Tales From The Sonali War: Year 1 of 5 (Pax Aeterna Universe Book 4)

by Trevor Wyatt

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

  The terrorist make the mistake to go 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 into his right 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. He collapses to the ground, writhing on the sandy ground for a few moments before going totally still in death.

  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 it ends in a large cavernous room. I can hear conversation there, too. I brace, then bend into the tunnel.

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

  My heart quips. I am almost distracted from my mission.

  “What do they want?” I ask.

  “You.”

  My heart is flooded with happiness.

  “Your application into the Terran Operations Officers Program was accepted,” says Overwatch. “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. Terrorist takes 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 does not know tunnel system and receives limited support from support staff. Ensign is supposed to defeat all the terrorist and stop the bomb from going off.

  Only a few people have ever passed the test in their first try. Very few that they can be counted on the fingers on one hand.

  “Enjoy the show, boys,” I say into the wrists 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 a fraction of a second ago occupied. There are five tangos left and they are mostly on 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 of the room.

  They are all surprised when they see me see them behind their cover. Their reactions are slow. I shoot the nearest in the head and grab his falling body and 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 terrorist. 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 world dreadful, death prone world around me fade 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 am dressed in a white jumpsuit that signifies that I am 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 to enter, but he turns and waves the off.

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

  “So you’re a captain?” I ask.

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

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

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

  “Amanda Grayson,” 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 Shane 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. “That’s a first for anyone from Australia. Best scores in navigations. Best scores in tactical command. Best scores is 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 didn’t know there was going to 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 am so bedazzled to be in the presence of someone from Operations Command, my dream posting, to even think straight.

  The truth is that, 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 work station 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 un
readable look on Vice Admiral Shane’s look, I hold myself back. I may have said too much and blown my chance at Armada Intelligence. It is said that Operations only come to those they want. And the caliber of person that comes to you determines just how bad Armada Intelligence wants you.

  It is said that they can come at any time. It is even rumored 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 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 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 Operations Command?”

  “No One,” I reply immediately. “I don’t know who he is, but I 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 read that he works with TAIOC, and there and then I knew how I wanted my military career to play out.”

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

  He turns and begins to leave.

  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 have 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 is 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 parked lightly, giving away most of my stuff. I’m carrying only 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 Armada Intelligence.

  It took me the better part of ten minutes to locate Pad 1, majorly because most people didn’t think the launch pad existed. The few that knew gave differing locations around the campus that almost drove 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 is well hidden with lush greenery 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 I. I find a shuttle berthed on the pad under guard by Marines.

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

  They all look up at me and snap off a salute in tandem at me. 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 return my quizzical look to them.

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

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

  “By whom?” I ask. I didn’t tell anyone I was going to be in early. Perhaps, Vice Admiral Shane gave 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 he.”

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

  “Because they are members of Division Fifty One, Commander,” says a voice behind me.

  I see Vice Admiral Shane walking out of the door way that leads download, 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 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 Fifty One.”

  I remember he had said something like that earlier. “I’ve never heard of that unit before.”

  He winks his right eye. “That’s the idea. Come one. I’ll explain more to you in the ship.”

  Ship?

  The shuttle takes us into space. The ship we land in is much larger than all the ships I know existed in the Terran Armada. It’s even as large as Sonali vessels, maybe larger. 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 that were 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 in the shuttle back. I come out first and they snap off a salute that makes me retreat and bump into vice Admiral. I am 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 Shane 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 are the Operations Commander for Division Fifty One. 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, then they follow him, speaking as they went. They speak in an urgent tone.

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

  I grab Staff Sargent 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, a little bit relaxed. 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 sound 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 a larger than normal because of the size of the vessel. I am disappointed. It’s just as small as what you’ll find in any of the Terran Union vessels. I find three suitca
ses of clothes waiting for me. Everything I need is there.

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

  I take a quick bath and lie in my bed for a while. With twenty minutes to spare, I change into the black jumpsuit, which surprisingly tightens automatically to fit my shape. I usually don’t like tight-fitting clothes because it reveals just how large my bust are and makes me too self-conscious.

  I sigh as I observe myself in the holographic mirror. Every curve just comes out sharply. I am displeased. While every lady in their right minds would kill for the ass and breasts I carry about, I really hate that I’m curvy. Too much attention from men and women alike. Too much attention equals bye, bye covert. How can you be covert, when everyone is looking at you with lustful eyes?

  I take one more look at my figure, then leave my room to go look for the Vice Admiral. The ship is so large that it takes me five minutes and switching between elevators to find the one that takes me to the CNC.

  I note that we are in interstellar space, firing to a destination I don’t know.

  In the CNC, I am directed to an adjacent door that leads to the ready room; there are two security operatives by the door. The door slides up as I approach.

  The ready room is fairly big, mostly longitudinally. It’s more like an office, but without the sofa.

  Vice Admiral Shane is seated on his chair, reading through his tablet. “Sit, Commander,” he says.

  I walk the bulk of the length of the office and sit in the chair across from the man.

  After a couple of minutes, he puts his tablet down, folds is arms on the table, and leans in forward.

  “You’ve probably been able to piece together what this Division is about?” he says.

  I nod. “Covert, Black Ops arm of Armada Intelligence with elite marines with special advances say like super weapons or suit.” I take one look at my jump suit. “I wonder what this can do.”

  He chuckles. “I’m afraid it does nothing more than trim itself to fit the wearer’s size.”