"Copy that, Colonel. Excellent work," Ellsworth said. "Standby for further instructions."

"Standing by," Beck said.

"Admiral, we're ready when you are," Ellsworth said.

"We'll need to hold off until Captain Risher clears the outer system threats and makes his way down here," Jackson said. "The Marines can hold the platform until we're ready."

"Understood, sir. Helm! Take us back up to thirty-eight thousand kilometers altitude. Geostationary orbit…park us right over Exeter Base."

"Engines coming up…climbing to thirty-eight thousand klicks, aye!" the helmswoman said. "Four hours to target altitude."

The high-altitude, geostationary orbit would allow them to keep the base under constant surveillance while also making sure the Saber wasn't trapped in a lower orbit. It was the most vulnerable spot a captain could leave a ship in and, in this case, it also put the people on the surface at risk from enemy fire.

"Captain, I'll be in my quarters until Captain Risher is ready to execute his mission. Please, alert me if anything changes on the surface," Jackson said.

"Of course, Admiral."

Jackson marched off the bridge, Gunny Barton falling in behind him. He needed to talk to Pike again and make sure New Sierra was completely aware of what he intended to do. The ships and personnel under his command had been detached from CENTCOM so completely their service records and serial numbers had been quarantined and purged from the active rolls. For all intents and purposes, the people he led were no longer members of the United Terran Federation Armed Services.

While he hated he even had to consider such trivial things, he respected Admiral Pitt and PM Marcum enough to at least give them a heads up there could be some political fallout if his involvement was discovered. The existence of the Super Valkyrie-class ships, much less them illegally operating outside of normal command structure, would bury both of them. Jackson knew neither cared more about their careers than doing the right thing, but the loss of either of them would be a serious blow to the Federation's military at a time it could least afford it.

"I'll be in here for a little bit," he said to Barton. "Grab some chow if you want, and then meet me back here."

"I'll be quick, sir," Barton said, waiting until Jackson had closed the hatch before heading off towards the officer's mess.

Jackson went straight to his desk and formulated a full, formal report meant to be submitted to Director Perez, Chief of Staff Pitt, and PM Marcum for the official record of his mission. Before he started, he reached up to his normal Bluebird transceiver and punched in the maintenance access code so he could check how many times it had been used. Grunting, he went back to his report.

He was only twenty minutes into it when the hatch banged open, and Barton walked in with a steaming hot tray of food that smelled amazing. Jackson was about to berate him for bringing it back to his quarters when the Marine set the tray in front of him, along with one tall glass of water and another full of the fruit punch flavored electrolyte drink they served. The air in starships was kept at just under twenty percent humidity so crews were always drinking water and treating nose bleeds.