by Daniel Gibbs
So Fight I
Echoes of War Book 3
Daniel Gibbs
Contents
CSV Lion of Judah Blueprints
Free Echoes of War Book
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Acknowledgments
So Fight I by Daniel Gibbs
Copyright © 2019 by Daniel Gibbs
Visit Daniel Gibb’s website at www.danielgibbsauthor.net
Cover by Jeff Brown Graphics—www.jeffbrowngraphics.com
Additional Illustrations by Joel Steudler—www.joelsteudler.com
Editing by Beth at BZhercules.com
3D Art by Benoit Leonard
This book is a work of fiction, the characters, incidents and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. For permissions please contact [email protected].
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1
November 18th, 2460
CSV Oxford
Deep Space – Inside League of Sol Border
Colonel Robert Sinclair, the commander of the Oxford’s intelligence analysis unit, put his hands on the railing that lined the second level of what they called “the pit.” Newly promoted after the Oxford was instrumental in helping to defeat the League plans to subvert Monrovia, he stared at the mass of humanity in the space below him.
Row after row of intelligence analysts sat side by side at computer consoles. Hung from the wall was a huge banner that bore the motto of Coalition Defense Force Intelligence: “In God We Trust, All Others We Monitor.” They were at silent running, with extremely tight emissions control engaged as the ship was stationed well behind enemy lines. Stealth was their only defense.
First Lieutenant Alon Tamir picked that moment to glance up from his station. He waved, attracting Sinclair’s attention.
Sinclair acknowledged the officer with a nod, then made his way down to the floor and over to the young man’s terminal. Tamir too had been recently promoted on Sinclair’s specific recommendation. The lieutenant doesn’t need to know that part, though. If I keep him on his toes and keep pushing him… someday he’ll be one heck of an intelligence officer.
“Just wanted to chat, or did you have something for me, Lieutenant?” Sinclair asked in his clipped, high-brow British accent.
“Well, sir, you know my pet project?” Tamir said, his voice bright and cheerful.
“Tracking down the location of the holy grail of intelligence… the League’s interarm logistical facility that we’re not even sure exists?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m quite familiar with that pet project, Lieutenant, from you talking about it ad infinitum.”
“I think I found something,” Tamir replied, pulling up an overlay of sensor logs. “I’ve been tracking the retreat of League ships from our last two months of engagements.”
“Looks like a jumbled mess to me, butter bars.”
Tamir grimaced. “With respect, sir, I’m no longer a butter bar.”
“You are until I say you’re not, Lieutenant,” Sinclair replied, a devilish grin painting his face. “Continue.”
“Well, it’s difficult to pinpoint the destination of a wormhole. Inexact science at best, but on some of these, we have excellent data, because CDF ships pursued them before the hole closed. There’s some outliers here, but when I filtered out the noise, this is what I got.”
A white box appeared around a large area in space, but substantially smaller than previous guesses Sinclair had seen for the whereabouts of the League facility. “There’s still a lot of space to cover there, Lieutenant.”
“I know, sir. I also believe League ships won’t just jump directly back to it. They’d have to have a protocol to throw us off.”
“Makes sense,” Sinclair said. “But this isn’t actionable. Let’s say I think you're onto something… what do you need to make progress?”
“Data, sir. A lot more data. Once I get the area narrowed down, then we need to run what amounts to a massive stealth drone sweep of the area and try to find the needle in the haystack.”
Sinclair stroked his chin. “What you’re saying is that we need more League ships to retreat.”
“Yes, sir,” Tamir answered, grinning. “That’s something they’re doing quite well lately.”
“Is that your expert opinion, or another guess?” Sinclair joked, drawing chuckles from around them.
“The last score I saw said we’ve scratched six League battlewagons in the last thirty days, along with over a hundred escorts. A couple of fleet carriers too. After the League plot on Monrovia was exposed, we’ve had what, ten neutral worlds sign on to the Canaan Alliance?”
“I saw that on Canaan News Network. Got any other amazing insights from the day’s headlines?” Sinclair cracked.
“Only that the League is going to run out of ships in our arm of the galaxy if they keep losing them at this rate.”
“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong, my young analyst. The League has vast numbers of ships. We’re not even sure how many they have, but we know we’ve never faced more than ten percent of their fleet at any given point. With our recent success, they will pour reinforcements in. That’s why we have a limited window to take down the existing League forces here, consolidate our positions, and then figure out how to bloody attack them for a change.”
“That’s the key, isn’t it, sir? How to beat an enemy so much larger than us?”
