Europa Break: "Costs" (Patreon)

Author's note: this is written by me, not AI. As such there can be errors or clunkiness, all subject to revision and changes. Here you will see our Europa Break Commander, Gen Orion, traveling aboard the "Calisto" class sub, meeting the crew and studying in depth the EB tech he will command. You learn more about everything from this Chapter of the machines and men who are attempting the impossible.

“Costs” 

It was the sleep of the dead. His eyes creaked open. A purple glow permeated his small crew bunk area. A desk with several thick binders sat upon it. He wiggled his toes in the fleece sleeping bag. He looked at his blue Casio Gulfmaster watch. He’d been asleep for 11 hours straight. It felt good.

Brody hadn’t crashed out like since triple turning in the F35 during the war. When you're focused on a mission, you keep going. You rest when it's done. But the bill always comes due at the first opportunity. He'd just paid eleven hours of it. The days leading up to the sub pickup were deceivingly stressful he figured. Never mind jumping into a dark cold ocean and swimming down 20 meters to an awaiting tactical submarine.

He leaned forward on the bunk, swung his feet to the floor and saw an pre-positioned pair of Crocs. Crocs, please tell me no he thought. He used to make fun of his buddy “Ransack” for his love of them any time he was on Cool Boy. He would squish around in them on the deck enduring Brody’s days long harassment over his goofy foot gear choice. Ransack didn’t give a shit, always wearing them on the boat and on all the multiple deployments he’d done with him. He laughed thinking how Ransack would love this moment, having the last laugh. Brody tried them and finally got the attraction: damn these things were comfortable. He stared at this feet in the Crocs for a moment. He would miss his friend… a lot. 

He then then went over to the thick folder labeled “For Commander Marcus Orion” with “Destroy in Case of Capture or Sinking,” this took his glance to the electrified ash receptacle in the corner of the small room. It was red and had a simple old school step actuated lid. For fun he actuated it to check its function. The container crackled and snapped in an criss crossing arcing action, ready to incinerate the contents. Holy shit, he thought, and this is just the trash can. He thought of putting the Crocs in there. 

Inside the dossier he found an amazing stack of detailed paper briefs, revealing this outlining the historical and currents operations and technology of the Europa Break movement. These were printed out and labeled as Crew Recruiting, Propulsion Advancement, Materials Advancement, Weaponry Advancement, AI Tech Crew, Amazonian Integration, Indigenous Peoples, Security, Europa Space Infantry, 87th Sleeper Cell Ops, and more. None of it was encrypted or coded. All of it was fascinating. He figured he’d need another nap after this stack. 

The sub Captain knocked on the door, “Sir, permission to enter.” “Permission granted” said General Orion.

“Sire we are currently 655 miles from the drop point. It will be in the mexican gulf where you will be picked up by CPC or Concept Proving Craft. It’s basically a UFO. You’ll then be transported to Europa Staging Base and be entered into training. The folder you have is an informational intro our operations. We are all honored you took this assignment.” 

“Thank you. How long have you been Captain of this vessel Ryan?” Marcus questioned, always one to get down to business.

“Two years, it is not my primary duty, it’s my tertiary. All crew will have multiple specialties, all carry a combat mission-support purpose, and this is one of mine. I was trained in conjunction with Stella ship operations both in simulator and actual maritime sorties in that time. The rescue divers who got you have the same tasking although different crew and/or combat specialties. I will be assigned as Stella 2 XO once underway.”

Brody let all that sink in for a moment. It was dense.

“Sir this is one of five operating EB “Calisto” Class A tactical submarines, each has a designate geographic zone but they can overlap. This particular girl is named “Anita” and she has been in operation for 5 years already, running a Gen 1 hypersonic drive. You’ll see the briefing sheet on the type in the binders.”

“So we will be expecting combat?”

“Anita has seen combat twice already. Two aggressive surface contacts, one gun engagement, one torpedo engagement, both were successful.  Our EB operation is always defended against EG intrusion or discovery. They have advanced intelligence assets, deployed in all locations, and use both autonomous and manned combat systems that you are familiar with. Much is at stake, our knowledge of EB is valuable, and we have orders to fight to the death if necessary. All crew are sworn combatants in Europa Space Infantry or ESI, protecting the launch mission. Welcome to the club.”

Marcus pondered the information, imagining this little sub surfacing and engaging a surface vessel with its gun. Must have been a good surprise.

“And the gun, stowed and faired on the foredeck, yes?”

