Letters Home
Breakaway + 3 weeks
It was quiet. The background chatter from NASA, the ESA and the others permanently silenced, old friends now unimaginably far away. The light panels lining walls and ceiling of Main Mission and his office were illuminating at thirty percent, giving the feeling that this was the ‘night shift’; no matter they were lightyears from Earth, no matter the entire lunar surface was now the darkside, old habits were important to keep for a sense of normality and morale. John snorted. What the hell was the least bit normal about the situation they were in? But, as it had been pointed out to him not so long ago, it was important to ruthlessly exploit morale. Yeah, right.
He turned in his chair slightly to face the U-shaped arrangement of desks in the center of Main Mission. Only two operatives were on duty, the rest sleeping, eating, or just grieving. He didn’t have the interest to do either of the first two, nor the luxury to do the third.
He looked down to his desktop, picked up his pen and stared at the words filling the first line of the page. No, he couldn’t write this one just yet. He turned the journal’s page to a clean sheet, put pen to paper and wrote.
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Crawford,
It is my sad duty to report to you the death of your son, John. He died in the line of duty, sacrificing his life to save those of his co-workers and friends. His quick thinking and bravery single-handedly prevented the meltdown of Alpha’s nuclear generators. He will be greatly missed.
Your daughter-in-law, Susan, and the unborn child are safe and well. Rest assured that we all will help in the raising of your grandchild.
Respectfully, John R. Koenig, Commander, Moonbase Alpha
Jack had been one of the first fatalities during Breakaway. John regretted not having the time to meet the man in those first few frenzied days after his arrival, but one of Jack’s coworkers, Joan Conway, had filed the report on the monitor in front of him now. In the midst of all hell breaking loose, Jack had the presence of mind to lock down the reactor cores and prevent a cascading meltdown; preventing what most certainly what would have meant the death of everyone on Alpha. It was just damn bad luck that he had then electrocuted himself as he had gone to the assistance of a downed comrade. Such a waste.
The ink from his ballpoint pen dried quickly, too quickly he noticed. They needed to find a way to increase ambient humidity. It was like serving at Ft. Huachuca, Arizona where he had once pulled a month long tour. There it had been too damn hot and twice as dry; on Alpha at least, being warm enough was a good thing. He made a memo to review the lack of humidity with Dr. Russell.
The next file up on his monitor was Benjamin Ouma’s. The mental image of a tall, black man came to mind, a lean man in his middle years, very wise in the ways of Alpha. He had trained at MIT in the States and then taught at Oxford. A brilliant mind. He had died the fourth day out from Earth. Even John grimaced at the manner of Ben’s death. The man had been in exactly the wrong place at the wrong time, and ended up eviscerated by flying shrapnel from an exploding service module. The worst part was that Helena believed Ben lived long enough to die from asphyxiation. The same shrapnel that sliced Ben open had sliced an impossibly small hole in the viewport of the emergency pod he had dragged his bleeding body into to await rescue. The slow air leak ended in a catastrophic blow out, but Ben’s wedged body had remained inside.
The memory of a dead Ben, eyes open, staring out the viewport, holding his own guts in his lap was as bad as any war scene John ever witnessed. He shook his head to banish the memory and clicked thorough Ben’s file hunting for the next-of-kin. It took several minutes to conclude there were no next of kin. Ben’s parents and grandparents were dead, no siblings were listed, no wife nor children; no one to write to. John found that very sad. Everyone should be missed by somebody. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes resting on the globe in the corner of his office to consider that thought. Was there anyone who would miss John Koenig? No, there wasn’t. Not on Earth anyway.
John sat up straight and stretched, the motion catching the attention of one of the female red-sleeved operatives. He smiled reassuringly, then looked back down and repositioned the journal on the desktop and picked up the pen.
He turned the page.
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Carter,
It is my sad duty to report to you the death of your son, Alan. He died in the line of duty, giving his life in service to his fellow Alphans.
John picked up a pencil, wrote the phrase <<insert specifics here>> and skipped three lines. He switched back to his silver ballpoint pen.
Your son was an exemplary officer, and one I have been proud to serve beside on multiple occasions. He saved my life more then once, both during duty over the Middle East, and more recently here on Alpha. Alan’s passionate sense of duty will be his lasting legacy to the pilots he commanded. It was out of that sense of duty he followed Alpha after Breakaway, where he became one of the most valuable members of my command staff. He will be missed.
