The Coming Storm_A Pax Aeterna Novel

by Trevor Wyatt

  This situation is not ideal. Usually, I would have the support of some tech to sniff around the edges. Or the spaceships orbiting the Earth to scan for life forms. I don’t have all these, because the Armada Command is trying to keep this a secret. What would people think when they hear that the almighty Terran Armada can’t even keep itself safe?

  Perhaps, if news of this impending terrorist attack gets out, nefarious forces may begin to get bad ideas. They may not come to Earth. They may go to New Washington. They may go to Edoris Station.

  If I fail here, then they’ll know it’s possible.

  I take in a deep breath, deciding to go ahead with my plan. I have two options; I can decide to sneak a peek and hope no one is looking my way, or I can jump out and attack them immediately with my guns.

  If I take a peek and someone is looking, then they’d know I’m here—game over.

  I decide it’s better to jump out, guns blazing, partly because it’s less risky and partly because…well, where’s the fun in assessing the risks and making decisions after assessment?

  With my pulse pounding, I slide out of my hiding place. It’s a small cave-like room, and there’s another tunnel in the wall on the other side of the room that leads deeper.

  There are six of them, all armed with the latest laser-based weaponry the Armada just sent out to aid the war effort. Three are sitting around a small fire on weapons caches. One is close and has his back to me. The other is just coming into the room from the tunnel. He’s the one who spots me—and he’s the one who falls first. I aim and fire.

  Two of the men starts aiming at me, but I’m way faster than them. I leap into motion, and I aim again and fire.

  I race to the other three, firing twice. The one who already has his guns in his hands take the two bullets in his chest. Reflex action has him spitting a few bullets and killing one of the remaining two terrorists where he sits, stunned.

  Halfway to the fire, I dive forward, breaking into a roll once I hit the ground. I come up to my knees and aim.

  The terrorist kicks the gun out of my hand. He tries to hit me with his gun, but I jerk to the right. The butt of his weapon falls through, missing me. I slam my hand into his gun hand, knocking out the assault rifle.

  The terrorist makes the mistake of going after the weapon. I shoot to my feet, sliding out the switch blade concealed in my right ankle holster. I grab his neck and jack the knife right into his throat. He struggles, but I hold him tight then jam the blade in deeper.

  The man opens his mouth for a scream. Instead, he gurgles blood. I let him go as he collapses to the sandy ground, writhing for a few moments before going totally still.

  Around me is death. Six men dead in—I glance at my watch—eight seconds. I’m getting slow, again. I walk to where my gun is, by the side of the man who shot his comrade in calculated mistake.

  “Alpha One, this is Overwatch. Come in,” says a voice in my right ear, where the comm device is inserted.

  “Go ahead, Overwatch,” I say, entering the other tunnel. Ahead, I can see that it ends in a large cavernous room. I can hear a conversation there, too. I brace, then bend into the tunnel.

  “We just received a communication from the Armada Intelligence,” Overwatch says.

  My heart quips. I’m almost distracted from my mission.

  “What do they want?” I ask.

  “You.”

  My heart’s suddenly flooded with happiness.

  “Your application into the Terran Operations Officers Program was accepted,” Overwatch says. “Now, would you stop what you’re doing? There are some of us here who would rather watch another ensign get slaughtered by those terrorists.”

  I chuckle as I get to the end of the tunnel. It changes every time to keep re-takers from having foreknowledge and thereby being opportune. Yet, the basic structure is the same. Terrorists take a hold of weapon cache, including a proton bomb that can level the super structure that is the Armada Command.

  Ill-prepared ensign goes in with twentieth century weapons against the latest advanced blaster. Ensign is outnumbered and outgunned. Ensign doesn’t know the tunnel system and receives limited assistance from support staff. Ensign is supposed to defeat all the terrorists and stop the bomb from going off. Only a few people have passed the test in their first try.