“The will to fight and to win is the key,” Sinclair insisted. “Our esprit de corps is so far better than the League’s, so much, so it’s not even a comparison,” he said, pausing a moment to switch gears. “I need to walk the floor. In the meanwhile, I’ll authorize you to pull in an additional analyst to assist with your little project,” he finished. “Don’t disappoint me, Lieutenant. Don’t forget your main objective is to find us another League battlegroup to destroy.”
“Yes, sir!”
December 9th, 2460
CSV Lion of Judah
Patrol Route Gamma-7 Terran Coalition/League of Sol Border
Prior to the first day of Hanukkah, Colonel David Coh
en, commanding officer of the Lion of Judah, had asked Rabbi Kravitz to help him plan a celebration in the wardroom to honor it. Ramadan had already passed, and Christmas would occur in just over two weeks. David had joined Hassan Amir, the commander of the Lion’s space fighter wing in celebrating the first night of Ramadan, and he would also participate in the Christmas festivities, but Hanukkah was special to him. Some of the best memories of my childhood were from Hanukkah and my father’s gifts… if only he could be here now.
“Come in! Come in!” David called, standing just inside the door, greeting each person as they walked in.
First Lieutenant Ruth Goldberg, the Lion’s Tactical Action Officer, or TAO for short, came through the door, carrying a large bag. “Sorry I’m late, sir. Took some doing to get the gelt made,” she said as an apology.
Angela Dinman, the embedded reporter, known as Angie to the crew, was already in the room. “What’s a gelt?” she asked, her eyebrows raised.
“Money. That’s what it means in Yiddish,” Ruth replied, a smile on her face. “In ancient times during Hanukkah, Jews would give money to the poor and children in our communities. Well, we’d do that anyway, but especially at Hanukkah. The tradition has morphed into giving out pieces of chocolate that look like coins. We’ll need these at several points in the celebration tonight.” As she spoke, Ruth started putting out the little chocolate coins at each place setting.
The next arrival was Rabbi Evez Kravitz; he was also a Lieutenant Colonel in the CDF and the Jewish chaplain for the ship. He carried a giant, ornate menorah. It consisted of a large candlestick with nine slots; four on either side of a single rod that stood taller than the rest.
“Let me help you, Rabbi,” David said as he grasped one side of the menorah, guiding the older man to a table that David had prepared to set it on.
“Thank you, Colonel,” Kravitz replied.
“Hey, is there free food in here?” Lieutenant Colonel Calvin Demood’s distinctive voice boomed into the wardroom as the senior Marine strode in; he was the commander of the Terran Coalition Marine Corps unit onboard the Lion.
Everyone already in the room laughed. “Anything for a free meal, eh, Colonel?” David commented dryly.
“Nothing tastes better than free food, sir,” Calvin deadpanned to chuckles from those assembled.
After the laughter had subsided, David shook his head with a grin on his face. “You’ll need to run some laps after this meal. Some of the food is fried, much of the rest is high fat. A very filling meal.”
“Fried? Why?” Angie again asked, her curiosity apparently piqued.
“It’s a tradition around Hanukkah… the basis for the celebration is a day’s worth of oil lasted for eight. It was when the Maccabees recaptured Jerusalem and drove out the Greek invaders several thousand years ago on Earth. So we cook everything in oil to celebrate the miracle of the oil lasting,” Ruth said with a smile as she handed Kravitz several of the chocolate gelt coins. “For you, Rabbi!”
“Thank you, Ruth,” Kravitz replied, a broad, jovial grin framing his face.
“Greetings, humans,” another voice shouted into the wardroom. It belonged to Lieutenant Colonel Talgat Aibek, the Saurian exchange officer that was the executive officer of the Lion of Judah. After a couple of months, he was well accepted and respected by the crew and officers of the ship. “Take me to your leader! I bring fresh meat to fry up.”
David laughed. “Aibek, I told you last time… the joke is dead. Stick a fork in it.”
“Better not be a mouse, Colonel, sir,” Ruth said in a sarcastic tone as she laughed.
“No, I save the mice for myself,” Aibek said, his scales shifting colors as he joined in with a snicker.
“Who else is coming?” David asked.
“Lieutenant Hammond and Doctor Tural both told me they wouldn’t miss it,” Ruth replied.
“So there will be more gentiles than Jews here, in other words?”
“An opportunity to convert them, Colonel Cohen?” Aibek said.
“For the last time, we’re not the guys who seek converts. That’s the Christians and Muslims,” David complained in a faux annoyed tone. This particular line of banter was a staple with Aibek.
