The two men sat on the couch, and David picked up his mug. “I know the feeling. Since I’m rather restless in my sleep, it can be trying for someone trying to get some rest beside me.”
“Nightmares?”
“Yes,” David replied, not elaborating.
Kravitz changed the subject. “How are you holding up?”
“Surviving, I suppose.”
The older man put his hand on David’s shoulder. “I worry about you.”
“I’m just trying to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Get up every morning, do my routine, report for duty… and not let Barton beat me.”
“Aaaaah,” the rabbi replied as a smile formed on his face. “You admitted something important. You’re making yourself miserable to avoid showing weakness to Barton.”
“Maybe I am.” David stared off into space. “It’s the only thing I have going right now. I hate them, Rabbi.” He turned and faced Kravitz. “Rhodes, Fuentes… Barton. The lives of millions are now meaningless.” A tear slid down his cheek. “My friend's sacrifice was made in vain.”
“I would disagree.”
David locked his eyes on to the older rabbi. “Why?”
“You—and the rest of those in the CDF—defend the rest of the Terran Coalition, do you not?”
“Yes.”
“Have you looked around lately? The Terran Coalition is doing quite well. It exists, the League stays on its side of the arm—at least for now. While I agree with your assessment that we’ll see them again, the fact of the matter is you did your duty. Take pride in it. Allow yourself to move on.”
“To what?” David made a fist with his right hand and slammed it into the cushion.
Kravitz kept silent for a few moments and stared at him. “Rabbinical studies? A relationship with the woman you love, from what you’ve told me—to name a few?”
“Let Barton win? Bail out?” David shook his head. “I hate giving up, and I hate to lose.”
“Aaaaah.” Again the rabbi chuckled in a way that seemed to shake the very walls of the small apartment. “See, David, the more you talk, the more it becomes apparent that your pride refuses to allow yourself to let go. You’re like a man tugging on a rope as hard as he can as his opponent does the same. There’s another way. Let go of the rope. Make something with the rest of your life.”
David sat quietly for a good thirty seconds as he considered his friend’s words and advice. He could almost see a different David Cohen across from him, wearing the garb of a rabbi with a full beard and curled sidelocks. A Jew that outwardly and inwardly proclaimed his faith, living as God intended. “I’m not sure most rabbinical schools would want a former military officer,” he began. “Especially not this one, given my recent controversies.”
“Don’t make an excuse.” Kravitz stared at him with a laser-like focus. “I’ve already spoken with two chief rabbis who would be happy to admit you at any time. One here on Canaan, the other back on New Israel.”
Something clicked together suddenly inside of David. Angie had told him roughly the same thing for months. He’s right, and so is she. I don’t have to stay. I’m only bringing the pain on myself. It was as if a weight lifted off his shoulders. For the first time in months, he felt free and not like a passenger watching his life play out before his eyes. “Let’s make it Canaan.” He smiled broadly. “I’ve decided I’m going to ask Angie to marry me once I’m in a better place. If I move back to New Israel, it would probably self-destruct our relationship.”
“That’s the first intelligent thing you’ve said since I arrived,” Kravitz commented dryly.
The visit continued, and David felt at peace. He looked forward to the idea of embracing his faith once more.
5
CDF Orbital Drydock
Churchill
June 5th, 2463
The shuttle flight up to the shipyard where Kenneth Lowe worked was uneventful. He’d spent the time sitting in the cargo hold alone, staring at his tablet and reviewing email after email from his team. Three months of suspension turned into five. I’m not even sure why they didn’t fire me. Part of him wished they had. Going back five months later felt like the literal walk of shame. But it was all he knew. Now he found himself about to walk through the hatch into the small suite of offices that the company he worked for—Strydeclyth Shipboard Integrators—maintained on the outpost. Kenneth took a deep breath and ducked his more than two-meter-tall frame to fit through the doorway.
“Welcome back, boss!” Harold Billings, one of his team leads—affectionately known as the Master Chief—yelled. Behind him was a small army made up of the people Kenneth had led for years. They all clapped as he came in.
