We Are The Wolf: Wolfpack Book 1

by Toby Neighbors

  "You will?" Dean said, the fear and sadness that had slammed into him suddenly lifting.

  "Captain Dante!" Major White shouted from behind them.

  "Keep walking," Esma whispered before turning suddenly.

  Dean had so many questions. Was Esma saying she wanted to see him? Was there hope for the two of them? And what messages was she referring to? Why would the vice admiral of an EsDef ship censor the people of a colony world? Nothing made sense and he wanted to get answers desperately, but he didn't want to drag anyone down with him. If his career was over, he could deal with that, but he didn't think he could live with himself if he ruined anyone else's reputation.

  He did as she told him, moving down the corridor and only looking back once he was at the hatch that led across to the secondary arm of the ship. The major was clearly displeased with Captain Dante and from where Dean stood it looked as though an angry adult was dressing down an unruly child. Esma took the criticism without complaint, and just before Dean pushed through the hatch he saw her hand behind her leg, flashing him the okay sign.

  When Dean got back to his berth he checked his tablet for messages, only to find that he had been locked out of the ship's systems. Gone was the app with the Valkyrie's logo. There wasn't even a network signal for Dean to pick up. He guessed that if he wandered down the corridor into section D, his tablet would regain connectivity, but it might also register to the Network Officer, who was undoubtedly in Vice Admiral Hamilton's pocket. The last thing Dean wanted to do was give the deranged commander an excuse to lock him in his berth for the rest of the voyage.

  His mind was as conflicted as a battlefield. He wanted to shower, he wanted to sleep, he wanted out of his battle armor, he wanted to break into the ship's systems and find answers. But most of all, Dean needed to talk to his troops. They probably didn't even know about the charges being brought against him, or that they were being implicated in the vice admiral's insane scheme. But they were undoubtedly all resting. None of them had been able to sleep for more than a few minutes at a time on Newton Six. Even when they were in the grotto and not on watch, the flea creatures would haunt their dreams, or make tentative forays against their defenses. The creatures couldn't get close, and when they tried to flank the small platoon and come down on them from higher up the mountain, Dean sent his FA specialist's AAV to beat them back.

  Everyone had been running on adrenaline and fear for two whole days and nights, so he wouldn't disturb them. Paper was a rare commodity in an environment where everything was done in electronic form, from messages to reports and even legal documents. There was no way to slip notes under their doors, or leave a message for his platoon on the network, since their own devices were almost certainly blocked the same way his was. Instead, Dean went to each doorway and left a video message on the locking mechanism's intercom feature.

  Once he had warned them of the situation and ordered them to stay calmly in their rooms until he had a chance to visit with them face to face, he returned to his own berth. Normally his armor would have gone to the designated storage room with the rest of his platoon's gear, but Dean decided he wanted his armor close. He didn't trust anyone on the ship, apart from Esma and his own platoon. So, despite his weariness, he pulled the armor off and cleaned it, inside and out. Then he showered and put the armor back on, including his helmet, and sat down on his bunk.

  The TCU was a powerful device with safety features that kept it from being taken off line. The vice admiral obviously didn't realize the capabilities of his armor, or they would have taken it away from him. But Dean didn't plan on giving them that chance. He still had his side arm, a semi-automatic flechette pistol with a fifty-round magazine, and three quick change reloads. He also had his survivalist knife, a hand-forged bowie knife with a twelve-inch blade. There was very little danger to his person from anyone on the ship while he was in his armor, but it was the TCU that was the most valuable device to him at the moment.

  A message was flashing in the corner of the helmet's visor screen. Dean activated it and discovered it to be a reminder from Captain Dante.

  To: Lieutenant Blaze, Dean - Recon Platoon Wolf Pack

  From: Operations Captain Esmeralda Dante

  Re: TCU A/V Protocol

  LT, please make it a priority to download the mission footage from Newton Six to the Valkyrie's data banks, and thus deleting the video and audio files on your TCU as soon as possible. As per regulations, the data from your mission should be saved and archived. You can download battle segments to your tablet for training purposes, but the download onto the ship's mainframe will automatically delete the files from your battle armor.

