Finish the Fight: Echoes of War Book Seven

by Gibbs, Daniel

  The mention of his clothing brought a grin to David’s face. “Well, I’m not observing all of Hasidic Judaism’s tenants. You could say I’m still deciding what the future holds there. But I needed to do something drastic. Does that make sense? I’ve spent most of my life getting out of Mivtzot because of my occupation. It became far too simple to justify avoiding them. If I’m candid with myself, at some point, I used the necessities of war to get around my faith.”

  “I find myself believing that God doesn’t care if your eggs are cooked in a pan that had bacon in it earlier in the day, when we’re losing a war for survival.”

  “Perhaps. Perhaps not. For this Jew, though—I needed to find my way back to God. I’ve tried to do it by embracing the Mitzvot as much as humanly possible.” David leaned back, trying to find a comfortable position. It was no use. His legs, thighs, even his bottom hurt from the hard surface. “Ruth,” he continued, finally adjusting himself so one leg crossed over the other. “You have to understand I was heading down a dark road.”

  “How so, sir?” Her eyebrows bunched together as she furrowed her brow.

  “I realized that if I channeled my anger, I could use it to motivate me.”

  “What’s wrong with that, sir? I’ve done it most of my life.”

  David tilted his head to one side. “The problem is it consumes you. I got to the point within weeks that I simply nursed the rage inside of me and used it to propel me forward. In turn, I became short with those around me, damaging what relationships I had left. Rabbi Kravitz helped me understand that I had to let go… and find my way back to God.” He spread his hands out on the table.

  “If it’s that simple, why’d you jump at the chance to get back out here?”

  Touché. He sat mute for a time, pondering a response. If nothing else, she deserved the truth. But what was the truth? “I believe with all my heart that the League is evil and can’t be trusted. I detest how the government has behaved and this farce of a peace treaty.” His expression turned dark. “Giving back Freedom Station was a betrayal of everything we fought for. I hope I’m doing this because I want to correct that wrong and force the President to do the right thing. What I fear is that I’m doing it because I want to get my pound of flesh. I want Fuentes and Rhodes to pay.” David made eye contact with her. “I’m sure that’s not what you wanted to hear.”

  Ruth reached out and put her hand on top of his. “Sir, I get it. I wrestle with my disdain for the government and the League daily. There’s nothing wrong with admitting we might have less than pure motives. In fact, I’d say it takes a real Jew to do so.”

  “Do not tell the rabbi that.”

  “So, after this, what will you do?”

  David shrugged. “If I don’t end up in jail, I suppose I’ll go back to the shul and continue my studies. The rabbi I’m studying under is quite forgiving, though he’s a bit exact.” He flashed a grin. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I was making some progress on my most recent assignment.”

  “Oh? What’s that?”

  “The concept that fearing God is the beginning of wisdom. I’m supposed to write a defense of it for the rabbi.”

  “Good luck,” Ruth said as she stood. “See you on the bridge, sir. Godspeed.”

  “Godspeed, Ruth.”

  * * *

  A few days later, the Virginia had made its way across the deep void between the galactic arms of the Milky Way and was holding steady, fifty light-years from Freedom station. While the rest of their small band wore civilian clothing or CDF duty uniforms, David retained his black frock coat and black hat. A little past 0700, he sat in the command chair in the cramped control room of the ship, nursing his second mug of hot CDF coffee. It tasted like battery acid. Oh, I miss my kosher food now. His lips curled up in a grin. A week of field rations would make any level of dietary laws seem like a walk in the park. “Chief,” he called out, toward Billings. “Status of Lawrence drives?”

  “Fully charged, sir,” Billings replied. “If I may, sir, the proper title for my position is COB. It’s what I’m used to and helps remove the cobwebs.”

  “Oh, cute, a pun,” Ruth piped up from her post at the tactical console. “That was almost funny.”

  Scattered laughter swept through them.