“Yes sir. It's an EB-developed 30-millimeter system, our GAU-30W. Think M197 architecture, except ours is in 30 mike mike, marine-rated, stabilized, and considerably less polite. Six hundred rounds aboard. Mixed PGU-series load, DU armor piercing and high-explosive incendiary.”

““So you put a damn mini A10 Avenger cannon in a submarine?”

“That was essentially the design requirement, sir. A directed energy option was considered but the time frame and materials limitations prevented its fitting. The GAU met its design objectives. It wasn’t on my command, it was Marty’s, but he said it was a sight to behold on the 100 ft vessel, 220 rounds expended of mixed density.”

“But our job both now and then is to not be seen. We are low key on we do everything in order to preserve the timeline. We have people and assets in place to ensure that.” 

“Our job on this mission is to protect and deliver you safely to the RZ point. We avoid all maritime contacts as much as possible but with AI patrol craft becoming more common with EG, we can still be surprised. There’s even some big ones, 150 ft, fully armed. to that end Anita also carries two US Navy EB-modified Mk 46 lightweight torpedoes, stolen by the way. We are not to be taken alive. But you’re now in charge of this operation now sir, do you concur with our current ROE?”

Brody again wiggled his toes in Crocs, he was beginning to like them and he sure liked this brief. Solid.

“Absolutely, carry on as previously ordered. The surface contacts, were they human crewed vessels or AICPCs (AI Controlled Patrol Craft)?”

Capt Ryan fixed his gaze to the General because he wanted to be understood “One had 7 human crew, we think 4 survived, we observed one life raft was deployed as we egressed. The other was a station keeping AICPC that was station keeping us.”

“We do not pick survivors, none EB personnel cannot come aboard, and human losses on both sides are the cost of doing business. I’ve seen it.”

About 10 seconds passed as each considered and accepted that reality. This was the life Marcus had lived already and it continued with the Europa mission. But he was feeling for the first time the commitment of this Council to see things through. He saw no half measures here. He still felt badly for innocent people caught up in this action. He felt the same way with some strafing runs he’d been ordered to make as a 1st Lt. He knew that weight. He'd carried it for decades.

“Everything we are doing is to protect and make possible our timeline, sir”

“I have been instructed to answer any and all questions you have, there are to be no secrets kept from you. The timeline refers to our planned launch window for all six Stella spacecraft to launch from the Amazon base for Europa. Everything you have seen and will see is dictated by this launch window. It is slated to happen exactly 18 months and 2 days from now. You are asked to oversee and command this final phase and preparation of the crews, ground combat forces, the CPCs, the Calistos, the ALFIs, ESI SC, and more. It’s all in the binders.”

The conversation had taken him away from his homework but he looked at it again with renewed interest, knowing this would be foundational to his upcoming job. He made a mental note to memorize every detail and become expert in the history of this operation.

Gen Orion received the timeline answer with “Well if there’s anything pisses me off more it’s someone screwing up a good plan, I’ll do my best not to be that person.”

They laughed which cut the heavy conversation with some needed levity.

“And from what I’m seeing you should be a Stella Captain Ryan, not just an Executive Officer. This mission were on right now is amazing.”

“I appreciate the confidence in me and like you I’m working hard not to disappoint. The Captain of my ship, Randy Hewitt, is a solid choice, you’ll like him even though he’s a Navy man,” added Ryan.

“We all make bad life choices” the General quipped.

Just then some of the other crew, gave a quick hello and intros in the compartment and asked if Brody was hungry.

“Famished”

“Well as we leave you to your studying, we have a special treat for you as we know you like good pizza.”

The crew then presented a beautiful artesian piping hot margarita pizza with extra cheese. They had placed in on a piece of wood and it was cut. It was a work of art.

The General’s stared in amazement. He was thinking more along the lines of a damn beanie weenie MRE. But this? First the damn sub, then the electrified garbage can, then the GAU8, now pizza? He knew he’d made the right decision. 

“When it comes to good food sir, you’ll find that EB does not mess around. We’ve had pizza contests aboard the sub, this is Martinez’s entry.”

Brody peered out the door, saw a small galley, and there it was: a damn pizza oven. Compact but recognizable.

“That was a push to get that into the sub but we did it. Nothing like hot pizza to fight off the coldness of the sea.”

“I’m putting you in for a Medal of Honor” the General quipped as he took his first bite. This pizza slapped.

Everyone laughed, happy the General approved of their cooking. They kind of knew what they were doing. 

“Sir I let you get back to your reading. Our position is northwest of the Baja Peninsula, traveling at 25 knots at a depth of 100 meters, ETA to pick up is about 32 hours 27 minutes. After your reading I’ll be happy to answer any other questions you might have.”

