Shadow Strike

by P. R. Adams

  “Yes. It’s like there’s been this horrible, festering wound full of fascists that no one has ever noticed before, and now they’ve all come oozing out. And they’re everywhere. In the military.”

  “They’ve always been there, Commander.”

  “Well, sure. There are elements that would appeal to them. But so many? So terrible?”

  Stiles set the tool she’d been using down, then snapped two pieces of gear together. A faint scent of smoke came off the monster she’d created, but the front panel glowed. When she tapped buttons on its face, a soft hum emanated. She cocked her head, listened, then nodded. “That will have to do.”

  “’That being?”

  The wooden floor groaned just before Halliwell paced into view. He wore what could only be described as vacation clothing—a simple pullover sweater and jeans. The sweater was too tight, the pants too short, but he looked adorable in them.

  But the look on his face…

  Benson crossed to him and took him in a hug. “How is she?”

  Halliwell hesitated, then hugged her back. “She…stopped breathing.”

  “She’s dead?”

  “No. No.” His breath caught. “But she’s lost too much blood.”

  The GSA officer stood. “If we take her to a hospital, they’ll turn her over to the rebellion.”

  Halliwell glared at the smaller woman. “There’s no hospital that’s still loyal?”

  “That’s being loyal. The rebels have secured control.”

  “Fuck.” The big Marine scratched the back of his neck as he paced.

  “Commander?” Stiles pointed to the device. “A secure communicator. It can connect to satellite relays outside Varudin. If any of our people have communicators or access to communications, you should be able to reach them. What they say will likely be unscrambled.”

  Benson leaned over the table, communicator in hand. The smell of heated electronics was a faint blemish on the fresh air. “Our people. I don’t know who that is.”

  “Your crew?”

  “Commander Dietrich? Petty Officer Kohn?”

  “Lieutenant Scalise.”

  “That sounds like a horrible idea.”

  Stiles stared at the rear of the cabin, where Grier lay on a bed in the bottom bedroom. “She won’t last tomorrow.”

  That brought Halliwell around. “I’ll risk a hospital. Maybe they’ll save her.”

  “They won’t.”

  “She saved our lives!”

  “They won’t care. Their job is to do no harm. Having her in the hospital would put too many others at risk.”

  Halliwell did his best to shove his big hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I could raid a hospital. What would I need?”

  “A resuscitation device.”

  He scowled. “She’s not going to die.”

  “We all will.” Stiles’s head twisted enough to where she was looking at Benson. “Unless we come up with a plan. Commander.”

  Benson squeezed her lips together. “Show me how this works.”

  Stiles pushed the commander into a chair and took her communicator from her. “It’s just like a booster for your communicator. When I turn it on, you’ll have maybe ten minutes to connect to people. Figure out who. Try their communicator signatures.” She handed the communicator back.

  “All right. So I reach out to…Dietrich.”

  “If you want.”

  “He should be able to connect me with everyone else.”

  “Or he could be drunk.”

  “He wouldn’t do that. Not now.”

  “You have ten minutes. Not much more than that.”

  “I understand. So I reach out to him. He connects me with who he trusts. Then we act—secure the Clarion. Find who’s turned traitor, who we can count on, begin building a force up to retake the parliament building. After that, Varudin.”

  “The military’s going to be following orders, ma’am.”

  “We’ll find generals—”

  “They’re following orders from parliament.”

  Benson rubbed the heel of her hand against her forehead. “Then we’ll find someone to retake parliament!”

  “Defense Minister Zenawi is in power.”

  “Is that all that remains of the coalition?”

  “I believe he’s showing his true colors now.”

  “He’s…part of—”

  “The connections have always been strong between him and SAID. His family has been close to the Patel family for decades.”

  Benson crossed her arms on the tabletop and rested her head against them. “You have a suggestion?”

  “What if your mother’s still alive?”

  The thought of seeking Sargota out and asking the broken little woman to stand up to the people behind the coup was nauseating. It was possible she had survived. The medical personnel made it seem like they were doing what they could for her, but she was so…old.

  “I’ll need to reach out.” Benson couldn’t shake the idea of Dietrich being her best option, but with maybe ten minutes to connect, she had to be sure. Scalise just seemed so irrational, so prone to anger. There would need to be time to repair the damage. “Let’s try Dietrich. If he doesn’t respond, we can switch over to someone else. Maybe Gillian. If the Kolkata is still up there.”

  Stiles frowned but powered the system on. “Ten minutes.”

  Benson attempted a connection to Dietrich. Her communicator buzzed and hummed. Nothing else happened. “I—?”

  “Hold on.” The GSA officer pried the box apart and fiddled with a connection that caused a staticky hiss. “Now?”

  The signal on Benson’s communicator flashed green, then red, then a yellow-green.

  Then it began a connection attempt process.

  “I-I think it’s working.” Benson set the device on the table.

  Stiles stepped back, fists on hip. “Nine minutes.”

  The connection attempt stopped.

  Benson picked the communicator up. “Is it my device?”

  “Not likely. Could you try someone else?”

