Hero of the Republic: (The Parasite Initiative, Book 1)

by Britt Ringel

  Twist was feeling better, due to the ministrations of the med-techs but mostly because of Partin’s evident survival. His spirits were also bolstered by the fact it looked more and more likely that Lochaber would not partake in a second engagement. By the time his ship could reach the tunnel point, the Hollaran carrier force would be well into t-space and long gone. Only the fighters of Strike-2 could threaten the carrier. The tiny craft appeared to have time for but a single strafing run before the Hollarans would dive away.

  The outlook for the Hollaran vanguard was even more pleasing. Although Twist’s shattered fleet was trailing a full 8lm behind, Hayes had ordered the rearmed fighters, now designated as Strike-3, to conduct an anti-ship missile attack. Unlike Strike-2’s meager attack twenty minutes ago, Strike-3, with its one hundred seventeen fighters, looked to punish the vanguard fleet severely.

  Twist spent the next dozen minutes watching the symbols of Strike-2 crawl toward the Hollaran carrier. The fighters won the race for the tunnel point by a scant 6ls. He reflexively leaned closer to the tactical plot, eager to see the powerful Hollaran ship bloodied.

  The strafing run by the Brevic pilots was sheer brutality. Fifty-five fighter symbols intercepted the carrier. A heartbeat later, only seven emerged on the opposite side. In the wake of the Hollaran carrier, debris from forty-eight Brevic F-3 fighters slowly expanded in the depths of space. Gasps echoed around Auxiliary Control at the sudden massacre.

  Yet the attack had not been in vain. No sooner had the gasps from revolted crewmen died out, than cheers from those same people erupted. Twist, unsure of the reason for the celebration, tried to discern the answer from the tactical plot. He watched the Hollaran carrier symbol pass through and exit the area she could activate her tunnel drive and escape the system.

  “They’ve done it!” a crewmember cried out in triumph.

  Why didn’t it dive? The carrier was rotating, trying to orient back toward the tunnel point. Twist watched its vector line shrink slowly as the vessel fought to reduce its speed. Oh, she’s taken engine damage. Those fighters must have hit her tunnel drive! Twist pumped a charred fist at the inevitable victory. If she can’t dive, she’s as good as dead. We’re going to take out their carrier!

  He looked around the room at the grinning faces and the reality struck him. We’ve done it. We’ve beaten the Hollarans. We’ve saved Sponde! Sure, my task group took a beating but CortRon Fifteen preserved the carriers and that’s what counts. Twist watched the crippled Hollaran carrier’s speed reduce to zero and begin an agonizingly slow climb in the other direction. They must be too slow to run and even if they did, we’d just sit on the tunnel point and they’d be trapped.

  “Missile separation from Strike Three.”

  Twist panned quickly to that portion of space. Four hundred sixty-eight missiles were on their way toward the Hollaran vanguard in a single pack. He brought a hand up to his mouth as his blood ran cold. That’s unstoppable. He grinned viciously as he thought of his fallen crew. Eat those missiles, Hollies.

  The vanguard did precisely that. As the first missiles entered range of the Hollaran point defense batteries, it was obvious that nothing short of a miracle would save them. Defending with damaged escort vessels and facing a cloud of missiles, the fleet was swallowed nearly whole. Bright flashes and gravity warhead detonations announced Brevic retribution. In the trail of that naked hate, only a single, damaged heavy cruiser remained.

  More cheers filtered through the compartment but Twist was left unsatisfied. He stared coldly at the lone survivor. It should have been all of them.

  Fifteen minutes later, TG 2.2’s pursuit ended. Closing to within 5.2lm of the Kale tunnel point, Hayes ordered the heavies to avoid a laser engagement and come to relative rest. Sitting on top of the tunnel point were the last vestiges of the Hollaran invasion force. The carrier orbited with the tunnel point but was unable to dive. Refusing to abandon their consort, its escorts took position between their flagship and the Brevic defense fleet. Next to the carrier, the vexing heavy cruiser, the sole, battered survivor of the vanguard, sat in silent companionship.

