Trent folded his hands. “As stated in the documents I sent you, we have an ID code to gain temporary passage through their shields.”
“Okay, let’s say you’re right. We still have to get them into the ship’s core.” McCarroll leaned back and crossed his arms. “Why not use them to get a nuke inside their defenses and end it right there? If you need to get a nail into a board, don’t get fancy. Find a hammer and pound it in.”
Trent shut his eyes to conceal an eye roll. “General, again, that information is in the briefing. I posed the same question as you and was informed the shield will sense the nuclear device and prevent its entry. But a group of lightly armed soldiers in possession of the Pills will be able to get by.”
“Why?” Velasquez narrowed her lids.
Trent sharpened his right back at her. “Did anyone read the material beforehand?”
“Oh, I did.” She crossed her arms. “I’d like to hear it from your mouth. It’s all very fantastical and you’re asking us to take a lot on faith.”
“Yes, of course. My apologies.” Trent took a breath to steady himself. “To start, you need to understand two basic principles. First, we aren’t fighting some military genius. We’re fighting an AI, a highly advanced one but one that’s still a slave to its original programming. It’s beaten us so far through the application of brute force, not superior tactics and strategy.
“Secondly, the Pills are made from the same exotic source material as the ships. They will be drawn to it like a moth to a flame, anchoring them to the surface. It knows the Pills can destroy them but that doesn’t change the fact it wants to be united with them. The AI will risk destruction to bring itself close to the Pills.”
McCarroll leaned in. “How small a team and how do we insert them?”
He exhaled. “Both are tricky answers. It’s a numbers game in the end. The CALs of the cohort designated for the charge will be programed to emit the ID code just before contact. After that, the exact number of penetrators depends on how quickly other soldiers can rush through once the first one has crossed.
“As for the how, we need to get the Pills onto Earth’s surface. Make the Keeper come to us. We’ll engage its ground forces to fight our way in. The troops assigned for ship incursion will be issued gravity repellers to boost them up, into the target. Once on board, we fight our way to the core.”
Cold blue eyes drilled into him, sending a shiver up his spine. “I find this part very interesting. The core of the ship is essentially a black hole contained by the counter-gravity waves of another black hole. Do you have any idea of what to expect when you reach the core?”
“I was told to prepare myself for the unknown and profound.” He pressed his lips together and bobbed his head to concede that yes, it sounded crazy to him to.
Velasquez shook her head. “What?”
“Look, we all know that gravity has the ability to manipulate space-time. In this case we’re talking about a black hole on top of a black hole. The level of space-time distortion in the immediate area around the core is unpredictable, unprecedented, and sure to be significant. Hal said it was strong enough to weaken the barrier between dimensions. What that means exactly …” He tossed his hands in the air. “Hell if I know.”
McCarroll scanned the table. “General, do you hear yourself? Do you really expect us to commit our limited resources to this, this—holy quest?”
Trent rose, planting his knuckles onto the smooth surface. “General, Earth is dying. Billions of people, men, women, and children, are being murdered while we sit here and debate a course of action. The only alternative plans I’ve heard to date are founded on the premise that they’re writing off, if not the entire human population in this galaxy, then most of it.
“We have a duty to defend our people, our planet.” He looked them in the eyes, one by one. “I’m not saying that’s cause for us to commit suicide by throwing ourselves against an unbeatable enemy to satisfy our honor.
“Despite the long odds of my plan, I do believe, with all my heart, it can succeed. We can save Earth and with it, all of human space in the Milky Way. Given this opportunity, we owe it to the people we pledged our lives to serve to try.
“I’m not suggesting that we commit everything we have to this endeavor, but we must commit something or risk damnation by future generations, by God, and most of all, by ourselves.”
An eerie silence fell over the room. Trent felt he’d said all that could be said. It was time to leave them to their own thoughts. Sometimes one must stop selling to seal a deal.
He stood straight. “I trust that some of you will make the right decision.”
Making an about-face, he marched out of the room like he owned it.
***
Trent, Simms, Gabriel, Jones, and Amanda were on their fifth round of scotch, reminiscing about old times and long-lost friends, when the call came in.
Gabriel was in the middle of recanting the story of the time Trent humiliated a preppy Georgetown student at a sports bar in DC before they left on the Black Marble mission when Amanda noticed Trent’s expression became serious.
She squeezed his thigh. “What is it?”
All eyes turned to him. “They’ve made a decision.” A blank expression was on his face.
“Well?” Gabriel bobbed his head. “Out with it.”
A mischievous grin crossed his face. “We have enough. Next stop—Earth.”
The last of the Red Barons raised their glasses high and clanked in silent toast. None of them truly expected to survive the next mission, but that didn’t bother them. They were legionnaires, pledged to defend humanity no matter the cost.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Not Forgotten
This far out from Earth, the space around Alpha Gate was ordinary in the extreme. It still felt like home to Trent.
“Enemy craft detected!” the sensor officer declared, raising the tension level on the bridge a thousand percent. Trent swore he could hear muscles tighten.
DeWalt sprung to his feet. “Where?”
