A few moments later, he’d vectored his fighter into position to slide into place as the lead fighter in the flight. A quick scan of his squadrons showed everyone reporting condition green—no enemy engagement—across all small craft in space. “This is Colonel Amir to all search and rescue units… begin rescue and recovery operations. We will cover you.” A small part of his mind looked forward to seeing his daughter again once they’d landed and the battle was entirely over. For now, he had to maintain focus.
* * *
A full two platoons of Terran Coalition Marines stood in battle formation, covering both exits from the League shuttle now parked in the Lion of Judah’s expansive hangar. Calvin had insisted on taking personal command of the detachment, for two reasons. One, he didn’t want anyone to get trigger happy and kill Seville. Second, he wanted to see defeat in the Leaguer’s eyes. He aimed down the sight of his battle rifle, focusing on its starboard hatch. “Confirm stun rounds, Marines. Do not engage unless fired on or I order you to, clear?”
“Sir, yes, sir!” came the rousing reply.
The hatch swung upward and automatically a set of stairs descended. A voice with a decidedly French accent called out, “I am unarmed! Do not shoot.”
“How many in there, Seville?” Calvin bellowed in reply.
“Just me.”
“Come out slowly with your hands up and where we can see them. Any attempt at resistance will be met with overwhelming force.”
First, Seville’s head stuck out of the opening, followed by the rest of his body as he slowly climbed down. His uniform was ripped in several places, while blood splatters were evident. His hair was matted, and a streak of red flowed down his face. “I am unarmed, Terrans.” He put his hands above his head and came to a stop at the base of the shuttle. “Admiral Pierre Seville, League of Sol Navy. At your service.”
Calvin grunted. Well, I’ll give him this, he’s got balls. He motioned the Marines forward. Two stepped up and expertly searched the Leaguer for weapons, then secured his hands behind his back with zip-cuffs. “Well, well, well. The great Admiral Seville. Remember me? Colonel Calvin Demood. Terran Coalition Marine Corps. We stood here once before, about three years ago, when you defiled the deck of my ship. Now you're going where you belong. A cell that you’re never getting out of.” His mouth curled up into an evil-looking grin.
“A temporary setback, I assure you, Colonel,” Seville replied. “Your silly superstitions will still be your downfall. The Terran Coalition is weak, and it will fall.”
“A couple of years ago, I would’ve spaced you in the nearest airlock myself, Seville.”
Seville stared at him. “And now you think God will punish you for doing what you should’ve done the moment I set foot on your ship three years ago?” He sneered. “Those superstitions cause me to pity you.”
“In your case, asshole, they’re keeping you alive. So don’t knock ‘em.” Calvin jerked his finger backward. “Get him out of here, and if he accidentally falls on the way to the brig, I’ll court-martial every last one of you. Clear, gentlemen?”
“Sir, yes, sir!” the corporal in charge of the first platoon replied.
“I am an Admiral of the League Navy. I demand accommodations befitting of my rank.” Seville smirked.
For a moment, Calvin glanced at him. Could just punch his teeth down his throat. Nah. Bad example. A grin came across his face. “Well, let me fix that for you, Admiral, sir.” He reached out, and with a flourish, ripped the rank insignia off Seville’s uniform. “Now you’re nothing. Get this piece of trash out of my sight.”
The Marines frog-marched Seville away as the older man grunted and protested, mostly in French.
Calvin was left alone, staring at them as they receded from view. He thought back to his vow before the battle that he made in the chapel. God, help me to keep that promise. With a smile, he set off for the next group of prisoners being brought in.
* * *
David glanced up from his desk at the sound of the chime on his hatch. He’d been in the middle of putting together an after-action report following the battle. More importantly, he also used the time to compose himself. President Spencer had issued a recall order for the Exodus fleet, while search and rescue operations were in full swing. Shuttles ferried members of the Canaan militia up from the surface to form boarding parties to take control of the remaining League vessels. With a sigh, he set the tablet down. “Come in.”