  End of Message

  Dean couldn't help but laugh. He had all the evidence he would ever need right in his battle armor's TCU. He didn't think there was a way for Vice Admiral Hamilton to steal it from him, and as long as he didn't download the footage, it couldn't be altered by her cronies who supported her designs to get him court-martialed.

  Without system access he couldn't wirelessly transfer the footage to his tablet, and the small device had a limited storage capacity that relied on cloud-based access to his saved files. Yet because the vice admiral had tried to punish him by removing his access to the ship's network, he could transfer portions of the footage from his TCU to the tablet's internal memory via a transfer cable and the officers of the Valkyrie would never know it. If he still had network access they would know everything he did with the tablet, but without it, they were blind.

  Dean was exhausted, but he got up and hurried over to the work room where his specialists tinkered on their armor. He had to search for nearly ten minutes, but eventually he found a cable that would connect to his TCU and the tablet. He spent the next two hours scrolling through the footage and transferring anything he could think of that might prove his case that he acted in the best traditions of the service.

  He made sure that he saved the communications where VA Hamilton herself refused to send aid to Dean's platoon and save the life of Corporal Buwana. Once he had as much footage as he could save to his tablet, he encrypted the files and returned to his berth. Laying down in his armor was far from comfortable, but he was so tired he no longer cared. The ship would transition to FTL and the voyage home would take only a little over a day. He would be back in Sol by the time he started to feel claustrophobic from being on lock down. Until then, he could slip away into the sweet bliss of sleep.

  Chapter 42

  Lieutenant Wilson delivered meals to the platoon while they slept. Dean found a tray of cold food on the floor just outside the door to his room. He had no idea when it had been delivered. It wasn't the richly prepared food he had found to be a pleasant surprise in the officers’ mess. It wasn't even the regular chow doled out to the enlisted men on board. It was an unflavored protein cake, a sealed container of the fruity amino drink, and three carbohydrate wafers.

  Dean stepped over his own tray, then looked up and down the corridor. There was no one in sight. Dean lifted his tray and found a pamphlet underneath that was titled A Practical Examination Of EsDef Military Practices. Dean set the tray of bland food on his desk and flipped through the pamphlet. It was a treatise on the idea of removing the Force Recon branch of service completely from EsDef. The pamphlet argued that live ammunition weapons were arcane, dangerous, and of little actual use. The colonies, according to the author of the pamphlet, were scarred by the use of force on their worlds. While drone-controlled defensive mechanisms had safeguards and oversight, the Force Recon branch of EsDef operated completely outside of the established chain of command. Further, the pamphlet argued, Force Recon recruited troops straight out of high school with no higher education as a requirement for service. These less intelligent trigger pullers were given unspeakable power, and set loose on colony worlds with delicate socio/environmental conditions that were directly threatened by men and women with the training and means to slaughter colonists and destroy their newfound homes.

  Dean could
n't believe what he was reading. It was political, one sided, and filled with half-truths that made him furious. He could only imagine that cowardly, weak-willed people would actually believe in such imbecilic thinking, and yet it explained so much of what had happened to him since coming aboard the Valkyrie. It was obvious that VA Hamilton was fully on board with the measures outlined in the pamphlet and was most likely using Dean and his platoon to push her political agenda. She would throw him to the wolves of a court martial just to have an opportunity to argue her short-sighted ideas to the EsDef brass. And the case would surely catch the attention of the mainstream media, spreading the vice admiral's message across the 45 colony worlds and building public support for the dissolution of Off World Recon.

  Dean shook his head in frustration, vowing not to let the VA get her way on his watch. If she was looking to make an example, she had picked the wrong soldier. There was no way that Dean would allow himself, or his platoon, to be her political puppets. He went down the corridor and found the trays of food still sitting outside the doors of his specialists. Staff Sergeant Mercer's room was first, and Dean could tell that his message on her intercom had been viewed.