  “Okay, people,” David interjected, his tone all business. “We’re doing this by the book. Jump in at extreme range, stick our nose in and get a scan, then we get out as fast as possible. Any questions?”

  From his seat toward the back of the room, Sinclair’s posh accent rang out. “Does the book include stealing CDF property, old chap? Just wondering.”

  David couldn’t suppress a grin as he cranked his head around. “I suppose not. Still, no heroics on this one. We’re in a stealth raider. Underline the word ‘stealth.’”

  “Aye, sir,” Ruth said.

  “Good. TAO, please tell me you studied the sensor functions of this boat. Normally, there’s an entire group of techs reviewing the information coming in.”

  Ruth turned around. “I won’t be as good as them, sir, but all we need to do is prove there are League military vessels here. That, I can handle.”

  “Excellent. COB, spin up the Lawrence drive and confirm our coordinates.”

  “Conn, COB. Coordinates confirmed and ready to engage.”

  Here goes nothing. David leaned forward in his seat. “COB, activate Lawrence drive.”

  Unlike the wormhole generated by the Lion of Judah, or destroyer, the stealth raiders used a unique version of the drive that didn’t create anywhere near the same sensor or visual signature. The technology was classified at the highest levels, and unusable on vessels above a specific size. The lights dimmed in the control room, and a small vortex opened in space, which the Virginia shot through. It emerged on the other side, the wormhole dissipating within moments.

  “Conn, TAO, we’re through,” Ruth said. The seconds ticked by as they collectively held their breath, waiting for the sensors to come on. “Location confirmed, we’re roughly ten million kilometers from Freedom Station.”

  “I think they’re calling it Unity Station again, Captain,” Sinclair called out from across the control room.

  “Do I look like a Leaguer to you, Colonel?”

  “We need to start keeping score on the zingers here,” Taylor interjected. Laughter again rippled through the team.

  David reflected for a moment on the distinct lack of professionalism and realized he had no place to complain. After all, he was out of uniform himself. We’re a group of people trying to do what’s right, probably scared to death, and nothing awaits us except personal ruin… if we even survive. He cleared his throat. “Time to get on point, people. We’re on the clock. COB, plot a course that gets us within close sensor range of Freedom Station, so we can gather as much intel as possible.”

  “Aye, aye, sir. Course laid in.”

  “Ahead one-tenth of maximum thrust.”

  Time passed slowly as they crept closer to the League station. Over an hour later, David blinked a few times to clear his blurry vision. His eyes were tired from staring at the screen attached to the CO’s chair. There was something incredibly claustrophobic about the tiny control room—especially the lack of windows to see the void of space.

  Ruth turned around in her seat. “Conn, TAO. I’ve got Freedom Station on my scopes. Lots of sensor ghosts too.”

  “League warships?” David asked.

  “We’re too far out for me to tell, sir.”

  “Keep working at it.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  * * *

  Simultaneously, on the bridge of Unity Station, a full crew of League sailors manned the essential functions and defense grid of the installation that was, to them, the crowning achievement of human technology. They were watched over by the probing eye of Fleet Captain Astrid Monet, freshly released from a Terran Coalition POW camp and appointed to her old post by none other than Admiral Seville himself. She was a few hours into her daily watch
standing rotation and looking forward to the arrival of another wave of League vessels.

  “Captain, sector eighty-six is showing an anomalous sensor reading,” the tactical officer called out. “Possible enemy ship.”

  Monet stood up and walked to his station. “Show me, Lieutenant.”

  The younger man blew up an image of the imaging array, which showed a possible contact moving toward the station at a constant speed. The computer classified it as a radiation burst.

  “When will it hit our EMP field?”

  “Assuming it maintains current speed, fifteen minutes, Captain.”

  “Order the alert squadron to prepare to intercept. Normal procedures.” Monet smiled coldly. Let the Terrans come. We’ll make short work of them.

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  * * *

  “Anything, TAO?” David asked. Something was bugging him as they made their way ever closer to the enemy. He’d been in combat so many times, there was almost a sixth sense ingrained into his psyche. It screamed something was wrong. This was far too easy, unless the League wasn’t breaking the treaty and had nothing to hide. David dismissed the concept out of hand.

