“We’re on the first anti-matter-powered warship the Terran Coalition has ever created. It combines the characteristics of a carrier and a battleship. To say it’s unique is an understatement.”
“I realize that your previous commanding officer allowed things to… get out of hand on this ship,” Spier began as he glanced around the room, a snarl on his face. “I’m not him. You can either get behind my attempts to clean things up or put in for a transfer.”
Tinetariro stood. “I’ll do one better, sir.” She took the rank insignia off her collar and tossed them on the table. “I’ve served thirty-one years in the Coalition Defense Force and am eligible for immediate retirement. Consider this my notice.” Without waiting to be acknowledged or for a reply, she marched out of the conference room, leaving stunned stares and hushed whispers in her wake.
Ruth was speechless. Her jaw dropped open, and she made eye contact with Taylor, who shrugged. “Ummm—”
“So that’s how it's going to be, eh?” Spier stood up and pushed the seat back angrily. “Anyone else want to quit? There’s no room in my command structure for people more loyal to a disgraced officer than the service.”
“Permission to speak freely, sir?”
“Denied, Lieutenant.”
“Sir, I must insist.” Ruth stared at Spier, her lips pressed tightly together.
“I’m here to provide real leadership for one of the most important ships in the fleet. Either get with the program or move on.”
Anger took over within Ruth. The source of her strength, it was also her greatest weakness. It burned brightly and bubbled over. “In that case, sir, I’m putting in for a transfer. I’ll do the paperwork this afternoon.”
“That goes for me too,” Taylor piped up.
Spier’s face turned bright red. “Fine. Get off my ship.”
“It’s not your ship, sir.” Ruth’s voice was quiet and intense. “It’s the Coalition Defense Force’s ship. The last man to sit in your chair understood that, and the responsibility that came along with it. I hope in time, you do too.”
“Dismissed. All of you. Anyone who can’t handle change is welcome to put your paperwork in by 1800 hours.” Spier turned on his heel and strode out, leaving the rest of them staring at one another.
“That went well,” Hanson commented dryly.
Ruth brought her hand down sharply on the table, which caused a loud noise. “Damn him. No one talks about the General like that.” She glanced around. “Come on, aren’t the rest of you angry?”
“He is our appointed commander,” Amir stated quietly. “As much as I detest him and his words, I need to watch over my pilots.”
“If Colonel Aibek were here, he’d have challenged that idiot to a fight to the death,” Ruth replied darkly.
“But he’s not,” Taylor interjected. “And that’s not how we do things.”
Ruth saw red—she flung the chair she was in back as she stood and started to march out the door. A moment before she cleared the hatch, she turned back at them. “Maybe we should.”
* * *
As the peace talks between the League of Sol and the Terran Coalition continued, there were near-daily protests between supporters of the Peace Union and their opponents across all ideological spectrums. While those protests raged across the core worlds, they were at their worst in Lawrence City. Tens of thousands of people congregated in pre-planned staging areas for either side. In one of those areas for Peace Union supporters, a middle-aged woman stood, barking out orders. “Got your signs, ladies? Good. Remember, we want to keep them positioned toward the cameras for maximum effect.” Her name was Rebecca Baker. A lawyer by trade, she’d been an outspoken member of the movement for years.
Cheers met her in response. The few dozen activists she served as a community organizer for hefted their signs. “What do we want? Peace now!” The chant continued as they marched forward in a ragged line. And so the protest went. It took a good two hours for the group to gather up all its disparate elements and come together in one cohesive unit in front of the government annex. A thin line of riot police separated them from the counter-protesters waving Terran Coalition and Coalition Defense Force flags.
One counter protester’s sign grabbed Baker’s attention. It read, “Killing never solved anything…” in big, bold letters, with subscript underneath that continued, “…except fascism, communism, and the League of Sol.” I’ll give them points for originality.
