* * *
Gone were the vibrant mahogany walls of Seville’s office in Switzerland. They were replaced with the dull gray of spaceborne bulkheads and propaganda posters from the League’s political commissars. He wondered if they had any idea how much sailors mocked the posters with their proclamations of victory for humanity. After thirty years of way, we want it to end—and end, it will. He sat on the couch in his stateroom, on his flagship—the LSS Annihilator. A glass of dark brown brandy held tightly, he took a sip and let the liquor flow down his throat. Aaaah. War is such demanding work.
The chime of his door interrupted Seville’s thoughts.
“Who is it?” he asked, annoyance in his voice.
“Colonel Strappi, sir.”
He rolled his eyes and unlocked the door. “Come.”
The ever-eager morale officer strode in. He brought his hand to his chest in the salute of the League. “Do you have a moment, sir?”
“Of course. Get yourself a drink. I’m sure your exhortations have earned one today.”
Strappi poured himself a generous splash of the brown liquid into a tumbler and took a seat opposite Seville. “Thank you, Admiral.” He glanced around the stateroom. “It feels good to be here again. I grew tired of Earth, the constant politics and prattling. The preening of the councils. Out in space, it’s as if I am doing my job.”
“I have a question.”
“Of course, sir. Anything.”
“What is your true opinion?” Seville began. He stared directly into Strappi’s eyes. “Life has not been easy for you as my political officer. I have extraordinary power in the admiralty; this, I know. You must despise me.”
“It isn’t a secret that the League Navy’s officer corps and the political commissars don’t get along.” Strappi paused as if choosing his words carefully. “I have learned truths over my career, however. Whatever our history, I have seen too many times the rigid adherence to orders from the political committees be the downfall of our forces.”
Both men took another swig from their glasses as Seville thought back to the great defeat at the first battle of Canaan. “If they’d only listened to me thirty years ago. I would’ve destroyed the precious Coalition Defense Force before it received reinforcements. Even back then, the refusal of the Terrans to adopt a centralized system was their downfall.” Seville snorted. “Freedom. There is no such thing, and if we allow a veneer of it, human beings run amok.” Dark thoughts filled his brain as he considered the next steps—what he would do after the final defeat of the Terran Coalition. Oh, how I will enjoy personally executing Chairman Pallis.
“I have an observation for you,” Strappi began. His voice was nasal-sounding as ever. “If one were to step back, the Terrans have a system of control just as effective, if not more so, than the League.”
Seville stared at the other man, and his jaw dropped open. “How, pray tell, did you reach that conclusion?”
“Consider it… they believe in these old superstitions, different groups and sects, yes, but in general, the same idea. Because of that, they came together, and they’ve been able to stay together without force. Is that not similar to our socialism?”
For a moment, Seville pondered the words. It made sense on some level. “An interesting hypothesis, Colonel. However, there’s so much discord among the Terrans. They cannot come together as we do, with singular purpose and goal. Even now, with our fleet bearing down on them, at the hour of their destruction, they still bicker.” He laughed loudly. “They pin their hopes on some supposed being in the sky.” Seville snorted. “There is no God. I hope to see it in the eyes of General Cohen when he finally realizes that. It will be glorious.”
“The recorded video asking them to surrender was a nice touch,” Strappi allowed. “Stoking fear and propaganda to the neutral worlds at the same time.”
Of course it was, you imbecile. Seville smiled thinly. “Have you given thought to your promotion?”
“My promotion?”
“The political officer who stood behind the heroic Admiral who defeated the Terrans. Yes, I think you’ll be able to have any post you want.”
Strappi hefted the glass and extended it out. “To our victory, and the League!”
“To the victory!”
* * *
Kenneth hadn’t slept in forty-eight hours, aside from a few twenty-minute power naps. As much as humanly possible, he pushed the mental and physical exhaustion aside with sheer will. Between reviewing staffing reports, trying to clear blockers from teams working across two hundred warships, and sourcing additional parts and materials, he found fifteen minutes to get a ration pack from the mess hall. He stared out into space on the observation deck as he consumed the protein and vitamin bar, which was, in a word, disgusting.