  Dean picked up the tray of food, and then knocked on the door. It swished open almost immediately.

  "What the hell is going on," Staff Sergeant Mercer growled. "Why are you still in armor?"

  "We're being charged with dereliction of duty," Dean said. "We're on our way back to Sol."

  "You've got to be shitting me."

  "I am not."

  "What the hell is going on, Lieutenant?"

  "Have you seen this before," he said, holding up the pamphlet.

  "Yeah," Mercer said. "I've seen it. The people pushing that shit are traitorous bastards who don't know their assholes from a hole in the ground."

  "Well, VA Hamilton is one of those people. I think she plans to use a court martial to push this agenda. I don't know who we can trust."

  "That why you're in battle rattle?"

  "Partly," Dean said. "Although I don't think we're in danger. I'm wearing my armor so they can't get to it and download the A/V feed from my TCU. That will automatically wipe the suit's memory, and it's the only unbiased account of our mission. Captain Dante intercepted the messages from Newton Six. I haven't heard them yet, but she is sure Hamilton will tamper with them."

  "That bitch needs taken down a few pegs," Mercer growled.

  "Enemies come in different forms, Staff Sergeant. Our strategy is to maintain discipline through this ordeal, preserve the factual record of our actions, and represent Force Recon to the best of our ability. On that note, you're confined to quarters until we reach whatever base we are directed to. Our tablets have been denied access to the ship network, so I'll come back by and drop off a deck of cards."

  "I'll be fine LT, extra sleep is welcome anytime I can get it."

  Dean nodded and went on to the next room. The explanation was almost identical for every specialist. They took their food, cursed the vice admiral, and returned to their bunks. The only exception was Corporal Makayla Ipsish, whose roommate, Private Hayleigh McCallister, was nowhere to be found.

  "I don't know where she is," Dean said. "I was told that she was being held for trying to hijack a drop ship. I don't know what's true about that or where she would be."

  "You have to find her, LT. She needs to know we're going to fight this."

  "I have limited access to the ship, Corporal. I'll do all I can, but chances are there's nothing to be done until we get home."

  "I can't accept that," Ipsish said. "McCal's a good specialist."

  "She is, and she's part of this platoon, which means I'll fight for her. We just have to be careful. The brass on board is looking for anything that might show us to be unruly, disruptive, or unwilling to follow orders. We need to show them the opposite. McCal is safe. When we get to a space base I will insist on seeing her and finding out exactly what is going on."

  "Alright," Ipsish said. "I can wait. But this is total bullshit, LT. This is my third tour off world. I've never seen a Recon platoon treated like this."

  "We'll survive, that's what we do."

  "Yes, sir," she said.

  Dean left the FA specialist's room and made his way down to the REC area at the nose of the secondary arm. The stars were still moving past the ship like clouds in a storm. Dean was tired, frustrated, and worried. He closed his eyes and tried to think of what he could do. There had to be something that he could do that would help his platoon. The only thing he could think of was cleaning their armor. Cleaning his own armor was a dirty job that involved emptying the waste compartment, flushing the water system, and scrubbing out the sweat stains. And that was just the inside of the armor. Cleaning the armor of his entire platoon by himself seemed almost like torture. But it needed to be done, and the specialists under his command were unable to do it through no fault of their own. The job would keep him busy, at least until he could think of something else to do.

  He went to the armor storage room, turned on some music, and began cleaning. The battle armor was all lined up, so Dean did the dirtiest jobs first. He emptied the waste compartments one by one, scrubbing them clean and replacing them in each battle suit. Then he flushed the water filtration system of each suit, refilling it with clean water from the ship's supply. He even refilled their hydration bladders with the amino drinks. Finally he began scrubbing the interiors, thankful that his TCU filtered his air and he didn't have to smell the sweat and body odor that lingered in the battle armor. His own suit stank badly enough after a full day, wearing the suits for extended periods created an aroma that was physically painful.

