Bound by Honor

by Terry Mixon

  Bound by Honor

  Glynn Stewart

  Terry Mixon

  Bound By Honor © 2018 Glynn Stewart and Terry Mixon

  Illustration © 2018 Jeff Brown Graphics

  Published by Faolan’s Pen Publishing Inc.

  This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to any persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Contents

  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

  About the Author

  Other books by Terry Mixon

  About the Author

  Other Books by Glynn Stewart

  Chapter One

  There was a feeling of exhaustion, of bone-deep weariness no amount of rest could shake, that hung over Commodore Brad Madrid. At a glance, there was no reason for him to be so tired. He was young, barely into his mid-thirties, wealthy and powerful. He was the sole owner of the Vikings Mercenary Company, a Platinum-rated Guild company sought after for their reputation and firepower.

  He owned and commanded a fleet of six destroyers, staffed by over five hundred crew and ground troops. The tall and gaunt mercenary had the money to afford those ships and those crews, and that gave him a power few in the solar system could rival.

  Right now, however, he stood in a small gallery in the Vikings’ home office in the Io Shipyards and looked out over his fleet. His eyes were blind to his warships, however, and all he truly saw was the stone plinth behind him, reflected in the glass.

  A statue of a burly Viking warrior, the symbol of his company, stood on top of that plinth. It represented Vidar, the old Norse silent god of vengeance. It was appropriate for its current location, since the plinth had been laser-carved with the names of every trooper and spacer who’d died in the service of the Vikings.

  Three months earlier, he’d taken his company into combat in the service of the Commonwealth, the government of the Solar System, and they’d added a lot of names to that plinth. One of his oldest friends and employees was among those new names.

  There were a lot of friends on that list. The Vikings had been an informal organization for most of their existence, though necessity meant much of that was changing now. The same mission that had added so many names to the plinth had ended up adding four new ships to his roster, payment from a Fleet still reeling from the corruption he’d uncovered.

  Many of the officers and crew of those new ships were freshly ex-Fleet, released as “excess to requirements” in recent draw-downs. Despite the information Brad had seen delivered to the Commonwealth, those draw-downs hadn’t been reversed.

  He finally focused his gaze through the glass, looking at his ships for several long seconds. The two Bound-class ships were surplus, released like their crews. The three Warrior-class ships, though…those were a sign of the favor Fleet held the Vikings in.

  They were the newest and most advanced ships Fleet had designed. These three, in fact, had been headed for service in the Earth Defense Formation. The EDF was instead receiving the three ships that Brad Madrid had captured from the Cadre—identical ships in every sense.

  Past the ships he could see Io and then the massive bulk of Jupiter. He checked his wrist-comp to confirm a suspicion, and nodded as the computer told him what he suspected: one of the tiny, barely visible stars hanging between Io and Jupiter was Earth.

  Not enough had happened to account for the data he’d sent back to Earth with Agent Kate Falcone. An entire major supplier for Fleet had been caught red-handed selling warships to the enemies of the Commonwealth, the pirate Cadre.

  And…nothing seemed to have happened.

  That was part of why Brad was tired. If that level of treason could go unpunished, just what was the Commonwealth coming to? Just what was the human civilization he lived to protect coming to?

  “Hey, grumpyface,” a familiar voice told him as his wife, Michelle Hunt—also the executive officer of his flagship—stepped into the gallery. “Got your game face to hand somewhere?”

  Brad chuckled.

  “It’s around here somewhere, if I need it,” he told her.

  She stepped up and kissed the back of his head.

  “Well, you probably want to find it and strap it on, my love,” she said. “We’ve gathered the team. They’re ready for your announcement.”

  He nodded and ran a hand over his face, rubbing away the mood that had taken him.

  “Then I need to go talk to everyone,” he confirmed. “It’s time to let the Solar System know that the Vikings are back in business!”

  “Attention! Commodore on deck!”

  Brad waved Colonel Saburo Kawa, his senior ground commander, back to his seat.

  “Please, Colonel,” he told his old friend. “Necessity dictates a degree of greater formality as the Vikings grow, but that will never be necessary.”

  The Asian mercenary, the youngest son of the man who had built Brad’s flagship, Oath of Vengeance, grinned incorrigibly as he slowly took his seat.

  The scattering of mercenary old hands and ex-Fleet officers in the room returned to their seats as well, with surprising grace. Brad was more than a little surprised that Saburo had got the mercs on their feet at all.

  He wasn’t so surprised with the five ex-Fleet officers who commanded the majority of his destroyers, though. He and Captain Brenda Andre, the senior of those officers in his force, went back a long way now.

