“Are we relying on the guesswork of Recon captains now?” General Price asked skeptically. “This is absurd.”
“We know the Kroll used the colonists as a food source because several dozen were slaughtered and consumed by the Kroll on the harvester ship,” Dean said. “I know because I was there, and I killed every last damn one of those creatures, General. Doing nothing when we have a chance to hit the Kroll with a powerful retaliatory strike is irresponsible and cowardly.”
Price gave Dean a withering glance, but then turned up his nose and looked away. Dean felt his face flush with anger and started to say more, but Admiral Kento Matsumoto’s warning came back to his mind just in time for Dean to bite his tongue and keep his anger in check.
“But,” Fleet Admiral Cummings asked, “will striking back show that we are more than just passive beings waiting to be used by the Kroll? Are they capable of understanding the message we mean to send?”
“I believe so, sir. Even if our operation doesn’t deal the Kroll a terrible loss, it will send a clear message. The ships that ventured into human territory were lost and used against them. The Kroll show no mercy to us. We can do no less in dealing with them.”
“Commander, I have to renew my objection,” Colonel Paulson said. “Every head of state on Earth is against a preemptive strike. EsDef will lose funding.”
“I don’t give a damn about money, Colonel. We are talking about the future of the human race,” Cummings said angrily. “You can’t put a price tag on people’s lives.”
“The politicians may not like it,” Colonel Davis said. “But they won’t pull our funding. They know they need us now more than ever.”
“That doesn’t give us carte blanche to do whatever we want,” Paulson argued. “We have to honor the people who entrusted us with this position.”
“Our first and primary goal has to be to defend the worlds held by humans,” Cummings said. “We don’t have the fleet or manpower to guard every outpost. Striking back at the Kroll now, while we have an advantage, is the best to way to protect the human race—no matter what world they call home.”
Dean felt the implication made by the fleet admiral. It was obvious that Colonel Paulson understood it as well. The head of EsDef was determined to serve every human outpost and colony, not just Earth and the Sol system. There were daggers in Paulson’s eyes, but there was nothing more she could do at the moment. The tension in the room eased only slightly when Cummings turned to Colonel Andrew Davis, head of the Off World Force Recon division.
“Finalize your planning,” the fleet admiral said. “Time is of the essence.”
“Roger that,” Davis said.
Chapter 7
The meeting broke up, and Dean was surprised to see Colonel Davis hurrying from the room. Everyone was talking at once, and Dean was swept along with the other Recon officers following Colonel Davis. Dean wanted to see Esma, to talk about the meeting, and to find out what she’d heard from the other operators, but there was no time.
Even before they reached Colonel Davis’s office, Dean’s wrist link buzzed with orders. He glanced down and saw that he had been summoned to a strategic planning meeting in room 84A. Dean wasn’t sure where that conference room was, but he saw that several other people had gotten the same orders and assumed they knew better than he did where the meeting was. The crowd of Recon officers passed by the colonel’s office and went instead into a large, empty room. The small plaque outside the door said 12C, not 84A that his orders had called him to. Dean recognized a debrief suite when he saw it, even though the large vid screens were dark and there was no furniture in the room. He wasn’t sure what was going on but didn’t have to wait long to find out.
“I’m assuming you all got the same orders I just received?” the colonel said as soon as the door swished closed behind Chavez, who was trailing the other officers. “That would be Paulson’s contingency plan. She’ll do anything to stop this mission. I can’t order you not to go to that meeting, but it doesn’t take a genius to realize she’s stalling.”
“To what end, Colonel?” asked one of the Recon officers Dean didn’t recognize.
“She has a plan, that’s all I’m sure of,” Davis said. “My guess would be a vote of no confidence in Fleet Admiral Cummings, or perhaps some arcane legal order that would tie our hands. Whatever she’s up to, we know she doesn’t want us to proceed with the mission.”
“She doesn’t want us in EsDef at all,” said another officer.
