by Sam Schal
Damn, she didn’t want to ask but she had to. “Any members of FirstBatt, ma’am?” Her voice was soft with concern.
“No. However, I have a feeling among those being rounded up will be your friends Brodsky and Hines.”
Good!
Ashlyn grinned, satisfaction filling her. “That is most welcome news, ma’am.”
“I thought you might think so. I certainly did.” With a smile that matched Ashlyn’s, Okafor stood. “That, too, is to be kept to yourself until JAG or my office says otherwise. Let’s not risk tipping our hand just yet.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good.” She waited as Ash stood. “I’m sure you have something you’d rather be doing right now, Major. Dismissed.”
Ashlyn braced to attention and left the office. Okafor had been right. There were several things she wanted to be doing just then. She wanted to see the Devil Dogs’ new orders and the intelligence material included with them. She also wanted to spend time with her son. There wouldn’t be much spare time over the next two weeks and she needed to spend it with him. She had to let him know that she was going to do her best to come home to him.
God, let me keep that promise this time.
MOVE OUT!
CHAPTER EIGHT
ASHLYN LEANED BACK and rubbed her face as if that simple action could scrub away the almost overpowering exhaustion that gripped her. As she did, she sighed heavily. Somehow, without her knowing it, night had slipped away and dawn now crept into the room.
And she had yet to find her bed.
Breathing deeply, she pushed away from the desk and slowly stood. Her muscles screamed in protest, reminding her it had been hours since she had last moved. Hours? It seemed like days. Without meaning to, she had stayed up all night, reviewing her orders and the reports that had accompanied them, trying to digest all she read.
Stretching her arms over her head and arching her back, Ash worked to ease the kinks out of her shoulders. Then she walked to the window. She rolled her head from side to side, wincing slightly as her neck cracked. She simply couldn’t believe it was morning. The last time she’d checked, it had been two. She’d poured herself another mug of coffee before promising herself she would go to bed soon. All she wanted to do was read one more report. . . .
Now the sun crept over the horizon, painting the sky with beautiful yellows and pinks. In the distance, the greens and golds of the trees seemed to come alive. Bird song filled the air, calling to her with the hope a new day brought. How magical dawn was and how beautiful.
She reached out, touching the window with the palm of her hand. Sunrise had always been her favorite time of day. How badly she had missed the simple pleasure of watching the dawning of a new day those nightmarish years on Sirocco. Now she could enjoy that magical time once again. But it wouldn’t last. All too soon, she would be shipping out and there were no guarantees she would return. They were at war and, in war, people died. All she could hope for was that when her time came, her death helped secure a safe and peaceful future for her son and others like him.
Stop it!
Frowning, she forced down the doubt and the fear trying to worm its way into her belly. Any Marine with an ounce of common sense knew she might die in battle. That was part of being a Marine. But that wasn’t what ate at her. There was still that nagging doubt born from betrayal that plagued her. She had to get a handle on it now, before it managed to take root.
Add in exhaustion and worry about whether or not the Devil Dogs would be ready for the mission and it was no wonder she was having doubts. But this was a new day, one in which those who had betrayed her no longer held positions of power. More importantly, those who had taken their places were dedicated to protecting Fuercon and its interests. She knew them and knew she could trust them.
A new day had dawned for her, figuratively and literally. It was up to her to remember that. She had to remember that each dawn promised a new day with new opportunities. Ash had grown up believing every individual had the almost sacred duty to make the most of the new day. For as long as she could remember, she had tried to do just that. Now, after the seemingly endless night of her time on Tarsus, it was especially important to make the most of each new day. One way to do that was to be the best commander the Devil Dogs had ever had and to come home safe to her son.
A soft knock at the study door interrupted her musings. She shook off the negative thoughts and turned. As she did, the door slid open and her mother stepped inside. Like her, Elizabeth wore a pair of BDUs. Unlike hers, however, her mother’s were crisp and fresh. Her dark hair was pulled back into a braid and she carried two mugs of coffee in her hands.
Without a word, Elizabeth crossed to where Ashlyn stood. She handed one of the mugs to her daughter and then glanced at the desktop strewn with data chips. For a moment, she stood there, studying Ash, a slight frown playing at the corners of her mouth.
“I should probably be worried that you haven’t been to bed,” she said as she motioned to the sofa against the far wall. “But considering that I only managed to get a couple of hours of sleep myself.” Now she shrugged. “I assume you were reviewing your orders and the information that went with them.”
Ash nodded and then sipped her coffee, almost sighing in pleasure. Then she settled at one end of the sofa and watched as her mother sat at the opposite end and angled so they faced one another.
“I was.” Another sip of coffee. “And I was trying to figure out the best way to get the battalion ready. Whether we want to admit it or not, there are bound to be some members of the Devil Dogs who still have doubts about me as their CO. Add in two new company commanders and several senior officers and senior NCOs who need to be replaced or reassigned and we aren’t anywhere near the state of combat readiness I’d like.”