Respectfully, John R. Koenig, Commander, Moonbase Alpha
John put the pen down on the black, leather bound journal and rubbed his eyes. He hated the necessity of writing these letters, but it went with the job of being the C.O.
Why had Carter even tried to make it back to Alpha? For all Alan knew, Alpha had been blown to pieces or, at the very least, ripped open to vacuum. There was no reason for him to keep calling for survivors. Any sane person would have given up after hearing all that dead airspace and tried to make it home. If John was honest with himself, he hadn’t been thinking rationally when he asked if Carter could make it back to Alpha after NDA 2 blew. He had condemned the man to the same fate as those trapped on the moonbase. He should have ordered the man back to Earth. John shook his head ever so slightly. He should have known that crazy Aussie would try to make it to Alpha given the least provocation. Alan had done something similar once back on Earth, and had been severely castigated by his commanding officer then, and given a hero’s welcome by his men. John remembered Carter had been unrepentant that time, too, standing in front of him and getting chewed out, all without the least bit of remorse. Carter wasn’t a guy to leave a teammate behind, living or dead.
He picked the pen up and turned the page.
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Aleksandr,
It is my sad duty to report to you the death of your daughter, Tanya. She died bravely in the line of duty. <<insert specifics here>>
Your daughter added a quiet note of extreme professionalism and competence at times of utter chaos and fear. Her exemplary performance could always be counted upon to exceed expectations. She was well respected by her peers and will be greatly missed.
Respectfully, John R. Koenig, Commander, Moonbase Alpha.
He was missing something. John again opened the personnel file on Tanya, clicking through several pages. There was something nagging at his memory, something Tanya had said in passing in a conversation he had overheard. Yes. His memory was correct. Her father had been a KGB agent in the 1970’s and 80’s. He retired with the rank of Colonel. John scanned the database a bit more. An only child. How her parents must be grieving. He sat back in his padded chair and spent a few more moments scanning Tanya’s credentials. He nodded his head as he found what he expected. Like many other Russians, Tanya had served on one of the orbiting spacedocks prior to being assigned to Alpha. The Russians had been through their own version of hell after the War of ’87, what with the overthrow of Communism, but you had to give it to them. They had always maintained and manned the orbiting space stations.
John picked up his pen and struck through the ‘Mr.’ and substituted ‘Col.’ He turned the page and started fresh on the next sheet.
Dear Dr. Benes and Dr. Compt,
It is my sad duty to report to you the death of your daughter, Sandra. She died bravely in the line of duty. <<insert specifics here>>
Her longstanding and detailed knowledge of Alpha proved invaluable on many occasions, as did her ability to sift through data to deduce the critical element and present it exactly when needed. She will be missed.
Respectfully, John R. Koenig, Commander, Moonbase Alpha.
How old was Sandra? She looked all of twenty-four or twenty-five. John closed Tanya’s file and opened Sandra’s. Born in 1971. Huh. Twenty-eight. And due to be married after the New Year. Damn. John scanned an appended file noting that her pilot-fiancé had been due to arrive on Alpha September 30th for a three-month tour. So close. He scanned through a few more pages, filing away information against future need.
John had met Dr. Benes once, several years after the War of 1987. He remembered the man as being very formal, even frosty as he discussed the specifics of his Interstellar Transmitter to an audience of pilots and astronauts. Afterwards, John had approached the man but had been politely brushed off. Sandra was a gracious as her father had been disagreeable. Perhaps she took after her mother and step-mother.
He turned the page.
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Morrow,
It is my sad duty to report to you the death of your son, Paul. He died bravely in the line of duty. <<Insert specifics here>>
I was very lucky to have inherited Paul’s services as Controller upon my arrival to Alpha. He executed his job with a degree of professionalism that exemplified the finest from the European Space Agency Astronaut Corps. His knowledge of the inner workings of Alpha directly contributed to our survival after Breakaway. He will be greatly missed.
Respectfully, John R. Koenig, Commander, Moonbase Alpha
The keystrokes to open Paul’s file were easily pulled from memory. It had been one of the first files John had reviewed upon his arrival. He had wanted to find out about this man who was to be, functionally, his second-in-command, although that was not exactly how the ILC regarded it.
