Lost Dawns: A Short Prequel Novel to the Lost Millinnium Trilogy

by Mike Shepherd

  Lost Dawns

  A brief Prequel Novel to

  The Lost Millennium Trilogy

  You’ve met Launa and Jack as they battle in the Neolith

  Now see them as they meet, get to know each other, and train

  in an alternate universe

  seventeen years ago in our lost past

  Published by KL & MM Press at Barnes and Noble

  Copyright 2016 Mike Moscoe

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Table of Content

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Kris Longknife’s Replacement: Grand Admiral Sandy Santiago on Alwa Station.

  Coming in January 2017, in e-book

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Sample Chapters from a Rough Draft of Kris Longknife - Emissary

  Note to reader, much of this may end up on the cutting room floor of the second draft, so enjoy it now.

  Coming in May 2017, in e-book

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Ray Longknife - Enemy Unknown. First book of the Iteeche War

  Coming in March, 2017 in e-book

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  PROLOGUE

  A year ago

  The young scientist stood up, and turned his back on the microscope and its evidence.

  "It did not work."

  He stepped aside. The older man came, took off his glasses, stared at the screen of the electron microscope. He fiddled with its dials, as if changing the focus might somehow change the results.

  "It did not work," the senior scientist finally echoed. His words held a finality that replaced the tentativeness of the junior.

  "Maybe it is just as well." The young man shrugged.

  "The Leader wants it." The old one's eyes went hard with duty and determination.

  "Yes." The subordinate did not add the `but,' though it hung in the air between them. The older man's fingers circled the mottling that disfigured his face, marking him for death. "The Leader wants this and the Leader will have it." His gaze wandered the room, settling on the ceiling fan as it toiled to stir the hot, humid air of the laboratory.

  His voice became distant. "I have buried my wife. I have buried my sons and my daughters and their children. It is time for those people to stand beside a grave."

  The young man turned away from him, his stomach in knots. If the Leader had his way there might be too few left alive to dig the graves. He looked again at the microscope.

  Maybe the Leader’s will could not be done.

  The older man's eyes came into focus. "I have an idea."

  Yesterday

  Bakuza Qwabes shivered as the perspiration ran down his back. The heat and humidity of the day did not reach into the marble and granite inner sanctum. Cold seeped up through the soles of his shoes from the very stones he walked on. But the temperature had nothing to do with the shivers Bakuza struggled to suppress.

  Across the vast expanse of unfeeling stone was the Leader. Once this had been the largest church in Christendom. Now it was the seat of power for most of Africa. For Bakuza, whose only faith was in the will of the people and service to the Leader, the building was being put to better use – or so he had said many times.

  Only now he approached the leader for the first time. Now he walked the cold marble. Enormous slabs of granite rose on either side, drawing his eyes upwards, shrinking him to nothingness. He could hear men working in the offices that had been built into the side naves, but his eyes were drawn straight ahead. Where the sanctuary had once been, where the altar had stood, now loomed a massive stone table that the Leader used as a desk. Behind it sat a huge ebony chair, its back decorated with carvings of Africans being brutalized by Europeans.

  "You have good news for me." The Leader did not turn to face Bakuza, yet his strong baritone filled the huge room, reverberating off the stone walls, shaking Bakuza's soul.

  "Our laboratories have created the weapon you called for."

  "You have done well. The Europeans did nothing while AIDS ravaged our people. Now let them suffer from it. Let them bury their dead."

  The fast acting, airborne plague that the laboratory now grew was not exactly the AIDS virus the Leader had demanded. Bakuza did not correct the Leader, just as he did not pass along the fear of the younger biologist that this plague might not leave enough alive to bury the dead. Bakuza had never before stood in the presence of the Leader, but he knew not to contradict him.

  The chair swivelled around. Bakuza Qwabes saw the Leader's face for the first time.

  His master’s satisfied grin was that of a hungry lion that sees its next kill. "You have done very well, my son. We will find a place for you on my personal staff."

  1

  Cadet Launa O'Brian double timed up the familiar gray steps of Washington Hall. Behind her, spring was launching its first belated offensive, breaking out into a riot of smells and colors with plants too weak to camouflage a tank or track. Behind her, as she passed the second floor, half the classrooms were empty, silent proof West Point's class of 1999 would be half the size of the class that saw the decade in.

  But it was not Launa's way to look behind her. She was one of four in the running for First Captain. She would not be the first woman to command the Brigade, but it would be one thing the Colonel had never done. The look on her father's face when she first led the Brigade in review would be something to remember for a lifetime.

  She halted before the Commandant's office. Positive no infraction had caused the summons from her afternoon class, still, she prepared herself for any eventuality. Quickly, she ran one hand over her hair. She had spent much of her high school years searching for a hairstyle that was efficient but feminine; the jog across campus should not have put one honey blond lock out of place.

