The League wouldn’t bring its fleet to bear because everything in the League had to go through fifteen committees before any decision could be made. Ah, socialism. Such a noble experiment but a failure as a government-leadership model. Someday, Seville would fix that. He’d previously had plans that, once the Terran Coalition was defeated and he was hailed as the hero of the League, he would use that power to overthrow the old men of the Social and Public Safety Committee to create a new League based on authoritarian power. But that would have to wait.
“Admiral, I’m not sure about this. Exposing our officers to direct contact with these capitalists and religious zealots…” Colonel Strappi said, breaking Seville’s train of thought.
Seville suppressed the urge to slap him. He hated political officers with a passion, but he tolerated Strappi for one reason—the man could be reasoned with and lacked enough connections to truly hurt Seville. “Do you truly have no faith in the loyalty of my staff, Colonel?” Seville asked, in a mocking tone. “Don’t worry. There is no harm in having dinner before we get to Canaan. Are you not the least bit interested in what these Terrans are like?”
Strappi would not be deterred. “But if your people are not loyal…”
Seville cleared his throat. “They are completely loyal, Colonel. Do not concern yourself with it.”
“Of course, Admiral.”
Seville was amused by how Strappi acted like a cur and backed down, even with his body language. “Now, I suggest that you remember your manners and tact, as you will be joining us for this dinner.”
“What of the prisoner, sir? I’m unsure of the minister’s order to let her go so soon. The things she might say…”
Seville again suppressed the desire to backhand Strappi. “It will be fine, Colonel. Everything is going as we expected.”
Taking the hint, Strappi excused himself and walked away. Seville gazed over his bridge, thinking about how much he looked forward to meeting the son of the man who’d taken sight from one of his eyes and defeated an armada. That would make the entire trip worth it.
* * *
The medical bay of the Lion of Judah, referred to interchangeably by the crew as medbay, sickbay, or the doc shack, was massive compared to those on other ships David had served on. Its technical specifications said it could handle two hundred acute cases at once and even more subacute injuries. The Lion also had several doctors along with many nurses and nursing assistants.
At the moment, though, only one patient was in the medical bay: Captain Adriana Barrigo. She sat on the edge of a high-tech hospital bed with various sensors and scanners poring over her vital signs.
David stood behind Dr. Tural and asked quietly, “What’s her condition, Doctor?”
“She’s at the peak of health physically. Well-fed, constant exercise, and no signs of injury recently,” Tural muttered.
“Recently?”
“There are older injuries here and there, but the newest is between eighteen and twenty-four months old.”
“What about mental health?”
“That’s not my field, Colonel. But professionally speaking, I’ve worked with many liberated POWs and service members who have PTSD. I believe she’s disturbed in some way. That’s natural in this situation, and I’d like to establish a rapport with her as a physician first before exploring any mental issues.”
David nodded. “I understand, Doctor. I would like to know what they’ve done with her and the others, though. We haven’t seen a POW released by the League in nearly eleven years.”
Tural furrowed his brow. “Why, sir? They will all be home soon enough, Colonel. I don’t think dredging up trauma from the last ten years will help.”
“I need to understand what we’re dealing with from the League, Doctor. We all need to know if there’s anything else going on here.”
Tural frowned. “Colonel, please be gentle with her.” He gestured for David to proceed.
David walked over to her bedside. As she was in uniform, she jumped off the bed and came to attention.
“As you were, Captain,” David said with a smile. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m okay, sir.” It wasn’t so much that she was looking at David. She was more so looking through him. “I… I’m happy to be going home, sir.”
“I can’t imagine what you’ve been through, Captain. But I must ask—what was it like, especially recently?”
Tural frowned and started to open his mouth to protest the question.
Before he could form the words, though, Barrigo spoke. “It wasn’t easy. The League has had the attitude of ‘adapting’ us to life as League citizens. We get settled in prisoner colonies and are made to study League history and society. We weren’t mistreated recently, at least not badly. There were incidents sometimes, especially if we resisted them.”
“Resisted them how?” Tural asked.
“Refusing to recite the League oath of allegiance. Questioning their government’s decrees and decisions. Showing overt and public religious devotions. Really, anything that strikes the morale officers as being rebellious against what they call the Authority of Society.” Barrigo shrugged. “You get put into prolonged isolation and forced into restricted diets. If they’re really mad at you, they send you to the pit. Sensory deprivation tanks and environmental alteration chambers. At least... they did.”
David frowned, but felt he needed to press on. “So what do they do now?”
“Nothing.” Barrigo breathed in for a moment. “About sixteen months ago, the League had a change of leadership internally. Nothing too public. The same people are in power as before, but the balance of power inside the government shifted away from the League’s Social and Public Safety Committee to the League Defense Council. That is, the military and security services. I don’t know why. Our guards and caretakers tend to be tight-lipped about that part. All I know for sure is that the League’s defense establishments are getting tired of the war and how the politicians were running it.”
That comment brought curious looks from both David and Tural. “So this peace offer is... genuine?” David asked.
