War Without Honor

by J. R. Geoghan

  Opened his eyelids to see…light.

  And his ears were still working. They picked up the groans and breathing around him.

  Little by little, the circuits in his mind clicked on, one after the other, like a hard reset button had been pressed somewhere. Synapses began firing, picking up on the pain messages from around his body and returning with unwelcome diagnoses. Then his mind began checking off then muscle groups and joints, minutely testing them for breakage and then moving them more fully as they clocked in as serviceable.

  Eventually, Halloran’s internal systems read green lights…with several heavy yellows mixed in. He sat up with another groan. “Ugh, yellow lights…”

  “Sir! You’re awake.”

  Singletary was there, on his knees with a hand behind Halloran’s back to steady him. “You took quite a beating, Captain.”

  “Water.” Halloran’s own voice sounded cracked and scratchy.

  Singletary shook his head. “None.” He looked over his shoulder. “They’ve got us locked in some sort of a storage room; low security but thick entry doors.”

  Halloran remembered the moans in the room. “Crew?” He blinked and rubbed his eyes some more, trying to focus.

  Then the last few synapses connected—the ones with the memories. He wished they’d stayed broken.

  The attacking guards, reddish skin and towering over them as they swung their swords and spears with apparent glee. Taking down his crew. Him, charging into the beings with his hands grasping, grabbing, finally wrestling a blade from one of them in his rage. Downing a red man, staring at the dark blood splattering. Seeing another go down before his assault and others dodging away from his weapon edge. Then, as the screams of pain and cries for mercy reverberated in his ears, his weapon being torn away and the first kicks to his body struck home. The falling darkness. Falling away…

  Singletary sat back and laid his hands on his knees, watching Halloran. “Forty-three accounted for, several wounded. The others who couldn’t walk were killed where they lay.” His officer’s eyes were hard. “Mopping up.”

  Over thirty gone… Halloran’s head hurt and he held it tightly.

  “You’ve probably got a concussion, sir.”

  He looked at Singletary. “Officers?”

  “You, me, Hummel. Skip and Reyes took hits and are walking wounded. “I’m not sure about the Chief; he’s over there, and won’t talk to anyone. The Russian and the two Chinese guys made it.”

  “Davon?”

  Singletary shook his head.

  Halloran didn’t need to ask about John Buston. They’d all seen the red creature slash his best friend’s head off in front of the whole assembly. And the one sitting on the throne, lording over the whole display of brutality.

  “Weps, where are we?”

  Singletary shook his head again. Watching him do that made Halloran somewhat dizzy. “I was awake when they dragged the rest of us down here. There was an elevator—reminded me of a carrier elevator, that big… Went down a few floors, if that’s what those are here. Prodded us down a corridor that looked fairly standard…”

  “No, I mean where the hell are we? One moment we’re in Pearl about to shove off…”

  “Right, sir. I have no idea. It was sure hot out there for early morning. Seemed like the desert climate, if I remember my tour in the Middle East before subs.”

  Halloran extended an arm. “Help me up.”

  As Singletary hoisted him to his feet, Halloran continued. “So someone has a weapon—a transporter—that could move my entire ship and crew across the world. Someone in the Pentagon has to be pretty ticked off right about now. And then the butchering of US servicemen and our imprisonment. Do they want a ransom?” He leaned against the wall to steady himself. Yes, it was a metal wall, seemingly unremarkable as Singletary had pointed out.

  “Well sir, they popped open the Bonhomme Richard like it was a tin can. Some sort of laser torches.”

  “Ship wasn’t designed to stand up under that sort of dockyard attack.” Halloran breathed out lightly, attempting to mitigate the pain coursing up from his ribcage. “Ouch.”

  “At least the missiles have been rendered useless to them.”

  Halloran fixed his weapons officer with a stare. “Let’s hope. They’ll have a wonderful bargaining chip otherwise.” He looked around the room of huddled green uniforms, splashed here and there with dark red. Eyes took notice of him, shoulders straightened a bit. As he gingerly made his way through the bodies, watching where his feet landed, sailors looked up a tried to paste on smiles.

