War Without Honor (Halloran's War Series Book 1)

by J. R. Geoghan

  “I want a full-scale attack on the Praxxan Earth Defenses by this time tomorrow.”

  One person’s gasp finally broke the tense silence that filled the room for several long moments.

  “Sir, you can’t be serious,” said one Captain in a choked voice.

  “Half the Sol Fleet is undergoing repairs from the last lunar engagement,” added a staffer.

  “We’re still seeing that shortage of mid-range projectiles…” chimed in a third, one of the supply officers.

  The Admiral began. “Ladies and gentlemen, two key items of intel came across my desk in the last hour. First, we have been made aware of unusual activity on Earth in the vicinity of the main Prax command base. Sensors detected an intense surge of antiproton energy—”

  “—A jump drive?” an officer asked.

  Kendall stifled an outburst at the man. He looked around the group, leaning forward and placing his hands on the burnished wood surface of the table. “The Prax operated something using antiproton energy down there this morning. Something very significant. We believe it may have been a weapons test of a new device based on the jump-drive reactor tech. As we are all painfully aware, the Prax are nothing if not ingenious at creating new weapons.”

  “But what could they build that would weaponize an antiproton reactor?” asked a squadron commander.

  Another officer cursed loudly. “You know they’re going to find some way to kill more of us with it.”

  Kendall rapped his knuckles on the table and straightened. “The second piece of intel is that one of our assets on the ground there signaled through his relays yesterday that he was executing an extraction plan the Fleet contracted with him for...years ago, in fact.”

  “What extraction plan?” asked the supply officer.

  “We have spies in among the Prax on Earth?” guffawed Captain Mila.

  Kendall shot her a steely-eyed look. Mila was part of his personal staff and he wasn’t appreciative of her attitude. He kept his eyes on her as he continued, “Yes, we have had extremely limited success infiltrating the Prax, given what they’ve done to the population there. But this asset has been deeply placed without apparent detection—if his reports can be relied upon as authentic.”

  “If,” one of the staff officers said with derision.

  “What’s his plan?” asked Commander Tarsa, one of Kendall’s closest allies in the Fleet and head of one of the flotillas around Mars.

  Kendall paused for effect before looking around slowly. “Secure a defector and return him to the Fleet.”

  Again the silence descended on the room as the officers considered the possibility. Praxxan warriors fought to the death; they were a tight-knit, top-down command society that eschewed contact with the other races. A few Prax moved around the star systems as part of the general background of merchants, miners and pirates, but none of those were military types nor highly educated. Fleet intel agents had identified most of them and interrogated most without meaningful results. For the Fleet to secure a military defector—particularly one from the occupying force on Earth itself—would be a significant coup in the decades-old conflict.

  After the stunned silence had lasted a full minute, Tarsa admitted, “I’m starting to understand your decision. You want to create a diversion.”

  Kendall ran a hand through his hair and nodded. “The planetary defenses in place are going to make it hard for a civilian ship to get away without interdiction. Even the smugglers usually get caught.” He looked around again. “If our man is actually bringing out a Prax defector, I am willing to sacrifice another half-dozen ships to get him out alive.” His voice was hard and brooked no argument from the tense table.

  Eventually someone tried. “Sir, at some point our fleet is going to be unable to fend off a counterattack, with all the losses we are experiencing,” pointed out a staff captain. “Mars itself could be threatened.”

  Kendall nodded abstractly, his tactical mind wandering to the burst of antiproton energy from the Prax base. Hmm.

  Another added, “If we lose Mars we lose the system.”

  Kendall focused on his officers and waved his hands with finality. “Yes, yes, I understand. But we need to take the risk, and the time is short. Commander Tarsa, I want you to lead your squadron in a direct attack, pushing into the Prax fleet beyond Luna and reaching as close to Earth as you can manage—no pulling off when the casualties mount.”

  “That’ll certainly get their attention,” Tarsa replied dryly.

