The Last Hero

by Nathaniel Danes

  “Listen asshole. I ain’t apologizing for anything. This cunt bumped into me.”

  Trent and Gabriel started to move to defend their comrade’s honor when the other man, less jock looking than his friend, attempted to defuse the situation.

  “Let’s settle this in the cages.”

  “Yes, in the cages. Unless you’re scared.” muscled jerk said with a smirky grin.

  “You’re on,” Gabriel said. “What’s the...cages?”

  The cages were chain-linked batting cages. Instead of throwing real baseballs, they tossed holo ones. The bat was also a holo projection emanating from a small stick the batter held.

  As the trio looked on, the black haired bully released a cocky smile.

  “I’ll go first. That way you can see how it’s done. Most home runs out of ten pitches wins. Loser apologizes. Deal?”

  “Deal,” Trent answered. “I’ll go for us.”

  “Suit yourself. Oh...did I mention I hold the high score, seven out of ten.”

  Trent resisted the urge to punch the cocky smile off his face.

  Having never held a bat in his hand before, Trent carefully watched the bully take a swing. His stance and where he placed his hands on the stick were all pieces of data he took in. He didn’t even know the result of each swing, he only paid attention to the how.

  After the tenth pitch, an on-looking crowd burst into cheers. Trent saw the scoreboard flash, ‘New High Score...Eight Home Runs!’

  “Take that, asshole.”

  Trent betrayed no emotion as he took the stick from the bully’s hand. He stepped into the cage and ignored the college man’s boastful look.

  As Trent readied himself for the first pitch, he looked at Roth. She held onto the cage with both hands and leaned forward. She smiled and winked her right eye. Trent winked back. The bully witnessed this exchange with darting eyes and grew concerned when Trent shot him an “I know something you don’t” smirk.

  The first holo ball came flying.

  Nano enhanced eyes experienced no trouble following the projectile. His nano enhanced coordination and reflexes easily guided the bat true.

  The sound effects system emitted a loud “Wack!” The ball rocketed out of the holo park, getting a roar from the crowd.

  “Home run!” the scoreboard announced.

  The next ball came faster, but it made no difference. Trent swung and let the ball fly.

  ‘Home Run!’

  Roth jumped up and down, cheering wildly. Gabriel took the opportunity to hit on the hot waitress.

  Eight more pitches came, each faster than the last. Trent sent them all soaring.

  ‘New High Score...Ten Home Runs! Perfect Score!’

  The crowd screamed with drunken delight. Trent walked over to the bully. Roth and Gabriel came around the cage, intercepting him. She threw her arms around his neck, kissing him on the cheek. Roth blushed at her beer-fueled breech of protocol.

  “You’re my hero!”

  Trent smiled at her before turning to the bully.

  “I believe that you owe her an apology.”

  Not a man accustomed to losing let alone losing on his home turf in front of a large crowd of peers, the bully drew back his shoulder and wound up for a powerful strike. A fist cut through the air at Trent’s chin.

  He effortlessly caught the fist with his left hand, stopping it midair. With one twist of his wrist, the bully cried in pain and his knees buckled. Holding onto the fist, Trent stood over the cowering fool in complete control.

  The crowd went into stunned silence.

  “I said...You owe the lady an apology,” Trent said through clenched teeth.

  The bully’s face grimaced in agony. “I...I’m sssssoooorrry.”

  Roth said, “Apology accepted. Watch your manners next time. Colonel, you can let him go.”

  Once freed, the wounded man remained on his knees, cradling the injured appendage as if it were a newborn baby.

  “Colonel? Who the fuck are you people?”

  Trent squatted, lowering himself to the bully’s eye level.

  “Let’s just say, buddy, that you don’t mess with a Red Baron.”

  ***

  After closing down the bar, Gabriel disappeared with the waitress. Being a member of the Red Barons played significantly in his ability to close the deal. The final shots Roth took during last call hit her hard when the cabby pulled up to Ft. Myers’ gate. First generation military grade nanos could do wonders but fell short in aiding the body’s ability to process booze.