  “Sir.”

  “We’re okay, sir.”

  “Have you seen Childers, sir?”

  “Good to see you up and about, sir.”

  He did his best to grasp hands and nod, sensing Singletary just behind him filling in the encouraging words he missed. Finally he caught sight of Skip Chandler and Chief Reyes sitting near the entrance doorway, which was obviously closed tight against them. He made his way over. At the buzz of conversation, Skip looked up and their eyes met. Halloran immediately read the despair and hopelessness in his XO’s expression.

  Skip struggled to his feet as the Captain approached and raised a bloodied hand in salute. It was shaky, but welcome and Halloran returned it with yet another grimace. They grasped hands, Skip using his good one this time.

  “Sir, glad to see you up and moving. I was worried.”

  Halloran nodded, absentmindedly looking around for his cap. Silly me, he thought. “So, Weps tells me we’re down to forty-three.”

  “Is that right?” Skip looked appreciatively at Singletary, who’d come up next to them.

  Halloran took note of Skip’s loss of comprehension and looked down at Reyes. “Chief, you still in there?” He reached down and tapped the man’s shoulder. “Hey, Abran…”

  With a shout and a leap, Reyes came up at Halloran with his hands grasping for his throat, curses tumbling from his lips. “You dirty…!”

  Halloran just dodged the man’s fingers and pulled sharply away, feeling his ribs cry out in protest. Losing his footing he started to go down…

  Several strong arms gathered him up and righted him. Halloran turned to see several crewmen there, holding him steady. “Thanks men.”

  Singletary and Chandler were holding Reyes back. The Master Chief was raving, cursing in English and Spanish, arms swinging and grasping at nothing, his eyes bright with madness.

  Halloran disengaged from the crewmen and stepped forward again, looking from Skip’s to Singletary’s faces. “He been like this ever since?”

  Skip nodded heavily. “Alternatively. He was right there with you, in the thick of them. Got kicked in the head several times for his trouble. Drove him nuts and he was screaming at ‘em when they punched his lights out. At least he didn’t get run through with a sword.”

  Halloran nodded thoughtfully, rubbing an errant rib.

  “Should we knock him out, sir?” asked one of the burlier crew standing by. Machinist’s Mate Bruce Brown.

  Halloran looked back at the man and shook his head, slowly. Then he turned to Reyes and stepped up to the man, just inches from his slashing fingers, feeling the spit from his screams and curses hitting his face. He’d known Abran Reyes for years.

  “Master Chief Reyes!”

  When the call went unanswered he raised his command voice even further, leaning in. “Master Chief Reyes. Atten-shun!”

  He saw it—the glimmer in back of the man’s eyes.

  Again he screamed back at the Chief. “Master Chief, what the hell kind of boat do you run here! Get in formation NOW!”

  Suddenly Reyes snapped to attention, arms dropping smartly to his sides and eyes fixing on the wall across from him. Halloran pressed further, the bellow crimping his ribs painfully. “Master Chief Reyes! Is this boat ready for inspection or is it NOT?”

  “Sir, yes sir! All present and accounted for, ready for your inspection!”

  Halloran looked triumphantly from Singl
etary to Skip. “You’re damn right this boat better be ready for inspection. Are you ready to come back to me now, Chief! I need your butt in gear!”

  As if a light switch had been turned off, the life returned to Reyes’ eyes and he peered closely at Halloran as if seeing him for the first time. “Sir? What are you talking about?”

  The sudden change in atmosphere shocked everyone present. Reyes looked around at the assembled men with jaws hanging open. “What the hell is everyone looking at?” Then he caught himself. “Sorry, sir.” He noticed the other officers. “Sirs.”

  “I’ll be…”

  Halloran patted the Chief’s shoulder, then took it. “Let me talk to you privately, Chief. We’ve got some problems to work out.”

  “How does he do that?” asked Singletary to Chandler.

  “’Cause he’s the Captain, idiot,” chuckled Skip.

  “What’s up, Skipper?” asked Reyes when they were alone against the wall.