  “Enjoy the show, boys,” I say into the wrist communicator right before I head dive into the cavernous room. My first shot is at the one with the detonator. The bullet drills right through his forehead, leaving him in the hands of death with a smile on his face. I leap sideways into the air, just as automatic weaponry rent the air. Twisting in midair, I send off a spray of bullets to a knot of two terrorists who are trying to reload. They fall dead where they are.

  I land near a stack of crates, taking cover as bullets scorch the air in a fraction of a second. There are five tangos left and they’re mostly at the other end of the room.

  I break into a run from my position, shooting widely. I don’t hit anyone, but that’s not my plan. The suppressive fire provides me enough time to round the room and get to the other end.

  They’re all surprised when they see me spotting them behind their cover. Their reactions are slow—I shoot the nearest in the head, grab his falling body, and then use it as a human shield. I shoot the second one before he gets off a shot. I kick his falling body to the third, derailing his aim and sending him to the ground. My bullet finds his head before it touches down.

  In all this, I’m still moving, albeit slower now. The fourth tango gets seven bullets out before I get in range. I shove the body forward. The dead body slams into the fourth shooter, sending his aim wide.

  The fifth shooter looks at the fourth man falling. That’s the last thing he sees before I shoot him in the head.

  I kick the gun away from the fourth terrorist and slam my gun into his head. He’s knocked out cold.

  “Overwatch, come in,” I say.

  “Yeah, we know, we see everything,” comes the reply. “You defused the bomb. You’ve taken out all the terrorists. You’ve left one alive for interrogation. Blah, blah, blah…Tell me, Amanda, did I leave anything out?”

  I laugh. “Well, I haven’t gotten around to defusing the bomb yet, but I guess, yeah. Mission accomplished. End simulation.”

  The whole dreadful, death prone world around me fades in a flash of holographic flare. Even the pin suit and the 9mm Berretta on me vanishes.

  The whole setting is replaced by the shiny metallic walls of the holographic room. The holographic room is a massive empty room with a mobile floor system, so I can walk miles in the thick jungles of Africa without taking more than three steps from my initial actual position in the holographic room.

  I’m dressed in a white jumpsuit, which signifies that I’m an officer in training at the Terran Armada Academy. Well, soon to be an ensign. I’m graduating in three months.

  A clap echoes across the cavernous holo room and grabs my attention. I look to see who it is.

  A man in a black suit and dark shades stands in the circular entry way. Behind him, I can see an escort of security operatives standing at attention. Behind them in the hallway, I can see Mike, my Overwatch for this session.

  Not knowing what to say, I muttered, “Hi…”

  The man smiles and walks towards me. His escort makes their way to enter, but he turns and waves them off.

  He sees the look I give them and says, “Well, they can be really protective. You know, Armada new rules on Captains having security details on and off their ships and all.”

  “So you’re a Captain, sir?” I ask.

  The man is tall and has a bulky build. He exudes self-confidence and power—the kind who can make anything happen in the Terran Union.

  “My name is Vice Admiral Shane Pierce,” he says, his hands stretch forth for a handshake, “Terran Armada Intelligence Services Operations Command.”

  My eyes widen and my legs become weak instantly. I take his hand with both hands and even add
a curt bow to it. Then I retreat and begin to feel really stupid.

  “Amanda Grayson, sir,” I say.

  He smiles. “I know a very good operative with that same last name. Any relationship?”

  “Not that I know of, sir,” I reply.

  Vice Admiral Pierce looks around the holographic room for a while. Then he begins to walk around. I notice that he traces a loose circle around me, speaking as he goes.

  “You’re top of your class,” he says. “Best scores in navigations. Best scores in tactical command. Best scores in strategic command. Best scores in field missions. Overall best scores in the Academy since a very long time. Someone with your scores can get any posting of their choice in any ship within the Armada. Why Intelligence and why the front lines?”

  I swallow hard. I haven’t known there will be an interview. I know I wrote a lot of the usual dedication, honesty, service crap everyone writes when asked the purpose for choosing a particular posting. But right now, I’m so bedazzled to be in the presence of someone from Operations Command, my dream posting, to even think straight.