  Lieutenant Wilson came by with more food. She was as happy and optimistic as ever, but Dean sensed an air of caution from the officer.

  "Perhaps you could help me deliver these meals?" she said when she appeared in the doorway.

  Dean stood up and stretched his back. He was almost finished scrubbing the interior of the last HA battle suit. He only had Staff Sergeant Mercer's Close Combat armor left, then he could begin scrubbing the exteriors.

  "Sure," Dean said.

  "When you finish with those suits, I've got some turbines that need cleaned."

  "When I get finished with this, the only thing I'm scrubbing is myself."

  "Have you ever noticed there are no cameras in the corridors?" Wilson said, her voice chirpy, almost as if she had discovered something fascinating about the Valkyrie. Dean almost missed the point she was trying to make, and then he realized that he was being watched. "I can't imagine how much storage it takes to keep a running record of every room in the ship."

  "Are there cameras in our berths?" Dean asked.

  "Yes, but they can only be turned on when the occupant is confined to quarters for dereliction of duty or some other crime," she said happily.

  "Has anyone ever told you that you are a fountain of knowledge, and a joy to be around."

  "Well, no one as handsome as you, Lieutenant," she said, but the flirtatious look in her eyes was gone. Dean could see only worry and wariness.

  "You're a good officer," he said softly.

  "I know, but not everyone appreciates it. Be careful what you do and what you say. There are eyes and ears everywhere." She was whispering so quietly Dean could barely make out the words. "Keep your voice down in the hallway and you won't be heard."

  After delivering the meals, which were the shipboard equivalent of bread and water, Dean returned to the armor room. If VA Hamilton's people were watching, there was no way for Dean to connect with Esma. He wanted to see her so badly, and yet he feared that he might do something stupid that inadvertently harmed her somehow. She was a beautiful woman, but they had spent so little time together he wasn't sure how he felt about her, or more importantly, how she felt about him. His feelings for her were different than the way Miranda had made him feel, and since the craziness of their commander had spoiled his return to the ship, everything felt wrong somehow.

&n
bsp; Suddenly, a klaxon went off in an unnerving wail that rang through the ship like the roar of an angry lion. The lights shifted to red and Captain Ortega's voice boomed through the ship's speakers.

  "Red alert, all hands to battle stations," the executive officer said in a tight, clipped voice that radiated tension. "I repeat, this is a red alert. All hands to battle stations. Senior officers report to the bridge."

  Chapter 43

  Dean was still looking up at the speaker in the ceiling when Staff Sergeant Mercer came racing into the armor storage room.

  "What are you doing?" Dean asked.

  "Battle stations," Mercer said. "That means Recon platoon is in armor and taking up a defensive position around the bridge."

  Other specialists were arriving.

  "But what about being confined to quarters?" Dean said, still trying to process what was happening.

  "Our doors opened automatically," Butler said as he checked his battle armor. "I guess that means we're allowed to fight."

  "Who the hell cleaned my suit?" Chavez said. "Damn, my shit hasn't looked this good since I got it."

  "Yeah, you're nasty Chavez," Dean said with a grin. "I don't know what you're eating, but it leaves a funk."

  "You cleaned our armor?" Mercer asked.

  "I had nothing else to do. I didn't really get to the outsides though. You've got full hydration bladders, but you should check your ammo. I didn't think about that. Staff Sergeant, get everyone to the bridge."

  "Yes, sir!" Mercer said.

  "And platoon, be prepared. This could be another stupid tactic to make us look bad. Use caution and good judgment, no matter what the emergency. Am I clear?"

  "Yes, sir!" the platoon shouted as they climbed into their battle armor.

  Dean was already suited up and set out for the ship's bridge at a fast jog. He was halfway through the connecting corridor when an Emergency Action Message flashed onto his visor. Dean knew that an EAM would only be passed along to him after it had been authenticated by the commander and executive officer of the ship.