“Colonel Paulson’s political leanings aren’t news,” Davis said. “But we have a job to do, and I won’t be distracted by an endless series of meetings. Captain Vanessa Parker is on Space Base 03. The nukes are ready. We just need to get the Kroll ships manned, supplied, and on their way. To that end, I have an announcement. Dean, step up here please.”
Dean felt his face flush, but he moved to the front of the crowded room. Every man in the debriefing suite was a veteran Recon officer. Despite Dean’s own accomplishments, he felt like an outsider. He could see the other officers staring at him, doing their best to get the measure of the one Recon officer who always seemed to be at the center of the most controversial military action.
“If you haven’t had a chance to meet Captain Dean Blaze, let me tell you a little bit about him,” Davis said. “He’s young, but he’s a natural tactician. He represents the best of Force Recon, putting his platoon and his mission above all else.”
“Damn straight!” Chavez shouted from the back of the room. “Wolfpack platoon!”
Davis smiled as he continued. “As warriors, we face deadly circumstances that force us to think on our feet, to improvise, and to make difficult decisions at a moment’s notice to ensure that the aims of our mission are achieved. I won’t embarrass him by going over Captain Blaze’s accolades—we don’t have time for that anyway. I will say that I have the utmost faith in him, which is why I’m promoting him to major and putting him in charge of mission Chameleon.”
Davis removed Dean’s twin bars from the lapel of his utility fatigues and pinned on a silver oak leaf.
“Dean needs four Recon platoons to help accomplish his mission. Who volunteers?” Davis asked.
To Dean’s astonishment, every officer in the room raised his hand.
“Grant, Seebert, Jefferies, Ortega—are your platoons on station?” Davis asked.
All four men shouted “Yes, sir!” in unison.
“Excellent, you’ve got the job. Dean, you’ll be taking the Hannibal back to the Kroll ships. Captain Parker will have a module ready to be towed back to your ships. It’s full of nuclear ordinance. You get them loaded onto the tug vessels and get out of this system before Paulson and the politicians pull the plug on this whole operation.”
“Can they do that, sir?” Dean asked.
“They can sure as shit try. Now move, Major! And God go with you.”
“What about orders?”
“I’ll send them along. Major Gheridelli and I have been ironing everything out. Major General Fulton is putting together a team of operators to assist you and the fleet admiral will assign crews to the Kroll ships, but you’re in charge. Rank doesn’t matter. You get to the Urgglatta home world and take out as many of those bastards as you possibly can. Let them know that if they come looking for trouble in our neck of the woods, we’ll give them all they can handle.”
“Yes, sir,” Dean said, his mind whirling.
He couldn’t believe how fast everything was happening. It didn’t seem right, but he knew that doing nothing—which was exactly what many people wanted to do—was folly of the highest order. If they were going to hit the Kroll, they needed to do it quickly.
“Congratulations, sir,” Chavez said as the meeting broke up. “It’s well deserved.”
“I can’t say that I agree,” Dean replied. “It feels a bit premature.”
“No at all, Major,” Captain Peter Grant said, slapping Dean hard on the shoulder. “You have more battlefield experience with the K
roll than any of us.”
“He’s right, sir,” Chavez said, although Dean thought the savvy staff sergeant noticed that Captain Grant seemed less than genuine in his praise. There were lines around the captain’s narrow eyes that made Dean feel as if he was being studied.
Chavez went on. “The platoon will be proud.”
“Thank you, Staff Sergeant, Captain Grant. I appreciate your vote of confidence.”
The crowd of Recon officers was filing out of the room, led by Colonel Davis. Dean was still trying to comprehend what had happened. He couldn’t believe he had been promoted to major. It seemed unreal, as if he were in a dream. The men around Dean—two captains, two lieutenants—were all looking to him for orders. Dean could see their names stenciled on their fatigues, but he didn’t know them at all. It didn’t seem fair that their lives would be in his hands. And while Dean believed the mission into Kroll territory was the right move, he hadn’t really thought about the implications for the men and women who would carry it out. As he looked at his fellow officers, he realized they probably wouldn’t make it back home.
