by P. R. Adams
Shadow Strike
A Military Space Opera Tale
P. R. Adams
Promethean Tales
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or otherwise, without written permission from the author.
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SHADOW STRIKE
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Copyright © 2019 P R Adams
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All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.
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Illustration © Tom Edwards
TomEdwardsDesign.com
Created with Vellum
Contents
Also by P. R. Adams
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by P. R. Adams
For updates on new releases and news on other series, visit my website and sign up for my mailing list at:
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http://www.p-r-adams.com
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The War in Shadow
Shadow Moves
Shadow Play
Shadow Strike
Books in the On The Brink Universe
The Stefan Mendoza Trilogy
Into Twilight
Gone Dark
End State
The Rimes Trilogy
Momentary Stasis
Transition of Order
Awakening to Judgment
The ERF Series
Turning Point
Valley of Death
Jungle Dark
Chariot Bright
Dawn Fire
The Lancers Series
Deep Descent
Deadly Game
Dire Straits
The Burning Sands Trilogy
Beneath Burning Sands
Across Burning Sands
Beyond Burning Sands
Books in The Chain Series
The Chain: Shattered
The Journey Home
Rock of Salvation
From the Depths
Ever Shining
Dedication
For all those lost in the shadow.
1
Commander Faith Benson had finally succumbed. Not to Azoren guns or the peculiarities of the strange infighting of the GSA and SAID intelligence agencies but to the pressures of fashion. She’d printed out a blue jumpsuit to match the uniform preference of her task group and dressed in that for the morning shift.
She was regretting the decision now.
The material was stiff and coarse, and the cut around the hips was wrong, so now the seam was riding up her crotch and between her butt cheeks. She’d used her latest measurements—from several months back—but perhaps the design wasn’t meant for someone with her physique. Taller than many men, a little wide in the shoulders and hips, slender but not slight, she had always been a problem for tailors, just as much as her jade eyes and brown hair presented challenges for finding suitable colors for her civilian wear.
What if she’d put on weight?
The idea gnawed at her throughout the morning. It felt like a failing on par with her constant warring with Lieutenant Commander Patty Scalise, who seemed confused by everything. Was she captain of the Clarion or not? How could she be captain and also be executive officer to Benson? How could Benson set up her XO for failure time and again? The pudgy, squat woman with the rat’s nest of dark hair was always spoiling for a fight, always sure she’d been targeted.
For Benson, it was just like having the seam riding up her butt crack.
She backed against the rear of the bridge, settling near the hatch and pressing her back against the bulkhead. All the soft chatter of the bored crew, the flicker of lights as the maintenance teams tried to finish repairs without causing trouble for the ship, the feel of people that were her own team—it provided some hint of comfort and normalcy.
But days on from escaping the giant Azoren moon of Jotun, Benson couldn’t find true comfort. She couldn’t shake the idea that the Clarion air recyclers were failing to scrub the sting of ash and gore from the environment. It stuck in her throat. It haunted her dreams and threatened to choke her when she limped through the passageways on a slowly healing leg.
And then there were the looks. Everyone’s eyes seemed to fall on her when she moved about the ship.
Those eyes always carried the same condemnation: Murderer. Betrayer.
That’s what the message was, what the survivors of Jotun talked about.
The commander of the task force, the woman who led the mission into Azoren space—she killed comrades, sent them to their deaths.
She lied. She promised resuscitation to Lieutenant Durall, then killed him.
And she left the dead behind on an enemy world.
Who wouldn’t believe the stories? After all, they were true. More importantly, they were being spread by credible witnesses.
Captain Owen Gadreau, the head of the Clarion’s depleted Marine contingent.
Samir Patel, the senior Security And Intelligence Directorate agent.
And probably every other survivor of the Jotun mission.
Then there was Scalise. Benson was absolutely sure the lieutenant commander’s voice would echo any stories that made her boss look bad.
Benson’s palms dampened at the memory of the last confrontation she’d had with her XO. They were fresh out of the demilitarized zone bordering Azoren space, still taking stock of what they’d actually come away with—survivors, equipment, capabilities, enemy technology that was still being torn into.
Somehow, Scalise had turned the discussion of logistics into a personal affront. A simple question about damage control assessment had led to a beet-faced challenge.