Elizabeth opened her mouth to respond and then closed it. Ash smiled when she did. She had no doubt her mother had been about to tell her she had nothing to worry about. That would be Elizabeth’s first reaction as mother. But, as Ashlyn’s commanding officer, she would know better. There never had been and never would be a unit where someone didn’t doubt its CO at some point.
“True, but there are several things you need to remember. First off, you’re lucky Pawlak was their CO before you. You know he kept them as close to combat ready as he could. Yes, there are members of the battalion he had concerns about. I don’t know of any unit larger than a squad where there isn’t at least one member who doesn’t quite fit in, at least at first blush.
“Second, because of who the Devil Dogs are and the missions they are sent on, most of the battalion are combat veterans. A great many of them served with you before, so they know they can trust you to lead them into battle. The others, they’ll learn. Remember how you felt before going into your first battle under Pawlak’s command. You didn’t know him well and you weren’t sure how he would do under fire. Those concerns disappeared pretty damned quickly once the DDs had their boots on the ground.” She waited until Ashlyn nodded.
“Finally, and in a lot of ways most important, every member of the Devil Dogs know you are one of them. They know you’ve earned your rank and that you’ve earned the command. And, by the end of tomorrow, those who might still harbor some doubts will see that the Corps and FleetCom have no doubts about you.”
Ash frowned, unsure what her mother meant and not sure she wanted to know. But then, not knowing could be even worse. She had never been a big fan of surprises and there had been too many of them of late.
“What?” she asked simply. When Elizabeth didn’t answer, she cocked her head to one side and looked at her mother in suspicion. “What are you up to?”
“Let’s just say that General Okafor and the powers that be at FleetCom have decided to make it very clear that they know they have the right person in command of the Devil Dogs and that those responsible for sending you and your people to Tarsus are going to pay dearly for their actions.”
For a moment, Ashlyn didn’t say anything.
The best news she’d had recently was learning it was only a matter of hours, maybe a day, before Sorkowski and O’Brien would be arrested. She would be lying if she said she wasn’t relieved. A lot of the doubt that still lingered would be eased if she saw the two in custody before the battalion shipped out. It would also mean one less distraction on the mission, which was a very good thing.
Then she almost groaned at the thought of having to face the media once JAG announced the arrests. Maybe she could move onboard a ship, any ship, before that happened. . . .
* * *
Another day, another reminder of everything he’d lost.
Admiral Alec Sorkowski (Ret.), sat on the edge of his bed. Resentment filled him as it did most mornings. He missed starting the day onboard his flagship. He had grown used to having a steward there, robe in hand, before he even sat up. A mug of coffee would be waiting on the bedside table and the steward would inform him of anything he felt the admiral might need or want to know.
Then there were the other perks. The additional monies he’d made from his dealings with certain businessmen in the sector had been set aside, for the most part, for his retirement. Now those funds were beyond his reach. Some the JAG investigators had found and others he didn’t dare try to access for fear they’d be discovered. He wasn’t about to let them know just how much he had managed to put away over the years. Not when JAG and most everyone else at FleetCom suddenly seemed to think that bitch Shaw was exactly what they needed instead of dedicated officers like himself.
Shaw!
Just the thought of the woman left a bitter taste in his mouth and it was his own damned fault. He’d chosen not to take direct action when she started being inconvenient. Instead, he’d told that sniveling coward O’Brien to deal with her. All the fool needed to do was file the necessary reports with FleetCom, telling them that the taskforce’s own Marine contingent was more than capable of handling any operations in the sector and recommending Shaw’s SpecOps unit be transferred back to the front lines where it could do the most good. But no. O’Brien had wanted to break the woman. The Arterus mission hadn’t done that and, worse, Shaw and the survivors of her unit managed to survive their two years in the penal colony and were now the darlings of the military.
Well, he wasn’t going to let that bitch be his downfall. She had already cost him his command and his commission. Fortunately for him, JAG had been moving with its usual lack of alacrity. That had given him time to put his own plans in place. By this time tomorrow, he would be long gone from the capital. In another two days, he would be off-world and on his way out of the system. He had a very nice little hideaway purchased with some of the funds he’d made from his extra-curricular activities on that last tour Purchased through an intermediary and with nothing to lead back to him, he would be comfortable there as he assumed a new identity and began a new life well away from these fools who didn’t appreciate all he had done for them.
Standing, he reached for his robe and slid into it. If he wanted to avoid any interruption in his plans, he needed to get moving. He might want to keep one step ahead of the JAG – not very difficult to do, as far as he was concerned – but it was Moreau who worried him. He knew she was much more of a threat than the JAG would ever be. He had known the first time they met that she would just as soon see him dead as to let him live. When he was still in command of the taskforce, he was of use to her. Now he was a loose end that he knew she planned to tie up. He had managed to keep her focused on O’Brien, at least for the moment, but that wouldn’t last.
He planned to be far away before she decided it was time to take him out of the equation.
As he entered the small kitchen, resenting once again the lack of a steward to have coffee waiting for him the moment he woke, the apartment comm beeped softly. A frown darkened his expression. He wasn’t expecting anyone. For a moment, he considered ignoring the signal. But curiosity won out and he activated the comm, blocking video on his end.
“Yes?”
