Finish the Fight: Echoes of War Book Seven

by Gibbs, Daniel

  Aaaaah. It clicked together. Waterman was the longest-serving prisoner-of-war in the conflict. David remembered he’d retired. Apparently not. He grinned. “Good to have you, Colonel. We’ll slot your ship in, and the others, into our tactical network. Talgat, same with you. Godspeed to you all.”

  “Understood, General,” Waterman replied. “Godspeed. Resolute out.”

  Aibek flashed what passed for a grin. “Walk with the Prophet, and may we yet defeat the evildoers.”

  “Amen,” Tinetariro said from her perch behind the CO/XO chairs.

  The screen went dark, leaving David with a rush of something akin to joy, mixed with hope. He found the optimism sweeping the bridge infectious. With the addition of the mothball ships, it put them over five hundred combat-capable vessels—four or five to one. We’ve won with those kinds of odds before. Backed by the stratofighters from Canaan and the planetary defense system… there’s at least a chance now. He stood and walked back to the tactical display in the large centralized holotank. “Master Chief, come here, please.”

  Tinetariro glanced at him with an eyebrow raised before crossing the few steps. “What can I do for you, sir? Not much on advanced fleet tactics.”

  “There are people who live for testing every possible permutation of a large-scale engagement.” David grinned. “I was never one of them. I’m more akin to the school of hit firstest with the mostest, to quote the strategy of a general long since gone.” He stared at the tank for a bit longer, then turned toward her. “I need you to act as the XO during the engagement.”

  “Sir?” Tinetariro’s eyes went wide. “I’m not trained for that. I don’t see what I could offer. Captain Goldberg is the most capable command officer besides you, respectfully, sir.”

  “She’s also the best tactical action officer in the fleet. I want her on the guns, laying waste to our Leaguer friends. All I need you to do is point out when I do something weird. Sometimes I get too inventive and need to be reminded of it.”

  “I’ll do my best, sir.”

  David flashed a smile. “You always do, Master Chief.” He paused for a moment. “Tell me something… how is it you are always so serene, no matter what’s going on?”

  Tinetariro cocked her head to one side. “When I was a little girl, my mother used to repeat a verse to me. My father, you see, he was a police officer, and we lived on a border planet with a lot of crime. It wasn’t a foregone conclusion he’d come home when he left in the morning. It went something like this. Don’t worry about anything, but instead give it to God and give Him our requests. I’ve hung on to it my entire life.”

  “Noted.” I wish I had that kind of clarity about right now. He glanced at the mission clock, ticking down to expected enemy emergence. Less than an hour. “Communications, patch the 1MC into the fleet.” As he spoke, he walked back to the CO’s chair and sat.

  “Ready, sir,” Taylor replied.

  “Attention all ships of the fleet; this is General David Cohen. A few minutes ago, all hope was lost. We’d resolved to give our lives in an attempt to slow the enemy down long enough so that the civilians we’re sworn to protect could escape. So that our way of life would continue. Now, there’s a chance. I’m not going to lie to you. This battle will be bloody, and it will see many of us pay the ultimate price. It’s a price we’re willing to pay. The Leaguers still don’t understand that the strongest force in the universe isn’t thousands of ships or millions of conscripts. It’s free men and women, regardless of species, willing to lay down their lives so that others may live. In my last broadcast, I encouraged everyone to make peace with their maker. Now I ask you to pray to God, in whatever form you worship Him, to help get us through. Godspeed and I hope to see you on the other side.”

  Silence reigned throughout the bridge. All eyes were on David.

  David glanced back at Taylor. “1MC, shipwide only, please, Lieutenant.”

  “Done, sir.”

  “Attention all hands, this is General Cohen. Man your battle stations. I say again, man your battle stations. This is not a drill. Set material condition one throughout the ship,” David forced himself to project calm through his voice. The lights dimmed to a blue hue. “We’ve got a little under forty-five minutes until the League fleet arrives. Ensure all combat systems are one hundred percent. Damage control parties, forward muster in designated locations. Fight hard, fight smart. Together, we will prevail!”

