"Taylor, we were just discussing our agenda."
"For what exactly, Sir?"
"For the entire fleet. I am posing the question, what do we do now? We made it this far, and we seem to be safe for now. But what are our ambitions? What avenue do we want to pursue now?"
It was the big question none of them had an answer to, and Taylor was no exception, yet they all looked to him.
"I hate to say it, Colonel," Dupont added, "but it was you and your alien friend who got us out here, and we are all very grateful for that. You saved millions of lives. But you must have had some idea or intention for what we could do when we got this far?"
Taylor shrugged and shook his head.
"You see," Bletchley quickly joined in, "He's just a dumb soldier who jumped first and leaves us with the consequences!"
Nobody doubted Bletchley's assessment of the situation even though it made Huber shudder to hear him being quite so repulsive.
"Well?" Bletchley asked Taylor.
"Well what?"
"What have you got to say for yourself?"
"Well, I ain't no soldier, I'm a marine. And you ain't no Prime Minister, just an asshole."
Huber laughed, and several joined in which belittled Bletchley to the level he slumped back in his chair.
"In all seriousness, Taylor. For whatever reason we have arrived here, now we have some big questions that need answering. We have to start working together. So, Taylor, I don't care what ideas you did or did not have, start thinking. Where do we go from here?"
The room looked to him for answers, as if he was their great big hope for an answer to all their prayers. It was a responsibility he never wanted. He took a deep breath and thought about it for a moment. He laid out all of the options in his head as though he were planning tactics on a battlefield, and finally he spoke.
"Seems to me we have just three options..."
All eyes were stuck on him, awaiting a miracle answer.
"Option one. We can try and find a way home. That would make coming out here pointless at this stage, and we'd be annihilated. Option two. We continue to operate as a fleet and stay on the move so that we are hard to track, and carry on living like we are right now. Finding resources to keep us active and alive will be tough, and we risk running out of gas in the middle of space somewhere and not being able to do a thing about it..."
He paused for some time.
"And option three?" Huber asked anxiously.
"We find a replacement Earth. A planet that can sustain life and we can rebuild on. Somewhere with the resources to keep us going."
Nobody said a word for a full minute while they considered that last possibility.
"Are those really the only options we have?"
Taylor nodded to the Admiral.
"Not that I am glad we have not come to a quick conclusion here, but I can't say I am eager to pursue any of them."
"No, Sir. I wasn't eager to fight an almost unbeatable enemy. I wasn't keen to go into space at all. And I certainly never wanted to leave Earth behind. We have to work with the hand we've been dealt."
"The hand you dealt us," added Bletchley.
"Yes," Taylor replied, "The hand that kept you alive so that we could be here today to make this decision. I don't like it anymore than you do, but I'd do it again. We have to accept that we lost. We gave Erdogan everything we had to give, and he brushed us off like we were nothing. He isn't Karadag, and he isn't Demiran. He is an entirely different kind of bastard who is smarter, faster, stronger, and with a far greater force than we had ever seen. We lost. I lost. Does that make you feel any better?"
Taylor never thought he would hear the words come out of his mouth. Losing was a prospect as alien to him as his friend Jafar was.
"I went toe to toe with Erdogan, and he beat me as easily as he beat the armies of Earth. I would never wish to face him again, nor wish it on any man."
It was in this moment those around the table finally began to appreciate how dire their situation was. They had relied on Taylor for so long that his acceptance of defeat and assessment of their situation hit them hard.
"So three options?" Dupont asked, "One that sees us dead, one probably dead, and one with a new chance at life? Seems pretty simple to me."
Huber nodded.
"I wish it were that simple. Do you know how rare habitable planets are? We'd be lucky to find one in ten years of searching."
"Maybe," said Taylor, "or maybe our luck hasn't entirely run out. So we set our overall mission to find a planet we can live on. Up till then, we are living the only other option; option two. Maybe we get lucky, or maybe we at least get a few months or a few years of peace aboard these ships."
"How long can we last out here?" Bletchley asked.
"This exodus, as desperate as it was, had been well planned. We have refinery ships, factories, and processors. We can mine a few places along the way that won't be hard to find and go on for a few decades easily, providing the fleet remains intact, as we know it. The incident with the Goeben earlier cast major doubts on the security and longevity of this fleet. Those are doubts we must overcome."
Taylor didn't like having the responsibility placed on his shoulders one bit, but he knew he was only stating the obvious. It was the only course of action they could take.
"Okay, show of hands," said Huber, "Do we follow Colonel Taylor's plan, to search for a planet we can settle on? This is a mission that could take us many years, if it ever succeeds at all. But if we do it, and let every person in the fleet know it, at least they will have hope; that somewhere down the line we might rebuild our homes on some new version of Earth, as farfetched as that may be."
Every hand in the room went up within seconds. It was clear that nobody had a better idea.
"Okay, motion passed."
"Sir, if I may?" Taylor asked.
Huber agreed.
"What do we know about our surroundings? What scouting of the system has been done?"
