The Shattering War

by James Edward

  “Impact in five, four, three, two, one,” Lily said as calmly as she could. Her heart was racing, and she wanted to get up and run, but to where? She could only hope that they would clear the impact track before the slug hit.

  There was a huge bang, and the ship skewed sideways. Lights dimmed, and alarms started sounding all over the bridge. It had felt like they had been kicked really hard. The helm lost its response, and Engineering was calling urgently.

  “Damage report!” Ray shouted above all the clamor.

  “Coming in now,” Bob Marless said. “It missed us by fractions but blew the shields and emitters for the entire aft of the ship. Damage to the hull in the engine room and stress fractures along the starboard side of the ship from center to stern. Casualty report coming in. Engineering wants to talk to you.”

  “Go, Engineering,” Ray snapped.

  “Whatever that was, it knocked the engines offline, caused major damage to all relays and couplings to the feed drives, and knocked out power to the lasers and beam weapons. It will take twenty minutes to restart the engines and get underway,” Andre Yatter said over the intercom. “Even at that, you won’t have aft shielding for the last third of the ship.”

  “You have less than five minutes to do a restart. We are in the middle of a battle,” Ray responded. “Tactical, how did we miss that? How are we doing with our Kew? And missiles?”

  “Kew in thirty more seconds. Missiles will hit in fifteen seconds. They must have fired the Kew as soon as they turned to engage us, sir. There was nothing on long-range sensors or tactical until our movement proximity sensors found it,” she replied miserably.

  “Impact on the frigate! It’s breaking up! Our missiles got through!” Lily exclaimed seconds later. “The corvette is breaking off. Two minutes, thirty seconds to the destroyer.”

  “Engine room, where are my engines?” Ray called down.

  “You said five minutes, and it’s only been thirty seconds. Leave us alone so we can start the firing sequence,” came the abrupt reply.

  “Damage control called in, sir. Three dead and eight injured, mostly broken bones. Hull breaches have been sealed, but they said that they would have to go EVA to repair the shield emitters. Major repairs will take two to three hours. Guns on decks 3 and 4 are out until we dock at a repair base,” the XO said.

  “Thank you, XO.”

  “Sir, the destroyer, Kew ETA will be seconds,” the tactical officer reported. “We should see the impact … now!”

  They all watched as the destroyer suddenly exploded in a flash of light. They could see a slowly expanding debris field. The Kew had connected just ahead of the bridge and hit the hardened, armored bridge area with the greatest speed and intensity. They all knew there were no survivors and that it would have happened to them if not for some fast reactions.

  “Tactical, what’s the condition of the remaining two ships?” Ray asked.

  “Tactical, sir. We have a corvette running for hyper lift point, and the other frigate is trying to limp to the freighter. There are some escape pods out there from the destroyed frigate. The pods are heading toward the freighter as well,” she said.

  “Coms, ask if they want assistance. We should check that freighter, but without engines, we’re going to have to sit and watch,” Ray stated. “Jeb, go down to engineering and see what’s happening. Coms, send a message to Fleet to inform them of our fight and ask for an escort.”

  It all faded away as the other scenario flashed into his head of the two tough-looking military marshals flanking a JAG lawyer as she read out the list of charges to him. “Insubordination, dereliction of duty, engaging with an unknown force without Fleet consent, causing damage to a Fleet warship, responsible for the deaths of eight crew, endangering the surviving crew, and expending ordinates in a careless manner, resulting in the destruction of ships belonging to a legitimately registered company, to wit the Great Ursa Consortium,” she had listed coldly. “You will be tried in two days. I suggest you organize counsel for your defense.”

  The term kangaroo court took its meaning from that court case. All defense motions were denied, and the doctored video of Ray firing first was allowed. In the end, Ray was found guilty and subsequently demoted to commander and offered jail or discharge. Ray fought hard and tried to get the motion reversed, but it was blocked by Admiral Fuggoret, who had insisted that Ray be removed. In the end, Ray took a discharge. So it was now time for him to march into Fuggoret’s office to pick up his final discharge paperwork.