  “Negative, sir.” Ruth glanced back toward him. “I’ve got the passive scanners going as high as possible. I can’t tell you anything else without going active.”

  For a split second, David considered ordering to use the active sensor array—which, on a Growler class boat, was especially powerful. The problem was it would light them up for anyone in range. They’d be impossible to miss. “Keep trying. Something’s off here.” It probably went without saying, but he wanted to impress the stakes on her.

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  The Virginia continued its advance, slowly inching, in galactic distance terms, toward the target. Beads of sweat appeared on the foreheads on most of those present, despite the air being at a comfortable temperature. David leaned forward in his seat, staring at the plot. Just a few more minutes.

  “Conn, TAO. I’m showing a series of faint energy signatures, dead ahead.”

  Alarm bells went off in David’s brain. “COB, all stop! Emergency back, maximum thrust.”

  “Sir, we’ll be visible—”

  “Do it!”

  The strain of the engines kicking into full reverse was felt by all as the Virginia shook and rattled. Their forward momentum slowed, and David started to consider what was out there. Ships? Mines? Who knows what the League has built up.

  “Conn, TAO. Aspect change, energy spikes!” Ruth yelled, a split second before the deck pitched upward, and every electronic interface around them, including the lights, went out.

  * * *

  “EMP detonation successful, Fleet Captain.”

  Monet stared at her tactical officer as he spoke, and a grin curled up on her face. “Send our ships forward while they’re dark. Their orders are to board and capture the Terrans for interrogation.”

  “Aye, aye, sir!”

  She turned on her heel and walked back to the raised platform the station commander sat on. With a sigh, she sat and pondered what award Admiral Seville would foist on her for ensuring the success of the operation at large.

  * * *

  The first sixty seconds after the lights died was a frantic scramble for emergency flashlights and an initial diagnosis of the problem. David nursed a welt on his skull from slamming it into the back of the chair’s headrest. Otherwise, he was fine. “COB, status?”

  “Same as it was a few seconds ago, sir,” Billings replied. “Nothing’s got juice up here.”

  “Do either Lowe or you have engineering experience on a Growler?” David asked pointedly.

  “Not as it were, sir,” Kenneth replied. “But we’ll do what we can. Harold, with me.”

  Sinclair stood. “I have some unique talents. Lieutenant Alon and I will join in. See if we can get this tub running again. Why don’t you join us, Lieutenant?” He glanced toward Taylor. “Your skills are wasted here, and I suspect we could use the extra pair of hands.”

  “Get moving,” David practically barked. As they scurried away, he went over and over the last few minutes. Nothing had registered on his screen, but then, he wasn’t on a scanner. An emergency light flashed on, illuminating the area in a soft red hue. The consoles, however, were still dark and lifeless.

  “General, this is Lowe. An EMP of some sort hit the ship, judging from the number of fried circuit breakers down here. We’re working on it. It’ll take a few minutes to reset everything.” His voice crackled from the handcomm on David’s belt.

  “Acknowledged,” he replied after bringing the device up to his lips. “Concentrate your efforts on sensors and propulsion.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  The minutes wore on, with the mostly deserted bridge quiet except for barely audible breathing. David found his mind wandering, considering if he’d led his friends to their ultimate demise at the hands of the League. I’m confident they were expecting someone to show up. We really stepped in it.

  “Sir, I’ve got limited sensors back,” Ruth said.

  That got David’s attention. “Anything on them?”

  Ruth didn’t reply for a moment. “Sorry, sir. I’m not used to this system.” She paused and let out a sharp breath. “Oh, shit.”

  “Report, TAO.”

  The harshness of his voice seemed to kick her into high gear. “Sir, we’ve got six League vessels bearing down on us at maximum sub-light. One Rand class heavy cruiser, designated Master One, five Cobra class destroyers, designated Master Two through Six. They’re fifteen minutes from weapons range, sir.”