“Yes, very much so. The League is desperate for peace. Even with all their secrecy toward us, our sources in the prison colony have talked about tax riots all the way back to Earth itself. Alien races along their far frontiers are starting to exploit their need to keep ships facing us. If the League doesn’t make peace with us soon... I think it’ll be torn apart.”
David nodded. “Thank you, Captain, for clearing things up a bit. I’ll leave you to recover with the doctor.”
Tural walked with David into another section of the medical bay.
“There’s no way she just knows all that from interaction with the guards,” David said.
“I would have to agree with you, sir,” Tural replied. “But why plant that information in her? They have to know we won’t trust it.”
David shook his head. “I’m not sure, Doctor. I find it interesting that she allowed them to release her ahead of the longest-serving POW.” At Tural’s quizzical look, he continued, “There’s a code of honor among all POWs. They won’t allow themselves to be released out of order, as it were. First in, first out, basically.”
Tural nodded. “I think I read something about that in a briefing—that the three thousand POWs in the transport are the longest held. She is in that group.”
“True, but it doesn’t add up. All that matters is the League signing a legitimate peace treaty with us, so you won’t see me complaining too much about the order of POW release. Just as long as we get all of them.”
“I’m not sure I see what you do, sir. But I can’t disagree that she needs more help. So I’ll continue to have her health monitored and get a counselor to follow up.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” David said and turned to walk out of the medical bay and back to his duties of preparing for the diplomatic dinner the next night.
As he stretched his neck from one side to the other, David pondered the
situation. This just doesn’t make sense. The League’s never been interested in peace. We’re being told exactly what we want to hear. Now I sound like one of those crazies on the holonets. Focus, David. Play this out and do it the right way.
25
David woke up the next morning at 0430 hours and went about his morning routine. First, he went to the officers’ gym for a forty-five-minute workout, then he showered, shaved, and readied himself for the day. Since it was the first full day in space and underway, he’d decided to attend the morning flag ceremony, which was held aboard every CDF ship in space at 0800 hours in the largest cargo bay. The flag was raised, the anthem was played, and honors were rendered. For reasons he couldn’t readily explain, seeing the flag raised and saluting it with his brothers and sisters in arms reminded him that he was part of something bigger than him. The feeling sustained him, even when things looked bleak. For him, the flag of the Terran Coalition stood for freedom and justice, ideas that were worth fighting for, just as his father had taught him.
At 0730, he stepped out of his office and began making his way down the 1.2-kilometer-long vessel. Even with automatic grav lifts, it took a while to walk from the bow of the ship to the stern cargo bay.
As David entered the cavernous bay, a sea of people were inside—hundreds of CDF soldiers and some people in civilian attire, whom he assumed were contractors.
A sharp-eyed chief petty officer noticed David and announced his presence. “Colonel on deck.”
The assembled crewmen and women braced to attention to acknowledge him.
“As you were.”
The crowd relaxed and began to line up in rows facing the portable flagpole in the middle of the bay. David remembered there was a small Marine Corps band aboard, hastily assembled for rendering honors when the League delivered the former POW, Captain Borrego, and he hoped they would be in attendance for the ceremony. We do love our pomp and circumstance.
At 0755, the 1MC came to life with an announcement from Sheila. “Attention, all hands. First call. First call to Colors.”
Over the next couple of minutes, even more crewmen and officers streamed into the bay. David was sure that at least eight hundred people all told were stacked into the cargo bay.
A few moments before 0800, the Marine Color Guard paraded into the bay, carrying the flag of the Terran Coalition, the battle flag of the Coalition Defense Force, and the Terran Coalition Marine Corps flag, followed by the band. At 0800 sharp, the bugler sounded the call for attention, and all uniformed soldiers went rigid in compliance.
A moment after the bugle call ended, the Marine band began to play the anthem of the Terran Coalition. David and everyone else in uniform brought their hands to their brows and sharply saluted the colors for the duration of the anthem while the civilians placed their right hands over their hearts. A separate Terran Coalition flag was attached to the flagpole and slowly hoisted to full mast. As the sound of music ended, everyone lowered their hands.
The drum major called, “Colonel, would you lead us in the pledge of allegiance, sir?”
David stepped forward and, still facing the colors, came to attention and brought his hand to his brow. His words echoed loudly across the cargo bay. “I pledge allegiance to the flag of the Terran Coalition and to the republic for which it stands. Many nations, under God, with liberty and justice for all.” Modeled after the American pledge of allegiance, it was known by virtually every citizen within the Terran Coalition. Repeated every morning by every child in school, at every national event, and at the swearing in of politicians, it contained the core of what the Terran Coalition stood for.
Lowering his hand to his side, he nodded at the drum major, indicating for her to continue.
“Thank you, sir,” she said before ordering the bugle call for “Carry On.”
At that, the assembled company began to depart.
David decided to stay behind and talk to the band. “Master Sergeant Poirier,” he said, addressing the drum major. “An outstanding performance.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“I can’t say I’ve ever seen a Marine Corps band on a ship before.”
The trace of a smile graced her face. “The first time I’ve ever been on a ship underway to play music anyway.”
