard is off limits…” muttered the portly fellow.
The patrolmen, both wearing green ponchos with their faces hidden behind sharply downturned hoods simultaneously looked at the guard and grinned, “It’s ok, sir,” replied the slightly larger one sitting in the passenger seat as he drew a silenced MR17 Mag Pistol.
“We’re here on business,” the guard fell backwards onto his stool, collapsing over end into the corner of his booth with a loud thud silenced by a flash of lightening and the loud boom of thunder. His head oozed with blood as thirty men in green ponchos, each with ST 90 Mag Assault Rifles stormed past the gates and spread throughout the shipyard.
They were methodical. Targeting individual guards and dock workers in a mix of close quarters throat slighting and silenced weapons bursts. Within ten minutes the dockyard was secure and the bodies of the slain United Colonies military personal were relocated into a series of orange shipping containers destined for Orion Primus.
“This is Echo Leader to Assault Team, please stand by. The target will be arriving shortly,” said the driver of the military jeep as he parked it to the side, exited, and adorned a white translucent poncho over a blue dress uniform commonly worn by members of the United Colonies military.
His men did similar, with some changing into matching orange jumpsuits like those worn by the dock workers, and others changing into green fatigues matching those of the killed patrolling guards. They then took the place of the executed individuals around the dockyard, acting nonchalantly like nothing had occurred, and waiting patiently.
As if on cue, roughly half an hour later, a massive Battleship belonging to the United Colonies descended from orbit and came to rest in the dockyard displacing 50,000 tons of water flooding the normally desolate concrete birth as a result of the bad weather.
The Battleship was a monster shaped like a metal brick and roughly the same size as a large shopping mall. Along her hull could be seen twenty Ion Cannons placed in between gaps of heavy combat plating.
The ship came to rest lazily and powered down its engines. Then the hangar doors opened showing the military compliment of twenty Ion Bombers and twenty fighters stacked vertically ready for space combat.
“This is Echo Leader to assault teams…” said the man in the blue dress uniform as rain drops dripped over the rim of his dress hat, “I have the NCO approaching me. Get into assault positions and prepare to attack.”
A young man with short blond hair descended a lowered gang plank from the Battleship. He approached the United Colonies military officer with an out stretched hand as if greeting a long time friend.
“Chief Officer Dudley at your service,” he introduced with a firm grip, “We’re here on leave.”
This comment garnered a rather amused smile from the man dressed in blue as the rain continued to thunder down. “My apologies Mr. Dudley, but… I need your ship.”
The Chief Officer had only a brief second to look stunned as dock workers up in the cranes opened up on full auto with their Mag Rifles, killing dozens of service men descending catwalks and gang planks. It was like shooting fish in the barrel. These poor sods had no time to react. They were sitting ducks out in the open. This was because such a heavily coordinated attack on a United Colonies ship, even a Battleship on the ground, was simply unheard of on a United Colonies outpost world like New Ashur.
As the pretend dock workers up in the cranes made short work on the service men trapped out in the open the pretend guards on the ground stormed through the docking stations and onto the bridge of the Battleship before an SOS could be sent alarming the Port Authority. Chief Officer Dudley, himself, was shot in the gut at point blank range from a silenced Mag Pistol by the mysterious man in blue.
As he lay in anguish slowly bleeding out this assailant, the pretend United Colonies Officer addressed his men, “Echo Leader to Assault Team, prepare for launch. Once we are under way set course to Polaris Primus, we have a United Colonies Summit to crash.”
This story was submitted by LOGAN SNIDER for the AE Stories Event. Find Details on sending your own Story here.