A rustling behind him caused his head to turn. A younger woman in her late twenties stood with a ration bar of her own. “Uh, I’m sorry. Are you Kenneth?”
“If you’re CDF security or the government wanting to know what I’m doing, no. Anyone else, yes.” He vaguely recalled her face and tried to summon the memory of her name. She’s doing something for us. Ugh. My mind is shot. “Rebecca?”
The woman shook her head. “Not quite. Catherine. Catherine Owens. I’m handling the children’s daycare.”
It clicked together for him. So many people had shown up as a family unit, they had to house the kids in a couple of cargo bays and occupy them so work could get done. “Ah, of course. I apologize… I pride myself on not getting names wrong, but the last few days are a blur.” It took a moment for his manners to engage. “Please, have a seat.”
Owens slid into a seat across from him. “The teenagers are getting pretty restless. I was wondering if you could give them something to do.”
“Uh. I mean, what can a teenager do that’s useful to the effort?” Kenneth found himself somewhat annoyed. I don’t have time to play tour director. “I suppose the stronger ones could move boxes.”
“Well, children are better able to cope with a stressful situation if they’re occupied.”
Kenneth narrowed his eyes. “Are you a child psychologist or something?”
“No,” she answered with a laugh. “Early childhood therapist for special needs. I help kids overcome learning disabilities. But I’ve done this enough to know what works. You’re still going on the holovid every few hours, asking for more help. Maybe there’s some untapped workers right in front of you.”
Before he could respond, Billings’ voice rang out. “Boss, sorry to interrupt, but we’ve got a problem.”
“What now?” Kenneth asked as he turned to see Billings and Carter rapidly approaching. They were covered in grease stains, hair askew. Both men looked like they’d been awake for days, just like him.
“Cables. We don’t have enough. The neutron beam upgrade kits are missing half the relay cables for the fire control upgrade,” Billings said as he collapsed into a chair.
“3D print more.”
“Can’t, boss. We don’t have the plans to program into the printer. They’ll have to be made by hand.”
“Program the plans… it’s not that hard.”
Billings smirked. “Well, sir, the company that makes the cables has a patent on the connector pinout, and the printer won’t allow us to replicate it.”
Kenneth felt like he wanted to scream. “How many?”
“A few thousand, give or take.”
“How hard is it to make these cables?” Owens asked.
All three men turned toward her, and Billings spoke. “Not especially. There’s a universal connector on the end, you strip the wires, put a clip on each one, and feed it into the connector, depending on what you’re building.”
“Could an older child do it? Say, high school age?” She offered a dazzling smile.
“Anyone could do it if they were taught a few times,” Kenneth replied as his cheeks turned red. He found himself embarrassed he’d been so ready to dismiss her out of hand.
“A
m I missing something here?” Carter asked. His voice was low and gravelly.
“Ms. Owen has a solution to our problem. The kids that came with our workers are restless and need something to do.” Kenneth grinned. “I can’t think of anything better than to get them on those cables, rather than pull experienced engineers off the line.”
“That’s crazy enough it might work,” Billings replied. “I’ll get right on it.”
“Not before you have a ration bar and rest for fifteen minutes.”
“Sure, boss.”
Kenneth took a bite of the ration bar and started chewing. Some point in time later, he jerked awake, then realized he’d fallen asleep as he ate. The others were gone, and he glanced at the tablet device he carried with him. Good grief. I lost an hour. He shoved the rest of the bar into his mouth and stood. The night would be long—but he would press on and fight through the exhaustion.
15
Despair was not an emotion Justin Spencer was used to seeing on the faces of his civilian staff, or the generals of the Coalition Defense Force. Yet, it was painted on the expressions of everyone present in the briefing room ten meters from the Oval Office. He glanced to his right, where Barton sat, along with MacIntosh. To the left was Vice President Fuentes and numerous staff members. When Spencer spoke, his tone was somber. “We only have a few hours before the League fleet arrives at Canaan. I wanted to thank all of you for the outstanding work this last week.” He made eye contact with Fuentes. “If nothing else, our way of life will continue.”