  A rousing cheer went up from the enlisted personnel and officers on the bridge. In his heart, David hoped the words touched the rest of them, though he remained troubled. Now is not the time for introspection. I’ve got one job… defeat Seville. With that in mind, he stared at the tactical plot and began issuing orders to the newly arrived ships.

  * * *

  Instead of soul searching, Calvin had spent the past few hours preparing his armor, checking and rechecking his weapons, and ensuring he was ready to fight. If the Lion of Judah was disabled, he figured the Leaguers would stage an attempt to capture the anti-matter reactor intact. His job would be to ensure they didn’t succeed. For all his attempts to push the thought of impending death out of his mind, he failed.

  While hearing that more ships had joined had given him hope, as it probably had for almost everyone else in the fleet, there was still something he couldn’t put his finger on. That something led him down to the chapel at 1230 hours. Calvin stood outside of the doors, indecisive for once in his life. He stared at the sign that proclaimed, “Peace to all those who enter here.” Finally, he pushed the hatch open and strode in.

  The room was mostly empty, which made sense, since the non-Marine personnel were manning their battle stations. Calvin quietly slipped into a pew. He sat there, not sure what to say or do. Finally, he closed his eyes and put his hands together. “So, uh, I’m not good at this,” he whispered. “You know, half the time, I don’t even know if you’re up there, God. If you are, I don’t feel connected to you. I envy the people who say they have a relationship with you. Me? I’m just a Marine, doing my job. Today, I’m facing down death, and I don’t know where I’ll end up, if there’s something after this life.” He swallowed. “Uh. Not really sure how to do this. But, if you can hear me… please forgive me for the horrible things I’ve done in this life. Help me to live whatever time I have left the right way, and stand strong for my brothers and sisters in arms. Watch over my wife and the civvies we’re trying to protect.” He paused for another moment. “Amen.” I think that’s how you’re supposed to end it.

  A hand touched Calvin’s shoulder. He nearly jumped out of his skin. He whirled around to see the slender form of Grace Estrada, the Christian chaplain.

  She, too, was startled by his response. “I’m sorry, Colonel. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “No fear here; only combat reflexes, ma’am.”

  “I’m sorry to intrude, but I couldn’t help but hear you just now.”

  Calvin shrugged. “You know, trying to get right like the General said. Thought the best place to do that would be the God box. I’ve been trying so hard to be a better man. But my habits and hatred for the League are hard to let go of. Every time they kill another one of my Marines, I swear, Pastor, I want to reach out and kill every Leaguer in the galaxy.”

  “Have you thought about giving your burden to God?”

  “I wish it were that simple,” Calvin replied with a snicker. “Like I was praying, I don’t have a close connection to the Almighty.”

  “May I ask you a personal question, Colonel?”

  “Sure.”

  “Why’d you volunteer to man the Lion? I don’t think we’ll have much need for ground pounders.”

  “Simple,” Calvin began. “Command doesn’t want our Leaguer friends getting ahold of the anti-matter tech. We’re the last line of defense.”

  “There’s got to be more to why you signed up for what is, for all intents and purposes, a suicide mission.”

  Ah, there’s the rub. Calvin glanced away from her. “
Because,” his voice trailed off before he forced himself to finish the thought, “I owe it to Cohen and the rest of them to be here. They were there for me.” Again, he looked away. No many had understood. Not his wife nor most of the civilians he knew. The Marines, though, they got it. Semper Fidelis—always faithful. The words had meaning. “What about you?”

  “Someone needed to minister to those who are marching into the maw of hell. It might as well be me,” Estrada replied.

  “You’re not afraid or worried?”

  “I give it all to God. Jesus taught us to pray to the Father… Give us this day, our daily bread. We’re not supposed to focus on worry or what if. As much as I’m humanly able, I try to lay it down before the Father and live my life as close to what He emulated as possible.”

  Calvin pursed his lips together. “I wish I could do that.”

  “It’s a muscle. Like anything else, exercise makes it grow.” Estrada pushed a wisp of hair out of her face.

  “I suppose I’d better be getting back to Marine country and prepare for combat.” He stood from the pew and turned to go.