The hatch opened wide, and the now-familiar form of James Henry strode through. He turned back toward the passageway. “Thank you, Private.” As the hatch closed behind him, Henry stared at David. “Permission to enter, sir?”
“Granted, Captain. Or should I say, Admiral?” David rose from his chair and made his way around the deck. He shook Henry’s hand warmly.
“Jim will do just fine.”
With a chuckle, David gestured to the chairs in front of his desk. “Please, have a seat. I asked you here so I could thank you in person,” he began as he walked back behind the desk. “For saving the lives of many good men and women. A few Saurians too.”
“I’m glad we could be here and make a difference.” Henry set the bag he was carrying on the desk, taking care not to disturb the knickknacks on it, especially the inert hand grenade bolted to a plaque that read “Complaint Department. Please take a number.” A small “#1” hung off the pin. “Care to join me for a drink?” He pulled a bottle of bourbon out of the bag.
“Typically, I don’t drink alcohol while I’m on duty,” David replied. A small grin crept onto his face. “Admittedly, I do like a glass of wine. I’m not much on the hard stuff.”
Henry smiled broadly. “This is New Virginia bourbon. Best stuff in the galaxy.” He removed a couple of glasses from the bag, opened the bottle, and poured out a small amount into each one. “I've been avoiding it lately, but this is a special occasion. Cheers.”
“Cheers.” David picked up the glass and clinked it against Henry’s. “So what exactly is the Alliance of Neutral Systems?”
“Just what it sounds like. A group of planets that want to maintain their distinctive culture and neutrality while coming together to protect against external threats.”
“There’s already an organization that does that… the Terran Coalition.” David grinned. “Perhaps now it’s time for some of your membership to rejoin the fold. Maybe we could expand the fold.”
Henry shook his head. “I’m afraid that’s for the diplomats and parliaments to ultimately decide. It's not my choice to make."
David stared at him for a moment. “The last time we met, I was under the impression you cared little for the rest of us, focused only on getting revenge and plying your trade. When you wished me Godspeed today, I was certain something profound had changed with you.”
“I lost my faith a long time ago, General,” Henry said as he paused for a moment to take a sip of the brown liquid. “The night Erhart told me to surrender, I begged God for help. For anything, a simple sign He was there.” He glanced at David and made eye contact, the pain evident in his eyes. “There was nothing, and I became convinced God either didn’t exist or didn’t care.” After a moment, he set the glass down. “Then I realized He’d always been there. That the path I walked, the life I led, was where I was supposed to be, and that just like He promised, all things work together for good, for those who love the Lord. If I wasn’t run out of the CDF, if I hadn't gotten the Wolf and gone out to Neutral Space, who knows what the League would’ve accomplished. I’m convinced I was in exactly the right place, at the right time, and that God put me there to make the galaxy a better place."
It was as if lightning had struck. David, for a moment, felt extreme envy in how the other man had laid it all out. From his tone, it was clear Henry had genuine faith once more. I wish it were that easy for me right about now. “What happened? What changed?”
“I can only explain it this way. When I was at my lowest point, I had an experience. Maybe it was in my head, or
a miracle, but it led me to forgive myself for my choices.” Henry snapped his fingers. “And my faith came back. Everything else came from that.”
David was confident there was more to the story but didn’t want to press him. Nor did he want to introduce new doubts. The worst thing I could do to someone who has begun to believe in HaShem yet again is to sow the seeds of lost faith. He shifted in his seat. “I noticed that many of the ships in your armada were, shall we say, privateers.”
“Yes, quite a few answered the call. I trust that will be overlooked for now?”
“Oh, the computer system that allows us to cross-reference ship hulls and serial numbers with known offenders through GALPOL is offline. At least for the next few days.”
Henry laughed. “I’ll make sure to tell Jack Dulaney that.”
“Mad Jack is here?” David’s mouth hung open. “He’s one of the most wanted privateers in neutral space.”
“Well, don’t tell them about it,” Henry replied as he took another sip of bourbon. “Truth is, Dulaney’s one of the best ship drivers I know. Good man too, even if he is a pirate.”