  Although frustrated that his gunners would not be given the opportunity to inflict the coup de grace on their enemies, Twist understood the logic in Hayes’ orders. Unlike the Hollarans, Brevic admirals actually care about their sailors, he thought to himself with pride. Why risk our lives when Hayes can just recover, rearm and relaunch his fighters? Even that carrier’s escorts won’t be able to stop the tidal wave of missiles we’ll launch at them. Twist smiled knowingly. Patience, Caden, the reckoning is coming.

  But the reckoning would be delayed. Eleven minutes after coming to relative rest, Avenger reported a “landing mishap,” effectively closing one of its two recovery decks. The setback was irritating but the advent of naval space aviation brought its own unique set of challenges. Our pilots, Twist reflected, have taken a hell of a beating and their job still isn’t over. He thought back to OTS and the concurrent officer and flight trainees. They had been so enthusiastic and gung-ho. He wondered if any of them were aboard the carriers and if so, how they felt now.

  Thirty minutes later, a yawning Ensign Twist stood from his shockseat to stretch. It was now 01:11 BSMT. Nearly twelve hours had passed since he first set foot in his fire control room. It felt like eons ago. The situation had turned into a standoff as the Hollaran fleet commander was tied to the tunnel point. Unable to dive his priceless, damaged capital ship into tunnel space, he was stuck biding time while critical repairs were carried out to repair his tunnel drive. The Brevic commander, on the other hand, was still reconstituting his fleet from the terrible toll of the previous battles and was unwilling to rush in with his conventional warships while still possessing the more expendable fighter assets.

  As Twist waited for the endgame to begin, he noticed a flurry of shuttle activity between the Hollaran carrier and her escorts. The shuttle flights continued for twenty minutes before a Brevic message was sent to the Hollaran fleet over an open channel.

  Auxiliary Control’s primary wall screen broadcast Admiral Hayes’ transmission, viewable by every sailor in both fleets. As Twist set eyes on the man for the first time, he thought he looked like the perfect Brevic admiral. He had rugged, handsome features with a sharp jawline and high cheekbones. The grey hair, mostly obscured by a shocksuit helmet, and the deep lines etched into his face conveyed the textbook combination of gravity and experience. The man’s voice contained the weight that was a prerequisite for his job.

  “This is Rear Admiral Mitchell Hayes, commanding the Sponde defense forces. You will cease your shuttle activity immediately.”

  The wall screen blanked out. Short. Simple. Effective, Twist thought.

  Given the 5lm distance between adversaries, the Hollaran response took ten minutes to appear. Surprisingly, the answer came not from the Hollaran flagship but the damaged heavy cruiser beside it. The messenger was a woman possessing dark hair, olive skin and intense, brown eyes.

  Obviously, she has a New Roman heritage, Twist judged. The star systems around New Roma had been ripped almost in half during the Secession Wars nearly a century ago. With New Roma resting inside the disputed zone, its colonies were split evenly between the Commonwealth and Republic. The result had been decades of political and social strife as the entire sector and its people tore apart. The Hollaran ship captain’s green shocksuit bore the rank of komandor podporucznik, the Hollaran equivalent of a lieutenant commander. The suit had been scorched along the length of its right side. A shiver passed through Twist as Falk’s burning corpse flashed through his mind.

  The woman’s accent confirmed Twist’s suspicions. Definitely New Roman.

  “This is Komandor Podporucznik Isabella Lombardi. Wiceadmiral De Luca is indisposed but will answer you shortly.”

  Twist’s eyebrows shot up at the mention of the wiceadmiral’s name. He had heard his mother mention the De Luca surname on multiple occasions. It was a prominent family both inside New Roma’s cir
cles and inside the Commonwealth.

  “We are evacuating our wounded from the carrier,” the woman explained. “I would appeal to you for the sanctity of life if I did not think such a petition would only encourage you to fire upon our medical flights.” Her nasty leer malformed what would have been an otherwise attractive face. She spat her next words with unbridled enmity as she leaned closer. “Instead, I beg you to close on our fleet if you dare, you succhiasangue.” A curt motion blanked the screen.

  “There’s no reasoning with them,” Rollings muttered in disgust while shaking his head.

