So just after Joe’s mid-day meal, Val-Lar walked into the office Joe was using and set in motion the beginning of the end of the occupation of Earth.
Joe was sitting behind his desk, which was cluttered at all times with datapads, maps, charts, and other bits and pieces that Joe had failed to catalogue properly when a tall, Sabirian female walked into the room. She wasn’t as dark as the other Sabirian’s Joe had met, her skin was almost chocolate brown in colour, and she had very light blue eyes and light brown hair that was tightly curled. She was breathtaking. Joe sat frozen at his desk as she slinked into the room and moved up to the front of Joe’s desk. Her uniform immaculate in presentation, her composure one of confident nonchalance.
Stopping at the edge of the desk, the female looked at Joe’s liaison who was standing nearby. “Ship Master Junior Grade Val-Lar.”
The liaison came to attention. “Communications Officer Ka Tan.”
Joe watched the interaction. It was clear, from his limited understanding of the complicated Alliance rank structure that his liaison was outranked.
“You are excused.” The female said quickly.
The liaison looked at Joe, and bid him good day, then exited the room quickly.
Joe, still in a mild state of shock got to his feet and extended his hand towards the newly arrived officer. “Nice to meet you, Ship Master. Colonel Joe Hunt.”
Val-Lar looked at the outstretched hand, then over to the large wall that had dozens of images of Earth, the Coalition ships in the system, plus other key points pinned on it.
“I understand you’re planning an invasion, Terran.” Her voice was soft and sounded like nothing Joe had heard before.
Joe stuck his hands in his pocket. “I am.”
The female walked over to the wall and started looking at the images. “And you need help.” She stated in a rather matter of fact manner.
“I do.” He wasn’t ashamed to admit it.
“Admiral Taark has assigned me to assist you. Your liaison will stay on for day to day business. I will only concern myself with operational matters.” Val-Lar said, continuing to examine the pictures.
Joe shrugged and walked towards the wall that the newly arrived Ship Master was inspecting. He couldn’t help but run his eyes up the woman's uniform. She appeared to have an athletic physique and was almost just under six-foot-tall in his estimations. “I can always use more help.” He stopped next to her and looked at some of the images that were stuck to the wall.
“You do know that fleet will never approve this?” She said without looking up from the pictures.
“I keep hearing that.” Joe said with a smile.
“Then again, if planned correctly, it would make for an impressive operation.”
Joe looked down at the Sabirian’s face as she continued to examine the pictures. “Have you planned actions like this in the past? Planet level assaults?”
Val-Lar stood upright and faced Joe. She stood motionless, examining his facial features, then took a large stride forward until her small nose was almost touching his and drew in a deep breath, then let it out slowly.
“Colonel. This kind of operation has not been planned or executed since the earliest days of the War of Succession. Everyone who has planned this or done this is dead or retired.” She took a small step backwards and then looked up and down Joe’s front without trying to hide it. “And I am not sure if someone from your primitive culture has the capacity to appreciate how difficult this might be.”
Joe was about to retort when Val-Lar stepped back towards him and spoke in at almost a whisper. “They have some kind of force shield around the planet.” She looked him in the eyes. “This mission has a zero-success probability without assistance from the ground.”
Joe swallowed hard. “I know that.”
“Good.” Val-Lar said before quickly walking to the other side of the office.
Joe watched her move away. He was entranced.
Val-Lar looked around the office and crossed her arms. “So.” She looked at Joe. “We need comms with the ground.”
The next day their prayers were answered. A freighter near Jaxos, the planet closest to the Reach and Earth, had picked up a secured communication that had been broadcast in the clear. It didn’t take long to reach Admiral Taark, and for Joe to decode it. The message was simple, there were Alliance forces on Earth, and they were waiting for the counterattack.
Admiral Taark held a quick meeting with Joe and Val-Lar and let them know how he saw things unfolding. They were to plan an attack on the Sol System in conjunction with a ground assault by elements still on Earth on one of the four generator systems. Once the scheme had been approved by the Admiral, the Admiral would meet them at fleet command and seek permission to carry out the mission.