Joshua Carter, his right-hand man, held up a small bottle of champagne. “About time.” He extended his arm. “Good to have you back, sir.”
“It’s good to be back,” Kenneth replied, his tone one of shock. He stared with his mouth open. “I, uh, didn’t expect to see everyone like this.” He smiled. “Thank you. It means a lot to me.”
“We wouldn’t have missed it for the universe,” one of the engineers in the back called out.
Kenneth took his time, shaking hands with each person individually before, finally, he, Carter, and Billings made their way to his old office. It hadn’t changed much. The knick-knacks were right where he left them on the desk, and his plaque that proclaimed “Do everything as if it is unto the Lord, and not unto men” still sat proudly, facing the entrance. “Have a seat, gents.”
“Thanks, boss.” Billings dropped into one of the chairs facing the desk. “Did I mention we missed not having you around?”
“And not just so you could run interference on Stephen Casey,” Carter interjected.
The mention of Casey made Kenneth’s blood boil. He set his jaw. “What now?”
Billings and Carter traded glances. “Well, while you were gone… let’s say he ran amok. We’ve made little progress on the refits. Supposedly because highly placed political sources asked for a slowdown. He’s transferred most of the personnel to other projects. We’ve only got a skeleton crew remaining.”
“Ugh.” Kenneth put his head in his hands for a moment. “I almost resigned, you guys know that?” He shook his head and stared at them. “But I couldn’t. I didn’t want to leave everyone stuck with Casey. Did we get anything done?”
“Reactor modifications are complete. No work’s been done on the shields or weapon systems,” Billings said.
“Fine. Start drawing up plans to restart all work. I’ll talk to the government and see if I can get them to force the company’s hand.” Kenneth leaned back in his chair. “If anyone still cares.”
Silence descended on the cramped office. After a few seconds, Billings asked, “Are you okay, boss?”
“Yeah. I’ll be fine.”
The sound of banging on the closed office door caused them all to turn and stare. “Come in,” Kenneth called out.
It swung open, revealing the stooped form of Stephen Casey in his three-piece business suit. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything.” He walked into the room as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “I need to speak with Lowe.” After another moment, he continued. “That means leave.”
Kenneth nodded toward Billing and Carter. “It’s okay, guys. I’ll catch up with you later.”
The two men filed out, leaving Casey and Kenneth alone. Casey stood in front of the desk, arms crossed and practically sneering. “I see you slunk back in here. Couldn’t take the hint?”
“You got something to say?” Kenneth replied, dropping any pretense of formality or civility.
Casey glared down at him. “I don’t want you here, Lowe. You’re not a team player, you don’t do are you’re told, and I have little use for wannabe heroes.”
Pent-up emotion in Kenneth, namely his anger for years over Casey’s behavior, finally overcame his carefully maintained, professional façade. “I’m glad we’re finally telling the other what we really think. Let’s
start with this—I don’t give a damn what you think of me. You’ve stolen millions of credits from the CDF, put countless soldiers' lives in danger, and all so you can get rich.” By now, he was practically shouting. “Meanwhile, you go around cutting everyone’s pay, talking about shared sacrifice, and how we all need to help each other.”
“Are you quite done?” Casey’s voice dripped acid.
“I’m just getting started. Do you think the accounting department doesn’t talk with the rest of the company? I know you got half a million credits in salary last year, doubled by your bonus. Not only are you a liar and a cheat, but you’re also a hypocrite on top of everything else. So take your feel-good socialist bullshit that applies to everyone else but never you, and get the hell out of my office!”
A pall of silence descended across the room as the two men stared each other down. Casey gathered himself up to his full height and sneered. “That idealistic CDF officer isn’t around to bail you out anymore, Lowe. I own you, and you’ll either do what I say… or else. Clear?”
“I’ll meet you on solid ground, any day. Name the place and time.” Kenneth balled his fists and stood. He towered over Casey. “You won’t walk away.”
“Was that a threat?”
“No. I don’t make threats. That was a promise.”