As the vessel’s Captain said this he handed Brody two iced up Diet Cokes, in the cans. He again marveled at their attention to detail. Nothing made him sadder than a flat Diet Coke, frequent from fountain dispensers.

“A mini fridge is over in the corner with some other refreshments sir.”

Brody expressed gratitude as he always did, continued cramming down the pizza, and got to work on the folder. Of all the interesting dossiers he had, he went to “Crew Recruiting” first. As a commander he knew that this EB mission would succeed or fail due to the people making it happen. He wanted to get to know what he had to work with too.

The first thing that caught his eye was this: “All recruited individuals will be sworn combatants in the Europa Break cause; all will be expected to fight in protection of the mission when necessary. Find people that are willing to die for a higher purpose.” 

There was that commitment again. The Council expected the same level of commitment they had shown by all players who they would seek out to make the mission a reality. He thought of EarthGov, its brutal methods, quickness to pursue war as a policy instrument and its intolerance of noncompliance. If they found out about EC’s plans to go off-planet, they would crush it and everyone supporting it. They wouldn’t jail these people, they’d kill them. Combat, he thought, would be inevitable. 

Then he pondered, “…to die for a higher purpose.” He thought it could have been worded better but he understood this sentiment. A similar “mission statement” underscored everything he ever did in the Air Force. These statements serve to focus the troops, bringing out the best in them and not hold anything back. 

He saw cutting edge weapon systems being flatlined by the wrong pilot and seemingly obsolete ones rising to greatness in the hands of a warrior. This is the vibe that caught his attention dockside when Reese had recruited him. Here he was seeing it codified and he liked it. 

As a commander his job was to create a personal environment for each of his troops to get their jobs done to the best of their abilities. He never thought he was perfect in this but he always strived to be that kind of commander. One that could inspire greatness when it was called for. For instance, in his last wartime billet as an O6, his pilots were double or even triple “turning” to fill the missions when the ops temp required it. Some never returned. The oppositions’s increasingly sophisticated manned-unmanned combat teams were taking a terrible toll.

It was in those dark days he remembered the words of his his old football coach: “When they're tired, you run harder. When they're hurting, you stand taller. When they're afraid, you show them courage. You don't ask your teammates to go somewhere you aren't willing to go first.” So against the advice of his own commander he took to leading combat formations again, leaving the admin work on the table for a time. This turned around the unit. Complaints about the ops tempo diminished when they saw their own Colonel doing the same work and even getting some shoot downs. It was a high point of his command.

Brody felt this same style of leadership exactly what the Europa Mission would absolutely need. Here he was to lead men and women, not just into combat, but into the a dark abyss, an unknown realm with most likely a disastrous outcome. He knew the odds…so did the council. He'd seen the projections. The numbers were ugly, even under their most optimistic assumptions.

And yet here he was on a fucking submarine headed to the Amazon to lead this entire effort. For this first time in a long time, Marcus felt a tinge of doubt, both in himself and the future. He wiggled his toes in the Crocs, listened to sub’s power plant, and stared at the mini fridge. He paused his study…and thought.

Had the chosen the right man for this job? His leadership or any faults therein could kill a lot of people, both unborn and living, and jeopardize this incredible effort. He took a deep breath. He found this helped clear his mind, grounding his thinking.

And who else would they get, he thought? He mentally filed through the leaders he’d known in his life and they were some great ones. But this? To “die” and embark on an extraterrestrial path to colonize humanity off-planet? The names on his list fell away as he considered each of their personalities. He was left with a stark reality.

They had chosen correctly and he knew it. He WAS the guy. And just like he’d told his many subordinates: “We don’t expect perfection in the job, we expect overcoming setbacks and showing improvement, and getting the job done in the process.” His words now both haunted and inspired him at once.

He closed his eyes and said a quick prayer. First, he gave thanks to God that the pickup had gone as planned. Then he asked for forgiveness for his many faults, the failures with his own family, and for being given a second chance with this “new family.” He then asked for help in what was coming, that he would do the right thing, especially in His eyes.

That brought his confidence back. He chugged the soda, ate some more pizza, and got back to work studying the material. The time was 0745 hours.

He looked around for a highlighter. It’s just how he absorbed information better; a holdover from football again. He looked in the small drawer. He found a yellow one, he preferred green, but decided to overcome the inconvenience. Marcus chuckled to himself at that last thought. Who in the hell knew to put a highlighter on a next gen combat sub? He’d promote him.