The contact popped onto the screen and a collective exhale of relief filled the room. It was a lone silver fighter, a tripwire that had served its purpose.
“Take it out of my sky.” DeWalt frowned “Make sure the fighters sweep the area. I want to make sure our rear is secure.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” the CAG replied from the fighter deck.
The view screen refocused on a debris field made of pulverized human warships and Alpha Gate Base. Trent stared at the floating chucks of carbon and metal.
DeWalt came alongside him. “Chen knew how to go down swinging.”
“He sure did. Now we just need to make sure his sacrifice, and that of the others who gave their lives so we could escape, wasn’t in vain.”
“That fighter must’ve transmitted a sub-space message to its mothership.” DeWalt crossed his arms. “They know we’re coming.”
“We never planned to enjoy the element of surprise. No way was our approach going to be a secret long enough for it to be of any use.” He shrugged. “I’m kinda glad we know for sure our cover’s blown this early.”
DeWalt turned to him. “Why?”
“Because now there’s no need for a total com blackout. We can shout out that we’re here and on our way. It’ll still take us almost a year to reach Earth. News of our arrival will give them something to fight for, something to hope for. For humans, hope is a dangerous weapon.”
DeWalt smiled and gestured forward. “By all means, general, you have the floor.”
He returned the smile and nodded. “Prepare to broadcast message on all channels and frequencies, sub-space and normal.”
“Aye, sir. Go ahead.”
Hands on hips, he stood tall and lifted his chin. “This is General Trent Maxwell of the First Legion, Commander of the Earth Relief Force. An armada of warships and twenty thousand legionnaires have arrived through the Alpha Gate. We are accelerating for home! Help is on the way! You haven’t been
forgotten! Fight hard! You haven’t been forgotten!”
***
Supreme Commander Walker was relaxing in her cushy chair, sipping a glass of red wine. It was the only luxury she afforded herself. The effort was sadly wasted; the view from her chair didn’t inspire pleasant thoughts.
Hanging on the wall in front of her was one of the few personal possessions she had transferred to the command bunker, an old painting of the Battle of Midway. It depicted a squadron of American torpedo planes making a run on an enemy carrier. An ancestor of hers had been in the battle, as part of Admiral Nagumo’s staff.
That link in her genetic past played no role in defining her strictly Caucasian appearance. He had, however, played an important role in shaping her psyche, more so as she climbed up the ranks. The painting was a reminder of him and the ever-changing fortunes of war.
Now it tormented her.
After the Battle of Midway, the mighty Imperial Japanese navy was effectively defeated. It made the Americans fight for every inch of the Pacific for three more years, but it never recovered from the loss of four carriers in one day. Final defeat had become only a matter of time. The sacrifice of hundreds of thousands of Japanese soldiers and sailors simply served to delay the inevitable.
Did you know? Did you know the war was lost? Or did you convince yourself you could still win? Did it matter either way? You were an officer in the Imperial Navy, so you’d fight to the bitter end, no matter what. A family trait, I guess. A curse.
She gulped half her wine in one swallow and reached for the bottle.
Her com-link blared in her mind, “Sir, your presence is requested in the command center immediately.”
“What is it?”
“General Wills feels you should hear it here, sir.”
She sighed. “On my way.”
When the doors opened, she instantly sensed something was different. The command center had become a gloomy place where the death of tens of millions at a time were calculated. It wasn’t a place to find white teeth exposed through wide smiles, but that was exactly what she found today.
She looked around the room, half expecting to be attacked. “What’s going on? What’s so important you needed to tell me yourself and why is everyone smiling?”
Wills suppressed his happiness and stood at attention. “Sir, we’ve received a message.” His lips twitched from the urge to crack into a smile.
Her heart quickened. There was only one message that would make Wills so happy. “Out with it, man.” God help you if this is some kind of sick job. I will shoot you myself.
“Play the message for the admiral.”
“This is General Trent Maxwell...”
Her eyes burst open. They’re here! They’ve come for us! The muscles in her face unknotted and a wave of euphoria washed over her, carrying away months’ worth of pent-up emotion. Steady. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, it’ll be awhile before they get here, and can they win when they do? She looked around the room filled with happy staff. I can’t ruin this for them. They need it almost as bad as I do.
Raising a fist high, she pumped it hard. “We are not forgotten!”
Wills puffed out his chest. “We are not forgotten!”
A chant rose up. “We are not forgotten! We are not forgotten!”
“Relay the message around the globe!” She grinned ear to ear. “Tell the world there’s still hope!”
***
It had been four weeks since Roger Frost broke out of the death trap in Nepal. He was leading the shattered remains of the militia and legion units on a long journey west to the Arabian Peninsula bunker. There were closer installations to the south and east, and they passed several on their way to the deep desert. Those facilities were in densely populated areas, however, prime targets.
He’d somehow survived not one, but two, engagements with the Silver Horde and frankly, he felt he deserved a little break. Maybe he could get lucky and his new bunker wouldn’t be targeted for a year or more.
“Frost!” A voice yelled behind him.