Huber looked confused.
"You think I would send another ship out or break up the fleet, after what happened at that old gateway or whatever the hell the damn thing was? We cannot afford losses, and we do at least have safety in numbers. If I send out scouts, and they are ambushed, you know how quickly those alien vessels move. There is a good chance we could lose any number if they go it alone or in small numbers."
"And to be in unknown territory without information or advance warning of activity, it's suicide."
Huber nodded.
"A few weeks back I would have agreed with you, Colonel. But we don't live in that world any longer. This isn't some Marine expedition."
Taylor said nothing. He had no energy left in him to argue.
"No. We have a plan now, and we will implement it, but first things first. Let’s secure the damn fleet. I want sweeps of every vessel. Thorough sweeps. I don't care how long it takes; I want it done and done properly. I will not tolerate another repeat of the Goeben. I want Krys agent scanners operational and looking for spies within the fleet. Let's get this locked down, or none of us is safe."
That was at least something Taylor could agree on.
"Taylor, I am placing you in command of this purge. Yes, a purge. Purge the fleet of all alien presence."
"Except for one."
"Yes, except for one," he replied.
"On that note," added Bletchley, "You have an alien walking freely among the fleet when we have already discussed the dangers of such things. It has access to you and key officials, as well as the Washington, the Capitol ship of this fleet," he turned to Huber. "Will you allow this to go on, Admiral?"
Huber opened his mouth to speak, but a croaky and coarse voice growled at the door.
"No one lays a finger on Sergeant Jafar, and nobody questions his loyalty."
They turned to see that it was General White. He was supporting himself with a crutch. He had a dressing around his head and his other arm in a sling. He limped into the room, and it was
clear that he was in agony. Only his raw determination kept him going forward.
"Glad to see you up on your feet, General," said Huber.
Taylor immediately got up and offered White his seat, which he gladly took.
"Didn't know you'd made it, Sir."
"There's fight in me yet, Taylor."
White got as comfortable as he could and then finally glared at Bletchley.
"You were saying?" he finally asked.
Bletchley grumbled and coughed to clear his throat. "I was merely posing the question that..."
He stopped on seeing the look White was giving him.
"Good," replied White, "I am glad that is resolved. Taylor?"
"Yes, Sir."
"You have your orders, and you are in command, remember! You can't do it all, or you'll end up looking like me."
"Impossible," he replied with a smile.
"Delegate, Colonel. It is your responsibility to ensure it is done, not to do it yourself. Delegate and then get some rest. That's an order, you hear?"
"Aye, aye, Sir."
They looked back to Huber for direction.
"Right now, this is about consolidation," he stated, "Repair any damage to the ships, and give care to the wounded. Clear all enemy presence, and get everything on the top line. You all know what you have to do."
Taylor got up to leave and noticed Admiral Huang heading quickly for the door. He raced to keep up with him.
"Admiral Huang, Sir?"
Huang turned to acknowledge him but did not stop so that the two carried on walking side by side.
"What can I do for you, Colonel?"
"Sir, I wanted to ask you something?"
"Go on."
"Would you have fired on the Washington or her support vessels? Would you really have fired on the fleet because of a dispute over command?"
"I am not sure that it matters anymore, Colonel, for that time has been and gone. What concern is it of yours?"
"I just want to know who I can rely on when the shit hits the fan. Because if you’re the kind of back stabber who would fire on his own people, then you're no better than the Krys agents who could turn on you at a moment's notice."
Huang suddenly stopped, and Taylor could see his was utterly shocked that anyone had dared speak to him in such a way.
"Are you questioning my loyalty?"
"Yes I am," Taylor replied sternly, "I've dealt with enough shit from enough people to know I need people at my back who I can rely on. I know I can rely on Admiral Huber and General White. Sometimes they can be sons of bitches, but that's okay. So are you the kind of officer who can be a son of a bitch or a real murdering bastard?"
Huang didn't know how to respond.
"Here's how it's gonna be. I'll respect your rank and command while you act in a manner deserving of it. The moment you turn on our people, and I do mean our people, by that I mean every person in this fleet, I will end you."
Taylor then carried onward and left Huang standing speechless in the corridor. As Taylor walked away, he heard Huber step up to the man and say, "You listen to Taylor. Many men haven't and paid the price."
Taylor didn't want to pick a fight. He only hoped his comments would be enough to keep Huang in line. The loss of his own people that day made him truly appreciate how valuable all their lives were, and how they could not afford to fight one another. He walked on down to the galley to get some much-needed food. As he entered, he could see Eli Parker sitting alone and deep in thought. So much so, she didn't even notice his presence.
He simply stood and watched her for a moment. Her shirt had a long line of stitches where she had recently repaired it. Her hair was tied back, and a cut on her forehead was covered over with a small dressing. Her knuckles were red from the chafing of her gloves, and yet he looked down to see her boots were polishing to a mirror finish. Every attention she had made to keep up her presentation, despite the raggedness it could not conceal. It brought a smile to his face that she tried so hard. But he wondered then if it was simply training kicking in or if she really cared.
