by Mike Smith
There was a couple of knowing smiles and nodding of heads from around the table in sympathy. Most people who knew Jon had come away after meeting him, calling him very unflattering names.
“…The participants in the call also referred to the recent attack, referring to it as an initial surgical strike against the leadership, to disorientate, demoralise and paralyse our command structure in preparation for the final assault. They do not go into much detail regarding forces and timing, beyond that it would take time to gather the fleet although they make it clear that Terra Nova is the intended final destination, with the primary objective being the Commander’s capture, or death.” With these final words the Lieutenant fell silent, the room deathly quiet as they considered the enormity of the situation facing them.
Leaning back in his chair Jon voiced his thoughts aloud. “Well it does answer some unanswered questions, for example why they cut power to my quarters. At the time I thought it an act of stupidity as, by doing so, they lost the tactical element of surprise. However, if I was their main objective all along…it makes sense; we had just assumed that their target was Vanguard and the station…but that raises a new question…”
“…Why you,” Paul interjected.
Jon nodded thoughtfully. “While I obviously drew enough attention from the Syndicate that they sent an assassin after me,” Jon nodded his head in Miranda’s direction warmly. “To which I am in the Syndicate’s debt,” he added with a smirk.
Miranda just laughed.
“Perhaps there is a clue within the message, with the constant use of your rank?” Paul mused. “It’s interesting that is the only way they refer to you, not by your first name, last name, not even by your company title, that could be meaningful.”
Thinking for a moment, Jon shook his head discouragingly. “I’m not sure what we can infer from it, while we refer to each other by rank frequently, it’s a force of habit. Having been in the Navy for so long I do it subconsciously. Outside of us, I never use it. I simply refer to myself by name or use my company title of Chief Executive.”
“That’s my exact point.”
“You think that one or more of the participants on the call was ex-Navy?” Jon asked surprised, as the thought had never occurred to him before.
“Not necessarily ex-Navy, but ex-military certainly. After all we were not the only ones to find ourselves unemployed after the Confederation disbanded the Imperial Fleet.”
Jon looked at his chief of operations morosely, it was bad enough to be facing a significant but unknown threat to their existence, but it would be an order of magnitude worse if the Syndicate were now also employing disbanded Imperial forces.
“Well, this is all idle speculation at the moment,” Jon stated emphatically. “Let’s not go borrowing additional trouble. Lieutenant is there any additional intelligence that you or your team can offer. The make-up of the fleet that is on its way perhaps?” Jon inquired wishfully at the young intelligence officer.
“No sir,” Jason replied emphatically. “My team and I are trying to compile a list of Syndicate ships that have escaped the Confederation, however it’s an endless task as we never had a comprehensive list of their ships in the first place. Too many dummy corporate fronts, unregistered owners, cross-ownership deals. It would take a lifetime to untangle that mess, although I would refer to their use of the term fleet with some concern, as this does suggest a significant number of ships. By now they must have at least some idea of our capabilities and have prepared accordingly.”
“A very sobering thought, thanks Jason,” Jon replied. “What are our options people?” Jon addressed the question to the remaining senior staff.
“Let them come,” Gunny replied confidently. “We have kicked their asses every time we have encountered one another, I have no reason to doubt that this time will be any different. We have been forewarned, they have already lost the tactical element of surprise, and we have enough time to dig in, my Marines are waiting - bring ’em on!”
“Thanks Gunny,” Jon responded dryly. “I’m glad that you’re on our side.”
“While I have full confidence in Gunny, our Marines and David’s station security,” Paul hedged. “We have to face the fact that we are no longer in the Imperial Fleet, we are just not equipped to dig in and wait for reinforcements. At some point they are going to being able to muster enough ships to simply overwhelm our station defences and us. At that point they don’t even need to board the station, they can just shoot holes in us from a distance, until we surrender or there is none of us left alive. David, you were working on some different tactical scenarios several weeks back trying to guess the Syndicate response. I would suggest that those are still valid, what did you come up with?”
As all eyes in the room turned to face Lieutenant McNeill, he squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. “My team and I worked up several tactical scenarios,” he confirmed. “These varied in size from a single ship, executing a covert infiltration of the station, up to a full division sized assault.”
Jon rolled his eyes sarcastically. “I think I suggested at the time that a full divisional assault, with up to a thousand armed assailants was most unlikely,” Jon interjected.
“We had to consider all the various tactical scenarios, sir,” David responded stiffly.
“I hope you did not discount invasion by armed hostile aliens then.”
“No, sir, there was a tactical scenario for that.”
“You’re joking, right?”
“No sir.”
All that could be heard in the silent briefing room was the dull thuds as Jon repeatedly banged his head against the briefing room table in despair. Rubbing his now sore head Jon finally replied. “Look I think we are once again veering off the topic here. What’s your point Paul?”
“We need to request assistance from the Confederation Navy.”
“No.”
“Is that your pride speaking, your personal animosity for the Confederation, a Confederation that you helped found, I should remind you, or because that you recently found out that Sofia is now in charge of the afore mentioned Confederation and you do not want her involved.”