  Twist had no idea what a succhiasangue was but recognized that some words needed no translation. The unrestrained hatred, her unwillingness to even speak to her opponents as respected adversaries, bespoke of a people who would never compromise. This was a war for the very preservation of the Republic, for if the Commonwealth won, people like her would decide every Brevic citizen’s fate. I’ll never let that happen, he swore.

  Ten more minutes passed, during which the Brevic carriers began to launch their fighters. Each fighter flew a single oval around the task group before settling into formation at relative rest near its mothership. The flight operations stopped when the fighter count reached ninety-eight. How many fighters did we start with? Twist wondered. He pressed a finger first to Avenger and then to Eagle to total each ship’s original complement: two hundred forty. Both fighter wings had been heavily attrited.

  Once again, Hayes appeared. It was clear the man’s patience was nearing its end. “Komandor Lombardi, this is your final warning to cease shuttle activity. You and all of your ships and crew are now prisoners of war. Attempts to dive out of Sponde by any of your ships will result in the destruction of those that remain.”

  This time, the reply was issued from the Hollaran carrier. Emblazoned across the center of the speaker’s helmet were one broad and two thin gold stripes of a Hollaran wiceadmiral’s rank insignia. Twist had immediately recognized De Luca and he strained forward to hear the man’s words.

  “Admiral Hayes, this is Wiceadmiral De Luca responding from the carrier, Onesti. We both know that I cannot allow this warship to fall into your hands. We are in the process of evacuating as many crewmembers as possible before this ship’s core is set to overload. I offer myself as a prisoner in exchange for time to let my crew safely abandon this vessel.”

  A murmur of excitement rippled through Auxiliary Control. If he could be trusted, De Luca would make a fine bargaining chip during post-war negotiations.

  “You have defeated this fleet, Admiral,” De Luca admitted, “but I can still prevent you from any further gains today. My escort vessels are fully tunnel-capable and will dive out of this system regardless of your threats. My own hand will destroy this carrier. Your only choice now is whether you wish to obtain the boon of a wiceadmiral prisoner of war in exchange for the lives of my crew or whether you wish to continue the slaughter that began hours ago.”

  The wiceadmiral removed his shocksuit helmet to reveal close-cropped hair. The man’s eyes turned downward, perhaps reflecting on the terrible defeat his invasion fleet had suffered. After a moment, he nodded stubbornly and claimed, “We will evacuate for as long as you let us. I have been told that we need another two hours to fully abandon the ship.”

  Hazel eyes bore directly into Twist’s as De Luca cast out his bait. “After that, I will be alone on the final shuttle and submit myself to Brevic custody. This battle is over, Admiral. Is continued killing necessary?” The wall screen inside Auxiliary Control went dark briefly before being replaced by Lochaber’s current status. The cruiser had been savaged down her starboard beam. There was an ever-growing count of casualties.

  “We can’t trust him,” a senior NCO stated to no one. Nods of agreement circled the room.

  “He’ll set the carrier to self-destruct automatically and hop the last shuttle to an escort,” Rollings prophesied. He switched the wall screen from ship’s status to the tactical plot. The ninety-eight fighters had left their holding pattern and were heading toward the tunnel point.

  “Hayes is sending them in,” Rollings said hungrily.

  This is for Bill Falk, Twist thought with profound satisfaction. Onscreen, three hundred ninety-two missile symbols flared into life at the fighter formation.

  A quick bark of laughter came from across the compartment at first sight of the overwhelming wave. Twist looked around and saw universal smiles.

  Well into the missiles’ flight toward Onesti, Twist watched a time-lagged response from the Hollarans. Although he knew the missiles had already reached the Hollaran vessels, he would have to wait several more minutes for the results to travel back to him at the speed of light.

  The response was not from De Luca. Twist assumed he was abandoning the remainder of his crew and shuttling to the nearest tunnel-capable ship. Instead, the source was the fiery komandor podporucznik who spoke with an open fury. Tears of rage streamed down her cheeks as she accused, “You could not resist more massacre, could you? The ‘Vics are at their finest when killing the helpless. Mark my words. History will remember each of you and what you have done today. Now watch how real heroes protect—” The hellion cut herself off as her brown eyes moved downward to the console screen on her chair arm. She sat silently for a short time, seemingly lost in her twisted thoughts, but her cruel expression softened and when she finally spoke, it was to her console. “Scusami, Wiceadmiral.”