“How’s that?”
“Well, he only takes cargo, never harms people, and doesn’t blow ships up. He also doesn’t steal from the poor. Only the well insured. And most of his proceeds go towards keeping Trinidad Station functioning, not his own wealth.” Henry took a small drink.
David was unconvinced. “So he’s Robin Hood.” It took some willpower not to show disdain. “As long as he doesn’t try to privateer any ships around here. Understood?”
Henry gave him a stern look. "He's not here for that. He came to protect our homes, nothing more."
“I noticed some vessels from Cylograd, too.”
Henry shifted in his seat. “Yes. A few.”
“See to it there’s no accidental spacings of League personnel. I get they hate the League more than we do, and have a right to, but there will be no extra-judicial punishments on my watch.” I don’t want that on my conscience. Ever.
“I already gave my orders on the subject, General Cohen.” A bit of pique crept into Henry’s voice. “We don’t tolerate that kind of behavior either in my fleet, and the Tokarevs gave their word.”
“Glad to hear it.” David softened his expression. “It’s vitally important we all rise to this occasion and not allow revenge to creep in. The galaxy is watching.”
“Fair enough. And since we're here, we’ll abide by the CDF’s decisions on the cleanup and hand prisoners over to you."
David nodded. He felt so tired and weary. After looking death in the eye, he’d survived once more, while so many around him didn’t. It was enough to weigh his soul into the depths. “We’ve prioritized repairs of the vessels in danger of deorbiting due to engine damage. As soon as they’re taken care of, every vessel involved will be fixed up, good as new. That goes doubly for your fleet. The cost is on us too.”
“The independent captains will be quite pleased to hear that.” Henry grinned broadly. “I’m sure you know their margins are quite thin." He glanced furtively at David's desk and sympathy came to that grin. "I suppose I’d better let you get back to things. It would appear CDF paperwork never ends.”
“Oh, you have no idea. If the universe were ever to end, I’m sure that some bureaucrat somewhere would make us fill out a form on it.” David stood. “Thank you, again, from the bottom of my heart.” He extended his arm with a warm smile.
“Anytime." Henry accepted the offered hand. "Godspeed, General Cohen.”
“Godspeed, Admiral Henry.”
* * *
Seville stared at his new home. A two-meter by three-meter cell, with a heavy alloy door and autolocking system. Gone was the lap of luxury he’d known for the last twenty years, with its trappings and stewards. Security in the prison complex was the highest he’d ever seen in his life. Of course it is. They want to make sure they can make a spectacle out of me. The knowledge disgusted him. He lay on the single twin-sized bed, and his eyes darted about the room.
The propaganda poster promoting the Coalition Defense Force was a bitter touch. I’m sure they planned it that way. “Avenge Canaan!” it blared in big, bold letters, with a drawing of a CDF officer in front of a field of debris. The final failure weighed on Seville. He’d gone over and over it in his mind. I had the numbers and the proper tactics. How did they win? Cohen got lucky like he had several times before. Nothing more than blind, random chance. The support ship lost control of its thrusters because of shoddy League maintenance practices on home defense fleet vessels. Simple as that. Or was it?
The question of why gnawed at him. It ate at his mind, its persistence unabated. He thought back to every engagement he’d had against the Terran Coalition. All the way back to the fateful first assault on Canaan. Discovered at random by a border guard vessel, off its patrol pattern. To how Cohen had bested him at the second battle of Canaan, and at Unity Station. Each time, he’d had superior firepower, more ships, and a better position. Yet, when it really counted, the CDF seemed to win.
I brought twenty-five hundred ships. We outnumbered them ten to one. Seville rolled the thought around in his brain. Somehow, they got hundreds of reinforcements at the exact right time. Even then, I had them until that supply ship…
He put his head into his hands. It’s almost as if some higher power had intervened. Seville laughed. Now, silly me—thinking like the Terrans, with their stupid superstitions and anti-social behavior. He sucked in a breath. The Terran Coalition would get its reward in due time. He might have to endure years of confinement, and it might not happen within his lifetime, but eventually, they would crumble. It was the way of history. The great Social Experiment of the League of Sol would conquer all.