  “Sounds like a Prax battle plan,” observed Mila dryly.

  Kendall ignored her. “Commander Vee, you bring your group up behind Tarsa’s group and try to split the Prax forces enveloping him. With two battle groups in the zone, we stand a good chance of drawing off some of the planetary defense vessels to assist.”

  “It’s going to cost us,” Vee noted with gravity.

  Kendall nodded slowly. “Do your best—you’ll need to be in position by 1300 and sustain your attack through 1800 hours, to give our man a time window to make his escape.”

  “I sincerely hope, whoever he is, that he is successful. A lot of humans are about to die for him and his precious cargo,” Tarsa said heavily.

  Kendall tapped the table. “Dismissed. Report back to me as soon as the groups are ready for departure from the Mars zone.”

  As the group gathered papers and filed out, Captain Mila approached Kendall. “Sorry, sir.”

  His eyes were hard. “I need you with me, Captain. One hundred percent.”

  She averted her eyes at the rebuke. “Sir, we’re down a Captain after Taichi was wounded last engagement.”

  Kendall knew what she was asking. “Captain Kendra was re-assigned to Coloran.”

  “Sir…”

  The Admiral clenched his fists. “Mila, I understand. But it had to be done. Find another Captain for the interim.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  As Mila left, Kendall found himself staring at the wall across the room. Had he made the right decision to relieve Kendra? Or had it been personal? He had hoped that her taking some time away from the battlefront, visiting home, would help.

  He only hoped she’d stay out of trouble.

  Part Four - Running

  Chapter 22

  Rat City

  “You up, Tom?”

  Halloran snapped awake.

  Chandler patted him on the arm, his face still invisible in the gloom. “Easy. We’re all still here.”

  Halloran attempted a yawn but his shoulders burned with fire from the tension and exertion. Plus, his head and ribs still hurt from the pummeling he’d taken. “Ugh. Status?”

  He saw Chandler’s luminous watch dial swing into view. “I tapped Reyes about two hours ago and grabbed a bit of nap myself. Nothing to report. That Axxa guy came around—you can’t miss his shuffling—and looked us over. I think he sees pretty good in the dark.”

  “The Deacon guy?”

  “He’s around here somewhere.”

  They could hear the snoring rising from the room. “Deacon, come here,” called Halloran softly.

  Someone walked over in the blackness. “What? So Axxa tells me your name is Tomalloran?”

  “No, it’s Tom Halloran.”

  “Huh?” Deacon was standing close to them now.

  “Tom. Thomas. That’s my first name. Halloran is my family name.”

  “I don’t understand that. Three names? What’s a ‘first name’ for?”

  “Doesn’t anyone have first names in this place?” Halloran was shaking his head even though no one could see it.

  “So your name is Tom.” Deacon sounded dubious and somewhat annoyed.

  Halloran gritted his teeth, feeling the frustration rising again. “No, call me Halloran.”

  “That kid’s got issues,” offered Chandler, who didn’t have one of those translator devices stuck in his brain and couldn’t follow the conversation. “What, he can’t pronounce your name?”

  Halloran addressed Deacon. “
Let’s have a chat. Why do you call this city ‘Rat City’ rather than its real name? In fact, what is its real name?”

  “That is its real name, at least as long as I’ve been alive. Before the Prax came, maybe it had another name. Karo? I’ve heard something like that.”

  Halloran repeated it. “Karo.”

  “Did he say ‘Cairo?’” Chandler wondered aloud. “The climate would make sense, plus the dark skins. We actually went to Cairo once—vacation. Doesn’t feel like the place I remember, though. Wouldn’t we have known if there’d been a huge cultural shift in Egypt?”

  “You would think. Plus, the Axxa guy talked about something called ‘Observers’—drones. I didn’t see any, but that certainly sounds like advanced tech for the Egyptians.”