  Firmly she pulled down her uniform tunic, its tight lines were not broken by unmilitary excess baggage. She prided herself on the small breasts of a gymnast. She had been building upper body strength since the day she turned thirteen and decided to be a soldier. That month a woman had shown she could command men in combat down Panama way. Kuwait had given her more role models. Three years back, Congress had finally revised the law. After graduation, it was "Airborne All the Way" for Launa and command of a rifle platoon.

  She modified the angle of her hat brim. Confident she looked the part of a Commander of the Brigade, she squared her corners as she marched to the door, opened it and entered the Commandant's outer office.

  Before she could report her presence, Mrs. Hammon, the civilian secretary, recognized her and keyed the intercom. "She's here." Launa got a worried, hurried and distracted look and a quick, "Please go in."

  That was not what Launa expected. Facing the oak door that sealed the inner sanctum, she had a moment of apprehe
nsion, but she knocked three times and entered by the numbers. Closing the door behind her, she smartly stepped off the two paces to the front of the Commandant's desk. If someone took a protractor to the angles of her hand salute, they might find that she was off by a quarter of a degree here or there. Then again, they might not.

  Launa would take the bet.

  "Cadet O'Brian reporting as ordered, Sir." She held her salute until Major General William G. Patterson, USA, returned it, then assumed the exaggerated brace she had become used to over the last three years.

  "At ease, cadet."

  She switched to that tight military posture that was anything but. Without moving a facial muscle, she let her eyes take in the third person in the room.

  A man lounged against the wall to the left of the General's desk. He looked to be about five eight, three inches taller than her and maybe eight years her senior. His frame did not show an ounce of excess fat or muscle. The uniform of an U.S. Army captain showed jumper's wings, Combat Infantry Badge and a Ranger patch. Somebody thought he was good. Growing up Army, she had met enough careerists whose "merit badges' only showed they were good at getting their ticket punched. She would reserve judgment. The name badge said BEAR.

  "Cadet." The General got her undivided attention. "You are the leader of a Neolithic town of 2,000 souls. One thousand are adult females and males, farmers, herders and crafts workers, experienced in physical labor and capable of providing military service." Launa noted the General neutered each noun.

  "Your people have no military training or background. Your enemy is light cavalry, born to the saddle, the bow and to conquest. How would you defend?" The General fixed her with a gaze that could melt obsidian.

  Launa blinked, and froze her face before a frown could betray her puzzlement.

  What kind of silly drill was this? Something like this had come up last week in an Anthropology Lecture. Major Henderson had outlined the challenges to the Old Europeans of 4,000 B.C. with the same brevity that she used in her Battle and Tactics lectures.

  Launa had flashed anger at a feminine led society that failed so miserably to meet a new challenge. She had recognized the futility of her anger when a classmate whispered, "Chill out, Launa. What's the use of being pissed at folks that have been dust for 6,000 years?"

  She had laughed with him, and regained her perspective.

  In the time it took her to swallow and moisten a pair of suddenly dry vocal cords, she began outlining the tactical solution she had devised that night over a coke with her "Chill Out" buddy.

  "Archeological finds show that the opposition was lightly equipped cavalry. They used short bows as a missile weapon. When they closed for shock combat they used javelins and dagger length bronze short swords. Since they lacked the stirrup, shock weapons would only be used at the dismount. For all practical purposes, that's also the best way to use the bow. What we have here are dragoons, the horse providing strategic mobility with tactical engagement taking place on foot."

  Out of the corner of her eye, Launa caught the Captain covering his mouth with his hand, but his cheeks betrayed the smirk he was trying to cover. Just who was this guy? As her cadet buddy said, these folks were 6,000 years dead. The General might as well have been a bronze statue for all the reaction he showed.

  "I'd arm the light infantry with slings. Slingers have several advantages. Many herders would have used it to protect their sheep from predators. This weapon is deadly in the hands of either a man or woman. David reputedly brought down an experienced warrior at an age when his upper body strength would not have been more than the average woman's. Slings have a range advantage over a short bow, possibly quite significant, depending on the weight of the stone. Lastly, it's all non-strategic material."

  Launa found her excitement rising. She enjoyed sinking her teeth into this kind of problem.

  "My shock troops would use pikes ten to sixteen feet long. I'd employ a mixed tactical formation of men and women. The enemy is light cavalry; their body armor is probably limited to boiled leather. It's unlikely the horses have any. Such a force cannot carry home a charge against a wall of pikes. Once the horsemen are afoot, the pikes can deal with their short swords at a reasonable distance. The Old Europeans would not have to pay the heavy civic price the macho hoplite demanded for facing his enemy at short spear point."