  As he stood in the threshold of the office, he mused to himself that since he was being discharged he really didn’t have to follow protocol and could just walk into Fug’s office, sit down, put his feet up on the desk, and ask for his discharge, but Fleet training was ingrained. Instead he marched in, saluted the flag, and stood at attention as the admiral pretended that he didn’t exist. Fuggoret sat at his desk, an ornate wood monstrosity that looked as expensive as it was elaborate. Ray took in the trappings of the man’s rise to power, all the pictures of him with dignitaries and other powerful people. There wasn’t a picture of a starship or a crew, both trivial in his rise to power.

  Fuggoret kept him at attention, enjoying the power he had over Ray. After a few minutes, he raised his eye and glared at Ray. “Mister Hunter, I will not give you the courtesy of rank. You are a disgrace to the uniform, and you have caused irreparable damage to the honor of the Fleet and of the good men and women serving in her. You are solely responsible for the deaths of eight Fleet personnel and untold men and women in those ships you so blatantly attacked. You have also caused the Fleet to make restitution to Great Ursa for the loss of the destroyer and two frigates, which will have to come out of Fleet reserves …”

  Ray bridled at these statements and the implications that were thrown at him. But in the end, he knew that the admiral could say whatever he liked. It would do no good to argue the point or protest the findings of the court. The die was cast, and he was out. He just hoped that Fugs wouldn’t start on one of his usual tirades. Alas, even that was added like insult to injury. In the end, Ray just fixed his eye on a spire that rose from a building across the park that he could see from the window and tried to ignore the raving of the admiral.

  “… and I will tell you, Hunter, that it gives me great pleasure to remove you and other deadwood like you from this fine organization. You won’t be missed! Now …” He a picked up a pen and with a flourish signed Ray’s discharge document and tossed them at Ray’s feet. “Admiral Weatherfew has a few choice words for you before this paper can be finalized, but just so you understand the point of this type of discharge, if Fleet ever sees you on a base again, you will be shot on sight. Now get out. Real men have work to do. Report to Weatherfew!”

  Ray picked up his discharge papers, turned to the Fleet emblem, saluted that, ignoring Fuggoret, who was spluttering in indignation that Ray didn’t salute him, and walked out of the office.

  He took the stairs to the next level of the building. This level housed the Joint Space chiefs of staff and the very high echelons of the Space military. The office that Ray arrived at was that of Admiral Weatherfew. Ray entered the first office and announced himself to the aide who sat at a desk. The aide requested his paperwork and told him to sit and wait.

  Ray looked around the office. It was full of pictures and models of ships, people, space stations, and weapons. It was obvious that this was a working office of a working, hands-on admiral, not that of some pretentious prat. Ray watched as a couple of space marines entered the office carrying some instruments. They conferred with the aide and then with a quiet knock on the door to the inner office stepped through. A few minutes later, the marines existed the inner office, and with a nod to the aide, they left.

  “The admiral will see you now, sir,” the aide said to Ray as he nodded to the inner sanctum door.

  “Thanks, LT,” Ray said as he stood and strode t
o the door. Knocking lightly, he opened the door and stepped in. Seeing the admiral sitting at his desk, he snapped off a curt salute, stood at attention, and stated for the record, “Commander Ray Hunter reporting as ordered, sir.”

  The admiral rose and returned his salute before walking around his desk and proffering his hand. “It’s good to see you, Ray. We haven’t met before, but after reading your dossier, I feel that I know you well enough. Have a seat, and we’ll have a little chat.”

  Ray took a seat at the desk and waited while the admiral moved back behind his desk and sat down. This was a hands-on admiral that had obviously risen through the ranks. He had a rugged look and an expression that showed he was used to issuing orders and that he expected complete and immediate action. He was old, but the ease with which he moved indicated that he had aged well. He has obviously worked hard to keep fit and had not allowed the pressure of his office to grind him down. It was almost night and day compared to the politically appointed Admiral Fuggoret.