And he loved how these were paper briefings. Each was detailed in nature with accompanying photos showing the evolution and failu res of each concept. He read about ALFI, RT2/Craft V3, GAIT, AEX-9, VTU, MGF, RU/RD, Bio limits, CPCs, EG AIMS, GAD, translational units, and a bunch more. All this made the F-35’s Dash One read like a children’s book.

But it all made sense somehow. For instance the concept of the Concept Proving Crafts was genius. They had designed basically a UFO, at least in the pop culture, aesthetic that serves the Europa Break mission on multi-levels: test bed for Gravitational Acceleration Drives with the Gatsby couplings, pioneering vectoring/navigation/accelerative capabilities of GAD, serving as a pickup vehicle for recruited EB members (!), distracting the populaces which would dilute EG resources, and do all this running around at Mach 6, invisible to radar and other detection. Incredible. 

He absorbed himself in the photos of the CPCs, taking special interest in both their power plant compartments and the crew interface. Passages discussed how the original alien craft lack accommodations for human pilots and discussed the surprising difficulties encountered in creating such. In the “Piloting” section he pored over the images of the encapsulated crew seats, pressure suits, dual controls [side by side seating], instrumentation. None of it was familiar but as he paged thru the briefing, it started to add up. 

The CPCs were not designed to be primarily piloted by human pilots but by the GAITs or the onboard AI piloting system. He read about their testing phase of both and charts that gave him a headache proved the point: the AI systems were superior in all phases. From his own fighter pilot experience he had come to accept this fact years ago with the push to autonomous drone formations and then fighters. He knew those charts looked familiar. He hated them then too.

He liked the depth on each of these briefing. Each was about ten pages or so, single space, single line summaries at the head of each paragraph, and detailed images followed. There were about ten more these pages as well. Overall these EB technology briefings were written sparsely and to the point, all without emotion. He remembered in his technical writing class in college his professor often derided him for not being able to achieve the same. He thought that guy was over the top anal. Turns out he was right all along: convey information quickly and make it easy to absorb. This was THAT. 

On page seven of the CPC brief he came across “Fatalities.” His expression changed to one of interest to one of dread. He knew what this meant.

That no new technology, involving humans, can be achieved without a cost. Indeed in the CPC development two paragraphs summarized both the mistakes, miscalculations of the development team. One said: “GAD acceleration was understood but not appreciated. Both human and AI calculations were off in both the acceleration and deceleration profiles of the testing craft. On Mission 0 two crew were lost, both sustained unsurvivable acceleration loads resulting in catastrophic biological trauma. The AI pilot returned the craft. The telemetry achieved during this profile pinpointed the miscalculations and accel/decel profiles were likewise modified. Subsequent missions, specifically Mission 1-5 shown them to be viable with human occupants. Two other test pilots were lost due to escaping gravitational/radiative fields with improper shielding of the GAD/RU/RD holding chamber. Missions 6 showed improper installation and leakage, one more fatality. Improvements made. Missions 7+ achieved safe human occupancy among standard profiles. Ergonomic interfaces proved to be acceptable.”

Brody thought “ The machine had performed flawlessly. It was the men inside who hadn't survived the performance on the first missions.” He understood that price and as he flipped the page over, it seems the Council had as well.

In the technical briefing on the CPC were photos of the crew lost during the failed Missions, a short bio, how they were recruited, and even their plaques of remembrance placed in EB facilities. Four men, one woman. Each had been volunteers for the Missions. One looked especially like a wingman he had lost over Korea. He marveled how their families would never know how they really had died. And probably wouldn’t believe it anyhow. 

He had seen it when he came into the sub’s commander’s quarters, the phrase stenciled on the wall. It read “We Create Tomorrow.” Yes we do…but it’s expensive, just like this. He vowed under his command the utilization of humans in any testing would be minimized.

General Orion then pivoted to the other briefs and each with economical precision, delivered in dispassionate fashion. They chronicled the failures, the amazing sacrifices to obtain the original alien technology, historical and current states of development, logistics and deliveries of materials for construction (especially to the AB or Amazon Bases), design objectives, AI and GAIT assistance in overcoming engineering challenges, and most importantly, LEVELS OF ACCEPTABLE DEVELOPMENT.

What?

In reading about the technologies, each brief ended with that assessment. Not one technology was considered by EC to be perfected. A percentage of development, estimates from the best information they could obtain, was assigned to each tech. For instance, for GAD, the percentage of acceptability was 70-80% “design effectiveness.” It wen on “Design effectiveness measures performance against the technology's intended design objectives, not its probability of functioning safely.” This made him breathe a bit better.

