Commander Henry Gallant (The Henry Gallant Saga Book 4)

by Alesso, H. Peter

  COMMANDER

  HENRY GALLANT

  H. Peter Alesso

  Novels by H. Peter Alesso

  hpeteralesso.com

  THE HENRY GALLANT SAGA

  Midshipman Henry Gallant in Space © 2013

  Lieutenant Henry Gallant © 2014

  Henry Gallant and the Warrior © 2015

  Commander Henry Gallant © 2016

  COMMANDER HENRY GALLANT

  This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2016 H. Peter Alesso

  All rights reserved.

  Printed in the United States of America.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without prior permission in writing from the publisher.

  VSL Publications

  Pleasanton, CA 94566

  www.videosoftwarelab.com

  Edition 1.01

  ISBN-13: 978-1523640515

  ISBN-10: 1523640510

  DEDICATION

  A Warrior must know himself

  before he can know his enemy.

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1 Elysium

  Chapter 2 Alaina

  Chapter 3 Achilles

  Chapter 4 First Date

  Chapter 5 Mining

  Chapter 6 Celebration

  Chapter 7 A Prudent Man

  Chapter 8 Sailing

  Chapter 9 Immigrants

  Chapter 10 McCall and Alaina

  Chapter 11 Election

  Chapter 12 The Mansion

  Chapter 13 Unrest

  Chapter 14 Ocean Cliffs

  Chapter 15 Growing Anger

  Chapter 16 Dinner Party

  Chapter 17 Methane Planet

  Chapter 18 First Mission

  Chapter 19 Titans

  Chapter 20 The Letter

  Chapter 21 Identity Thief

  Chapter 22 Loyalty

  Chapter 23 Cruisers

  Chapter 24 Home Again

  Chapter 25 Fidelity

  Chapter 26 Martial Law

  Chapter 27 Smugglers' Cove

  Chapter 28 Winner Take All

  Chapter 29 The Question

  CHAPTER 1

  Elysium

  Alaina told him to leave.

  Gallant thought they were in love, but now she’s found someone else.

  He racked his brain—sifting through the wreckage of their relationship—trying to piece together what went wrong.

  A tidal wave of loss and grief swept over him, leaving him undecided about what to do next, or how to move forward—which was ironic because he always prided himself on his ability to reach difficult decisions during a crisis. Was this a crisis? Maybe it was worse because his brain was numb and wouldn’t process facts or ideas. It just replayed their breakup, over and over again.

  ***

  TWO MONTHS EARLIER . . .

  The Warrior was Henry Gallant’s first command. She was the culmination of everything he’d worked for since entering the academy. Her rocket-shaped hull was over one hundred meters long, equipped with stealth technology, an antimatter sub-light engine, and a dark matter FTL drive.

  The ship was on course for Elysium, a warm-water planet with oceans covering 90 per cent of its surface and dotted with numerous islands supporting abundant life including birds, mammals, and a multitude of plant life. Home to a displaced United Planets (UP) colony, it was the second of five planets orbiting Tau Ceti, a mustard-yellow dwarf star 11.5 light-years from Earth.

  Sitting in the command chair, Gallant noticed that the bridge was unusually quiet despite the hum of machinery and the chatter of the bridge crew in the background. There were no alarms or sirens or exclamations of concern, all of which was a good thing, but in his heightened state of anticipation, he was left with an eerie sense of emptiness.

  He could barely contain his excitement at the prospect of seeing Alaina for the first time in nearly a year. His mind was alive with memories—many of which included Alaina’s alluring figure—quickening his pulse. There was nothing auspicious or dramatic about the images. It was just their sheer untimeliness and incongruity that was troubling.

  Standing up abruptly, he shook his head to cast off his distracted torpor.

  All eyes on the bridge turned toward him.

  Chagrinned, he drew a breath and sat back down.

  The bridge crew returned to their animated chatter about reaching their first interstellar destination. Dozens of subjects were being discussed, evaluated, and just as quickly discarded by the young inquisitive minds—they speculated about the war with the Titans and the potential dangers it held for them within this star system—they worried about the equipment failures that had plagued them on their last mission and the prospect for repairs—they complained endlessly about the synthetic food while anticipating fresh luxuries from the nearby Earth-like planet—but most of all, they wondered when they would return to that most prized of all destinations—home. As the conversation churned through these topics, the dialogue was interrupted by what should have been routine ship matters.

  The Officer of the Deck (OOD) asked, “Sir, request permission to boost power for a long range sensor scan around Elysium.”

  “Permission granted,” said Gallant. A star system is a big place with lots of empty space between objects and he was anxious to see what was out there.

  It didn’t take long . . .

  “Sensors are picking up a discrete signal at extreme range, sir. Mmm . . . it could be a reflection off a meteorite,” said the sensor tech, his voice trailing off. Then, a minute later he snapped his head around and reported, “We’ve got a contact, sir. Designate as Tango-One.”