  “Gillian, I guess. Maybe she’s still in command of the Kolkata.” The connection attempt began again, and almost immediately failed. “Are you sure this is getting boosted?”

  The lieutenant pulled her own communicator out and showed it to Benson. There was a dull green indicator—a clean signal. “That’s a loop—out to the satellite relay and back.”

  “Let me try—” Benson sighed. “—Parkinson.”

  Stiles shrugged. “He’s probably the most likely to have a communicator.”

  After a second of a blinking light, the connection attempt seemed to actually succeed. A dull green light showed a clean connection.

  “Commander Benson?” It was Parkinson, whispering.

  “Chief?” Benson smiled at Stiles. “Can you hear me?”

  “Yeah. How—?”

  “We’ve only got a few minutes, Chief. I’m trying to connect to the crew and anyone else who might be trustworthy.”

  Parkinson snorted. “Good luck with that. Everyone’s been moved from ships to ‘secure locations’ while they do ‘inspections.’”

  “They as in the traitors?”

  “Sure. The people in charge. Can you believe that? There must be ten thousand of us down here.”

  “Down where?”

  “I don’t know. Somewhere on Kedraal. I can see what must be a desert from the cell they put me in.”

  “Desert? East or west?”

  “Why the hell would that matter?”

  “Chief, please.”

  “Um. East.”

  “Port Malia. It’s an old training station on the west coast of Argent. I qualified on cargo shuttles there.”

  “Yeah, well it’s a dump. The water tastes like—”

  “Sulfur, I know. It’s safe. At least it’s not Port Zeta. That’s the twin on the east coast of Platino. You’d be freezing at night and cooking during the day. I qualified in a mini-sub there. Worst tw
o weeks of my life.”

  Stiles brought up a timer on her communicator: 7:48.

  Benson cringed. “Chief, who else is there with you? Do they have communicators?”

  “Communicators? Theses guys took everything from us. I snuck mine in. I was able—”

  “Who else is there? Anyone from the Pandora?”

  “In my cell? No one I’ve ever met before.”

  “What about Dietrich? Kohn? Scalise?”

  “Kohn’s one cell over. All the officers were given rooms. Why the hell didn’t I get—”

  “Chief, can you get to them?”

  “Um, I’m in a cell? Locked in?”

  “Do you get to interact? Like at chow or in the exercise yard or something?”

  “We all queue up for the showers. A thousand people standing in line with nothing but a towel.”

  “I understand.”

  “I’m not talking to someone when I’m standing around naked. And we only get a couple minutes to rinse. Not even soap. You wouldn’t believe how—”

  “Chief, we need to get word to everyone. We’re going to have to end this coup.”

  “Coup? Shit. This is a coup? It’s not because they screwed up the defense?”

  “No one screwed up the defense. There’s fighting going on in Varudin. The parliament building was bombed.”

  “Oh. Oh. We heard a rumor the prime minister was dead.”

  “In the bomb blast.”

  “Oh.”

  “Can you pass along word? We’ll need to know we can get the fleet stood up quickly when the time comes.”

  “Wait. How can we do anything? There are Marines here. They have guns!”

  “They’re following orders. They’ll be ordered to stand down. When that happens—”

  “They’re Marines! You give them conflicting orders, they’ll break.”

  “Chief. We’re on the same side.”

  “Right. Just use small words, okay? Maybe pictures.”

  “Chief. Tell me you’re going to get the word to the others.”

  Parkinson sighed. “What word?”

  “We’ll be restoring the government. When that happens, the officers need to step forward. They need to order the Marines to stand down.”

  “They’ll be shot!”

  “No. The order will go out, but the officers need to do their part. We need to have the military behind us.”

  “How are you going to end the coup? If there’s fighting, no offense, but no one’s going to listen to a commander.”

  “We’ll have to get someone in place to shut this down. Defense Minister Zenawi is behind the power grab. The only way to change that is to get a new coalition in place.”

  “That’s going to be weeks!”

  The timer showed 5:21.

  “Chief. Please.”

  A soft buzz was the only reply.

  The chief groaned. “All right. All right! I’ll tell Kohn.”

  “Thank you, Chief.”

  “But I—”

  “We have to go, Chief. There’s limited time on this connection.”

  “I—”

  “Good luck.” Benson disconnected.

  Halliwell rubbed his chin. “Of all the people we could have connected to…”

  Benson rubbed her arms for warmth. “Petty Officer Kohn will get it done.”

  Stiles powered the system down. “He will. But now we have to do our part.”

  “Which is?”

  “Collecting your mother.” The GSA officer dropped into another chair and pulled the device in front of her. She set a command tablet on the table, then powered the device on again. “She’s in a small military hospital on the northern edge of Varudin.”

  “What? I’ve never heard—”

  “It’s classified, for senior officers and parliament members.”

  “Why didn’t you just say that earlier?”

  “We need to stay focused, Commander.”

  “She’s alive, though?”

  “Apparently, she’s quite tough.”

  A tight grin spread on Benson’s lips. “She is.”

  “The remnants of the coalition have gone into hiding. One of them tried to call for a referendum on the current parliament. Another demanded a confidence vote. Neither showed up in the chamber to actually move things forward.”