  Trent held her steady by applying his strength through her improved right arm. This enabled him to steer her without attracting much attention.

  The wooden floor creaked as he walked her down the homestretch to her door.

  “Colonel!”

  “Shhhhh.”

  “Ooopps, sooorrry.” Roth giggled. “Say, Colonel, I never said thank you.”

  “Thanks for what?”

  “For killing the Bearcat that got my arm,” she whispered.

  Trent leaned her against the wall by the door.

  “Oh...that. Nothing to it, Sergeant.” The door opened. “I have no doubt you would have done the same for me.”

  Trent picked Roth up, cradling her in his arms, and carried her into the dark, almost empty room.

  “I probably would have tried. Not sure I could have killed him like you did.”

  The foam bed conformed to Roth’s body as Trent gently laid her down. Instantly her eyes grow heavy from the soft embrace. He removed her shoes, but stopped there, figuring sleeping in the rest wouldn’t make a difference given her state. Trent turned to walk away when Roth unexpectedly reached out, grabbing his arm.

  “Everything changed, you know.”

  Confused Trent replied, “What are you talking about?”

  “The world, everything changed. That’s why I don’t really mind going back out there. I don’t belong here anymore. Nobody gets me. All of my old friends, my family...strangers now.”

  “The world didn’t change, Roth,” he said somberly. “You did. Whoever said you can’t go home again knew a thing or two.”

  “It’s okay. I’m where I belong. Good night, Colonel.”

  Trent pulled the covers over Roth, thinking about how true her inebriated wisdom rang.

  “Good night, Sergeant.”

  ***

  The mission briefing took place in the same conference room Trent had learned the details about the operation twelve years ago. Like most of the Pentagon, it was updated, or desiccated depending on your opinion, to wipe away the once numerous references to the U.S. Military.

  Even after more than a decade of mobilization, the war effort still largely held a distinctly American influence. Most of the volunteers and technology found their roots in the old superpower. The PR gurus found that disturbing and did their best to present an image contrary to reality.

  Where once one found the seals of the Army, Navy, Marines and Air Force now hung the seals of the Legion and Fleet. It was a bitter pill for Trent to swallow, but he understood the necessity.

  The dark stained wood table he once sat at gave way to the black carbon fiber table. Overall, he thought the room’s Legion black and Fleet gray design to be depressing. Low lighting compounded the problem.

  How much light does a group of people with enhanced eyesight need?

  As the last of the meeting attendees gathered, Trent studied the Fleet seal on the wall across from him. Similar to the Legion’s, instead of a black field, the Earth lay in a gray one. The sword behind the Earth had been replaced with a ship on patrol, guarding the homeland. The words “For All Humanity” beneath the Fleet’s symbol.

  The final difference of significance was the person at the head of the table. As he predicted, General Fairbanks had retired. Now General Gibbs was in command. He was a tall pale-skinned man with thinning brown hair and the sense of humor one would expect from a former U.S. Air Force general.

  Gibbs said, “Let’s ge
t started. This mission represents the largest operation we’ve attempted to date. It will involve our largest deployment of ships and troops. I don’t have to say that failure is not an option. Colonel Bright, please breakdown the objective for us.”

  “Yes, sir,” said a homely looking middle-aged Legion intelligence officer, struggling to her feet. “Computer, bring up the target.”

  In lieu of one large holo display appearing in the center, each attendee received their own directly in front of them. The planet’s black, jagged, barren surface gave it a chilling look. This particular planet appeared as if God had Satan design a place of his own in the universe.

  This just gets better and better.

  Bright said, “Say hello to Black Marble. I must thank Colonel Maxwell for finding this little gem.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, Colonel. We know about this world because of the database you personally captured on Big Red. They managed to erase a large portion of the information, but what we did get is a treasure trove of intel. It’ll take us a while to work our way through it all, but this is something we came across right away by luck. From what we can ascertain, this is a major Bearcat installation. Nothing like the minor outpost on Big Red—”

  Easy for you to say. Intel guys are such pricks.