As the two sides continued to hurl chants, curses, and slogans at each other, small scuffles broke out between rivals. The riot police tried to keep the peace, but there were far too few of them to stop every person that wanted to throw a punch. A few men got into a fracas, clearing out the officers for a several-meter area.
Baker suddenly found herself face to face with another woman, who carried a sign that proclaimed, “Gold Star Mothers Against Surrender – Stop Fuentes Now!”
“Traitor!” the woman screamed, an ear-splitting noise that rose above the cacophony of chaos around them.
“We won the war!” Baker yelled in return. “There’s no need for our sons and daughters to keep dying.” She gestured at the sign the other woman held. “As a mother who lost a child, you oughta know that!”
The other woman’s eyes flashed blinding rage. For a moment, she held her sign as a club. “My son gave his life so we could live in freedom! Surrendering to the League is the equivalent to spitting on his grave, you damn traitor!”
“Can’t you see we’re free! What’s wrong with you warmongers!”
As the two women had traded insults, the riot police did their job and corralled a group of men assaulting each other. They scurried to stabilize the demarcation line between the protesters, and one of them got between Baker and the gold star mother. “Stand back, or I’ll arrest you both!” he yelled.
I’m not interested in being pepper-sprayed by some government goon. Baker took a step back and bared her teeth. “The Terran Coalition won’t be safe until people like you don’t exist!”
* * *
Chief Minister’s Palace
Sauria
February 25th, 2463
Obe Sherazi stared at the glass of green liquid he held in his hand. Hot and sweet, the liquor burned as it went down his throat. Half of the contents of the tumbler went down in one sip. Damn the humans. No, not the humans, just their feckless new leader. He wanted nothing more than to hurl the glass across the room into the wall of his private bedroom. White-hot anger stewed inside his soul as he considered how the Peace Union had concluded a separate peace with the League. The door shuddered from a loud knock. “Who is it?”
“It’s me, sir.” The voice of Sardar Ihejirika—one of his top aides—rang out through the thick metal.
“Come in.”
The door swung open, and Ihejirika strode in. “Do you have a moment, Chief Minister?”
Obe took another swig from the glass. “I suppose. Do not tell me you warned me of this outcome. I am no mood to hear it.”
The younger Saurian bowed respectfully and sat down in a chair. They were in what amounted to the living room of the old emperor’s quarters. Since the Saurian Empire had adopted democracy seventy years prior, the vast palace had been repurposed. “I have grown some, sir.” Ihejirika grinned toothily. “That has led to a slight increase in wisdom. I came to tell you an announcement came across the GalNet from Jessica Rhodes. The peace treaty was just ratified by both the Terran Coalition and the League of Sol.”
“How bad?” Obe asked.
“The Terrans gave up all territory seized in the Orion arm, agreed to return Freedom Station to the League, and pledged not to interfere in League internal matters.”
Obe hissed loudly. “Those are terms a defeated coward agrees to, not a victor!” He gave in to his anger and threw the glass he held as hard as possible into the wall.
It shattered into dozens of pieces.
“Damn them to the abyss!” Obe roared. “Tens of thousands of hono
red warriors gave their lives for the Terrans’ cause. For this?!”
“According to polling, most Terran Coalition citizens do not agree with the treaty,” Ihejirika stated. “Unfortunately, that means little. By the time the next election rolls around, it won’t matter. You should also know the League has announced a unilateral ceasefire with the Royal Saurian Navy. As long as we don’t attack them, they’ve pledged to leave us alone.”
It’s a trick. Why can’t the humans see it? “How many ground troops do we have in the Orion arm?”
“Why, sir?”
“Because we paid for those planets in blood. Saurian blood shall not be spilled for naught.” Obe stared at the younger Saurian. “We can hold them ourselves, and if the League wishes to risk a fight with us, they can die.”
Ihejirika frowned, and his tongue went in and out of his mouth, as if in distaste. “Chief Minister, the Sauria First party is planning to call a vote of no confidence tomorrow morning. There is talk they will challenge you to blood combat if you refuse to disengage from the League.”
