by Daniel Gibbs
Then came Harry, the reminder of his familial failings. Jackson didn’t need the accompanying guilt. Nor did he need Harry’s insinuation he forgot about the Adams ranch whenever he took a jaunt into space.
Jackson scowled. As if he’d been on a pleasure cruise for a month.
He keyed up the record function, ready to give his brother a piece of his mind, but paused before words left his mouth. What good would it accomplish? Harry was right about one thing—the family needed help. With Harry injured, it fell to Jackson to do what he could.
“Harry, it’s Jack.” He took a breath. “I’ll be back to Canaan before long. I should have personal time. Let me see what I can do. I won’t be staying, so we’ll have to come up with a long-term solution, at least while you’re on the mend. Tell Mom and Dad I miss them. Looking forward to the visit.”
It was as neutral as he could get. Still, his frustration pounded inside his head. There would be plenty of time to brainstorm on the way back, but in the meantime, it would suffice.
The comm pulsed. Brant. “I take it we’re ready?”
“Ready to launch, One. See you in five?”
“Make it ten. I don’t think Oxford’s going to leave without us.”
“Sparks wants me to mention if we had our own ship—”
“Our own…? The man just got a new rig. I don’t think CDF Intelligence is going to pony up for a jump-capable vessel. See you in nine. One out.”
Jackson had returned to his coffee when the comms pulsed again. “Eight minutes, Brant,” he muttered before confirming the link. “One here.”
“Good morning, One.”
The voice was smooth, deep, with a slight accent. Static sputtered through the connection. Jackson checked the signal report—no identifying code. The origin was scrambled. “This is One. Repeat, please.”
“Let’s not play any further games. I wanted to congratulate you for meeting the challenge. Your interference cost me my goals.”
Jackson checked his surroundings as he acted as if he were checking his pockets for a missing object. Everyone within eyeshot seemed to be in conversation with an acquaintance, no one on their own, speaking into a comm.
“Identify yourself.”
“I think that’s a terrible idea, operationally speaking. Don’t they teach you proper protocols in the Coalition Intelligence Service?”
The mention shoved a cold spear into Jackson’s chest. He triggered the record setting on his wrist unit. “If I had your name, I’d know who to thank for an entertaining few weeks.”
“The feeling is mutual. Let’s be clear—this was not a trial run or a minor inconvenience for your people. The guns have stopped firing from an official standpoint, but the war continues. It will never end, not until one nation is in ruins and the other rules over its shattered remains.”
“Then you should know I won’t let that happen.”
“I’d be disappointed if you did. Where is the thrill in the game if the opponent is subpar?”
“This isn’t a game.”
“Come now, One. We both know it is. It’s the only game that matters—the maneuvering in the shadows, conducted out of sight of politicians and pundits, the game in which the rules change and the man who doesn’t adapt winds up dead. Do me a favor. Save your best plays for when I am in the audience to appreciate your act on the stage. I know you’re here, on Aphendrika. I know you’ve been here the whole time.” The words sputtered the more the contact spoke. Whatever signal he used to intercept Jackson’s comm must be falling apart. “Next time our vectors cross, I’ll be watching with a keener eye.”
“And I’ll know you’re out there too. You shouldn’t have tipped me off.”
“No, I shouldn’t have, but I wanted you to know your opponent is no phantasm. I’m—”
The signal cut. Jackson was up and striding down the sidewalk, watching for a shooter or pursuers. He called Brant. “Home, this is One. Did you get that interruption?”
“Interruption? I caught a bandwidth drop and interference but—”
“It was him. Whoever the League sent to do their dirty work. He’s on-world, or at least, he was.”
“What? Send me the signal! You recorded it? I can trace—”
“You can try, but I doubt it’ll do you any good. He wouldn’t have made the call if he’d thought he’d be in danger.”
“God help us. Who was it?”
Jackson scanned the morning pedestrians, the traffic humming by, the sounds of a city coming to life. So many people. His opponent could be behind him or half a world away, but Jackson knew the name to give him—the only one they had from Corriveau’s files.
“Vasiliy,” Jackson said. And I will find him.
THE END
Deception Fleet: Book 2 – Cold Conflict: The shadow war has begun. Caught between a hostile mega-corp and League operatives, can Captain Jackson Adams save the day once again? Find out in book 2!
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Also Available from Daniel Gibbs
Battlegroup Z
Book 1 - Weapons Free
Book 2 - Hostile Spike
Book 3 - Sol Strike
Book 4 - Bandits Engaged
Book 5 - Iron Hand
Echoes of War
Book 1 - Fight the Good Fight
Book 2 - Strong and Courageous
Book 3 - So Fight I
Book 4 - Gates of Hell
Book 5 - Keep the Faith
Book 6 - Run the Gauntlet
Book 7 - Finish the Fight
Breach of Faith
(With Gary T. Stevens)
Book 1 - Breach of Peace
Book 2 - Breach of Faith
Book 3 - Breach of Duty
Book 4 - Breach of Trust
Deception Fleet
(With Steve Rzasa)
Book 1 - Victory’s Wake
Book 2 - Cold Conflict
Book 3 - Hazards Near
Acknowledgments
First, I’d like to thank Steve Rzasa for working with me on the ever growing “Gibbsverse”. (No, I haven’t come up with a cool name for the all-encompassing series, yet. :) )
I hope you, dear readers, have enjoyed Victory’s Wake, and will continue to enjoy the Deception Fleet series. It will be a look at the Terran Coalition trying to win the peace, and through the lens of some new characters, as well as familiar ones.
As always, I give thanks to those brave men and women in the US military I have had the pleasure of working beside for the last fifteen years. Thank you for your service.
Finally, I give thanks to God for the words I’ve written and the life granted to write them in.
Until next time, Godspeed.
- Daniel Gibbs