  The truth is, I only chose this command because I wanted to be in front of the action, not in some metal hull flying around in space and shooting lasers. I like to get personal. Do dangerous things. Take risks. I like to dance on the tightrope between life and death. Many people call me insane. I call myself fun.

  The man stops right in front of me and holds my gaze.

  I take in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Honestly, sir?”

  He arches his eyebrow, remaining silent.

  “Because I don’t fancy staying behind a ship at a workstation and watching the action happen right in front of my eyes,” I say. “I’d rather be on the ground or in space with my EVA suit taking the shots. I’d rather see the lights go out of the blasted Sonali eyes than see a ship explode from afar.”

  With the unreadable expression on Vice Admiral Pierce’s look, I hold myself back. I may have said too much and blown my chance at the Armada Intelligence. It’s said that Operations only come to those they want. And the caliber of the person who comes to you determines just how bad the Armada Intelligence wants you.

  It’s also said that they can come at any time. Rumors even spread that some people get called right in their first year. Whatever the case, your response during the impromptu meeting determines your fate forevermore. Meaning, if you screw it up the first time, you’re never getting into the Armada Intelligence Operations Command ever again, regardless of how many times you reapply.

  The Vice Admiral is still standing before me.

  “The last person I brought into the Operations Command said something similar,” he says. Then he gives me a puzzled look. “It’s the same person with which you share your surname.”

  I feel a bit relieved. If the person got in with the response I gave, then I’m in good company.

  “Can you tell me her name, sir?” I attempt.

  He only flashes a half smile, but doesn’t respond.

  “Who’s your role model?” he asks. “Who inspired your decision to join the Operations Command?”

  “No One,” I reply immediately. “I don’t know who he is, but I’ve read some of his case files in my studies and I said to myself, this is someone like me. This is someone I want to be like. Then I’ve read that he works with the TAIOC, and there and then I knew how I wanted my military career to play out.”

  The man laughs. “I see. Welcome to Division 51 of the Terran Armada Intelligence Operations Command, Commander Amanda Grayson. Gather your things. We leave within the hour.”

  He turns and begins to walk.

  I trail behind. “Sir, I don’t graduate until another three months. And, sir, my rank should be ensign when I graduate.”

  “As of this moment, you’ve graduated from the Academy and your rank shall be Commander—provisionally, of course, until you’ve proven yourself,” he says. He stops at the entryway and turns to face me.

  I stop short, before walking right into his face.

  “That is, of course, if you accept,” he says.

  I heave a sigh and hold my shoulder high. “I will be honored, sir,” I say.

  “Good,” he replies. “One hour. Pad 1.”

  Thirty minutes later, I’m standing on Launch Pad 1. I packed lightly, giving away most of my stuff. I’m only carrying a duffel bag with enough clothes for a week. I also have all my credentials, including my official ceremonial wears and Academy jumpsuit. However, I suspect that I’m going to be getting new credentials and new ceremonial wears now that I’m with the Armada Intelligence.

  It takes me the better part of ten minutes to locate Pad 1, majorly because most people don’t think the launch pad exists. The few who know have given differing locations around the campus, which has almost driven me nuts. I had to contact the campus-wide AI who surprisingly directed me to the pad.

  Launch Pad 1 is located in one of the gardens that form a border between the campus and the outside world. It’s well concealed with lush greenery and with a hidden doorway leading downwards. I don’t know where that leads to, and I’m not really sure I want to find out.

  I take the normal route to Launch Pad 1. I find a shuttle berthed on the pad guarded by Marines.

  This draws an unintended frown from me. “Marines?”

  They all look up at me and snap off a salute in tandem. I flinch at the force and unison of their actions.

  I look over my shoulders to see if there’s a high ranking officer behind. There’s no one. I look at them quizzically.

  “Can someone tell me what’s going on?” I ask.