  She’d once saved his life—but lost her ship in the process. When Fleet had started drawing down numbers, well, COs who’d lost ships were at the top of the list. However good the reasons.

  The other four were new, recruited over the last three months. What Brad wouldn’t tell any of them was that the Commonwealth Investigative Agency had screened all of them to a level that was probably illegal.

  Brad’s relationship with the Agency was…complex, but he was technically an Agent of the Commonwealth. In practice, the Vikings often acted as a somewhat-deniable asset for the Agency as they tried to work out just where the Cadre had come from.

  “Necessity does, however, demand more formality than I prefer,” Brad finally continued, studying his Captains. “All of our new folks have old Vikings hands as XOs, but that’s still five of you only recently out of Fleet.”

  Said XOs sat next to the men and women Fleet had given him. His surviving tactical officers from before they’d fought the Independence Militia were now XOs, but Fleet had found some damn good officers to send him.

  He wasn’t even sure how they’d justified letting any of his four new Captains go. They were certainly men and women he would have fought to keep.

  “We don’t play by Fleet rules in the Guild or the Vikings,” he told them all. “But you know that. Even Kea
la has had a whole two weeks to get used to being a mercenary.”

  A chuckle ran around the table. Keala El-Hashem was a dark-skinned, dark-haired woman who’d most recently served as the tactical officer of the cruiser Tremendous. She knew several of Brad’s secrets and he was glad to have her in command of Montgomery.

  “I’m not sure I’ll ever be used to this, sir,” she replied cheerfully. “But it definitely has its virtues!”

  She toasted him with her beer as she spoke, highlighting one of said virtues.

  “That it does. Unfortunately, it has its vices, too: the big one is that we actually need to make money. Our happy holiday is at an end, folks. As of twelve hundred GMT today, I have advised the Guild that we are available for contract and are looking for clients.”

  The Mercenary Guild was an unfortunate necessity of human civilization in the Solar System. There were distinct limits on how far and how fast the Commonwealth could project power—and even harder limits on how much will the Commonwealth had to project it. To keep order and peace, and to protect assets and people, the people of the system turned to mercs.

  The Guild kept those mercs in line and following rules of some kind. They also acted as a broker for contracts.

  “I’m not sure what work is going to come our way, but Platinum companies generally don’t sit idle unless we choose to,” he continued. “I’m also not entirely sure of the breakdown, but we’re somewhere in the top three companies for spaceborne firepower—and we might make the top ten for Saburo’s troops, too.”

  Each of his ships carried roughly thirty ground troops and even more spacers. All told, Brad was responsible for a hundred and seventy-five troops and three hundred officers and crew.

  It was more intimidating than anything else.

  “I’ll be keeping my ears to the ground for news,” he told them all. “I suggest you do the same. I have no intention of deploying partial forces right now. Too many of us are too new to this gig. I’m not letting you out of my sight with my destroyers just yet!”

  That got him a chuckle, as it had been intended to.

  “Any idea what kind of op we’ll get?” Captain Fabia Laurent, commanding officer of Grant, asked.

  “Well, I don’t know of any wars going on, and I doubt anyone is going to look at six destroyers and think we make a great amphibious landing force, so I’m guessing station or colony security,” Brad told them. “Possibly convoy escort, maybe blockade.” He grimaced. “Someone would have to have some damn good reasons for me to accept a blockade contract, but I’m sure there’s something out there I haven’t thought of.

  “Whatever comes up, unless it’s in the Jupiter planetary system, we’re days’ to weeks’ flight away from the mission locale. We’ll have time to plan and practice.

  “We got our Platinum rating by being the best. Let’s make sure we live up to it.”

  Chapter Two

  “Commodore, this is Factor Parisi from the Io office of the Guild.”

  Brad gave the dark-skinned, redhaired woman on his screen a calm nod. He hadn’t worked much with Bohumila Parisi, but the Io-born administrator had a solid reputation with the Mercenaries Guild.

  “Greetings, Factor,” he replied. “How may I assist the Guild today?”

  “I saw that you put the Vikings back on available status this morning,” she said. “I wanted to touch base and see what kind of contract you were looking for.”

  If Parisi hadn’t seen the Vikings changing availability status, the Io office would have needed a new Factor. There were only three Platinum companies headquartered in Io local space at the moment, and the Vikings were the only ones actually “at home” right now.

  “Of course,” Brad replied, none of his thoughts showing on his face as he settled back in the chair in his office. He’d spent more time in the room in the last three months than he had in the previous three years, and had finally come to appreciate the very nice chairs that Saburo’s father had acquired for them when the office was set up.