Somebody paced up beside him and stopped shoulder to shoulder. He turned to see that it was Major Moye.
"You care about your people more than I was led to believe," he stated, "I judged you by your reputation."
"Really? And what is that?"
"Many things, and some that are true, but I was led to believe you threw away life for your own personal glory. I see now that is not the case."
He offered out his hand, and Taylor gladly accepted it.
"How are your people doing, Major?" he asked.
He shook his head. "Not good. I've got thirty-eight left of a Company. Maybe a few more will recover. Look at me, a Major in charge of a platoon."
"Been there, and it's not a happy place. We all paid a heavy price today, your people more than most. I won't lie. We aren't a lot better off ourselves. I would offer you a position within my Regiment, but the truth is, we need competent combat officers such as yourself. We need field officers."
"But with so little left to command?"
"It's time to replenish the ranks, Major. We've got three million people in this fleet. The vast majority are civilians. Many are needed for vital occupations, but a lot are not. It's time we started recruiting and getting some fresh blood into our ranks."
"And you think we can do it? You think we can train up a new generation? I have so many losses I need to replenish, that by the time I were through, I would not recognise my own Company. They would be greener than you can imagine."
"Not with us to guide them. We don't have a choice in the matter. Train up new fighters or simply run out. Come on, join me."
He went forward and took a seat before Parker. As she looked up and saw him, her face suddenly lit up as if all colour was restored to it. Within a second of sitting down, a plate of food was slid before him from Abbot who took a seat beside him and several others the other side. It was like a family sitting down for their meal just as it always had been, and that gave Taylor hope.
Chapter 9
Becker looked like a stone statue as he stood opposite Kelly. They were listening to the other officers bicker and argue over the next course of action.
"Captain, what do you think?" one of them asked Becker.
He finally turned and looked at the man.
"I want them to suffer."
That was all he said.
"Now we're talking," replied Kelly, "You, what was your name again?" he asked the man who had finally drawn a word from Becker.
"Lieutenant Oster."
"And you?" he asked as he pointed at the next one.
"Lieutenant Thalberg."
He only looked at the last, expecting him to answer.
Lieutenant Decker."
"You're all tank commanders, is that right?" Kelly asked.
They nodded in acknowledgement.
"So, without meaning any offence. You have fought the wars from the confines of armoured vehicles in squadrons of what, hundreds of other vehicles in regular formations, and taking orders from a central command? What the hell do you know about fighting a guerrilla war?"
"How dare you..." Decker began.
"No!" Becker shouted and slammed his fist down on the table.
They were silenced.
"Kelly is right. It doesn't lessen what any of us have done these past years, but he does highlight a major flaw in our knowledge and abilities to take on this kind of fight."
"Well what do we do?" Oster asked.
"Rely on the only man here who actually knows what he's talking about," he said, looking towards Kelly.
"That old man? He isn't one of us. He isn't even a soldier anymore," Oster complained.
"Neither are you," said Becker, "We still have our uniforms and some hardware, but there is no army, and no government. We're a bunch of survivors who have come together for the apocalypse. Whatever ranks we hold, and whatever you think you might be entitled to, it doesn't mean anything an
ymore. None of it matters. All that matters is what skills you have and what ability and resolve to use those skills. Am I right?" he asked Kelly.
"But we're a few hundred against whole armies," said Oster.
"God is not on the side of the big battalions, but of those who shoot best," replied Kelly.
"Great, another piece of philosophy. That's not going to win any battles, is it?" asked Oster, "What help is God? He hasn't done anything for us this far."
"Maybe not," said Decker, "but Kelly is right in the sentiment at least."
"Thalberg, what do you think?" Becker asked, "You haven't said a word."
"If Kelly is skilled at this sort of fighting, then we must rely on his judgement."
It was the decider.
"Okay," said Becker, "I want to hit these alien bastards ASAP. I don't want them thinking the World went out without a fight. Kelly, I am putting you in charge of organising and planning the first attack. I want to be involved in the process from start to finish, and will have ultimate say in what does and does not happen. Are we clear?"
"You got it, Captain."
"Then let's get started."
"Okay. First thing's first. This base we have here, the Drachenburg. It is a good strong base of operations. It has a wealth of resources and can sustain us for some time. But none of that will matter if the enemy gain knowledge of its presence. Nothing will stop them from busting this bunker. We cannot take them in a straight up fight. You can't think of yourselves as regular soldiers anymore. You do not present yourselves for battle, and you never give your position away. Every action we make takes place at a minimum of five klicks from this facility. Do I make myself clear?"
They all nodded in agreement.
"That must be an absolute blanket rule. We do not take shots at passing craft. We do not attack passing convoys or troops within that area. Now this is a pretty isolated place, so I wouldn't expect us to see much of them out here, but even so. Nobody fires a weapon or engages the enemy within five klicks unless their lives are in danger. If this facility is discovered, then we are likely finished."
Battle Earth X Page 13