Scalise had tugged at her sideburns. “You’re just like all of them. Every chance you get, you set me up for failure.”
No words could get across just how untrue that was.
So Benson had sucked in the recriminations and anger, had smiled, and had canceled the meeting.
A meeting was easily canceled, but running away from the crew and all the rumors and accusations wasn’t so easily avoided.
Benson tried to tell Scalise she had command of the bridge, but the only thing that came out was a dry gasp. After a few panicked breaths, Benson swallowed and tried again. “Commander Scalise, I need to step away.”
The XO seemed to shrug. “We’ll contact you if you’re needed, Commander.”
No grace. No camaraderie. The woman just seemed determined to burn bridges.
Lights flickered as Benson wandered the passageway. She pulled her communicator out, let it settle against the palm of her trembling hand, and connected to Lieutenant Brianna Stiles, one of the only people who didn’t seem to have
knives out at the moment. “Brianna, do you have time for a coffee?”
“I’ll meet you in the galley.” The lieutenant’s voice was welcome and warm.
Benson poured herself a coffee and settled at a table in the same corner where she’d spoken to Grier and Halliwell in preparation for going down to Jotun…how long had that been? A week? It felt like months.
No one else was around, so that the only noise was the clatter and thrum of robotic cleaning systems back in the kitchen area. Soapy steam drifted through the doorway separating the galley from the preparation area, lending the place a sense of cleanliness.
Nonsense, Benson told herself. Nothing would ever feel clean again.
She wrapped her fingers around the cup to fight off the strange chill that seemed to take root in her gut.
A few minutes later, Stiles popped her head through the door and looked around. When the Group for Strategic Assessment agent spotted Benson, the commander waved the younger woman over. Even without makeup and in a jumpsuit that didn’t cling to her curves, the lieutenant was annoyingly radiant. Her golden brown flesh seemed to glow, and her full lips seemed perpetually glossy. It left Benson feeling inadequate.
At least Stiles was supportive. “You look terrible, Commander.”
“Thanks. I knew you’d be able to pick me back up.”
“Sorry. I thought maybe you were sick.”
Benson stirred her drink. It was too hot, and the sweetener she’d put into it was going to make her feel bloated. She sipped anyway, then set her cup down. “I needed someone to talk to.”
“Scalise again?”
“And Gadreau. And Patel.”
“Colonel McLeod’s going to deal with Agent Patel.”
“Going to. We’re almost back to Kedraal, and I’m still being ambushed with demands for meetings. I wish he’d stayed aboard the gunship. He’s already filed two complaints about the after-action report not being available—”
“Also for the colonel to deal with.”
“Well, he’s not dealing with it right now.”
The pretty GSA officer sipped her coffee. “Some people seek out confrontation. It seems that Colonel McLeod prefers to deal with things indirectly where possible.”
“Is it?”
“Is it possible to deal with Agent Patel indirectly? I’m beginning to think not.”
“Then how do we deal with him?”
“The colonel will use appropriate channels when we return to Kedraal.”
“Appropriate channels… It sounds like there won’t be any action at all.”
“Relationships between the intelligence agencies are…delicate. As far as I can tell, there’s always a rivalry at work behind the scenes—for financing and influence.”
Benson swirled her coffee. “Not to be insensitive, but is there really a rivalry?”
“There are sections of the GSA committed to fact-driven—”
“No, I mean in budgeting and influence. SAID is easily the biggest agency. They’re huge.”
“It is the biggest. And it has the greatest influence. And that’s only grown more noticeable under Prime Minister Igarashi. It wasn’t always that way, and it won’t always be the same.”
“You really think that? My mother always said she worried about the Directorate holding too much sway. When I was young, she claimed that they manipulated elections.”
The GSA officer pressed her lips tight. “It’s possible.”
“Election meddling should be impossible.”
“If enough people are willing to look away when even terrible crimes are committed, then nothing’s impossible.”
“I…never believed her.” Benson swallowed. It had always been an issue of contention, and now she was facing the possibility that her mother had been correct. “How deep does this sort of corruption go?”
“All the way through.” Stiles set her coffee mug down and pressed her hands against the tabletop. “When I was young and still in training, people inside SAID approached me.”