  “Chief, I need your help. I took a bad hit out there.” He saw Reyes’ eyes begin to cloud over with the memory and rushed ahead. “We both did.” He gripped the man’s arm. “You did well, but I need you watching my back from now on. I need my Chief of the Boat all here, with me. Can you promise me that, Abran?”

  Reyes searched his Captain’s face, then scrunched up his eyebrows. “You know I can, Captain.” He looked at his hands, which were still shaking. “I was out of my head for a bit there.” He lifted a pleading look to Halloran. “You know I would’ve gone wherever you went, sir…and the men…”

  Halloran grabbed his other arm and pulled him close. “You’re tops in the fleet, Chief. I wouldn’t want any other man at my side. We just need to keep heads on straight and figure out what’s happened to us. Did you get a look at the outside of this cell when they brought us in?” Reyes hadn’t and Halloran knew it.

  The burly man pulled his arms away, but his small smile showed Halloran that his Chief was fully back. “You just give me a chance to show you, sir.”

  Halloran straightened and stretched his tense neck muscles, ignoring the stab in his midsection. “You’ve got a deal.”

  “Well gents,” he turned to the men standing near, “let’s take inventory and get ready for the next chapter, which will be the blindfolds and home videos if I’m not mistaken.”

  Chapter 15

  Mars Spaceport

  “All aboard. Last call for Charon Station. Please board now for Charon Station.”

  Kendra could hold out no longer. With a groan she stood from the bench and made her way towards the gangway. She held out her wrist to the attendant, who scanned her comm unit.

  “Captain Kendra, welcome aboard.” She reviewed the ticketing. “You’re en route to Coloran?”

  “That’s correct.” Her heart was heavy. Father hadn’t come to see her off, as he had when she’d departed for the academy so many years ago. Or for her first space assignment.

  The gate was empty of well-wishers today. She was being packed off in quiet disgrace.

  She couldn’t shake the sense that she was running away. From everything. The war was behind her, and she wanted to be in it. She’d been trained to be in it. But she’d been summarily dumped from the Fleet and reassigned to her homeworld on some sort of goodwill tour, mixed with psychological retraining.

  As if she needed retraining.

  “Captain? You may board now.”

  She remembered where she was. “Yes, thank you.”

  The gangway to the ferry was narrow and passed through the planet’s atmosphere as a narrow tube for seventy-five meters. In any other circumstances Kendra would have marveled at the red glowing around her—literally. But today she kept her head down and walked stiffly the length of it.

  “Captain, welcome aboard,” said another attendant just inside of the ship. Before Kendra could ask, he smiled broadly. “Your seat is on level three, window seat. You’ll love the view.”

  As she walked away, Kendra grunted softly. “I doubt that.”

  The ferry was actually a newer model, designed for intra-system performance, without a jump-drive. The accommodations were clean and showed little wear and tear, which was unusual given the war. Kendra found herself lagging a bit on the upper deck as she took in the view of the sun rising over the Martian landscape. It was beautiful. It was what had initially drawn her and Kaela’s interest to the stars. To them, growing up, father’s job in the Fleet was just that; a job. They didn’t see the glory in it, just the months away from home. But the photos of the sunrises, moonrises, asteroid rings glowing in the light…those images had captured the two of them.

  “Please find your seats, departure in five minutes.”

  With a sigh, Kendra picked up the pace and found her seat. The guy was right; it was a great seat.

  As the ship detached from the base and began a slow turn, a voice at Kendra’s elbow caught her off-guard. “Never get tired of this view, do you?”

  A slim man in civilian dress leaned across the seat, hand on the seatback in front of her. Not close enough to be technically invading her space, but not far enough away either.

  She turned back to the view. “I don’t see it often.”

  “You mean ‘often enough’ I bet,” the man answered with a smile in his voice. He exhaled, and she caught the whiff of some sort of mint on his breath. “Me, I see it most trips, but never get tired of it.” He pulled back from her space and resumed his seat across the aisle, extending a hand. “Name’s Xilas. With an ‘X,’ that is.”