He turned to see Wyatt running to him with their sole trooper equipped with heavy com gear. “What is it, lieutenant?”
“Roger!” She blew past his hint to refer to him by rank. Discipline had been a growing issue, and her attitude wasn’t helping.
He extended an outfaced palm. “Slow down, Lieutenant Wyatt. What’s got you so flustered?”
“You gotta hear this. Everyone needs to hear it!” She waved an arm wide.
“Let me hear it first.’
The message appeared inside his mind. Well, I’ll be damned.
***
Walker hung over the young assistant. “Is the chairman available?”
The woman displayed a bright smile but her eyes said, oh, crap. “Just one moment, admiral. Let me see if he’s free.” She slipped into the chairman’s office, opening the door just enough for her to thread her thin frame through.
Wills smirked. “Guess she has to nose him down.”
“I prefer to not imagine all that that poor girl has to do for him.”
It was three minutes before she emerged. “He’ll see you now.”
“Thank you.”
A rank BO, a potent mixture of sweat and whiskey, hit them like slaps to the face. Shifting eyes exchanged worried glances.
Dalton was behind his desk. “Have a seat.”
He was pale and his sunken cheeks had several days of beard growth covering them.
Walker suppressed a gag. Its worse than I thought. “Mr. Chairman, I take it you’ve heard the good news?”
“Yes, of course.” His jittery eyes seemed to have trouble focusing on them. “I always knew we’d emerge from this nightmare victorious.”
“Well... it’s still going to take several months for the relief force to arrive. Morale is running high for the moment, but that easily could change weeks or months from now.”
“I’m confident your bait and switch strategy will keep them bogged down, slowing their progress till help arrives.”
“True, we’ve bought ourselves some time, and the enemy has again committed itself to a quagmire in India, but I don’t know how long they’ll continue to be fooled. I was thinking we could...”
Dalton rose to his feet, waving her comments off. “I’m sure your military genius will devise another miracle to get us through this rough patch.” He came around the desk, heading for the door. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have several matters to attend to.”
I bet you do, you filthy drunk. “Of course, Mr. Chairman. We’ll leave you to your work.”
The pair marched out into the hall.
“That was productive.” Wills rolled his eyes.
“Pathetic.” She shook her head. “I’m done with his shit. If he wants to be included in our plans to save Earth, he can dry out and get his crap together first. I’m through wasting my time.”
***
Alone once more, Dalton slumped his shoulders. “I thought they’d never leave,” he said to himself. “What stupidity. I’ll never understand the military’s zeal for hopeless battles. It’s like a wet dream for them.”
He moved back to his desk and opened a file. A sleek looking ship came onto the screen. “Sometimes the smart play is to worry about how you’re gonna save your own ass.”
General Maxwell, you’re just the diversion I’ve been waiting for.
***
Once a soldier gets over the fear of death, at least for the time being, boredom is her biggest enemy. Madison Wyatt wasn’t sure how long she’d been marching but figured it had to be some kind of record.
In the last year and a half, she’d walked from China to South Africa, and not in a straight line, either. During that time, she could count the number of solid meals she’d had on both hands. Nutrient packs sustained her and the nanos in her blood worked overtime so her feet didn’t turn black and rot off.
This leg of the journey was almost over, though, and she was guessing it was their last for a w
hile. They’d run out of land and she didn’t think an ocean cruise was in her future.
“Are we there yet, lieutenant?” one of her extra-whiny militia privates asked.
His shit had grown old three thousand kilometers ago. “You’ll know when we get there, private, because that’s when I’ll tell you you can stop. Until then, keep marching. If you hit the beach and I’m not there, swim.”
Tired laughs came from the column.
It was a small group, just two companies’ worth of troops, a mixture of militia and legion regulars. A week after General Maxwell’s message arrived, orders came in for them to head for Cape Town. Word had it that hundreds, even thousands, of small units were on the move, pre-positioning around the globe for something.
Frost walked ahead of her and came to a stop. “Take five.”
A collective sigh rose from the group and they collapsed to the ground. She took a second to survey the area. Rolling green hills dominated the landscape, reminding her of her family homestead in Virginia.
Her father was a Baptist preacher in a small town and a legion combat veteran. He was the kind of man who prayed to God with the Bible in one hand and a rifle in the other. Needless to say, not many boys were daring enough to ask her out—a reality that had resulted in a lot of self-gratification through her teens and into the present day.
Captain Frost was walking toward her. A smile crossed her face and she felt a tingle in her nether regions. Over the last few months, her feelings toward Roger had evolved. Maybe it was the constant struggles they had endured together, or perhaps it was simple biology. Whatever the cause, she wanted him but wasn’t confident it was mutual.
Sergeant Heidi Luther intercepted him. She couldn’t hear their conversation but he moved like he was laughing and she reached out to touch his arm. Slut! Damn it! Even through her suit, I can see her tits. She looked down at her flat chest. How am I supposed to compete with that? Why couldn’t my mom have given me a nicer rack?
Frost broke away from Luther and approached. She rose to meet him.
The Last Charge of the 1st Legion (The Last Hero Trilogy Book 3) Page 24