Paul had risen rapidly through the pilot ranks of the RAF, his command abilities quickly utilized in the officer vacuum that followed the War of ’87. He had been sponsored to the ESA and quickly appointed to the Eagle Corps. From there, it seemed he had effortlessly won an appointment to Alpha, but with the twist of being selected for Command, and not Reconnaissance.
John clicked through a few more pages of security clearance documentation and psychological testing to reach the section with Paul’s family history. He paused, a summary phrase from a psychologist briefly catching his attention. “Squadron Leader Morrow can become focused to the point of obsession.” Huh. Well that ‘obsession’ had helped keep them alive so far. The next page had next-of-kin information.
John shook his head as he read. As a teenager, Paul had lost his father to a work-related accident. Graham Morrow had died in the catastrophic neutron fallout during a test of a new space engine in 1985. The final paragraph at the bottom of the page noted his mother had remarried and now went by the name of ‘Hibberd’. John made the correction.
He turned the page.
Dear Mr. Cellini,
It is my sad duty to report to you the death of your son, Antonio. He died bravely in the line of duty. <<insert specifics here>>
As you know, Tony and I served together on many occasions. He was one of the best damn pilots I have ever met, never afraid to meet a challenge, and always loyal to his friends. It was my privilege to be able to ask him to serve once again on Alpha and my honor to have him accept.
John put the pen down. Tony had been a good friend for years. They had trained together in the mid-eighties as part of an international military wing, each cheerfully determined to humble the other with his dazzling flight skills. They had flown as wingmen in the chaos that followed those terrifying days of nuclear fall-out in ‘87. They survived being shot down and rescued after six days of hell. And after the rescue, after a chance to recover from the injuries, Tony had stayed at John’s side those first few weeks when things had settled down just a little, and when Jean’s death had been all too real.
John looked up and watched the two operatives move about in the shadowy Main Mission. He would have preferred to see four or five people on duty, but every division was stretched thin right now and Main Mission was no exception. And to be fair, there was really no need for more staff as long as things stayed quiet. It wasn’t as if there were incoming messages and Eagles arriving at all hours.
The quiet movements amongst the shadows reminded John of that other time when survival had been equally uncertain, a time when Tony had still been confident and assertive. Not everything was clear in John’s memory, the head injury had seen to that, but enough was. They’d been shot down. Tony had single handedly pulled John and John’s injured RIO out of their downed F14 and led the way hunting for enough shelter to protect the two pilots and their radio intercept officers. It had been a close call, dodging bullets and land mines, but a bolt-hole had been found. It quickly became clear that the enemy was searching for them and no one else. It would be an unparalleled publicity coup to display four of the best from the multinational alliance as POWs.
It was four hellacious days of being roasted by day, frozen at night, and thirsty throughout. John’s RIO died on day two. Muddling through his concussion, John had fallen back on his usual habit to pass the time, that of writing brief summary notes on his subordinates, ones that could be turned into the letter home in case of fatality. This time, he included his own letter to be sent to his only living relative, an elderly great-aunt. Tony had watched without comment, until the idea hit him that saved their lives.
They swapped out John’s uniform for the dead man’s, and tucked the hastily modified notes, now signed letters for each man’s family in the inner pocket. Risking his own life, Tony dragged the dead man to where he’d be found. The enemy bought the deception; the hunt was ended. Two days later, the three surviving men had stumbled across an allied reconnaissance mission and were rescued.
Many things had happened in the 90’s, but none of them caused John to lose faith in his friend. Within hours of being awarded the Command of Alpha, John emailed Tony and extended an invitation to serve at his side. Cellini had arrived September 11th. Having Tony here on Alpha was a chance to say thank you, and a selfish desire to have an ally among strangers.
John let his thoughts wander and realized he hadn’t seen Tony in the past week. He needed to check with Carter to see how his friend was settling in. John knew some in the ILC thought Tony unfit for duty. He didn’t buy that, and in any case, it was now a dead issue. Tony would have the chance to serve where he belonged, in space. He was a good man. John reread the note he had written. It would suffice. He signed his name, and turned the page.