  Launa hoped her use of "macho" would not get her in trouble. However, the heavy psychological price of shock combat on a community had to be considered. Men who'd faced off with other men at sword point expected a lot when they got home. And women were always the ones at home giving.

  According to Major Henderson, the women and men of the mid-Neolithic lived as peers. Launa needed a combat system that would let them fight and, if necessary, die the way the Major said they lived.

  Personally, Launa questioned the historical validity of the Major's lecture. Peaceful kingdoms were for fairy tales. She had taken it as a challenging tactical problem. Based on her knowledge of six thousand years of man's inhumanity, she had formulated a solid solution to the problem.

  Launa's enthusiasm for this exercise was having its impact. She realized her stance, while never exactly breaking the minimum requirements of "At Ease," had relaxed. Her head bobbed a bit, in cadence with her words.

  The General sported the merest hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth.

  The Captain watched her intently, the lines around his eyes becoming more pronounced; he no longer lounged against the wall.

  Launa launched into the final element of her tactical system.

  "I'd put the engineers of my city state to work ditching the perimeter of the town. The dirt would form a wall. This fortification would serve several purposes. The slingers would have a height advantage over the bowmen, giving them extra range. The wall would channelize the assault. I'd form the pikes to protect the entrances with their flanks on the walls. With pickets stationed to give early warning, no light cavalry mustered could take my fortress."

  Launa let a tight, proud grin cross her face. She was as willing to defend the elegance of her solution as she was to defend the town.

  For a moment, the General rocked slowly in his chair. Then a smile broke across his face. He nodded to the Captain. "That says it all. It's within one percent of my own deployment. You got any questions for her?"

  The Captain's mouth was a stern frown. "You assume the opposition is armed with a short bow. Why?"

  If he wanted to shoot questions at her, she could shoot answers right back. Digging in for a rapid fire exchange, Launa resumed a taut stance, but turned her head to face him. "First, short bows are the standard cavalry weapon. Mounted troopers would find a long bow unwieldy. Second, archaeologists simply report bows found in chieftain tombs, not long bows."

  He paused only a moment to weigh her response. "Archaeologists are not soldiers. Do you trust their assessment of any weapon they find?"

  "No, Sir. I do not." Launa quickly conceded the point.

  The Captain gave her a shallow nod, and resumed the questioning. "Why not equip your citizen soldiers with bows?"

  "To be effective with a bow requires long hours of practice. This usually means a professional warrior class. I want to avoid that. Also, I'd expect to find experience with the sling in the labor pool."

  "Wouldn't the range of a long bow be worth the social price?

  "Not in my opinion. Also, a composite bow requires technology I would not expect to find then and which I do not personally have." Launa hoped that would settle the matter. This guy really liked bows and arrows.

  "How many miles can you run?"

  "I do four miles in thirty minutes, every day, Sir."

  "How many chin ups?"

  "A set of 30," Launa paused for a second, "wearing a twenty-five-pound weight."

  The Captain turned to the General. "I have no objections, Sir."

  The General's face got somber as he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He leaned forward in his chair, his hand
s folded on the desk in front of him. "Sit down, Launa. You too, Jack."

  As the Colonel's daughter, Launa had relaxed around generals, their wives and family, with a natural familiarity that bred comfort. For the last three years, when Cadet O'Brian sat in a general's presence, it was at a brace. Knowing her place gave the position a psychological comfort it lacked physically. Now, suddenly, she was unsure. Generals did not address cadets by their first name.

  As she fumbled with her thoughts and her chair, she watched the Captain out of the corner of her eye. He folded himself into his seat and sat with the poise of a lion, comfortable, alert, at rest – yet ready to explode into action. She tried to imitate him.

  "Launa, I knew your father. He served under me two, no three times. I knew your dad too, Jack. You couldn't ask for a better boonie rat up country in Nam. Too bad about him." The General paused for a moment and studied them both. Launa had the uncanny feeling he was trying to memorize them. Finally, he reached for a large manila envelope on his desk. He pulled out a thick sheaf of papers. Glancing at them, he grimaced and laid them down in front of him.

  "Launa, I have your orders for active duty. It doesn't say where or why. This little yellow note, hand-written by the Chief of Staff himself, says I don't have to give them to you unless you volunteer. I've been involved in some peculiar goings on in my thirty-eight years with this man's . . ., this person's Army." He scowled as he corrected himself.

  "Jack Walking Bear tells me that you are being detached to a unit that is involved in a contingency plan. It may never be used. If it is activated, it will be at the personal command of the President. If these orders are ever executed, and the Captain refuses to tell me anything about what those orders may be. . ." The glare the General gave Bear should have incinerated him where he sat. The Captain remained impervious. "If these orders are ever executed, you will be considered as dead to all who ever knew you."