As if to punctuate his private thoughts, the unmistakable sound of a Martin 3A defense pistol firing a three-round burst just outside the door surprised them all. Suddenly there were shouts and cries of alarm. Dean and his team of officers rushed to the hallway only to find Colonel Davis on the floor, his stomach eviscerated by the pistol’s flechettes. There were several officers around the colonel trying to help, but Dean could see that it was too late. Davis’s eyes were glassy and the flechettes at close range had ripped through his intestines, which were spilling out of his bloody wounds.
Nearby, another group of Recon officers had wrestled the gunman to the ground. He was wailing and trying to break free, but he was pinned to the ground, his weapon yanked from his hand.
“Holy mother of God,” said Captain Ortega.
“We’ve got to help,” said Lieutenant Seebert.
“No!” Dean said immediately. “Get to your platoons. This isn’t an isolated incident. We have to get off this base. Get to the Hannibal! She’s in berth 26. You too, Chavez. Make sure VA Anders has everything ready to go as soon as we’re ready.”
Dean had the benefit of not needing to gather his platoon, which was still on the Kroll harvester ship. He hesitated for a moment, looking at the man who had just pinned the major’s rank insignia to his collar, and felt a wave of grief. Just as quickly, he pushed the pain and regret down deep inside him. There was no time to mourn the man who had shown more faith in Dean than anyone in his entire life. The best way Dean could honor Colonel Davis was to ensure the mission went off without a hitch. Major Gheridelli would know the plan; Dean would contact him directly once he was on board the Hannibal.
There were people crowding the hallway, looking on in horror as Colonel Davis died and his assassin was apprehended. Dean fought his way through the throng, knowing that he could be next. It seemed ludicrous, but politics were always divisive and history was full of examples of people on the fringe turning to violence in hopes of gaining control. Dean simultaneously wanted to beat the colonel’s assassin to death with his bare hands and to find an empty room to hide in. He had to push both impulses away and focus on the task at hand.
Dean realized it was entirely possible that without operators, the mission would fail before it started. There were naval officers still on the Kroll ships, but they weren’t pilots. EsDef ships were automated, with helmsmen merely imputing commands and using automated systems to fly the ships. The Kroll vessels required someone to actually control their flight through space using the wide-set manual controls. If whoever was behind the assassination of Colonel Davis managed to stop the operators from boarding the Hannibal, his mission would grind to a halt.
Dean, still hurrying through the Space Base, opened a comm channel on his wrist link. He had no idea where Esma was or if she would be involved in the mission, but she was his only connection to the O&A branch of EsDef. And he was certain she would never be part of an assassination plot. He would have to be careful whom he trusted, but he was sure he could put his faith in Esma.
“Captain Dante, where are you?” Dean asked.
“I’m with the operators assigned to the Kroll mission, Dean, but we’re having trouble getting to the escort ship. There are guards blocking our way. They have guns.”
“Send me your position,” Dean said. “I’m on my way.”
Chapter 8
Space Base 13 was a large, circular station that used centrifugal force to mimic gravity. The main corridor was lined with docking arms on one side, with rows of rooms, corridors, and offices on the opposite side. The base reminded Dean of the wheels on large transports, which had multiple tires mounted side by side. The space base was like a thick wheel with interstellar ships docking on the edge and a maze of corridors and rooms on the inside.
Dean was concerned about Esma. Whenever she was involved in his work, he had to split his focus between accomplishing the mission and keeping her safe. It was difficult knowing that she would soon be in danger while also knowing he needed Esma and her team of operators with him to accomplish the mission. There were times when he wished she were far away, doing anything other than serving in EsDef—yet he knew that it was their shared commitment to duty that brought them together. If she were on Earth or one of humanity’s colonies, he might never have met her, and he would certainly never have committed himself so completely to a relationship with someone who couldn’t understand the level of dedication a career in EsDef required.