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Kano,
It is my sad duty to report to you the death of your son, David. He died bravely in the line of duty. <<insert specifics here>>
David faced adversity with steadfast resolve. His unexpected assumption of Technical Section found a man competent and ready to handle the most demanding of tasks placed before him. David was an exemplary engineer, and a fine human being. He will be missed.
Respectfully, John R. Koenig, Commander, Moonbase Alpha
David’s file was much thinner than most of those John had reviewed so far. Unlike John, Paul and Alan, David came to Alpha from a civilian route. Although frequently contracted by various Allied military organizations for his specialized knowledge in artificial intelligence, David had remained resolutely civilian after his eighteen-month tenure in the British armed services during the War.
The longest section of David’s file was the academic credentials. Doctorates by age eighteen from Oxford in Mathematics and Computer Engineering. A long list of scholarly research articles published in all the most prestigious journals. There were numerous accolades from British, Canadian, American and Russian military officials. John jumped ahead half way through the commendation section to scan the all-too-brief personal interest section. Master-ranked chess player, recreational pilot, professional show-dog exhibitor. John blinked, and paused at the last. It just seemed so out of place against all the academic accomplishments. A small smile tugged at his lips as he scanned the attached image. The picture of David in a tuxedo leading a tiny beagle around a show ring seemed so completely incongruous.
The next section wiped the smile from John’s face. David’s mother was killed in southern Europe while on vacation in 1987... during the same wave of attacks that had killed Jean. The only surviving family member listed was an elderly grandfather. John shook his head, and pen in hand, struck out the initial salutation and made the necessary change.
The sense of someone standing close behind him penetrated his concentration. John realized with mild surprise he knew who it was without looking up. In any case, there were few who would enter his office without announcing themselves and awaiting an invitation. Even Victor usually waited until he opened the door. No doubt she had been standing there awhile waiting for him to acknowledge her.
“You are writing their obituaries? I know things are grim, but isn’t that more than a little premature?”
He pivoted his chair to face his office proper and looked up at his visitor. A small smile crossed his weary face as he watched her read the last entry. With a glance for permission, she leafed through the last several journal pages, pausing briefly on one before moving on. He was glad now he hadn’t written the first one. Helena’s. After only three weeks, he was beginning to rely on this woman’s steady presence and good judgment. He watched as her eyes scanned Jack’s letter. He wondered, what secrets did her past hold? He knew she was considered preeminent in her field, was widowed, and childless, but little else. Where was she raised? What did she do as a hobby? Did she like ketchup or mustard on her hamburger? Well, it was beginning to look like they might just survive long enough for him to find out.
“You need to rest, John.”
He snatched his attention back from his meanderings to find Helena gently chiding him, eyes running critically over his no doubt exhausted face. With cool, light fingers, she tilted his chin up for a closer examination.
“Devotion to duty is all well and good, Commander, but if you don’t set the example, how am I to get the senior staff to follow my orders and rest?”
John sighed and nodded agreement to her calm logic, but there was something in her expression, in her body language... It was way too early to tell, but just maybe there would be someone who would grieve over his death.
“I’ll make a deal with you, Doctor. Join me in a walk to check on the status of the scavenged Eagles, and I’ll let you escort me to my quarters.”
He watched as Helena raised an eyebrow, quickly dropping her hand back to her side. He realized his lighthearted suggestion to simply make sure he made it back to his quarters to rest could be construed as a proposition. Damn, he must be tired to have missed that. He quickly opened his mouth to clarify, but Helena waved his apology aside.
“That sounds good. I’ve been cooped up in Medical far too long. A walk would be wonderful.”
John nodded. He closed his journal, placing it, the pen and pencil in the top drawer of the desk next to the ‘Eyes Only’ security report binders that were all rather moot now. He stood and held out an arm to gesture her to precede him out the door. A walk and then sleep. Sounded good. He followed the good doctor out and they walked down the darkened corridors side by side.
There would be more letters to write, later. Victor Bergman, Bob Mathias, and over 290 others. And Helena Russell. He would dig deeper into each file, learning what made each man or woman uniquely qualified to serve on Alpha. He needed to know their strengths, and their weaknesses. He had a good group of people under his command. Damn good. Too good to be beaten by a runaway moon. There would be a home out there somewhere for them. It hadn’t been Meta, but it was out there. Somewhere.
27 November 2007
MGK
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