  The Executive Officer (XO), Lieutenant John Roberts, leaned over the sensor operator’s station and asked, “Can it be one of our new FTL ships?”

  Roberts was young and could be garrulous, but he had steady nerves and sound professional judgment. He was of average height with brown hair, a lean smooth face, and a sturdy body. Gallant had come to trust him as a stalwart friend. That’s something you discover only during a moment of crisis and that moment had come several months earlier when he put his career and his life on the line for Gallant.

  “It appears to be a single ship heading toward Elysium, but we’re too far away to receive an IFF signal, sir,” responded the sensor tech, who worked furiously to recalibrate his instruments to extract more information.

  A few minutes later, he reported troublesome news; “Sir, Tango-One is a Titan destroyer.”

  Calculations filled Gallant’s mind . . . How will the Warriormatch up against this enemy?

  The Titan destroyer was over one hundred meters long with an overall saucer shape and a large dome center. It was armed with a pair of missile launchers along with numerous medium caliber plasma and laser cannons.

  The Warrior had a stealth cloaking device and the ship’s main battery was a heavy energy cannon called a FASER (fission amplified stimulated emission radiation), in addition to antimissile missiles and medium caliber plasma and laser cannons.

  Gallant ordered, “Chief of the Watch, sound battle stations.” It was a sensible precaution despite the uncertainty of the destroyer’s intentions. It might have just been on a scouting mission. It hadn’t yet detected the Warrior and it wouldn’t, if Gallant entered stealth mode immediately.

  The oldest member of the crew, Chief Benjamin Howard, was a seasoned veteran with thinning brown-gray hair and a slight potbelly. He wore hi
s immaculate uniform with pride—every ribbon, insignia, and star, on his left breast had a long and glorious story that he was only too glad to retell— with appropriate embellishments—over a whiskey, preferable Jack Daniels, while on liberty. Just now, he confined himself to sharing a stoic expression as he announced over the intra-ship communications system, “Battle stations! Battle stations!”

  Then he pressed the alarm on the console panel before him.

  CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

  Throughout the ship, the 126 member crew responded in a flurry of activity. The crew went to their designated stations and prepared for action. Weapons were charged, energy consumption was minimized for low priority equipment, environmental controls were adjusted with all compartment hatches battened down, and sensor stations were manned by the ablest technicians.

  The crew’s youngest member, Midshipman Stedman, an eager but green officer, reported to the Combat Information Center (CIC) where the enemy ship was tracked and analyzed. His thin frame, slight build, and oval face often made him seem unnoticed while others were busy.

  Noting the record response time, Chief Howard smiled as he reported, “All battle stations manned and ready, sir.”

  “Very well,” said Gallant, furrowing his brow. “Astrogator, give me Tango-One’s course.”

  “Aye aye, sir. The destroyer is on a trajectory to achieve a high geosynchronous orbit over Elysium.”

  “How long before it reaches orbit?” asked Gallant.

  “Thirty-one minutes, sir.”

  The weapons officer interjected, “They’ll reach their maximum missile launch point several minutes before that, sir.”

  Gallant said, “Astrogator, plot an intercept course to Tango-One.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  Seconds later, the astrogator reported, “Intersect course is 186, mark two, sir.”

  “Helm, come to course 186, mark two, ahead full,” Gallant ordered.

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  Robert’s voiced the concern everyone was thinking. “Skipper, their multi-warhead nuclear missiles could rain destruction and death on Elysium’s colony before we get there.”

  The twenty-four thousand inhabitants of Elysium were primarily located in the town of Halo situated on the largest island—aptly named New Kauai after the Hawaiian island it so remarkably resembled—in the main chain of six large mountainous islands. The islands which crossed from the planet’s temperate and tropical zones were rich with tropical forests and gigantic volcanoes. The active volcanoes spilled lava into the ocean which cooled and pulverized into black-sand beaches which were always full of locals enjoying the simple splendor. That innocence and peace was now under threat.

  Gallant was all too aware of the devastation that nuclear warheads could do to the planet’s surface—if they got through the planet’s defenses. He leaned forward and stared at the displays as if they could magically reveal that his fears were unfounded. He had participated in enough battles to realize that although what was now unfolding might be insignificant from a historical perspective, it nonetheless held the greatest personal significance for him. He thought of Alaina. However, with a steely determination, he focused all his energy and attention on combating the enemy and locked away his personal fears and concerns into a small dark corner of the furthest recesses in his mind.

  Over the ship’s comms, he ordered, “Engineering; give me maximum power—red-line the reactors—I want every joule of energy possible from the sub-light engines.”

  He gave Chief Howard a look so intense that the chief stood up even before he said, “Chief.”

  Howard knew exactly what Gallant wanted—the result of years of working together.

  He turned to a nearby petty officer and said, “Take my watch.”

  The PO replaced him as Chief of the Watch and Howard headed to engineering where he intended to nurse the sick antimatter reactors to produce more than their designers intended.