Dean was so focused on his own fears that he nearly ran past Captain Rey Ortega, who was leading her fully armored platoon toward the escort ship.
“Major Blaze,” the Captain said, halting her platoon with a raised hand.
“Ortega, your platoon is ready to deploy?” Dean asked.
“Affirmative, Commander. The Viper’s nest is at your service.”
“Excellent,” Dean said with a grin. “Come with me. We need to escort our operators to the Hannibal.”
“More resistance, sir?” Ortega asked as she fell in beside Dean.
“I don’t know what the hell is going on, but it isn’t good. Captain Esmerelda Dante just informed me that they are being held up by armed guards.”
“It’s a coup, Major. I’ve heard rumors of a pacifist movement garnering to take control of EsDef.”
“Pacifists or terrorists? It seems they aren’t opposed to force when it means getting their way. Colonel Davis deserved better than to be murdered for doing his job.”
“I agree, sir. It’s a damn shame. He was a good man and an excellent commander.”
“All the more reason that we ensure his final mission is a success,” Dean said as they turned another corner and began to hear shouting ahead. “Keep your platoon here until I call for you. I’m hoping I can defuse the situation without a confrontation.”
Rey Ortega lifted her TCU and slipped it over her head. Dean was accustomed to seeing the faceless battle helmets, but he suddenly felt exposed without his own TCU.
“Open a private channel to my comlink,” he ordered. “I don’t know who might be listening. I don’t want bloodshed, but if you have to step in, don’t hesitate to do whatever is necessary.”
“Roger that, Commander.”
The captain’s voice was sharp and mechanical from the battle armor’s exterior speakers. The sound had none of the warmth Dean had heard in Rey Ortega’s voice. Without his own armor, he felt excluded somehow from the fraternity of his fellow Recon Specialists, but he forced himself to ignore his feelings of regret and fear as he moved quickly down the hallway.
Dean turned the corner and found six armed guards. They were naval-enlisted personnel with Martin 3A defense pistols. The guards had lined the hallway, blocking the path of a group of operators. Dean recognized Esma but gave a quick shake of his head when she spotted him. The last thing he wanted was for the guards to realize they had a connection that was more than profess
ional.
“What’s going on here?” Dean asked.
One of the enlisted men, a corporal with red hair and pale skin, barked a reply: “We have orders to hold these operators here.”
“Well, I’m changing that order,” Dean replied.
“Can’t do that, Major. This will all be over soon, and things can get back to normal,” the corporal said.
“These operators are needed for an important mission—” Dean began.
“It doesn’t matter,” the red-haired corporal snarled, turning his back on the operators and pointing his pistol at Dean’s chest. “Now stand back, Major, or I’ll do what I have to do.”
“Are you threatening me, Corporal?” Dean said, stepping forward boldly, even though there was a watery feeling in his gut and his mind kept flashing back to the memory of Colonel Davis lying on the deck with his stomach blown apart. “You think a few frightened Navy pukes with pop guns are going to scare me?”
“I don’t give a damn what scares you, Major. Stand aside or I’ll—”
Dean spun without warning. The corporal fired his pistol out of instinct, but he was too slow. The flechettes missed Dean by inches, but before the guard could fire again, Dean had taken hold of the man’s wrist and pushed the weapon away from his body. Continuing to rotate his hips, Dean spun around with his elbow extended until it smashed into the jaw of the red-headed corporal. There was a pop, and the corporal’s knees buckled. Dean managed to wrench the pistol from the corporal’s hand as he fell.
Dean’s turn left him facing the rest of the guards. He had the pistol in his right hand but kept the weapon pointed at the floor, his left hand tapping his wrist link even though his eyes never left the other armed men in the hallway.
“Let’s all take it easy,” Dean said in a calm voice.
“What the hell, Major?” said one of the guards.
The man was just in the middle of turning his gun away from the operators and toward Dean when Captain Ortega’s Viper platoon rounded the corner and came into view. Dean saw the guard’s eyes go wide at the sight of the armored Recon platoon.
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