He read through each of the briefs, paying close attention to the percentages. A couple, like the General AI Technician at 95% DE, impressed him. Most did not. Each brief explained why the given percentage would be viable for its given part of the Europa Break mission. This was the reality of creating so many brand new, highly technical advancements so “quickly.” There wasn’t time for perfection…it would be impossible.

And here he was thinking how difficult getting to Europa would be. Turns out just getting the Stellas off planet would be the first party trick. And for the first time the high probability of failure was sinking in.  

He looked at his watch. The time was 1330 hours.

The submarine coursed through offshore waters at an average depth of 100 meters, occasionally reaching the promised 25 knots, an incredible speed for such a small vessel. Its propulsion system operated almost silently, while the crew navigated around known seabed listening stations.

Brody settled into a rhythm of studying, grabbing quick bites, sleeping, and visiting with the crew. The hours passed. Nearly 44 hours after his pickup at the Farallon Islands, they approached Point Shamrock, the designated transfer point at Bahía Santa María on Mexico's Pacific coast. It was approaching 1400 hours, local time. 

The door cracked open at the right time with Brody just exiting the small toilet in the corner. He was kind of wishing it had a door because he had just wrecked that thing.

“Sir, we’ll be at the transfer point in 30 minutes, you’ll have a single-pilot CPC picking you up topside. They’re station keeping right now and we are in contact. Surface targets are absent and the shoreline is empty. We have opted for a daylight pickup given this intel but we need your concurrence.”

Brody thought only for a second and responded, “Excellent Capt Ryan, proceed as planned I’ll be ready.”

The days of studying and thinking had already moved the General from a position of spectator to actor in the mission and he was mentally moving accordingly. A small voice inside his head said “fake it til you make it.” He had always hated hearing that by the way. 

“By the way, I assume the duffle of tactical kit is for me?”

“Yes sir. You have a 180-round loadout, body armor, integrated PFD, survival kit, FAK, comms devices, lighting, tools, knife, and some Hershey bars in there.”

“I found the Hershey bars already. They’re gone.” Brody said as he started to suit up with the LBE and kit.

“We have more, almond or no almond?”

“Almond” said the General, “I’m not a fucking communist.”

Both laughed. Capt Ryan helped clip on the General’s body armor.

“And sir you tactical carbine is on the CPC already, I think 6.5 Creedmoor SAPR is on the menu if that’s ok.”

“I love how you get me Ryan.”

A gentle alarm sounded on the sub and he saw a new set of activities by the crew. Two assigned ESI soldiers armed up, with one carrying a long gun of unknown origin. It wasn’t a firearm but something else. He hadn’t seen the brief on that one. 

“Interesting piece, capabilities?” he quipped to the lead trooper.

“HIBINAV sir. Line of sight firing, easily 500 meter engagement, more with less induction, no recoil, very little sound but this version has low pulse recharge so we have to keep the shots down. I think this is a Gen 1” then pausing after recognizing his own jargon explained “High Intensity Beam-Inducted Nitric Acid Vapor weapon. I always wanted to Trick or Treat with something like this.”

He could feel the vessel rising. All the crew braced for surface operations, both troops were poised on the ladder. Brody here some motors working on the foredeck. That would be the GAU-30W prepping for any surface contacts.

The XO spun the wheel on the top hatch, let the water drain, and the ESI troops scrambled top side.

The General always took exception to Flag Officers who were a liability in field operations. He never knew one that didn’t get in the way. He long ago swore that, no matter what, he’d be an asset not a burden to his commanded troops in operations. As such he had stacked, without being told, right behind the troops and followed them without any gap. This pickup needed to be clean and fast.

Brody heard something strange above him. Not an engine, not a rotor, not even a jet exhaust. More like a deep displacement of air, a low rushing pressure that he could feel against his face rather than hear. He looked up.

There it was.

A massive disc-shaped craft, wearing a bizarre pattern of blue and gray sky camouflage, moving effortlessly into position above the submarine. No wings, no visible propulsion, no exhaust, no aerodynamic control surfaces. It simply translated through the air, decelerated with impossible precision, and stopped.

Twenty feet above them.

Marcus stared. His fighter pilot brain was already racing, instinctively searching for lift, thrust, vectoring, something that could explain what he was seeing. There was nothing. The machine simply hung there, indifferent to gravity, the wind, or everything he'd spent his flying career understanding.

He'd seen the photographs. Read the engineering reports. Studied the acceleration profiles. Even seen the names of the people who had died developing it.

None of that mattered now.

General Marcus Orion had always believed these aircraft existed. He'd even glimpsed one before. But now one was hovering directly above Anita, close enough to touch.

"We have a chance" he said quietly.

Then he grinned.

"We created tomorrow.”