“Sir, vidlink with General Cohen is active,” a non-commissioned enlisted soldier in the back of the room called out.
David’s image appeared in the holoprojector, which was set in 2D mode, and pointed at a far wall. “Mr. President, Lion of Judah, reporting in.”
“Thank you, General. Is your fleet ready?”
“Yes, sir.” David paused. “Have you considered my request to send six carrier battlegroups to reinforce us? I believe our superiority in fighters, and especially heavy bombers, would greatly enhance the chance of success.”
MacIntosh and Barton exchanged looks. MacIntosh spoke. “We have. Those carriers are needed to safeguard the Exodus fleet. You’re on your own, son. I’m sorry.”
Barton picked up where MacIntosh left off before David could jump in. “Mr. President, I’m happy to report the Exodus fleet is fully operational. The people movers are fully stocked, and we’ll be ready to launch within the hour. The presidential shuttle is prepped for both of you.”
“My answer hasn’t changed. I’m staying here,” Spencer announced.
Fuentes spoke, “Justin, we’re going to need you.”
Spencer shook his head. “No. I will not abandon our home in this dire hour. Make no mistake—the Exodus must occur, and our way of life must continue. Those of you undertaking the voyage are heroes, just as General Cohen and the fleet covering the escape are as well. But I can’t abandon Canaan now. I’m here till the bitter end.”
“Sirs, was there any luck with the Saurians? The Matrinids? The neutral planets… is anyone coming to help?” David asked, his tone almost plaintive.
It was as if no one wanted to answer the question. They stared at the holoprojector until Spencer spoke. “No. We’re on our own, and if we’re lucky, maybe God will stand with us. I know what I’m asking you and the rest of those in the fleet to do, General Cohen. It’s still a volunteer assignment.”
“We understand, sir.” David’s voice took on forced formality. “The Lion of Judah and the rest of the fleet will do their duty.” He paused for a moment. “What of the mothball ships? Mr. Lowe’s been making broadcasts—”
“—that credit-chasing contractor is just shaking people down with false hope,” Barton angrily interjected. “Do you see any new ships appearing in Canaan’s skies, Cohen?” His voice dripped sarcasm. “No. They’re not coming.”
David set his jaw. “At least he’s trying to do something, rather than running away like a coward.”
“Oh, come off it. You’re happy you're finally getting to live out your fantasy,” Barton retorted as his face turned blood red.
“Enough,” Spencer said. The word was spoken quietly, but with the unmistakable voice of command. I loathe that man. He stared at Barton. If there’d been more time, I’d have replaced him, but his administrative and logistical talents have been useful. “This serves nothing. You two don’t like each other. Fine. We’re moving on.” He leaned forward. “How many civilian vessels are approved to join the Exodus?”
“Above ten thousand at last count,” Barton replied. “We expect that many more in the next few hours at the jump-off points, which brings up a good point. The fleet’s moving too slowly now with all these civilian ships. Unless we can delay the League even longer than first anticipated.”
“How long?” David asked.
“Twelve hours. After that, our superior Lawrence drives will keep us one step ahead of the League.”
Silence again descended over the room. David broke it as he crossed his arms in front of him. “We’ll hold. I don’t know how, but we will,” he said in the tone of a condemned man who knew the final task that lay before him.
“I want the Joint Chiefs with the fleet. Generals Barton and MacIntosh, with the rest of our command structure.” Spencer glanced around the room, taking in their expressions.
“Like hell I will,” MacIntosh roared. “If you’re staying, sir, so am I. And you’ll have to shoot me to force compliance.” The tone of his voice left no doubt in Spencer’s mind he was telling the absolute truth.
Barton half-grinned. “It’s probably better that way. There’s not enough room on the Ark Royal for Scotch and me.”
“You got that right,” MacIntosh replied under his breath.