Jon eye’s turned dark and he gave his executive officer an angry gaze.
“One minute, back up a bit, you were also involved in the founding of the Confederation?” Miranda asked in complete disbelief. “Is there any significant historical event over the past twenty years that you were not intimately involved in?”
Jon momentarily tore his eyes away from his executive officer, who he had already decided was going to receive an earful from him as soon as they were alone. “It’s not relevant.”
The look of astonishment on Miranda’s face told Jon exactly what she thought of that response! “What do you mean it’s not relevant? How can your intimate involvement in the birth of the Confederation, the greatest political act since, since, the founding of the Empire, over five centuries ago, not to be relevant?”
“We’re getting off the topic again,” Jon replied. He realised that he had been saying that a lot in the past hour, but they still had not formulated a response to the current imminent threat. “While I am in-charge we are not going to involve the Confederation Navy, and that’s final!”
“While you are in charge…” Paul parroted, angling his head towards Miranda, seated at the head of the conference table.
“So if standing and fighting is not an option, nor is involving Confederation military, what other options are open to us?” Jon inquired, purposefully ignoring Paul’s earlier quip.
“In a number of the tactical scenarios that we ran through the computer, defeat was pretty much guaranteed,” David said. “In those scenarios the suggested course of action was to retreat…” suddenly it occurred to David that with the calibre of the people sitting around this table, the word retreat was just not a word in their lexicon. “…tactically withdraw,” David finally settled upon.
“We’re just going to run away and give them Terra Nova, o
ur home?” Miranda responded in outrage, voicing the thought that was obviously on many a mind around the table.
“Better to live today and fight another day,” David replied uncomfortably aware that there seemed to be little enthusiasm for this option around the table. “There is no honour in getting needlessly killed,” he added.
“Nobody is taking Terra Nova,” Jon said firmly to nods around the table. “At least not intact. However, we need to remember that there are almost 300 lives at risk here, including almost a third of the inhabitants of the station are woman and children. I will not put them at risk. Not even for my personal pride,” Jon replied angrily throwing his operations chief’s words back in his face.
Paul meanwhile had the good grace to look down, ashamed that he had doubted his old friend.
“Hence we hope for the best but prepare for the worst,” Jon quoted the phrase that most military commanders had lived by since the dawn of modern warfare. “We prepare for the full evacuation of the station, and I mean the full evacuation,” Jon put the emphasis on the last two words giving Gunny a penetrating gaze. “That includes you and your Marines Gunny. We are not going to have any heroically suicidal last stands while I am still in charge. When the Syndicate fleet arrives we will re-evaluate the tactical situation, and if it’s hopeless we withdraw.” Jon met each of his senior staff gazes, one-by-one to ensure that they all understood. “Nobody, and I mean nobody, takes Terra Nova from us,” Jon emphasised. “If it comes to that I’ll drop the magnetic containment for the fusion reactor and they can try and capture the remaining dust fragments of the station for all I care!”
While nobody relished the orders, the senior staff all acknowledged them, understanding that while they were all emotionally attached to the station, that they had all come to call home for the past few years, that it was not worth their lives.
Acknowledging the nods around the table, albeit some of them hesitant, Jon finally turned back to Jason who had eventually stopped pacing the room and fallen reluctantly into a seat.
“Do you have a copy of the audio recording that you recovered from the Syndicate computer core?”
“Yes sir, although it’s not particularly good quality, we had to put it through the computer’s scrubbers several times to try and piece it back together.”
“Let’s hear it,” Jon ordered.
Retrieving a data pad that rested on the briefing room table in front of Jason, he tapped on the device several times retrieving the audio file, before piping the output via the room’s audio system. An ear-splitting screech of static filled the room, the sound of a thousand fingernails being run down a board simultaneously, all the occupants in the room visibly winced.
“Sorry,” Jason replied, adjusting both the audio output, and the volume.
The static faded as quickly as it had arrived, to be replaced by a clipped voice. “I thought that you told me never to contact you directly on this channel.”
“I did tell you never to contact me on this channel, Mallart,” another deeper, rougher voice replied. “That did not preclude me contacting you...”
“We think that the first voice belongs to Magistratus Mallart, one of the Syndicate inner-council,” Jason interjected helpfully.
“You think?” Jon replied sarcastically. Once this latest crisis was over Jon vowed that he was going to take Jason and his team on a well deserved, all expenses paid vacation. He and his team had done miracles over the past few months, but seriously, they needed to get out more…
The audio stream broke up at this point and nothing could be understood for several seconds, but eventually the quality improved again until the voices could be understood.
“What is the latest regarding news on Vanguard? Was your assassin successful?” The unknown voice demanded impatiently. Jon was not sure if he was imagining it, but the voice sounded anxious.
“I am unsure of your obsession with this particular problem,” Mallart replied evasively. “Vanguard is a minor annoyance, nothing more. We will deal with them, as we have dealt with all of the others who have rejected our offer…”
“So your assassin failed, just as I predicted,” the voice gloated arrogantly. “I warned you that sending her after the Commander was an effort in futility, he is an… exceptionally skilled pilot,” the compliment came across more as a curse.