  He looked at Ray for a moment and with a bark of laughter leaned back in his chair. “The look of astonishment on your face is priceless. You were expecting a snarly old admiral that would enjoy giving you a good dressing down before he signed the final slot on your discharge papers.”

  “Yes, sir, something like that,” Ray replied rather meekly, still trying to come to grips with this new turn of events.

  “Well, son, I’m not going to sign your paperwork. Rather, I’m going to offer you a job instead.” The admiral smiled. “We have much to discuss, and for the most part it’s for your ears only. That’s why the marines were in here—to sweep the place. You would be surprised to know that this room is bugged on a regular basis. That little parade snot Fuggoret has it bugged to keep track of me and see what the joint chiefs are up to. That’s part of the story, so I might as well start at the beginning.”

  “If you would, sir, I’m a bit confused,” Ray replied

  “Well, it all started when we discovered there was a conspiracy to overthrow the Assembly of Governing Worlds. It’s subtle but ongoing. We have no way, at this time, to prove it but are well aware of gentle and not so gentle changes taking place. This applies more to the military than the governing bodies, but without a military, the governing bodies are helpless,” Admiral Weatherfew stated. “You have noticed yourself that all is not right in the Fleet. You are not alone. Over 350 good officers and crews along with three starships have been forced out. For the most part, those ships are or were obsolete. The crews, though, were top-of-the-line officers and crew members that were set up or betrayed by either other officers or political appointees. Fabrication of evidence is usually the cornerstone of the charges and the ruling board, which, you probably realize, is run by the political appointees with just enough ‘real people’ to give it credibility.

  “Also, plum appointments and the newer ships are going to officers that are more loyal to the Parliamentary Ruling Council than the AGW, even some of those that orchestrated the demise of their senior officers. Your service record shows that you have the right mix of experience in both command and administration. We’re organizing a black operation to build a force to counter the rising threat of the PRC. If you decide to take this job, you will be in great danger from the get-go and will have to fly under the radar. If not, I will sign your paperwork, and you will be escorted from the building.”

  “Well, it’s sort of sudden,” Ray replied. “A lot to take in. I’m inclined to leap on it just to thwart Fugs, but I need to know that you’re not the conductor of this conspiracy. As well, I will state right now and for the future, I am loyal to the AGW and will not do anything that would compromise their legitimate business. I am going to require some time to mull this over.” Ray sat back and with a defiant look watched the expression of Weatherfew as he took that in.

  “Excellent.” Weatherfew beamed. “You have passed the first test. If you had jumped it immediately, your paperwork would be signed, and you would be out the door. The ravings of a court-martialed and discharged commander would only attract attention of the PRC spies, and you would probably end up in a back alley with an untraceable knife in your ribs. There will be a contact made in two weeks at a bar called Hazel’s Reach. Be there for lunch. You will be met by an operative who will provide you with further information. If you are a no-show, then we will know that you have declined this operation, and we will recruit someone else.”

  “Okay, fair enough,” Ray said. “How will I know this operative?”

  “They will know you.” Weatherfew smiled. “Now, you will probably be followed by a PRC operative for the next few days. They seem to be interested in what you will do once you’re out of the Fleet. I suppose they want to ensure that you don’t go and make some trouble for them. So whatever you do, don’t draw attention to yourself. If you had some plans before our chat, just follow through with them.”

  “Yes, sir.” Ray smiled. “I had plans for a bit of R&R before trying my hand at some business or other.”

  “Good. Follow through with your R&R plans. Maybe even let it be known that you plan on going to another planet to try your hand at business,” Weatherfew said. “After all, a retired Fleet officer is entitled to settle anywhere in the known AGW.”

  Weatherfew rose and stretched out his hand. As Ray shook it, he felt a memory chip pushed into his palm. He palmed it and after giving another salute walked to the door.