  Gallant watched him leave, then immediately put him out of his mind, instead he concentrated on the enemy ship. He stood up and walked to the back of the bridge where he began pacing a half dozen steps—back and forth—which was all that room allowed. His mind raced to find some additional resources with which he might sway the pending battle in the Warrior’s favor. The Titan destroyer was more than a match for his ship under ordinary circumstance, but in a moment it would be occupied with its attack on Elysium. Surely the Titans wouldn’t want to be caught between two fires when the Warrior came within range. But that was the kicker. Would the Warrior be too late to save the colonists before the enemy turned its attention to her? He returned to his command chair and strapped in. Already the ship was accelerating.

  “How long until we reach our engagement envelope?” Gallant barked.

  The sensor operator said, “Twenty minutes sir.”

  Roberts narrowed his eyes as he said, “Elysium’s sensors Haven’t detected us yet. They wouldn’t know that help was coming, skipper. I recommend that we signal them.”

  “That’s right,” said Gallant. “Communications; send the following encoded and verified message: United Planets ship Warrior is on an intercept course with the enemy. We will reach engagement range in twenty minutes. Give us a full description of your defenses and we will coordinate our efforts.”

  “Elysium acknowledged our message, sir,” said the communications officer. It was a tense few minutes before additional information followed.

  “Elysium has a missile base on the moon, two satellite missile batteries and four ground based missile batteries including several antimissile missile batteries.”

  Complete specs and location details for the Warrior’s CIC were included.

  The sensor operator broke in and said, “Sir, I’m detecting a missile launch from the destroyer. It’s targeted at the planet.”

  The amplified view screen showed Gallant the destroyer’s two missiles approaching Elysium. He held his breath waiting to see whether the planet’s response would be sufficient. The multiple-warhead nuclear missiles had a yield of many megatons equivalent of TNT. They were intended as anti-ship weapons but would do devastating damage to the colony if they reached their optimal target height and location before detonating.

  A moment later the operator added, “The planet fired antimissile missiles. They achieved interception high above the planet. The damage was minimal, sir.”

  The colonist’s AMM-3 Mongoose antimissile was a highly effective defense weapon, but the meager fabrication resources of Elysium meant that they had a limited number. It was essential for the Warrior to relieve them before that supply was exhausted.

  Gallant watched the irregular exchange of missiles between the destroyer and the planet’s defenses. The satellites fired their antimissile batteries while the planet sent a single anti-ship missile at the destroyer. The Titan easily knocked down that threat.

  The destroyer was able to choose the optimal range and position for its attack. And while the destroyer hadn’t yet detected the Warrior, it soon would.

  He ordered, “Put the missile trajectories on my tactical screen.”

  The virtual 3D tactical screen lit up in an instant and he began flipping through the various displays that the AI had created from the synthesized sensory data. He tapped the display screen. The images provided a better understanding of the relative dynamics of the battle situation. He tore his eyes away from the computational displays and looked around the bridge at the flesh and blood men he would have to rely on. For the time being, they were all mere spectators to a ferocious battle for survival being waged by the planet’s brave inhabitants.

  Roberts said, “Skipper, we should go into stealth mode and remained cloaked until we get into an optimal firing position. We’ll be able to catch the Titans by surprise.”

  Gallant thought . . . That will let the Titan ship bombard the planet, undistracted.

  “No,” he said as he flicked a stray lock of hair off his forehead. “We’ll approach in full view and
fire at the outside limit of our missile envelope. That should give the destroyer pause. Hopefully, they’ll not engage in a battle while caught between two fires.”

  Elysium maintained its missile defense and kept the destroyer at bay, but it scored no hits on the destroyer—and they were running low on ammunition.

  Gallant looked at the blinking comm light on the incoming message directory and thumbed through the dispatch. It was a plea from the planet, “Warrior, we are under violent attack and need your immediate assistance.”

  He said, “Communications; send an acknowledgement.”

  The weapons officer asked, “Request permission to charge weapons, sir.”

  Looking over at his display screen, Gallant could see that even though the Warrior was still accelerating to close on the enemy, he was not satisfied. He reflected a moment then said, “No. Not just yet. Let’s keep maximum power to propulsion as the first priority.”

  The Titan continued its powerful missile attack on Elysium. The planet’s satellites were taking a pounding, and several were already damaged, or destroyed.

  The Warrior struggled to close the distance, its engines straining.

  Gallant thought . . . The aliens should have detected us by now.

  He double checked the enemy’s trajectory, but it had neither changed course, nor stopped its attack on the planet. He continued to hope they would react as he’d predicted.

  Roberts said, “Captain, engineering is reporting that the reactors are exceeding maximum operating temperature.”

  “Very well,” Gallant responded. He took a look at the sensor readings and he knew he would have to keep an eye on that problem. Antimatter engines could be finicky—particularly because the Warrior’s engines had already proven troublesome in the past—but he trusted Chief Howard to work his magic and keep them humming.