“Anything else?” Spencer asked the room at large. There was no response beyond head shakes. “Very well. We all have our orders.” He paused for a moment. “Please join me in prayer.” It can’t hurt. He bowed his head. “Lord, in our time of need, we ask you to stand with Your people. Without Your help, guidance, and indeed a miracle, I fear we will all perish. Bless those who give battle in Your name against the League, and bless those who endeavor to save as many as possible. In Your son’s name, we pray, amen.”
“Amen,” MacIntosh intoned quietly, as did many others.
Spencer stared at the holoprojector's camera. “I wish I could shake your hand one last time, General. Godspeed to you and your crew.”
“Godspeed, Mr. President.”
“Dismissed.” Spencer pursed his lips together and pushed his chair back as the feed from the Lion of Judah dropped. Little was said as the rest of those assembled walked out. He made his way back to the Oval Office and shut the door behind him. Alone, Spencer felt the overwhelming finality of it all catch up to him. How did we get here? Taking a seat behind his desk, he took his printed Bible out and laid it down. The book fell open, and he stared at the chapter from Proverbs 91, then read it aloud. “Because he has set his love on me, therefore I will deliver him. I will set him on high because he has known my name. He shall call on me, and I will answer him. I will be with him in trouble; I will deliver him, and honor him.” With tears forming in his eyes and despair in his heart, he closed the Bible and forced himself back to work.
* * *
The vidlink went dark, and the blackness of the screen matched David’s mood. Never before had he gone into battle with the certainty of death for both him and his crew hanging overhead. They almost always had a plan and a good chance for victory. If not, the CDF fell back to fight another day. I have to tell them. He briefly pondered not revealing to the crew how dire the situation was. No. I can’t do that. They deserve the truth.
David stood and strode out of his day cabin. The short walk into the bridge felt like the longest distance he’d ever covered. He felt like a condemned prisoner, walking the last few feet to his execution.
Two Marine sentries stood outside the hatch, the ever-present g
uardians who silently stood watch. They both brought their hands up in salute.
With a sharp movement of his hand, David returned the salute. A moment later, he was on the bridge. The eyes of everyone present focused on him. They’re hoping against hope I have something to tell them… like how many reinforcements are coming. The enlisted personnel not strapped into their harnesses came to attention. “As you were.” His eyes met several others, though his expression remained somber. “This is General Cohen. I have the conn.”
“Aye, aye, sir. General Cohen has the conn,” Ruth announced formally and stood from the CO’s chair.
David almost went and sat down, but decided at the last moment not to. Instead, he made his way to the communications station. “Lieutenant, patch me into 1MC and activate the old school microphone.” He tried to smile but failed.
“Aye, aye, sir. Ready when you are.”
There was a small metal cover to a box on Taylor’s console. It held a corded microphone that, by tradition, was only usable for the shipwide intercom. Something of an antique relic, many CDF ships had one as a reminder of times long since passed by. David swallowed as he stared into the eyes of the men and women on the bridge. He focused on a point in the back of the room and brought the mic to his lips. “Attention all hands, this is General Cohen.” He paused for a moment as words failed him. “Few people have been as zealous in our duties as the crew of the Lion of Judah. I cannot put into words the pride I feel, standing here on this ship, knowing what we’ve accomplished. But today, we face something none of us ever thought we would… an unwinnable battle.”
Small gasps went up from those on duty. Ruth stared at him, her jaw wide open.
“Help isn’t coming. The ships we have are the only ones we’re going to get. I’d held out hope command would free up some carrier battle groups, or perhaps our former allies would muster in defense of the Sagittarius arm. But, they’re not. The Terran Coalition stands alone, and our job is to ensure that it continues. Hundreds of millions of our citizens, even now, are forming up to flee from the League. The government will continue in exile, and guarded by the remainder of our fleet, perhaps in time they will find a new home.” David’s eyes swept around the room. He took note of tears running down the faces of several people, both men and women.
Finish the Fight: Echoes of War Book Seven Page 15