  “—This planet is held by a large battle group in orbit and a fortress below.”

  “Why is this planet so important?” Trent asked, caring little about ruffled feathers. What were they going to do to him, not let him go to this hellish looking planet to get shot at?

  “That detail is a little fuzzy. We think it contains an important mineral resource, but we don’t know what kind. We won’t know more until we get down there...and that’s the tricky part. Commander Cortez, why don’t you take it from here,” she said to the Hispanic Fleet intelligence officer beside her.

  A short man, Cortez barely reached Bright’s shoulder. “First, we’ll have to deal with the ships. Ten of varying classes are deployed over the planet; the largest concentration we’ve found to date. Admiral Holloway.” He gestured at the white haired, dark skinned Fleet officer. “Will command a force of fifteen ships through the gate a day’s travel from the planet. There’s an auto-defense turret positioned at the gate, but we’ll send nukes through before we jump to distract it. Then Admiral Holloway will engage and destroy the enemy.”

  Colonel Bright seamlessly retook control of the meeting.

  “And that’s where you come in General Banks–”

  Trent would serve as XO of the 1st Legion and have direct command of the 1st Cohort, five hundred troops. General Tommy Banks, whom he had met the day before, would command the 1st Legion, five thousand troops in all. With so little experience to judge from, Trent couldn’t place final judgment on Banks, but he didn’t have high hopes.

  The average height, fifty-something general from Nebraska, spent his U.S. Army days braving the dangers of killer e-paper cuts and navigating teetering towers of e-paperwork in an office just a few floors above where he sat now. His career advancement then, and now, was largely a testament to his political skills. How someone with such a background garnered a command like this was beyond Trent’s understanding and spoke to what he hated most about the military.

  “—Once the skies are clear, the battlecarrier, Earth’s Fist, will move in to commence dropping operations. The 1st Legion will be deployed onto planet according to General Banks’ orders.”

  Another cohort commander, Lt. Colonel Beth Cutter, interjected, “Why can’t we just nuke the base from orbit?”

  While a sound question, the lack of bloodlust it implied didn’t sit well with General Banks. He stirred in his chair.

  What the hell does he know about true bloodlust?

  Trent had tasted blood, both red and blue, and would be damn glad to nuke the bastards until they glowed, then shoot them in the dark if they could. Cheap victories still tasted sweet.

  Bright said, “We’ll try that...but doubt it’ll work. This is a fully operational base. Judging from what we’ve learned in the Fleet engagement over Big Red, the enemy, like us, possesses overwhelming missile defenses that don’t allow any nukes to get into effective range. It’s safe to assume the same holds true for their land bases. Just like the Fleet, the Legion is going to have to get close and win a knife fight.”

  “Sounds like fun,” Banks said with artificial courage. Trent couldn’t help a mental eye roll.

  “Colonel Bright, if I may?” he said.

  “Go ahead, Colonel,” she replied.

  “Two questions. First, what is our timeline? When do we launch and what is the estimated mission time...in Earth time?”

  “Launch is in three days. We’re figuring the mission will last two years and some weeks. Two years to get to Alpha Gate and back. The some weeks part totally depends on the mission itself. So I can’t really say.”

  Two years-ish isn’t too bad. Anna will be around twenty-three.

  “Did you have another question?”

  “Oh, yes.” Trent recovered from his thoughts. “Do you know if we’ll be able to breathe the atmosphere?”

  “Don’t know. It wasn’t in the database.” She cocked her head to the left. “Why? I mean...your suit will protect you.”

  “What’s the longest you’ve ever lived in a suit, Colonel?”

  “Couple days.” Bright shrugged.

  “Try doing it for a couple weeks. You’ll see my point.”

  General Gibbs rose. “If there are no other questions, we can adjourn.”

  The black and gray ring around the table stirred as the gathering started to scatter.

  “Oh...one more thing.” General Gibbs’ word froze all in place. “Colonel Maxwell, I would appreciate it if you could refrain from getting in any bar fights between now and your launch.”