“What?” Obe screamed as his fury showed. “How did that abomination of an ideology get enough votes to topple our government?”
“They don’t have the votes, yet, Chief Minister.” Ihejirika gestured with his hands. “But if you suggest spending Saurian lives to keep the humans’ gains in the Orion arm when they signed a peace treaty, based on the conversations I’ve had with the Chamber of Ministers, you wouldn’t have a chance.”
If Obe had anything in his hands, he would’ve thrown it. Instead, he counted to ten and resisted the urge to challenge the leader of the Sauria First movement to blood combat. “This is disgusting.”
“Because of the humans.”
“Still don’t care for them, do you?”
“No,” Ihejirika hissed. “I admit, some have honor. Most do not. They are not worth the blood spilled for their cause.”
For once, Obe had nothing to say. The entire situation outraged him, and there was nothing he could do. Powerlessness wasn’t a feeling the leader of the Saurian Empire felt often. But today I do. He glanced at the younger Saurian. “Spread the word that I will withdraw our forces. We must strengthen our defenses, build up the fleet, and prepare for the League to attack us with a knife to the back, even as they smile.”
“It will be done, Chief Minister.”
“One last thing,” Obe continued. “Instruct the Chamber of Ministers to introduce a law renouncing the Canaan Alliance. We have no further obligations to the humans.”
Ihejirika smiled. “With pleasure, sir.”
4
CSV Oxford
X34-A15 – Unoccupied Blue Giant System
April 4th, 2463
Sinclair wiped his brow as he walked into a conference room within the sensitive compartmented information facility—or SCIF— on the Oxford. An hour before, they’d met up with a small civilian ship, clandestinely owned by the Coalition Intelligence Service. The fact that a meeting between members of CIS required tradecraft to carry out in Terran Coalition territory spoke to how screwed up things had gotten. Damn Rhodes and her constant witch hunts. Right behind him was Captain Tamir Alon, his now right-hand man and senior intelligence analyst. As they cleared the hatch, both men came to attention.
“As you were, gentlemen,” General Levi Ostrovsky, the head of CIS, intoned gravely. “Please, have a seat. I apologize for the randomness of the visit and lack of warning. My movements are watched, and I didn’t want our little chat getting out.”
Sinclair sat down across from the General. Ostrovsky’s white hair seemed a tad duller, and his face had more frown lines than he remembered. I’m sure I look a bit worse for wear too. “No worries, guv.” He grinned broadly. “We’re just out here minding our own business, trying to figure out what the bloody Leaguers are up to, with one hand tied behind our backs.”
“I may not be the ‘governor’ for much longer,” Ostrovsky replied. “There’s a slow but steady purge going on. Barton’s leading it, but Fuentes tacitly approves. He wants people who think like him in positions of power within the CDF, CIS, and CBI. Anyone who openly supported Spencer or continuing the war is, well… it’s clear we’re not welcome.”
“So what brought you all the way out here, old chap?” Sinclair asked, observing the General’s body language. What he doesn’t say might be just as important as what he does say.
Ostrovsky sat back in his chair and glanced between both Sinclair and Alon. A good fifteen seconds passed without a word before he picked up his briefcase from off the deck and pulled a small device out of it. He unceremoniously dropped the device on the table and activated it. A single green light blinked. “Communication and eavesdropping equipment scrambler. One never knows who’s listening these days. Rhodes has made a sport out of gutting the careers of good officers if she gets a whiff of dissension.” He again paused. “I’m looking for a few good men and women I can trust, Sinclair. You’ve always been one of our best.”
“I’m with you till the end, sir. Whatever it takes. Within the bounds of our oath to defend the Terran Coalition, of course.” Sinclair stared right back, searching the General’s eyes for some clue to what was coming.
“It’s good to hear that.” Another pause, as if the older man was about to make a choice he couldn’t take back. “I’ve been trying to get eyes on Freedom Station. So far, the politicians have expressly forbidden any attempts to gather intelligence.”