But yet, he couldn’t put out of his mind the idea that there was an external force aiding the Terrans. Maybe an alien race we haven’t encountered yet. Or perhaps they had a spy on board. It was too neat and tidy. There had to be an explanation beyond random chance—and that was when it happened. Seville heard a voice inside of his mind—not his own, and not a thought that originated in his head.
“I am that I am.”
The words chilled him to his core. He turned white as a sheet as his hands began to shake uncontrollably. In that moment, Pierre Seville knew fear like he never had before in his existence. It crystallized in a matter of seconds that he’d heard the voice of the being the Terrans worshipped. Their God. It suddenly came to him that, for all these years, he’d fought and repeatedly lost to a supernatural force. One that could seemingly do as it pleased. He hyperventilated and fought down convulsions. Wha-waaa-what am I to do? At first, he halfway considered trying to speak to the being, as the Terrans did. Recalling from memory the shared belief they all seemed to have in forgiveness, he wondered it was available to him. But the portion of his brain that even considered it a possibility was tiny.
Seville started to rock back and forth on the bed, shaking as he did. His mind thrashed out, trying to make sense of the life he’d led, the actions he’d taken as he was forced to confront everything he’d done.
When the guards checked on him ten minutes later, he was still shaking and uttering nonsensical phrases. They called for a medical team and stared as drool slid down his mouth. An hour later, he was transferred to a psychiatric hospital for further evaluation. The great Admiral Seville—reduced to a mental patient. The part of his brain that still functioned noted the irony.
23
The noise level from the assembly chamber was so loud, Justin Spencer couldn’t hear himself think. Standing with his security detail next to the wooden doors leading to it, the din was so loud, it required shouting to be heard.
“They’re ready, Mr. President!” his chief of staff yelled. “Are you good?”
“Let’s do it.” Spencer straightened the blue tie he wore and adjusted his suit jacket one last time.
The doors swung open as he strode through, and the Sergeant-at-Arms for the Senate shouted, “Madam
Speaker, the President of the Terran Coalition!”
Under normal circumstances, Spencer would’ve stopped for five to ten minutes, shaking hands with members of the lower and upper houses of Congress, making small talk and smiling for the holocameras watching his every move. But today was not normal. Today was a day he didn’t think he’d have. Dispensing with the glad-handing, he made his way down the aisle and up to the podium. Directly behind it stood the speaker of the house, along with Vice President Fuentes. Everyone continued to clap and cheer as he took his place. A holo-prompter built into his eyeglasses displayed the speech he was to give.
From her position above the podium, the Speaker of the House announced, “Members of Congress, I have the high privilege and distinct honor of presenting to you the President of the Terran Coalition.”
More applause rained down before Spencer held up his hands briefly and began to speak. “Thank you, Madam Speaker. Members of Congress, justices of the Supreme Court, honored guests, and citizens of the Terran Coalition, thank you. I come before you tonight to address recent events, our victory, and its cost.” He gazed out over the crowd. Virtually the entire government was present, along with hundreds of ordinary citizens and guests. On one side of the chamber, several uniformed members of the CDF sat, including General MacIntosh and David Cohen.
“Tonight, I am pleased to report to you, the people of the Terran Coalition, that a truce has been declared between us and the League of Sol.”
Wild cheering, clapping, and shouts of joy rang out, interrupting the speech. Most again sprang to their feet.
After the tumult ended, Spencer continued, his tone somber and measured. “This war didn’t end in the way I wanted it to. The flag of the Terran Coalition doesn’t fly proudly over Earth, and her citizens continue to be oppressed by the ideology of the League, as do tens of billions of other humans throughout the Orion arm of our galaxy. But now, with both our and the League’s fleet exhausted, the war must end. Both sides recognize the situation.”
Finish the Fight: Echoes of War Book Seven Page 27