  Several smiles broke out around the table. Generals Gibbs and Banks were not among them.

  “Will do, sir.”

  Chapter 18: All Ahead

  One year down. A little more than one to go...in Earth time. Wonder what Anna has been up to? She’s a junior how. Hey, I might make her graduation!

  He stayed lost in selfish thoughts as he stood on the bridge of Earth’s Fist, the first in its class of battlecarriers. It was a massive category of vessel, measuring just over two kilometers in length, half a kilometer in width, and three hundred meters tall. A cone capped each end. Between them, the ship’s shape resembled a giant oval tube coated in a layer of pure black carbon fiber designed to protect the metal hull.

  The aerodynamic design struck Trent as odd the first time he saw it from the shuttle. The shuttle pilot explained that the smooth shape allowed a nuclear blast wave to flow over and around the ship, aiding in minimizing damage.

  Earth’s Fist’s core mission was to deliver fighters, drones, and troops to the front. Its crew numbered fifteen-hundred, but also carried five thousand legionnaires. Those troops would drop into a battle zone on fifty shuttles holding fifty troops each, making two trips. The shuttles could then serve as close ground support when necessary.

  The compliment of six squadrons of fighters, thirty in all, and forty drones made up Earth’s Fist’s offensive capabilities. The twin-seat fighters looked like small versions of the B-52 bombers the U.S. Air Force widely used until the middle of the 21st century. A high-energy laser served as the primary weapon, but they also carried two missiles tipped with conventional warheads for when they got close. The wings allowed flight in most atmospheres.

  The mindless sphere shaped drones controlled by the ship’s battle computer could engage targets in space only, with a laser serving as their teeth.

  For defense, the hull bristled with anti-missile and anti-fighter batteries.

  While impressive, in many areas a battlecarrier could by no means go toe to toe with an enemy capital ship. Therefore, Earth’s Fist held back while Admiral Holloway prepared to lead fourteen ships through the gate.

  The small armada took a V formation
. Trent watched the parade, but construction activity off the port side temporarily distracted him. It appeared as if the robotic workers kept busy welding the framework for a large sphere of some kind.

  “What’s that, Ensign?” he asked the young Asian female standing next to him.

  “Oh, that will be Alpha Gate Base when it’s completed. The plan is for it to serve as a staging area and first line of defense. The idea is to eventually eliminate the need to keep making the long trip back to Earth in between missions.”

  “Looks huge.”

  “From what I understand, that’s an understatement. It’ll eventually be dozens of kilometers in diameter. We didn’t have the resources to build it till now. Earth’s defensive grid took priority. With that finished, work here started about a year ago.”

  “Impressive.”

  “Oh, look, Colonel.” The ensign pointed out the forward bridge window. “They’ve started firing.”

  Twenty-eight nuclear warheads barreled toward the gate point held open by Admiral Holloway’s flagship, the battleship Canada. The Canada at one kilometer long measured roughly half the size of Earth’s Fist, but still towered over the cruisers nearby by a third. Its boxy shape gave it away as an older design. All new ships would resemble Earth’s Fist, but not for a few more years.

  One after another, the missiles made the jump. They crossed the universe in an instant, to begin their run at the Bearcat auto-defense turret. The warheads would detonate in waves. The first sacrificing themselves a micro-second after merging so their heat, light, and radiation would mask the advance of the others. Another set would go off to continue the cover. This tactic also cleared any mines on the other side.

  With the last missile away, the fleet advanced to make its own jump. Even if the missiles failed to destroy the initial defenses, they would distract the turret long enough for the admiral to deal with it.

  Trent watched the ships disappeared one at a time.

  ***

  Admiral Jacob Holloway’s heart raced as the ships jumped to the other side. Luckily, the sixty-one year old former U.S. Naval submarine officer’s command experience helped him effectively mask his nervousness. The only exterior manifestation of that were a clammy set of palms, but he didn’t plan on shaking any hands during the battle.