  The leader of the squad approaches me. “Staff Sergeant Ronny Michael, ma’am,” he says. “We were instructed to get you settled in.”

  “By whom?” I ask. I haven’t told anyone I’ll be in early. Vice Admiral Pierce has given me one hour. I still have twenty minutes to spare.

  “The Vice Admiral,” he replies. “He told us you’d be coming in a little earlier than him.”

  I nod. “Thanks, Staff Sergeant Michael. Why are Marines guarding this shuttle?”

  “Because they’re members of Division 51, Commander,” says a voice behind me.

  I see Vice Admiral Pierce walking out of the doorway that leads downward, his detachment of security operatives behind him.

  He has a silver button-shaped tag in his hand, which he hands to me. “It’s official,” he says. “All your information has been scrubbed from the system and transferred to the Operations Command and classified above top secret.”

  I take the silver button, surprised at its weight and texture. “Why? Intelligence officers’ records are not classified that high.”

  “That’s because you’re not just an Intelligence Operative, Amanda,” he says. “You’re now part of a highly classified, highly effective elite commando team of operatives known as Division 51.”

  I remember him saying something like that earlier. “I’ve never heard of that unit before.”

  He winks at me. “That’s the idea. Come on. I’ll explain more to you in the ship.”

  Ship?

  The shuttle takes us into space. The ship we land on is much larger than all the ships I know that exists in the Terran Armada. It’s also stylishly designed in the form of a saucer and twin barrel-shaped engines that hand out behind like fins. The design reminds me of one of the space movies made during the early twenty first century.

  “Why so large?” I ask as the shuttle comes to stop in the cavernous shuttle bay, which I realize is one of the more than fourteen shuttle decks on the ship. I cannot comprehend the scale of this vessel.

  Two muscular, fierce-looking jarhead officers are waiting for us at the shuttle’s back. I come out first and they snap off a salute that makes me retreat and bump into the Vice Admiral. I’m about to fall and the man holds me.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” I say, my cheeks burning. He only smiles and motions for me to continue out.

  I step aside for the
Vice Admiral to exit the shuttle. Once he’s out, the two officers snap off another salute.

  “At ease, gentlemen,” Vice Admiral Pierce says.

  The rest begins to exit from the shuttle.

  He glances at me. “Are you alright?”

  I nod. “I’m just not used to people saluting me, sir.”

  “Well, get used to it,” he replies. “Because as of today you’re the Operations Commander for Division 51. Meet me in my ready room within an hour and I’ll brief you some more.”

  The men part for the Vice Admiral to walk out of the shuttle bay, and then they follow him, speaking in an urgent tone as they go.

  I’m still standing there when the security detachment follows after the Vice Admiral. The Marines begin to go when I recover from the Vice Admiral’s revelation.

  I grab Staff Sergeant Michael by the arm and pull him back.

  “Did I hear him correctly?” I ask.

  The soldier blinks, confused.

  “Operations Commander?” I say. “What does that even mean?”

  His face dawns with understanding. “Well, ma’am, it means you’ll basically be commanding all the Marines in this Division.”

  “Oh…” I say, relaxing a little bit. I don’t want to be stuck behind a desk planning the operations of a fighting unit. I want to fight. Leading a detachment of Marines sounds just great, because I know that where there are Marines, there’s bound to be trouble.

  “Just how many are you in this Division?” I ask.

  He smiles. “Ma’am, we are this Division. Come on, I’ll show you to your quarters. You’ll want to rest before your meeting with the boss. He’ll explain everything to you.”

  I expect my quarters to be larger than normal because of the size of the vessel. I have to admit, I’m a bit disappointed. It’s just as small as what you’ll find in any of the Terran Union vessels. I find three suitcases of clothes waiting for me. Everything I need is there.

  On my small bed is a black jumpsuit with my name and designation stitched across it. Above this designation is a small hook, where I suppose the button the Vice Admiral has given me goes to.