“Then how does your religion expand? I’m confused,” Angie said.
“We’re fruitful and multiply, especially if we’re Ultra-Orthodox,” Ruth answered between giggles.
“Ahem, can we stay away from religious discussions and get back to the celebration? I’ve got a rule on religious debates in the wardroom for a reason,” David said.
“Who said anything about a debate?” Aibek asked innocently. “I haven’t tried to convert you all yet, even.”
“Oh Lord, help us all,” Lieutenant Robert Taylor, the communications officer, said as he stepped through the hatch. “I brought the dreidels,” he said, dropping a sack near the table. “Thirty of them. Real wood. Any idea how much that weighs?”
“Hey, comms geek, quit complaining about lifting some toys and come work out in the gym like your dad used to,” Calvin called out.
“I think a point goes to the Marine on that one,” David said as the entire group laughed.
Next through the hatch was Lieutenant Shelly Hammond, the Lion’s senior navigator. A bookish woman in her early thirties, Hammond had distinguished herself in her short time on the ship. “Hey everyone,” she said as she walked in. “Sorry I’m late.”
“No one’s ever late at a Jewish festival,” David joked. “Thank you for coming!”
Hammond grinned as she said, “Glad to be here, sir.”
Ruth began to walk around the room, dropping piles of the chocolate coins onto every place setting. Hammond stared at her, puzzled. “What’s that for?”
“We use it to play with the dreidels.”
“What do we do with them?” Hammond asked.
“I’ll explain once everyone is here so I won't bore you all with multiple repetitions,” Ruth replied as she continued to set the gelt out.
“Salam alaikum!” Lieutenant Colonel Hassan Amir called out, an Arabic saying for “peace be upon you,” as he walked into the wardroom; he was the commander of the Lion’s embarked space superiority fighter and bomber wing. A friend of David’s for many years, it had been a highlight of the past several months to serve together again.
“Wa-Alaikum-Salaam,” David answered, the traditional Arabic reply, which meant “and unto you peace.”
Doctor Izmet Tural strode through the hatch, right behind Amir. He was the Lion’s chief medical officer; while David had just begun to get to know him, the older physician’s command of medical knowledge and bedside manner was impressive. “Shalom!” he shouted, a broad grin on his face.
“Shalom!” David and Ruth called out at the same time.
“Thank you for coming, Doctor,” David said as he finished setting up the menorah candles and returned to his seat at the table they were gathered around.
“I figured I should be on hand, just in case there was a grease-induced heart attack,” Tural said. “There was a time when many humans ate fried foods regularly.”
“Some still do,” Calvin cracked to laughter from the room. “Hamburgers, bacon, and fried okra! Mmmmm!”
“Is there something wrong with this food?” Aibek asked.
“There are optimum things for humans to eat. Fried food isn’t on that list,” Tural explained. “Many of us love to eat, though. Thankfully, our technology has enabled us to deal with most ailments, usually through medication. To think cancer was once a death sentence… now a few pills and the patient is never bothered again. Most of the time, we catch it through markers, which daily health scans catch.”
“I suspect our level of technology would be considered miraculous to those from several hundred years ago,” David said as he tossed a piece of chocolate gelt up and down in his hand.
“That’s because higher technology is considered magic to lower level species, and excellent proof there is no supernatural force
at work in the universe,” a loud voice called out from beyond the open hatch. It belonged to Doctor Benjamin Hayworth, the scientist behind the anti-matter reactor that set the Lion of Judah apart from the rest of the fleet. It was this reactor which supplied nearly unlimited amounts of power and allowed the Lion to field advancements that ships powered with fusion reactors couldn’t begin to support.
“No religious debates in the wardroom,” David said as he forced himself not to roll his eyes.
Hayworth stepped into the room while being poked in the ribs by Major Elizabeth Merriweather’s elbow. She was the CDF program manager for Doctor Hayworth’s science team.
“Fancy seeing you here, Doctor,” Amir said politely, but with a definite edge to his voice.
“I enjoy spending time with my friends and colleagues, no matter what childish superstitions they may hang on to, Colonel Amir,” Hayworth said as Merriweather elbowed him yet again. “But, no need to discuss that tonight. I’m just looking forward to some fried chicken!”
Shaking off mild annoyance, David reflected on his evolving relationship with Hayworth. Yeah, the guy presents as a jerk, but I’ve discovered over the last few months, under that prickly personality of his, there’s a good guy in there. One who is willing to do his part to help win the war against the League and stand up against injustice.