Sinclair let out a breath. “We’ve tried, sir. Every stealth drone we send out is jammed immediately, and then we lose contact with it. The Leaguers have the game dialed in.”
Ostrovsky stared at Sinclair, his jaw set. “How far are you willing to go to get that intelligence, Colonel?”
It was Alon that spoke up. He leaned forward in his chair. “If I may, sirs. Without knowledge of the League’s activities, in a month when our last forces disembark, there will be no way to know what’s coming. We have to figure out a solution. Even if the politicians disagree.”
“That could be construed as treason, Captain Alon.” Ostrovsky’s voice was gruff. “How far are you willing to go?”
“As far as it takes, General,” Alon said with finality.
Sinclair put his hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “Now, don’t be in a rush to get your personal ticket to Lambert’s Lament. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover before any extra-judicial activities are required. First things first; we should work within the chain of command. Maybe you could get Fuentes alone, or at least with Rhodes, and brief them properly?” he said toward Ostrovsky.
“Low probability of success, but yes. I plan to try it. In the meanwhile, you and your man here work on a contingency plan. Nothing is too outlandish, except harming CDF personnel. Allow me to underline that, Sinclair. I won’t have another Erhart situation. Clear?”
“Crystal, guv,” Sinclair said with a grin. “We’ve got some friends left out there.”
“Good. Now, I’m expected elsewhere in an hour. Good day to you both, and Godspeed.” Ostrovsky stood as he spoke and plucked his device from the table, returning it to the briefcase from whence it came.
Both Sinclair and Alon sprang to their feet. “Godspeed to you too, sir,” Sinclair replied.
The older general stalked out of the conference room without another word, leaving the two of them alone. Alon was the first to open his mouth. “What’s it all coming to, sir?”
“I don’t know, butter bars.”
Alon rolled his eyes. “I’m quite sure I’ve outgrown that nickname, sir,” the Israeli officer replied. “I’m serious. What are we going to do if the League moves its forces in? The bigger question is would Fuentes hold the Leaguers to account for breaching the treaty?”
The terms were quite clear—no League military vessels outside of the Orion arm, and none, besides a small defense fleet, stationed at Freedom station. “I don’t know, Tamir. I pray we don’t have to find out.” The thought they had a feckless president, unwi
lling to stand up to the enemy, was never far from Sinclair’s mind.
* * *
David Cohen’s Residence
Lawrence City – Canaan
April 15th, 2463
The months passed slowly for David as he toiled away in a dead-end posting to CDF Logistical command. Day in, day out, he reported for duty, filed mountains of paperwork, and oversaw the transportation of… stuff. All manner of items from ammunition to disposable plates to medical supplies. After a while, they all ran together, and he sank deeper and deeper into depression. This day, he’d come home early to an empty house. As he sat on his couch, nursing a cup of tea and pondering his life, the smart home system chimed.
“You have one visitor, male, at the front door,” the disembodied computer voice announced.
I wonder who that could be. David had few visitors, as most of his friends were deployed, and he hadn’t bothered to make any new ones since taking on the logistical post. “Camera on,” he replied.
A projection of the exterior of his unit appeared. It showed Rabbi Kravitz standing there in a CDF uniform, overlaid with a frock coat and a simple black hat. He waved up at the camera.
David broke into a grin and made his way to the front door. He pulled it open. “Rabbi! What an unexpected surprise.”
Without a word, Kravitz stepped forward and embraced David. After a moment in the bear hug, he spoke. “It’s good to see you.” He stepped back. “I happened to be in the neighborhood and thought I would come to see an old friend.”
I don’t buy that for a minute. David smiled and gestured inside. “Come on in. I was just having tea.” As they walked inside, he asked, “Would you like a cup? The water should still be warm.”
“No, I’m too old to be having caffeine in the afternoon,” Kravitz replied, a twinkle in his eye. “My wife would not appreciate me waking her every hour all night.”
Finish the Fight: Echoes of War Book Seven Page 3