  She hesitated before taking it. “Kendra.”

  Xilas’ eye narrowed a bit at the insignia on her uniform jacket. “Kendra as in Captain Kendra?”

  She laid her head back on the rest, closing her eyes. “Former Captain.”

  “What? You’re not in the Fleet anymore?”

  “In a manner of speaking.”

  The windows auto-dimmed as the ferry continued to rise and began its acceleration away from Mars. Away from her father and sister.

  “No way the Fleet let you go—you’re still in uniform! You headed for Coloran?”

  Kendra nodded without saying anything.

  “That’s what I thought. You’re on a mission…”

  Xilas was getting on her nerves.

  “…but I never joined up, you know. My family wanted me to go into their business.”

  “That right?” She didn’t really want to know.

  “Mining.”

  Kendra barely managed to stifle a groan. Miners.

  “Takes me all over the route between Sol and Tau Ceti. You’d be amazed at the ways that an asteroid can be mined for—.”

  “Hey buddy, do you mind?” asked a man in front of them, half-turning in his seat. “Tryin’ to get some sleep up here.”

  “Come on, don’t you know a real war hero when you see one?” Xilas waved across the aisle. “This is Captain Kendra of the battle of Struve Six…”

  “Buddy, I don’t care if she’s a flippin’ Admiral. Keep yer yap shut, will ya?”

  Kendra tapped Xilas on the elbow. “He’s right. Let’s grab some shuteye.”

  The man was deflated, and settled in his seat with a defiant glance at the brute in front of him, unnoticed. Then he flashed one last grin at Kendra. “Still great to meet you.”

  She inhaled a big breath and exhaled as she nodded back at him. This trip was going to take forever…as would the next few years “on display.” She wanted to vomit, and it wasn’t due to the light gravity on the ferry.

  A minute later the same attendant who had met her at the hatch walked by. She caught his eye and asked, “What’s the transit time?”

  He checked his tablet. “Nineteen hours to Charon Station, than your itinerary calls for a ten-hour layover until the next vessel headed to the Ceti system departs. Then your jump time should be six days to Ceti Three Spaceport, unless…”

  “Unless what?”

  The man looked pained. “Some of the shuttles need to make port at the midway
point to allow their drives to repower. You may get one of those.”

  Kendra smiled. “Not to worry. I came out this way on a warship traveling at max speed. We made the trip in three days.”

  The man nodded. “Very impressive, those military engines are. We don’t get those models in the transit routes.”

  “Believe me, I’m not in a rush.” She chanced a glance at Xilas but he’d fallen asleep, or at least was politely faking it. “If it takes a week, I’m good.”

  The attendant smiled again and turned away.

  As the dark of space filled the viewport next to her, Kendra found herself idly wondering about the shuttle’s engine systems and armaments. Could they defend themselves against attack?

  She was jolted from her reverie by the sound of alarms clanging. Feeling her muscles snap taught, she attempted to leap from her seat only to be reminded—forcefully—of her rudimentary-yet-effective lap belt restraint. Half in and half out of her seat, she choked out an “oof” sound, reaching to steady herself and nearly knocking over the same attendant. The man jerked at her sudden touch and pulled away, looking sharply at her. She also noticed several other passengers, Xilas included, watching her warily.

  Caught out by the attention, Kendra asked the group lamely, “Did you hear the sirens?”

  From the patient stares she received in response, it was clear no one had.

  With a quiet curse she settled back in her seat, smoothing her uniform tunic. But she still felt completely embarrassed.

  “Well, Captain, would you like something to drink?” The attendant had that patient-yet-annoyed face on again.

  “Sorry I grabbed you. It was,” she half-grinned, “a dream.”

  “More like a nightmare,” added the big guy in the seat up front unhelpfully.

  “I’ll take some water, thank you.” She accepted the cup and looked away out the viewport.

  When the attendant moved up the aisle Xilas leaned over. “You have a flashback?”

  Kendra didn’t look at him. “Something like that.”

  “You kill any Praxxans?”

  The oddness of the question caught Kendra unawares, and she turned to him. “What?”