David raised an eyebrow. “I must confess I have little knowledge of how the band works. Have you been deployed as well?”
“I have—three times. That bit about ‘Everyone is a rifleman’ isn’t just a slogan, sir.”
“Well, glad to have you on board. Though I’m not entirely sure I’m looking forward to us playing the League’s anthem on our flight deck.”
She made a face. “Nor am I, sir.”
David laughed. “Well, hopefully, it will help move us toward a lasting peace.”
“I hope so, sir. I really do. We all do.”
“Carry on, Master Sergeant, and thank you for a beautiful ceremony,” David said, preparing to leave.
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” she responded as he turned and walked out of the cargo bay.
26
Inside the expansive officers’ gym on the Lion, TCMC Lieutenant Colonel Calvin Demood took out his stress on a punching bag. Stepping back a moment for a breather, he saw Lieutenant Robert Taylor at a nearby station, practicing as well. He watched him for several seconds before Taylor dropped his hands from the bag. Calvin decided to strike up a conversation.
“Pretty good for a comms geek, Lieutenant.”
Taylor flashed a smile at him. “I grew up fighting, Colonel. My father made master guns, not to mention some uncles, an aunt, and a few older cousins in the Marines.”
“But you became a comms geek?” Calvin asked with a chuckle.
“Well, you go with your strengths. I’ve always been good working with technology and signals.” Taylor made a face. “And I’ve already heard all the tech-geek jokes from my cousins, so you don’t need to bother.”
“Hey, I’m too experienced to pull that crap on you computer nerds. Had too many of you guys pull me out of the fryer. So, do you think this is going to work out? This peace stuff?”
“Well, who knows? The League’s never talked peace before, but after all these years, you never know how they’re feeling about it.” Taylor shrugged. “I mean, think of how they acted toward us, attacking almost out of the blue, and you wonder how many other civilizations and nations they’ve pissed off and who want a piece of them. I know they’ve angered the hell out of the Saurians as it is.”
“Oh really? Guess you learn those sorts of things listening to conversations for a living all day.” Calvin smirked at him. “So, want to show this hard-ass Marine officer just what your cousins taught you? I’m tired of smacking punching bags around.”
“Sure, Colonel. I’ll even go easy on you. Wouldn’t want you to break a hip trying to keep up with a young guy like me.”
“A wise guy too. Damn, you must have had an interesting family. Well, let’s hurry up so I can kick your ass in time for a shower before meeting our guests.”
They walked over to a sparring mat and faced off.
Calvin asked, “Are we boxing or doing martial arts here, Lieutenant?”
Taylor smiled. “Anything you want, Colonel.”
With that, Calvin stepped forward and threw a standard sucker punch at Taylor, thinking that the young man was all talk and little experience. He might as well have thrown a paper airplane. Taylor dodged the punch by stepping to one side and brought his arm down sharply, striking him on his elbow, inflicting pain. A couple of Marines watching the exchange in passing interest stopped what they were doing and stared.
“Ah, martial arts, it is, then.” Pretty quick on his feet for a comms guy.
Calvin closed the distance between them and delivered a series of karate moves that Taylor deftly met blow for blow. Taylor then stepped into the attack, grabbed Calvin’s right arm, and flipped him onto his back.
Standing over him, Taylor stuck his arm out. “Best of out th
ree, Colonel?”
Calvin grabbed the arm and helped himself up. “Sure, but we’re doing pugil sticks next.”
* * *
David stood in front of the mirror in his main cabin, which was more of a small apartment than a stateroom. Having served on smaller ships for most of his career, he was used to the cramped quarters of destroyers and frigates. On the Lion, however, junior officers’ staterooms were larger than his old commanding officer’s quarters on the Rabin.
Above all else, he hated wearing dress uniforms. The dinner called for full dress, and David’s uniform had to be immaculate. He also had to wear his entire set of campaign ribbons, pin insignia, and medals. He found the whole display ostentatious, as he tried to downplay any rewards or recognition he received.
David had turned down three Purple Hearts. The award had carried over to the CDF from the American military and was given for being wounded in combat. I don’t deserve medals for minor wounds that barely slowed me down. The men and women who lost limbs, suffered irreparable brain damage, or were maimed for life… they’re the ones who deserve it. Not a fleet officer in full control of his body.
He fastened the block of campaign ribbons to his right, his medals to his left, followed by his Space Warfare Officer and Command-In-Space insignia. David considered the pieces of metal, each containing a memory and reflected on his mixed feelings. On one hand, he was proud of his efforts for the cause, one he believed in with every fiber of his being. What wasn’t lost on him, though, was that he had been rewarded for killing his fellow man. That fact caused him tremendous guilt, and it tore at him every time he let it catch up with him.
Fighting the League and killing those who fought for it was required, but most of its soldiers were conscripts brainwashed into fighting, and that those who wouldn’t fight were shot. That didn’t stop him from looking down at his hands and seeing blood when he reflected on his past deployments.
Coalition Defense Force Boxed Set: First to Fight Page 40