  Halliwell grunted. “Zenawi would just have them arrested.”

  “Maybe. But officially entering the call would force his hand. His only other option would be to dissolve parliament. The problem is, there’s a lack of real leadership.”

  “You mean bravery. How well defended is this hospital?”

  “Not very. No one’s supposed to know about it.”

  “But you do?”

  “I know a lot of things. Are you in?”

  The big Marine crossed his arms. “Could we get Toni into care there?”

  “There’s a chance. They have resuscitation facilities.”

  “I’m in.”

  Stiles typed commands on her tablet, then powered the device down. She turned to Benson. “Commander?”

  Benson’s mouth went dry. “We’re talking about using my mother to face off against someone who is’s at the very least cooperating with the SAID to pull off a coup and possibly leading them.”

  “Yes.”

  “If moving her doesn’t kill her, and the rebels don’t kill us, he could have her executed on the spot.”

  “I understand, ma’am.”

  Sargota had preached defiance and resilience as far back as Benson could recall. “Never compromise when you know you’re right.” And as a representative within parliament, her mother had never compromised, damaging a career that could have been so much more. Refusing to compromise might seem noble, but it came at a cost.

  Would passing on the opportunity to stop a coup be compromise?

  It would be worse.

  Benson shivered. “I’m in.”

  The GSA officer stood. “Then it’s time we acted. If we don’t stop them soon, the traitors will win.”

  A worrying notion latched on to Benson’s thoughts: What if we’re already too late?

  21

  A single tone repeated in a loop, a sound of victory and promise, but Morganson couldn’t remember where the tone originated, or what it truly meant. There were all the positive feelings he associated with success, such as the slightest excitement at the imminent death of a rival or the memories of maple syrup. He had always loved the sweet treat, especially on almond-crusted French toast, although he couldn’t recall if he’d ever actually eaten it. Still, there were memories, even if not his. A wooden table on a snow-covered patio, white mountains shielding the rising sun, a heavy fur coat wrapped around his shoulders, steam rising off strong, dark coffee in a bright, white cup. The maple scent rising from a plate of the golden-brown toast cut into small pieces made him salivate, and the crunchy texture of the bread, the heat of it on his tongue—

  “Captain Morganson?”

  The bridge replaced the mountainside resort. Ostmann looked up at his captain with concern, while the other two—Francisco and Mencias—cast uncertain glances over their shoulders. Where there had been snow-capped mountains, there was now the giant display. The rising light was the outline of enemy ships. Instead of coffee and toast, his hands held the command console. No fur coat hung from his shoulders. No maple syrup clung to his lips.

  Morganson blinked, but he knew the memory was gone. It was a memory not even his. “Yes, Ensign? What is it?”

  “You asked to be alerted when enemy ships appeared on our probes.”

  “I did.” There were six of them. Four frigates and two gunships. “A patrol.”

  “Perhaps, Captain.” The weapons officer squinted at the display. “It is also possible that constitutes the defense force for the shipyard.”

  “Six ships? They lack firepower to stop even two of our destroyers.”

  “They have many ships on the hunt.”

  None of those pat
rols had been seen for days, though. After coming so close, they had simply disappeared. Was that also the work of their secret ally? “What pattern do they move in? Could other ships be in the area?”

  “The Grunwald awaits approval to proceed past the patrol for deeper scans.”

  “Proceed.”

  The ensign nodded, but there was obvious anxiety in the young man’s eyes.

  How long did I daydream?

  Worse than a lack of memory about the daydream was the lack of memory of returning to the bridge. Morganson’s uniform was fresh. He felt clean and revitalized, but he could only remember…

  He had come to the bridge in time for the power reset for synchronization of the fleet systems. That had succeeded, hadn’t it?

  Logs showed his time in, which had been less than two hours ago. He had last been on the bridge nearly four hours previously.

  Not being able to remember why he’d left the bridge was even more troubling.

  He drummed his fingers on the smooth circle covering the support rail. “Ensign Ostmann.”

  The weapons officer straightened. “Captain?”

  “Earlier, when I left the bridge…”

  “Yes, Captain?”

  “The synchronization had succeeded.”

  “It had.”

  “This is in the log.”

  “It is, Captain.”

  “I see no reason logged for my departure from the bridge.”

  “You gave no reason, Captain.”

  “I said nothing?”

  “You departed with Commander Voegel but said—”

  Voegel. Of course! “The commander gave no reason?”

  “We do not log the comings and goings of the doctrine officer, Captain.”

  “Yes. Please update the log to reflect that I had a meeting with the Commander.”

  “Immediately, Captain.” Ostmann started to turn, then smiled. “The Grunwald will be in position for definitive scans in fifteen minutes.”

  “Good.”

  Fifteen minutes was enough time to search through records, maybe to reconstruct the memories stolen by Voegel. Her position granted her the ability to move throughout the ship without question, but it didn’t grant her the ability to deny him his own thoughts. The Supreme Leader called doctrine officers his voice, but he also called them his eyes and ears. Morganson needed to know what he might have said in front of someone with so much authority, especially since he’d been having problems with…