  “Of course, Colonel.” She waited until he’d gotten a couple of steps. “Colonel Demood, I’ll pray for you. Just don’t take pleasure in killing the enemy. Promise me that.”

  “I’ll try,” Calvin said as he cranked his head around toward her. “I try every day not to. To be that better man General Cohen challenged me to be.”

  “With God’s help, you can do it.”

  He flashed a smile. “Godspeed, Chaplain.”

  “Godspeed, Colonel.”

  16

  The Lion of Judah’s bridge was packed. Additional enlisted ratings were present for damage control duties, and all battle stations were manned and ready. David sat in the CO’s chair, his gaze directed straight ahead, out of the transparent alloy windows. This is it. Win or lose, this day, either the League of Sol or the Terran Coalition will triumph. The thought was sobering. He glanced at Tinetariro. The worry on her face was palpable, through a scrunched-up brow and a deep frown. “Any moment now,” he whispered.

  “I was just praying,” Tinetariro replied, her voice also a whisper.

  “Me too.”

  At that moment, dozens of bright flashes appeared—the telltale sign of wormholes opening.

  “Conn, TAO. Aspect change, numerous inbound wormholes forming one hundred thousand kilometers in front of the fleet at the Canaan Lawrence limit,” Ruth announced.

  David held his breath. It’d be nice if there were more reinforcements.

  “League of Sol signature confirmed,” Ruth finished.

  No such luck. “TAO, populate the board. Designate the LSS Annihilator as Master One.” David stood and walked behind the CO’s chair to the massive holotank in the center of the bridge. He motioned for Tinetariro to join him. “Zoom us in just far enough to show the entire enemy fleet.”

  “Aye, aye, sir,” Ruth replied.

  The holotank came alive with hundreds of red dots and icons. They were so numerous, it was difficult to pick out what ship types were which. David circled it slowly, trying to make sense of the picture presented. “TAO, change Master One’s icon color to magenta.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  An icon in the very center of the League formation changed color, now sticking out prominently. He’s got entire flotillas of destroyers and heavy cruisers surrounding him. One thing I have to say for Seville, the man learns from experience. That realization, along with the disposition of the enemy, made it unlikely for David to succeed with an all-out assault designed to take out the Leaguers’ leadership.

  “Conn, communications. Admiral Seville is requesting a vidlink with you, sir. By name.”

  “I wonder what the cheeky bugger wants?” Tinetariro said as she made a face.

  David smirked. “Probably wants to prattle on about there being no God, and we should surrender now. Oh, well. He wants to talk? We’ll talk. Maybe a few more ships will jump in while we’re at it.” He stalked back to the CO’s chair and slid into it. “Put him on, Lieutenant.”

  The face of the man the Terran Coalition had been fighting for decades appeared on the monitor above David’s head. Seville wore the utilitarian uniform of the League, but today, he had dozens of ribbons and medals arrayed on his chest. The effect was quite pronounced, especially as those around him in the image didn’t. “General Cohen,” he began, mouth curled up in a creepy-looking grin. “We meet again. Perhaps for the last time.”

  “You have the most annoying ability to show up unannounced at exactly the wrong time, Admiral,” David replied as he crossed his arms in front of him.

  “I see that neither time nor the war has dulled that wit of yours. Good. All the better for our final encounter. There’s more ships here than I expected.”

  David couldn’t stop himself from smirking yet again. “I’m glad we could surprise you, Admiral. More are on the way. If you want, we could wait until they get here to start the destruction of your fleet.”

  “Ah, my old friend. Your fleet will be the one destroyed today. I’m sure the finest technology in the Terran Coalition has already told you I have over two thousand ships at my disposal. You have what, barely five hundred? This isn’t a battle you can win.”

  “I suppose we’ll have to see.”

  “You could surrender, save all these lives on both sides. There’s no reason for humanity to fight itself.”

  David stared at Seville’s image on the monitor. “Tell me something, Admiral… do you buy this line of crap you’re trying to feed us, or did your political officer hand you a script to read out before we started the vidlink?”

  Seville’s face twisted with rage. “I meant every word, Cohen. You have no way to win. We will crush you beneath our boots. For what? To fight for your rights to be slaves to a capitalist system that screws everyone but the very rich? Or is it the silly superstitions you cling to which motivate you to carry on?”