  “With the expansion in our strength, I’m looking to avoid anything of the more meat-grinder variety,” he said dryly. He’d yet to meet a merc who looked for those missions, but they happened. “Of course, with six destroyers in play, I’m also looking for something that’s, well, worth the price my company now commands.

  “Preferably a space-based contract, definitely a fully escrowed and approved contract.”

  The last probably didn’t need to be said, but even Platinum companies were known to take contracts where the payment wasn’t in escrow or the Guild wasn’t fully comfortable with the legitimacy of the job if enough money was on the table.

  “That’s about what I expected, Commodore,” Parisi told him with a smile. “I have a contract that has crossed my desk that might fit your needs. To be honest, it’s been being bounced around the entire system as the Guild tries to find the right fit for what the client needs.”

  Now, that was intriguing. And strange. The Guild usually acted as more of a clearinghouse than a broker, and it was rare for more than the local Guild office to get involved in trying to fill a contract.

  “Who is the client?” he asked carefully.

  “That’s confidential and I can’t discuss it over a radio link,” Parisi told him, which only increased his intrigue. “The client has an agent on Ganymede right now, however. I can arrange an in-person meeting tomorrow if you can grab a shuttle over to Ganymede Landing by morning.”

  “I can take one of my own,” Brad noted, “but that’s quite the expe—”

  “The Guild will cover the cost of your shuttle fuel and time,” Parisi said instantly. “We have a large interest in getting a company on this contract, Commodore Madrid, and the distances add a layer of complexity we don’t normally deal with.

  “I can’t say more over the radio, as I said, but if you can make it to the Guild office in Ganymede Landing, I’ll explain more in person.”

  “Are you on Ganymede yourself, Factor Parisi?” Brad asked.

  “Not yet,” the Factor replied. “But if you can make it, I’ll make it.”

  There was no way Brad was going to miss this now. Just what was going on?

  “I’ll have to check which of my shuttles and pilots are free,” he told the factor. “But you’ve definitely piqued my curiosity. I’ll be at the Guild in Ganymede Landing by ten hundred hours tomorrow.”

  “Excellent, Commodore. I will see you there.”

  “Why Ganymede?” Michelle asked once Brad had pulled his usual command staff together. Membership on that staff had far more to do with how long someone had been a member of the Vikings than rank, with Michelle, at least, outranked by every ship Captain.

  The only ship Captain present other than Brad was Brenda Andre. Saburo was there for the ground troops, and Oath of Vengeance’s chief engineer, Mike Randall, spoke for their technicians.

  The odd one out in the meeting was Shelly Weldon, formerly the executive officer of Heart of Vengeance and one of the few survivors from that corvette’s crew. The blonde officer was currently the woman in charge of their main base there in Io.

  Among other things, she was supervising the build of two more destroyers. One would be hers, since she’d turned down command of any of the Warriors.

  “And some days, it is blatantly obvious to me that only Saburo and I are actually from Jupiter,” she noted now with a small smile. Brad was perfectly willing to be uninformed if it got a smile out of Shelly. Her husband had died on Heart, and she was far from over that just yet.

  “Illuminate me,” he asked.

  “We may look to Io as the most important thing in the Jupiter System, but that’s only because of the shipyards,” Shelly told them. “Ganymede is the largest moon, the political center point everything else revolves around—and the big Fleet base.”

  “It’s also the primary source of water for the entire planetary system,” Saburo pointed out. “Hence the Fleet base. The Fleet base, of course, is why the Jovian militias keep
a significant presence there, too.”

  Brad snorted.

  “Because task groups led by destroyers are a threat to a pair of cruisers,” he replied.

  “One task group might not be,” Michelle said. “But the Jovian militias have, what, sixteen between them?”

  “And rumor has it that there are a few of the big fifteen-centimeter guns Fleet likes to mount on cruisers hidden in some of craters on Ganymede itself,” Saburo said. “Moon’s got no atmosphere, so they can fire from the ground.”

  “And good luck taking out ground installations on a moon bigger than some of the planets,” Brad allowed. “I know, I know. So, what, someone’s at Ganymede because they’re doing something more important, huh?”

  “I’d guess they’re not here to talk to mercenaries,” Michelle concluded. “Probably politics or water, but since they’re looking for mercs, the Guild will make the meeting.”

  “Makes sense. And if they’re a big enough deal for politics or bulk water, they can probably afford us. We’ll need to make the trip.”

  “Fortunately, the orbits are close,” his wife told him. “I can have you into Ganymede Landing by midnight if you want.”

  “You, my dear?”

  “I’m not letting anyone else fly your cute butt around while my ship is sitting in drydock,” she said with a grin. “You were going to bring me anyway, weren’t you?”