Sitting behind his desk, Joe was immersed in his own calculations on how to retake the planet. He and Val-Lar had agreed to plan separately, then compare plans, and take the best elements of both to Taark. Looking down at a two-dimensional image of the Sol system, Joe was starting to realise he didn’t have the head for space-based combat. There were so many factors to include in the planning stage. What assets do you require to pull off your attack? Where will they jump in? What sequence will they jump in? There seemed to be an endless list of factors to consider when plotting an operation of this complexity.
Joe knew there were three ways of executing the attack. A single thrust with everything at his disposal jumping in together, then moving on Earth. The second option was having his assault force jumping in small sections and securing different sectors of the system, and then moving on Earth, or jumping into Earth orbit with a portion of his forces and using some of his elements to secure the rest of the system.
Then there were considerations to factor in such as ship capabilities, fighter and drone compliments. And that was just dealing with the fifteen ships that were in the system. Once they had jumped in they not only had to secure the system from the Coalition, they had to then secure Earth. And that hinged on some party on Earth knocking out whatever kept the shield in place. Once the shield was down, the attacking force in orbit could launch its ground assault forces and attack aircraft to deal with the rest of the hostile ground forces, but that element all hung on the ability to take down one of the generators.
The transmission from Earth did not give Joe a great sense of confidence that this task would be accomplished with ease. The generators were all heavily protected, and a single Alliance ground combat force was not enough to take them down. Joe knew that it would take a considerable amount of local assets to get a positive outcome. The news of the EMP hadn’t surprised Taark, but Joe wasn’t clear on how damaging that would have been to the overall combat effectiveness of local militaries. Would planes fly? Would tanks run? It was a mess.
Looking at the image that showed Joe the location of all the enemy patrol routes that the D-O team he had accompanied tracked, he knew that he had his work cut out for him. Using the standard equation of a three to one attacking force, Joe reckoned he would need a minimum of forty-five ships to assault the system. His plan was simple. Jump the bulk of his force in near Earth, clear that sector of hostile forces, then jump the rest of his force into the system to engage the Coalition at locations where they were on their patrol routes.
The hardest nut to crack was going to be the surface element. And then the question of enemy reinforcement keep popping up. What happened if the Coalition had a reason to want to hold the planet. They had allocated almost three hundred ships during the initial assault. Could they devote that number again? Did the Alliance want to get into some blood-bath for Earth, a planet they barely knew? Doubtful.
Joe pushed himself back from his desk and picked up the cup of juice and took a sip. Why did the Coalition want Earth? Why did they want Earth? What had they done? They sent the Raider. It didn’t return so they sent a larger force. That force was destroyed in a fierce battle. So what’d they do then? They sent in the recon teams. They were
repulsed. Joe was racking his brain. After that, they sent a massive invasion fleet. Why? The recon teams were repulsed, but they still sent a larger force to take the planet. Okay. What had the recon teams told their superiors? Why did they think that a full-scale attack on Earth was warranted? They were same questions Admiral Taark had for him, along with Commodore Smid. The Alliance was in the dark as much as Joe as to why the Coalition would go through all this trouble for a planet of no real strategic value.
Joe took another sip of the juice. The recon teams had supplied them information on Earth. Information that told them that it was worth throwing a three hundred ship armada into a fight to take a planet.
Joe put the cup down and shot out of his chair.
The Coalition had found something on Earth of value. Something valuable enough to send enough ships to capture the planet and keep it away from the Alliance. Perhaps something grand enough to tilt the favour of the entire war towards their side.
Jesus.
Joe started slowly walking around his desk. He was trying to ask himself why it had taken himself so long to figure this key factor out, but it didn’t matter anymore. From what he knew about the Alliance and its fleets, he could assume that the Coalition forces were under similar stress levels, and if that were the case, the use of three hundred ships to secure one system would be a huge allocation of resources. There were thousands of systems that needed to be patrolled and controlled daily. Sending that large a force beyond the Reach to a backwater world populated by humans that weren’t even a starfaring species meant that it wasn’t a political gesture or some brilliant tactical move. There was something on Earth that was worth the risk. Worth the effort.
Joe let his eyes drift down to the ground as he tried to piece everything together. Earth was the prize. So, there was something larger at play, he realised What was it?