  “Blessed is the nation whose God is the Lord.”

  “Those words will not save you. There is no God. Only what we can see and feel with our own eyes and hands.”

  The Admiral’s words stung deep. They stroked the deepest fears David held in his heart: the thought he’d been a fool his entire life, that there was no such thing as a higher power. He forced it down and summoned courage from his rabbinical studies. “Every being has to decide what it believes in. You’ve made your choices, Seville. I made mine too. As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.”

  “I will crush you all, then bombard your precious Canaan until it surrenders to the superiority of the League,” Seville snarled in reply. “Then you can ask where your God is… or perhaps you could ask your father, on the off chance there’s an afterlife.”

  David leaned forward in his chair. Blinding rage surged throughout his mind. “Before this day is done, I’ll see you in hell, Admiral.” He brought his fist down on the button to disconnect the transmission and nearly cracked the control panel.

  “You can’t let him get to you, sir,” Tinetariro whispered. She leaned in from the XO’s chair.

  “Yeah.” David scowled and tapped at the controls to his viewer. A top-down tactical display appeared on it. It didn’t take long for him to realize that many of the enemy ships were now moving. “He’s not wasting any time.”

  “Only about half his fleet is heading in, though.”

  “Seville may be a disgusting human being, but he knows his business. A thousand ships are more than enough to put the hurt on us, and he probably assumes that our carrier battlegroups are waiting to jump in. He’s wrong, but anything that causes him to divide his fleet is good for us.”

  “So what’s your plan, sir?” Tinetariro asked with something approaching a grin on her face.

  “We have to engage. If we sit back and wait for his ships to come to us, they’ll range on Canaan and could fire on the surface. Communications, order all ships to move out and match our speed. Wall formation. Navigation,
bring us to heading zero-one-zero, thrust at three-quarters.”

  “Aye, aye, sir,” Hammond replied crisply.

  “TAO, make VRLS tubes one through two hundred and forty ready in all respects. Open outer doors.”

  “Aye, aye, sir,” Ruth said. “We’re still out of range, sir.”

  “I know that, Captain. I’m selecting our targets now.” The mild rebuke delivered, David focused his attention on how the Leaguer fleet was moving forward. Hundreds of escorts up front, with waves of Rand class cruisers and Alexander class battleships behind. Classic League tactics. He’d formed up the CDF and Saurian fleets with their capital ships interspersed with escorts, to bring their superior firepower to bear. “Communications, order all ships to engage the first wave of enemy vessels. Remind everyone to stay in their firing lanes and not to deviate from formation.”

  “Aye, aye, sir,” Taylor replied.

  “TAO, firing point procedures, Master Eight hundred fifty-three to Master Eight hundred sixty-five, magnetic cannons and neutron beams.”

  “Firing solutions set, sir. Twenty seconds to maximum range.”

  David stared at the plot as the masses of blue and red icons steadily blinked closer to one another. “TAO, match bearings, shoot, magnetic cannons, and neutron beams.”

  Space was typically black except for the tiny pinpricks of light from the stars. Usually—but not today. The eruption of weapons fire from all around the Lion of Judah filled the void with blue and red hues as both sides traded directed energy beams. The Lion’s magnetic cannons spat helicar-sized projectiles at a tenth of light-speed toward the enemy, while in return, the League vessels flung their red plasma balls back. Taken in for a moment, the display was a beautiful kaleidoscope, something reminiscent of fractal art.

  Red dots started to disappear from the tactical plot as David stared at it—and so did the blue ones. League destroyers and frigates exploded in the deep of space, bursts of orange flame extinguished after only a moment in the vacuum. The targets the Lion gunned for were mostly gone, and they were now well within missile range. The only time I’ve had an entire load of Hunter missiles. With there being possibly no tomorrow, logistics hadn’t held back on the precious advanced AI-based weapons. “TAO, firing point procedures, Master.” He glanced up for a moment. “Nine hundred twenty through Nine hundred eighty, forward and rear VRLS. Three warheads per contact.”