  There was a sigh in the darkness, then shoes scraped on the concrete. Deacon slid down the wall next to Halloran. “Look, you need to know something. Axxa came to me last night and told me about a machine the Prax had built, and that they were going to use it today to bring you here. I didn’t want to believe it—I have a mission I’ve been working on for years that was about to end with Axxa defecting to me—but he was insistent. Obviously, the machine worked.”

  Halloran felt a lump in his throat. “We were departing at Pearl—a major naval base in Hawaii—for a demonstration run with foreign officers aboard, when our boat was enveloped by something which transported it to this part of the world. So we’re in Egypt?”

  “I don’t know what Egypt is. Like I said, it’s called ‘Rat City,’ but that’s not what I’m trying to tell you.”

  Chandler spoke up. “What’s he saying? You’re telling him about where we were…so are we in Egypt?”

  “Just tell us, Deacon,” Halloran prompted.

  “You and your ship were brought through time. The future.”

  The inevitability of Deacon’s answer stunned Halloran into silence for several long moments. His world spun. Of course it was insane, but it all made sense. The unfamiliarity of the world, the presence of what was obviously aliens, the language changes.

  Halloran felt Chandler’s hand grab his shoulder insistently. “What’d he say?”

  “Deacon, you sure you don’t have any more of these language interpreter things?”

  “I just had the one, in case I needed it for Axxa and my mission.”

  Halloran exhaled, attempting to process. “Skip, he says that we were brought through time by these red people called ‘Prax’ and that it’s the future now.”

  Chandler cursed under his breath. “It’s worse than I’d thought. I had hoped we were in some sort of third-world country I’d missed on the charts.”

  “With huge red murdering aliens with swords?”

  “Yeah, I guess that was the denial part.” Chandler’s words trailed off. He cursed again for good measure.

  Halloran was sure that he should be more shocked by the revelation, but the past twenty-four hours had worn him to the bone, rendering his mind numb. “How far into the future. Do you know, Deacon?”

  “No.” Deacon stood up. “I’ll find Axxa and see if he knows anything helpful about our pursuit. If the door blows in on us…”

  Halloran closed his eyes. “We fight. We’ve got nothing to lose at this point.”

  “And Halloran?”

  “What?”

  “I’m…I’m sorry. About all this. We’ll get your people out of here somehow. I hope.”

  Chandler stood up. “Well, if I can only understand one side of your conversations, I think I’ll go do my rounds with the crew. At least they speak English.” He moved off, leaving Halloran alone in the dark.

  He turned the situation over in his mind, his arms pulling his knees tight against his chest where his ribs felt better. How far in the future was this? It had to be decades at least. An alien invasion…why had these aliens taken his ship? What could his submarine offer an advanced race from the future? And how had they achieved dominance over the population of the Earth? And why was their massive base in Cairo rather than New York or London? Maybe they had bases in all the big cities. Was there a resistance that this Axxa alien was defecting to and did Deacon work for them? So many questions. But Halloran’s mind returned to the image burned in it of the alien—Praxxan—leader, evil leering face gloating over the death of John Buston and so many others that hadn’t deserved it. These Praxxans were a bloodthirsty race, that was without a doubt. He realized that he and his people were alone in some unknown future, lost to their families and friends—all probably long-dead in this strange time. He wasn’t sure but Halloran knew somehow that they had landed far into the future of Earth. Not decades, but much longer…

  His whirling thoughts centered on Cindy. And baby Jillian. Getting the call from the Navy that he was needed at home immediately, that there’d been an accident. The frantic drive to the hospital, only to find their doctor there telling him that they had died in the ambulance en-route. What was still a fresh wound in his heart was now an ancient news story lost in history. And now, everyone in his crew—the living ones, at least—would suffer the same sense of total loss. It may break them.

  How would he share this? When? Would they be recaptured within the hour and executed, rendering his entire dilemma moot?