Casey smiled. “You’re gone, within the month. When I’m done, you won’t be able to get a job as a garbage collector. And I’ll be at my vacation home, sitting on my thousand-credit each home theater chairs.”
“Enjoy it while it lasts. Now get out. Or I’ll throw you out head first.”
The hatch slammed hard a moment later as Casey stormed out. Kenneth dropped back into his chair, staring straight ahead. Why am I doing this again? The only logical reason he could come up with was protecting the people who worked for him. An evil grin came to his face. Sticking it to that jerk is a close second.
* * *
Master Chief Gordan MacDonald eased through the hatch leading to Alpha team’s little section of the Lion of Judah. His nearly forty-year-old frame felt the pain of a punishing morning workout, followed by a fifteen-kilometer run with a weighted pack. He’d lapped one of the decks six times. While he’d never admit it out loud, age did eventually begin to catch up with a tier-one operator. Waiting inside the room, with its six cages of gear, were Senior Chief Dennis Harrell and Petty Officer First Class Esmail Rostami. MacDonald’s face brightened, and he strode over to Harrell, embracing him tightly. “Brother. Good to see you back.”
Harrell grinned and fiercely returned the hug. “Those Leaguer bastards weren’t keeping me out of the fight.” He pointed at Rostami. “Heard the kid did well the last few weeks in training.”
“The kid always does well, and isn’t a kid anymore,” Rostami stated with faux annoyance in his voice.
“You’ll always be the kid around here.” MacDonald laughed. “You guys already exercise this morning?”
“I had physical therapy,” Harrell replied. “Which is, you know, like a weak workout run by the elderly.”
Rostami smirked. “Hey, there’s a ninety-year-old woman at my gym back home. I see her lifting two-hundred-pound weights. Puts everyone in there to shame.”
“Don’t ever admit that again,” Harrell shot back.
More raucous laughter swept the room. MacDonald stared at his old friend and second in command. “I was worried about you. Clean bill?”
“Yeah, Master Chief. I’m medically cleared.” Harrell shifted his footing. “I hear we’ve got a new cake eater in charge.”
MacDonald’s face contorted. “You know I’m not one for officers, but at least Cohen had a set.”
“I’m sure Master Chief Tinetariro helped with that process.”
“Or cut them off,” Rostami said as he chuckled. “Lieutenant Goldberg’s out too.”
“You ask me, we got some political limp-wristed piece of shit coward in charge on the bridge and the White House.”
“Now now,” MacDonald began. “That was dangerously close to a violation of the UCMJ.” His eyes twinkled. “How about we get the team together and barge into Spier’s dinner tonight in the officer’s mess? I bet the little jerk would piss his pants.”
Harrell laughed loudly. “Now that’s an op I’m down for, Master Chief.”
“I’ll hack the security cameras so we have a record of it to give to our grandchildren,” Rostami chimed in.
“Grandchildren? What woman would possibly want to procreate with a nerd like you?” Harrell asked.
MacDonald laughed, his frame shaking from the exertion. Damn politicians. I wish they’d get out of our way and let us finish the job. Forcing the thought aside, the crusty operator went through training plans for the week. Because whatever else happened, the Space Walkers would be ready.
* * *
The main headquarters of Coalition Intelligence sat far outside the reaches of Lawrence City. Away from the gleaming skyscrapers and massive government complex, it was a series of nondescript buildings ringed by farmland. There was a public HQ building, but this was where the real action took place. Colonel Robert Sinclair cleared the entry portal and scanned his biometrics—fingerprint and retina—to gain access to the helicar parking garage. Once he’d glided it to a halt, Sinclair got out of his vehicle and did one last inspection of his uniform. Assured it was in order, he made his way to building 902—known as the Taj Mahal—where the Director’s offices were housed.