  Over the next two weeks, Ray spent time going through the memory chip. He read it once on his reader and then spent longer putting it through some encryption programs to ensure that no one else could get access to it. The memory stick was quite enlightening as to the progress of the PRC as it infiltrated various governments and military organizations and even had some of the operatives who were loyal to the PRC. It also had some information on other “retired” Star Fleet personnel. From that list, Ray spent some time narrowing down a list of candidates for recruitment.

  It was just before lunch when he arrived at Hazel’s Reach. This was a place for middle-class drinkers and business people that needed a quick lunch before going about their business. The seating area was fairly well lit with no place that was dark or hidden. The bar itself was the normal type of bar, with the large pull taps that advertised the different kinds of draft beer they had available. The wall was the usual configuration of glass doors that displayed the bottled beers, ciders, wines, and coolers. On the wall was row upon row of hard liquor and spirits. Ray decided to take a place at the bar and ordered a beer from a busty bar girl. He was watching the video on the overhead screen of a soccer match between two planets’ teams, probably some playoff or finals. It was fairly quiet at the moment, with the bar only about a quarter full.

  Ray noticed everyone that either came or went; he watched most of them through the reflection off the windows in the bar cooler. He had acknowledged the arrival of an older gentleman who took a seat at the bar. Although he sat a couple of chairs away, he asked who was playing and what the score was. After Ray told him, he seemed to ignore everything but the game. Ray noticed that a couple of guys had walked past the old guy and had greeted him, either slapping him on the back or squeezing his shoulder. He was actually working on his third beer when the game wound down, with one side just managing to beat the other in a hard-fought but low-scoring game. The older gentleman looked over and stated that the one particular team should have soundly beat the other—that the stats had said there should be a three-goal advantage. Ray answered that he really didn’t follow the game to that extent and really couldn’t get a grasp on some of the whistles. The old gentleman slid over two seats and, sitting beside Ray, went on to explain how the game was played and what the whistles were for. They bought each other a beer and continued on with the finer points of soccer, with Ray listening and the older man teaching.

  “Reg Mcgreeder is my name,” the old man said as he stuck out his hand. “Been a fan for years, ever sin
ce I retired from Fleet.”

  “Ray Hunter,” Ray replied. “I am just now retired from Fleet myself.”

  “Figured you for Star Fleet,” Mcgreeder said. “You carry yourself as if you have been in space for a while. Different gravities, ya know.”

  “Yup. I guess it still shows that I’m a newbie to this planet-bound gravity.” Ray smiled. “It’s been a while since I was planet side.”

  “Pardon if this too personal, but you’re a bit young to retire. Win a lotto somewhere?” Reg laughed.

  “Nope. Ran into a petty dictator by the name of Fuggoret—or Fugs—that decided that I didn’t believe in the way Star Fleet was going and that I should find employment elsewhere,” Ray said a little too bitterly.

  “Is that old despot still running the show there?” Reg said. “I quit when they made him admiral. Saw the writing on the wall. He used to be my training officer but was so clueless that everyone just bypassed him. Should’ve spaced him when I had the chance.”

  “Wish you had.” Ray shrugged. “Anyway, I’m just trying to get used to being on the ground. I’ve been thinking of taking the Fleet up on their offer of free immigration to any world to take up some type of business or something that’ll put money in the bank.”

  “Well, if you want to take Fleet up on their offer, I guess you’d have to go to admiralty for the endorsement,” the old man said with a wink.

  Ray had noticed that during this conversation one of the guys that had slapped Reg on the back was back and sitting at the bar. He also noticed that the other one was back in the bar and sitting behind them at a table. Before he could say anything more, a black-haired beauty walked into the bar and strode up to Reg.

  “Grandpa, you said you were only going to watch the game, and it’s been over an hour since it ended.”

  “Yeah, I know, honey, but I just met a new friend, and we were catching up.” Reg laughed and motioned for the girl to sit on the other side of Ray. “Ray, this is my granddaughter Lyn. Lyn, Ray Hunter. He was Star Fleet, now retired.”