“When you were still in training? You barely look old enough to be in the field.”
“Y-yes.” An alien look of uncertainty flashed across the younger woman’s face.
“They tried to recruit you?”
“Flipping. That’s what it’s called. There was an entire section of the Directorate committed to it. Sex, money, drugs—they try everything. If they can’t entice you and convince you they’re the winning team, then they can blackmail you. They actually prefer blackmail in a lot of cases.”
“I’d heard about situations in the parliament—compromised politicians.”
Stiles nodded. “That’s where the influence begins.”
“And the GSA knows?”
“Every agency knows. There are operations committed to stopping it. CED and the OEB.”
“I’ve heard of CED. Counter-Espionage Directorate, right?”
“Yes. And the Office of Ethical Behavior. There’s a fairly small but capable group of investigators within that office who handle violations of law, like the political extortion you mentioned. But when you have corrupt politicians in control of funding, all the oversight loses its teeth.”
“And it sounds like there’s more to it than that. Is there?”
“Silos. Groups split off from other groups, never knowing what’s really going on. Shadows within shadows. This stealth technology you saw—it’s what the community is like. If you’re hidden, and you see something you need to tell people about, you can’t, not without giving yourself away.”
Benson shivered. “How can you deal with it? It sounds so terrible.”
“It’s all I’ve ever known.”
“Well, you should get out more. I mean, fall back on what you enjoyed as a kid. Life is better than what you’re describing.”
“Someone has to do this, Commander. The struggle isn’t just about spying on the enemy—it’s about watching the watchers. Agendas and mindsets matter more than objective truth. We need to change that.”
“Have you seen things you want to tell people about?”
The lieutenant bowed her head. “I’m sorry about the people you lost. I think it’s why Commander Martinez insisted upon keeping you out of the loop. He didn’t want anyone else to have to go through what he did.”
“Thanks, but it sounds like you’re avoiding the question.”
“I have to.”
“So you have seen things?”
“Not that I can talk about.”
“What about McLeod?”
“I don’t really know him. I’ve heard of him, but…”
“Wait. He didn’t run this operation you were in?”
Stiles bit her lip. “Working for someone isn’t the same as knowing them. It doesn’t matter how well you think you know someone; you can never know them completely.”
Was that about me? It can’t be. “I-I understand.”
“You’re still having problems with what happened on the Pandora?”
“I liked it better when Lenny was the bad guy.”
That brought a pained smile to the young woman’s face. “Nuance is difficult.”
“It is. So what did we discover? What was out there in the DMZ? What do we know about the Azoren now?”
“I don’t know yet. That’s above my pay grade. The colonel’s group will tear into the data.”
“Will they have time for that? We’ve gone into Azoren space. Twice.”
A bitter smile flashed across Stiles’s pretty face. “A lot more than twice.”
Another shiver ran through the commander. “Why? We’re not positioned for war.”
“But a lot of people within the community feel we could be.”
“If we had the right incentives?”
Stiles nodded.
Benson recalled all the arguments she’d had with her mother about the role of the military and the need for people who could counter Azoren and Moskav spies. Sargota had never hesitated to call her daughter precious and naive. Those
words had stung, but now they hurt.
“When you have people empowered to serve without checks, there’s always the risk of not serving the good of the people.” Benson pressed the heel of her palm to her forehead.
“That’s true.”
“I guess. My mother used to try to drill that into me.”
“Representative Benson. She seems a remarkable woman.”
“Smart. Knowledgeable. Inflexible. Incorruptible. And I guess I get to add wise to that list.” The commander chuckled. “Did you get along with your mother?”
“I—” Stiles’s eyelids fluttered rapidly. “I honestly can’t say.”
“Oh, come on. It’s not that hard. My father was gone before I was old enough to know one way or another about him, but my mother?” Benson groaned.
“Your father did a meaningful job.”
“How do you figure that?”
The GSA officer shrugged. “I guess I mean the way you turned out.”
“I don’t think he gets to take credit for that. If you’re not present, you don’t have influence. You wouldn’t say that about your father, would you? If he walked out on you as a kid? Who you are today, that wouldn’t be his work, right?”