  She’s not going to dive her cruiser, Twist realized. She’s standing her ground and fighting. A jolt of respect passed through him.

  The Hollaran officer swiped brutishly at her eyes. “What?” the komandor cried out at her console in apparent disbelief. “No!” she argued. “We cannot leave you. I have to save you, Zio.” Additional silence followed. Finally, the woman nodded with a fatal resignation. When she spoke next, the enemy ship captain’s bitter tone had transformed into subservience. New emotions eroded her formerly acrimonious countenance, replacing it with a different expression. Twist had seen that exact expression in a mirror, the morning of the day he had shipped out for OTS.

  “Okay.” She sniffed loudly. “Okay. I will. I promise, Zio.” Large tears traced new paths down her olive cheeks. She brought a hand to her face to wipe them away. The action took her eyes from the chair arm console to her main screen. Seeming to remember that her channel was still open, the komandor stabbed a finger toward the console on the arm of her chair. The communique terminated an instant later.

  The missiles closed to within three light-seconds before seven Hollaran ships dove out toward Kale. The Hollaran flagship was abandoned to face its fate alone.

  She called the wiceadmiral “Zio,” Twist recalled. He struggled to remember De Luca’s first name but failed. “I have to save you, Zio.” The sincerity of the Hollaran’s words had carried easily over the vast distance. The expression she had worn upon realizing that “Zio” was doomed threatened to let still-raw emotions surface from the place Twist had banished them. His eyes misted over. Logan, I miss you so much. Thoughts of his brother came, unbidden, to his mind as a surprising pang of sympathy for the enemy komandor rushed through him. He casually scratched near his eyes to push away tears brought by his own loss. I don’t want anyone to think I’m shedding tears for the enemy.

  The flickering of the wall screen recaptured Twist’s attention. A smiling Admiral Hayes had appeared. His helmet was off, with short, sweat-soaked hair sticking up in random places. The man’s weathered appearance but broad smile made him look like a triumphant hero in the final act.

  “My congratulations to all Brevic defense forces in the Sponde system. We have acted in the highest practices and traditions of the Brevic Navy and all children of Bree owe you a debt of gratitude.”

  The heartfelt compliment given, it was back to business as usual for the admiral. “Commanders, wait for further orders from your chain of command.” Hayes’ image faded to black.

  Sporadic cheers sounded through Auxiliary Control.
Rollings himself was smiling and clapping as the celebration gained momentum.

  * * *

  Twenty-four hours later, Twist sat in front of the computer screen in his quarters. An animated Vix Kirkpatrick was breathlessly describing taking command of a damage control team after its leader had been killed in the final wave of the Hollaran missile attack. When he paused, not because he was finished with his story but because he was out of breath, Twist raised his hand to stop him.

  Kirkpatrick’s eyes tracked down Twist’s hand to his right arm. “You’re wearing a cast!” he exclaimed. “Caden, are you hurt?”

  Twist dropped his right arm from the screen’s view and grinned. “No, Vix. I think casts are quite fashionable and everyone will be wearing them eventually.”

  Kirkpatrick’s shoulders dropped as he rolled his eyes. “What happened, hero? Did you deflect one of those Greyhounds with your arm?”

  Twist turned his face to reveal the thin line of plasti-skin over the gash running down his right cheek.

  “Oh. My. God,” Kirkpatrick stammered. “You’re going to have a scar!” He shook his head. “You have all the luck!”

  Twist felt himself begin to smile. It pulled at the plasti-skin. “Sounds like you had your adventures too.”

  Kirkpatrick’s eyes bulged at the reminder. “Oh, right! So there’s this huge fire burning in the hallway near the dihydrogen oxide reclamation section. We’re way too deep in the ship to decompress to de-oxygenate the fire that way. Damage Controlman Third Class Shaw is like, ‘We have to get the halogenated compressors back online or we could lose the entire section!’” Kirkpatrick’s grin widened. “I’m like, ‘Aren’t we standing next to four tons of water-making equipment?’”

  Twist burst out laughing as Kirkpatrick nodded eagerly.