“Radec was lucky, that was all. We already have another operation underway, we are assembling our finest enforcers…”
“I’m not interesting in hearing about your failures, Mallart!” the voice thundered. “You have already failed us once, you will not do so again. Your finest are like buzzing insects to this man, he will crush them just as easily. Marcus chose this man personally. He had the elite of the Imperial Navy to choose from, yet he chose this man to protect him and his daughter. Does this not tell you something? Does it not give you some indication of the calibre of this particular individual? Still you treat him as an annoyance… I have already indulged you once, and you failed spectacularly. Send your enforcers, they mean nothing to me, they will fare equally as badly. I will deal with the Commander, personally…”
“I thought that your involvement was going to wait, the plan we agreed is not yet complete, operations for the final colonies are still only at the planning stage, we need more time…and what of the Confederation? If they discover our plans, their forces will move against us.”
“The Confederation Navy will have bigger problems on their hands. With their planets in flames, their populace crying out for protection, they will be forced to divert more and more of their fleet. Eventually they will be spread so thinly they will be defenceless and then we will strike. The plan will continue apace. I will assemble the fleet and we will crush them. Commander Radec and Vanguard will just become a footnote in history. History is written by the victors, nobody cares about the losers…”
As the audio recording came to an end, the silence in the room was broken by a lone voice. “The fleet on-route will consist of at least a dozen frigates, two destroyers, three heavy cruisers and a star-carrier. At least that is what it used to consist of.”
Jason’s mouth fell open in astonishment, and it took him several moments to find his voice as he stared in amazement at the Commander, who had uttered the words. “How in the Emperor’s name can you determine that from a simple audio recording?”
Jon glanced at his hands, white from the force that he had been gripping the edge of the data pad, as the recording had progressed. With a conscious effort he prised his fingers from the device before looking up and responding to the Lieutenants question. “Because I recognise that voice. That voice has haunted me for the last five years. That voice ordered the death of our Emperor. That voice ordered the death of the Praetorians. That voice ordered the mercenaries sent to kill Sofia and I. That is the voice that I have spent years looking for, that I followed every report, every rumour, and every scrap of intelligence to find. That voice is the one that I have sworn, on the lives of all those that he destroyed, that I would hunt down and silence, forever.”
Focusing once again on the occupants of the room, having been consumed by memories that Jon thought long buried, he clarified, “The voice belongs to Commodore Harkov, previously Admiral Harkov, before being stripped of that rank by the Emperor after his desertion during the battle of Rigel. The Commodore, the entire 4th fleet, including the star-carrier Imperial Star vanished soon after the assassination of the Emperor and my escape with Sofia. The Commodore and the fleet were never seen again, although I followed up on several rumours. Sofia and I speculated at the time that the original plan was that the Empire was meant to have disintegrated after the death of Emperor Aurelius’, as there was no clear line of succession, no chain of command for the Imperial Fleet…”
“But it didn’t happen that way…” Paul interjected.
“No,” Jon replied. “When Sofia and I finally arrived at Eden Prime, she made the decision to abdicate, and the Empire to become a true Confederation. Sofi
a’s final command was for the remaining fleet Admirals all to sign the Confederation Charter, thereby forever placing the Imperial Fleet under the direct command of the Senate. As you all know the Senate soon disbanded the Imperial Fleet, I assume because they still did not trust the military leadership and replaced it with the Confederation Navy. Hence the Empire never disintegrated, it transformed instead into the Confederation that we have today. There was never the civil war that we assume the Commodore was hoping for, to allow him to seize power.”
“So you and Sofia disrupted the Commodore’s plan,” Paul observed insightfully.
Jon just shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps… this was all just speculation on our part during one evening.” Jon fell silent, preoccupied by the good memories of that time. Sofia and him, still entwined by the sheets from their last bout of lovemaking, her head resting gently on his bare chest as he brushed away a sweaty strand of hair from her neck that had interrupted his prior journey of kisses downwards… Realising that Paul had been asking him a question, Jon shook his head to banish the pleasant daydream.
“I said does this change anything?” Paul repeated the question.
Jon let the thought lull around in his head for a few moments. Did it change anything? The tactical situation remained unchanged; they still had a fleet of hostile ships on the way, which could arrive at any minute. At least they now had some idea of how many ships to expect, assuming even a detachment of the 4th fleet arriving, far more than they could possibly ever hope to fight. Yet, this changed nothing…and everything.
While the situation was still hopeless, Jon had no intention of running away, not now. Jon had spoken truthfully when he told this crew that he had sworn an oath to find this man and stop him. He had spent years futilely searching, following down every possible lead, all to no avail. Now the object of his search was coming here, to him! No, Jon had no intention of leaving; finally he would be able to have his revenge for all the loved ones that this man had taken, all the lives that he had destroyed, everything he had lost…