Once clear of the next security checkpoint at the entryway to the building, Sinclair paused for a moment. Directly ahead of him was a wall, known within the intelligence community as the Memorial to the Fallen. Thousands of small gold stars adorned it, each representing an agent killed in the line of duty. Their names and operations classified, they would never be known to the public like the heroes who died in battle for the CDF were, but it was a small way in which CIS could honor their sacrifice. Above the stars, the motto of intelligence was chiseled into the marble. “In God We Trust; All Others We Monitor.” It always brought a smile to his face, and today was no different.
A few minutes later, Sinclair reached his objective: the Director’s conference room in the administration suite. He pushed open the door to reveal a woman he’d never met and a man in CDF uniform—General Barton. It was all Sinclair could do not to allow the disgust to show on his face. Instead, he came to attention. “Colonel Robert Sinclair, reports as ordered, sir, ma’am.”
“Have a seat, Colonel,” Barton replied as he gestured toward an empty chair. “I don’t think you’ve met Director Elizabeth Balodis yet.”
Sinclair flashed a smile at Balodis, who displayed a grim expression on her face.
Unlike Barton, she wore a gray pantsuit of the latest style. Long brown hair fell to her shoulders and matched her eyes. Balodis didn’t return the grin. “Your request said this was an urgent matter of national security, Colonel. I wouldn’t normally take a meeting like this out of channels, but you are a man of some renown inside of CIS.”
I knew it wouldn’t be easy. He leaned forward. “We’re unable to complete remote drone scans of the former Freedom Station.” Sinclair couldn’t bring himself to call it Unity Station again. “In fact, neither CIS nor the CDF has had any success in updating our intel picture since the last CDF forces pulled out several weeks ago.”
“And?” Barton asked, his tone one of impatience.
“General, you must see the grave risk this presents to the Terran Coalition. The League could be massing for an attack. At the very least, we need to do a sneak and peek operation, and find out what’s going on.” Sinclair furrowed his brow, and sweat started forming on his forehead.
“I disagree,” Balodis interjected. “Upsetting the League at this time could provoke the type of response none of us want to see.”
My God, it’s another one of Jezebel Rhodes hand-picked useful idiots. “Jezebel” had become the preferred insult when officers referred to Rhodes. Sinclair struggled to keep a neutral expression an
d maintain his professionalism. “Since when does the Coalition Intelligence Service care about the League’s feelings?”
“Since the change in administration,” Barton replied. “Look, Colonel. We’re not approving any direct actions that would serve to jeopardize the peace. Period. End of story. The Leaguers aren’t stupid enough to start another war. Entire legions of analysts agree on it, and Fuentes isn’t authorizing a mission. Do your job and don’t bring it up again. Otherwise, we might have to investigate the Oxford’s involvement in the Hestian uprising a bit more closely.” He finished the sentence with a decided bite to his tone.
Sinclair smirked, and for a moment, considered giving Barton a piece of his mind. Bastard Barton. A disgrace to the CDF. He recalled hearing David had delivered a tour-de-force verbal beatdown on both Barton and Rhodes. I wish I’d been there. He forced his expression back to neutral. “I understand completely, sir.”
“Perhaps we can revisit this in a few months,” Balodis smoothly interjected. “Depending, of course, on the political situation.” She flashed a smile, one that seemed to highlight every crease on her face. “I’m sure you can understand how delicate a time we’re in, Colonel.”
“Of course, ma’am.”
“Well, in that case, we’d all better get back to our work. Thank you for coming by.” Balodis stood, followed quickly by Barton.
Sinclair stood and came to attention. “I appreciate you hearing me out, Director, General.” As the two of them departed, he stayed behind in the conference room. Well, that’s that—on to plan B.
6
Lawrence City – Residential District
Canaan
June 20th, 2463
Robert Sinclair was a man just as used to being out of uniform as he was to wearing it proudly. Right now, trying to blend in and remain inconspicuous was the order of the day. To that end, both he and Tamir wore regular civilian clothes. Sinclair had a hat on his head and an umbrella in his hand. The forecast called for rain, and the device had an entire electronic jamming suite built into it. Anyone trying to listen in on them would be disappointed.
Finish the Fight: Echoes of War Book Seven Page 4