His heart beat a bit faster to see the image that appeared on the comm-screen. A serious faced captain, dressed in the daily uniform of a JAG officer looked out at him.
“Captain Lucas Waymouth to see Admiral Sorkowski,” the younger man said. Nothing about his expression gave any indication about the purpose for his request.
Sorkowski didn’t respond. For one brief moment, he considered telling Waymouth that the Admiral wasn’t there. It was tempting but it wouldn’t work. Building security would verify that he entered the apartment on his own late the night before and that he hadn’t left since then. Besides, he had no doubts JAG had him under surveillance. It was what he would do were their positions reversed. So he might as well admit the man and find out what he wanted this time.
“One moment.”
Sorkowski drew a deep breath and counted slowly to ten. He could do this. He had faced down numerous enemy in the past and had never backed down from a fight. No mere captain was going to intimidate him now and especially not in his own home.
Squaring his shoulders a short time later, he disengaged the locks and opened the door. He felt his mouth draw tight and the color drain from his face at the sight that greeted him. He had expected to find Captain Waymouth. What he hadn’t expected was to see that little weasel, Lt. Liu, and three Marine MPs.
“Admiral Alec Sorkowski?” Waymouth asked formally.
“Yes.”
Instead of bracing to attention and saluting, Waymouth produced a folded sheet of paper and extended it to the admiral. At the same time, he gave a jerk of his head and two of the MPs took up positions on either side of Sorkowski.
“Admiral, you are to consider yourself under arrest. Among the charges, all of which are outlined on the warrant I just presented you, are perjury, tampering with evidence, falsifying reports, collusion with the enemy, complicity in the deaths of ten members of the Fuerconese Marine Corps, misappropriation of funds, abuse of authority, and treason.”
Treason!
His mouth went dry and his knees turned weak. He had expected most of the other charges and knew he could either explain them away or bargain them down to nothing but minor violations of the Code of Military Conduct. But treason! He had never considered the possibility of that charge.
Damn Shaw!
Damn them all.
“Lt. Liu will advise you of your rights under the Code of Military Conduct. Then the MPs will escort you to your room to dress. You will not be allowed contact with anyone until you have been transported and processed into the brig.”
“No!” He jerked his arm free of the grasp of the Marine on his right. “I will not be treated this way. You will contact my attorney and I will surrender myself only after conferring with him.”
He pulled himself up to his full height and put on his best command face. He was damned if he would be marched out of there like a common criminal. He had rank, damn it, and they would damn well respect it.
“Secure him!” Waymouth snapped.
Before Sorkowski could react, the Marines twisted his arms behind him. Security cuffs were quickly fastened around his wrists.
“I’ll have your bars, Captain!”
“You can try, sir.” He turned his attention to the Marines. “Get him out of here.”
Panic filled Sorkowski and he renewed his struggles. “At least let me get dressed. Please.”
“You had your chance, sir. I am not going to risk you trying something foolish that could result in one of my companions being injured.” Waymouth reached out and pulled Sorkowski’s robe together. “I’ll give you that much dignity,” was all he said and signaled for the Marines to lead the admiral away.
Fury gave way to frustration which now gave way to fear. He’d overplayed his hand – again and this time the consequences would be much more than forced retirement. He would be lucky to get away with his life.
Damn it, why hadn’t he left the planet weeks ago?
* * *
Major Thomas O’Brien stepped
off the elevator and looked around. Something was wrong. He could feel it. From the moment he rolled out of bed that morning, things had felt off. But what? Nothing about his small apartment had been out of place. No one had attempted to tamper with his security. A scan of the headlines hadn’t revealed anything either. It had to be his imagination working overtime.
So why wouldn’t the feeling go away?
He crossed the lobby, scanning the area for any sign of trouble. Nothing. The same men and women he saw every morning were coming and going. No one appeared to by paying any more attention to him than normal. One or two, nodded in greeting if he caught their eye but, on the whole, they simply went about their business as if no one else was there with them.
Outside, he turned to his right and started the on the short walk to the transpo station. His eyes darted right and then left, scanning, searching for anything that might seem out of place.
His breath caught and his step faltered as two Marines fell into step on either side of him. Before he could react, a hand closed firmly on his shoulder from behind. A voice, soft but deadly serious spoke in his ear. “Major Thomas O’Brien, you are under arrest. If you try to resist, these Marines will stop you. At the corner, you will turn to your right and we will take you into custody there. Nod your head if you understand.”
He swallowed hard. His hands fisted at his sides. There had to be an alternative to going along like a lamb to the slaughter. All he had to do was choose the right moment to make his move. The Marines would act to keep the civilians around them safe, even if it meant letting him get away. He didn’t relish the thought of being on the run the rest of his life but it was better than the alternative.
“Please try something,” the man to his right growled.
O’Brien canted his gaze upward. As he did, he knew he was lost, at least for the moment. From the cold expression the Marine wore to the way his free hand stayed close to the gun at his hip, O’Brien had no doubt the man wouldn’t hesitate to shoot if he tried to escape. Worse, he had a feeling that the man would shoot to cause the most pain.