  David’s eyes went wide, considering the implications. As bad situations go, this one takes the cake.

  9

  “Mr. Lowe, if you can’t get us engines and shields in the next ten minutes, we’re dead,” David matter-of-factly stated into his handcomm.

  “Working on it, sir!” came a harried reply.

  David thought he could hear grunts and crashes through the commlink before it went dead. He forced himself to stay focused and stared at the overall status display he’d called up on the now functional CO’s console. “Well, we’ve been through worse.”

  “Really? When?” Ruth turned around in her chair. “I can’t think of any point in time where we’ve been without power and hurtling towards a League fleet in a tiny ship that can barely defend itself with all systems functional.”

  “Boat, Captain. It’s a boat, remember?” Repeating the lame joke was his only defense against mounting desperation.

  Ruth laughed, tinged with a hint of panic. “Thanks, sir.”

  “Engines back online, sir!” Lowe’s voice came through the ship’s intercom, loud and clear.

  “About time. Now get me shields and the Lawrence drive!” David yelled as he jumped out of the CO’s chair and slid behind the navigator's station. “I’ll fly, you track,” he said with an eye toward Ruth.

  “Aye, aye, sir. I was never any good at flying these things anyway.”

  The indicators that displayed available engine power suddenly went from zero to sixty percent. With fierce determination, David adjusted the vessels heading away from the pursuing League force and pushed their thrust to the maximum available.

  “Conn, TAO. Aspect change, Masters One through Six. Rate of gain has slowed and continues to fall.”

  “How much time did we gain?”

  “At least a few more minutes, sir.”

  David blew his breath out through his mouth as he bit down on his lip. “It won’t be enough.” He brought his handcomm up. “Lowe, we’re not gaining fast enough. I need more speed.”

  “Sorry, sir, best we can do. One of the circuits is fried.”

  For a brief moment, David lost control and slammed his fist into the console while he grunted in anger. “What about shields?”

  “Momentarily, sir.”

  While the bridge team and the rest of them tried to repair the raider, the League ships opened fire with their plasma
cannons. Balls of superheated plasma shot toward them, filling the blackness of space with streaks of red. Thankfully, they were just out of range, but every shot was a few hundred kilometers closer. The navigation computer suggested evasive courses to David’s console. He tried to remember how to fly a ship in combat—something he hadn’t done in fifteen years. There’s no way we’re getting out of this without taking a few of these guys out. That realization led him to inventory a Growler class boat’s munitions mentally. The neutron cannon on these things are just for show. Their real stopping power is the few Hunter missiles we’ve got. “TAO, please tell me our missile tubes are functional.”

  Ruth glanced over at him. “All twelve tubes locked and loaded, but the outer doors are closed, sir. We can’t launch, not even manually.”

  David spoke into his handcomm. “Lowe, where are my shields?”

  “One damn minute, General.”

  Without warning, the boat rocked violently. Ruth, strapped into her harness, held firmly in place. David, on the other hand, hadn’t bothered to engage his restraints—and paid the price. He cried out as his body went flying across the control room.

  “Sir, are you okay?” Ruth screamed, concern evident in her voice.

  “Uuuugh.” David picked himself up, fighting through a wave of pain. He first ensured that his arms and legs weren’t broken, then quickly got back to the navigation station.

  “We’ve got shields, sir,” Ruth announced.

  Finally, some good news. “Lowe,” he barked into the handcomm. “Get the missile tubes ready to fire. I don’t care what it takes, or if they still work once we launch the Hunters.” David ran the calculation for a course to avoid the two Cobra class destroyers trying to bear on them, and adjusted the boat’s heading to port. He spent the next few minutes flinging them from side to side, trying to avoid direct hits by the enemy's weapons suite. The League vessels played their deadly game of cat and mouse, trying to drive the Virginia into range of the Rand. I wonder if this is where we die. The thought went through him as the losing battle continued.