  He got to his feet, leaning against the cold wall and rubbing his temples. In all his years as Captain, he had never felt so alone and unable to control the situation. For a long moment, he found himself considering the possibility that being executed might be the best thing for him and his people. That thought lingered, wrapping itself around his mind like tentacles…

  He shook his head violently and smacked the wall with a hand, uttering a curse. For good measure, he punched the concrete to draw some pain and clarity. His fist scraped and tore, sapping his budding anger.

  There were no easy outs. They went forward until they could not.

  He wanted to kill that Praxxan leader, wanted to watch him bleed out on the ground in front of him. If nothing else, that would motivate him to survive. Plus, he wanted to find and kill the Praxxan who’d cut off John’s head.

  They needed a plan. It might be crap, but they needed structure and a destination to shoot towards.

  Axxa was genuinely startled at the sudden appearance of the human at his elbow. “You are stealthy,” he commented with a nod that the human could not see in the gloom.

  Halloran shrugged. “Probably a by-product of living for most of my life in a steel tube underwater where sound tends to carry far. I need to ask some questions.”

  “I had assumed you would come to me at some point.”

  They were standing near the heavy entry door, where Axxa had been keeping watch. He never seemed to tire or show signs of exertion, Halloran sensed.

  “So you’re an alien.” It was the best start he could come up with.

  Axxa changed position slightly. “My people originate in another system.”

  “System? I’m assuming you mean star system.”

  “Of course. My homeworld is approximately sixteen—your numeric system—light years away.”

  “And you can travel to Earth.”

  “And many other places. My people…are warlike. Again, a human concept. We see this condition as it should be. We conquer.”

  Halloran really, really wanted to dig into this philosophy, but he had a larger mission. “Tell me why your people hijacked my ship.”

  “This term ‘hijacked,’ I do not understand it.”

  “Stole. Kidnapped. They moved it from my time to this one.”

  “It is the weapons.”

  “What, the Hyper-Tridents?”

  “Those are the weapons called ‘pure fusion,’ yes?”

  “The warheads on those missiles contain weapons with that classification, correct.”

  Axxa growled. “They—he—will use them to attack the human base on Mars. Murder more of your race.”

  Halloran noted the apparent fact that humans had reached Mars. “You don’t sound too happy abo
ut that for a member of the warlike people.”

  “It is why I left the Prime’s Center…to go to the humans and help them survive.”

  Again, Halloran wanted to press further into this creature’s motivation, in the face of everything they had seen of this people’s killer instinct. But he needed to continue. “So the Trident warheads have strategic value to this boss Praxxan—you called him ‘the Prime’, right—and he wanted them so bad that he figured out a way to get one from the past. How far in past, by the way?”

  “My understanding was hundreds of your years. When the water-ship fleets existed. The Prime has many scientists at his command. My people are skilled at identifying weapons and systems in the possession of other races that may be of value to us, and remaking them in our own image.”

  “Reverse engineering.”

  “I do not understand the term.”

  Halloran sighed. “It’s a term from my time. Companies—nations—became adept at stealing the tech of others and taking it apart, for the purpose of making their own version.”

  “This is an accurate summation.”

  Halloran leaned against the wall next to the Praxxan. “What I don’t get is why you would need a US sub from 2029 to get pure fusion weapons. Aren’t they in common use even in this time?”

  “I can answer that, I think,” said Deacon, who had come up while they were talking.

  It was still pitch-black, and Chandler spoke up nearby. “Captain, I’m here too. And Zhang is with me.”

  “Captain, your conversation is of interest to me,” added the Chinese Admiral.

  “Go ahead, Deacon,” prompted Halloran.

  “So the elders are here and there in Rat City, mostly in hiding due to their lack of usefulness to the Prax. They would be removed if found out. The rest of us pretty much ignore them, since survival is the prime goal. Some elders still work, though they are close to removal by the Prax.”

  “You were talking about nuclear weapons.”