41
CIA Headquarters
20 March
Angela Simmons’ office at the Central Intelligence Agencies headquarters in Langley Virginia was rather unelaborate compared to her predecessors. Angela had always been a stickler for routine and minimalism. She kept to the same morning routine she had had for years when she had taken over the post at Langley that she had had since her days at Georgetown University. Wake up every morning and go to the gym or go for a run. If it was the gym, it was the one at Langley. If it was a run, it was on the streets of her neighbourhood. Some people called her predictable, she liked to call it disciplined.
During the winter months, she always hit the gym, and when she entered the gym at six in the morning, it was filled with only division heads or higher. If she had to have an audience for her workouts, she wanted them to have comparable levels of security clearance. That was why she was slightly surprised to see a younger member of her staff walk into the gym wearing a Hugo Boss suit and all at six-fifteen. She had barely finished her warmup, and this kid walked in and threw her off.
“What?” Angela asked, sitting at a cable-row machine.
“Maple Syrup has arrived.” The young staffer said.
For some reason, her judgement was a little impaired or the pounding music in her headphones threw off her train of thought, because five seconds after she responded, she felt stupid. “I didn’t order any maple syrup.” It was almost as if the moment the words left her mouth she wanted to slap herself.
“He’s waiting in your office.”
Angela pulled the headphones down to her neck, then stood up, collected her towel. “Who’s with him?”
“Michelle.” The aide replied.
Angela smiled. Michelle was one of her more distracting aides, which guaranteed that anyone coming to visit her was in a better mood when she finally reached her office than they were when they had walked into the building.
“I’ll be up in fifteen minutes.” Angela headed towards the locker room. A quick shower and into her usual garb of a dark suit, a crisp white shirt and flats. She opened the door into her office fourteen minutes later, and just as she expected, the head of Canadian intelligence stationed in Washington was all smiles.
“Morning Mr Pendergrass.” Angela beamed crossing the carpet to the far side of her office next to a large window overlooking a side garden a few floors below.
“You’ll excuse me, sir.” Michelle rose from her seat across from Charles Pendergrass and headed towards the door.
Angela smiled at her aide as she passed, but couldn’t help but notice that there appeared to be an excessive amount of cleavage on display that morning. She made a mental note to ask Michelle about that after her meeting with the Canadian.
Angela put her hand out. “Special Representative Pendergrass.” They shook hands. “What brings you to my office at such an uncommon hour?” Angela sat down into the chair that Michelle had been occupying.
Pendergrass was in his mid-forties and wore an unimpressive grey suit, cheap shoes and glasses. He was more at home in jeans, cowboy boots and riding horses than office life. Angela forgave his sartorial crimes because he had never lied to her which was rare in their line of work.
“Our contact has filed a new report from Tohil.”
Angela inched forward in her chair. “And?” She pulled a small notepad and pen from her jacket pocket.
“Alliance troops present. Doctor Keegan Beck present. Tohil is in possession of a Coalition drone from the Vancouver incident, and they sent a signal to Alliance territory requesting a line of dialogue to start planning a counterattack.” Pendergrass sat back in his chair.
Angela nodded to herself slowly. “Has this been verified by a second asset?”
“Negative. We only have one source inside Tohil.”
Angela made a note in her book, then looked at Pendergrass. “What does Ottawa want to do about it?”
Pendergrass rocked his head from side to side. “They want to have our contact reveal themselves to Tohil and open a dialogue on how we, and the United States, can assist any Alliance counterattack.”
“I need to speak with the President.”
“Of course.” Pendergrass said, rising from his chair. “I’ll keep you up to date with anything we learn, and I can assure you that Ottawa won’t make a move before you’re consulted.”
They shook hands and Pendergrass left swiftly. Angela looked down at the few notes she had scrawled and walked over to her desk. If the Alliance was going to attempt to recapture the planet, she knew that that would be the time when they would be most likely to suffer further death and destruction. There was an American expression that she hated, but it suddenly came to the front of her mind. Freedom wasn’t free. That might never be truer than now. The Alliance had let the Coalition take the planet without a fight, and that had been a blessing in disguise. If the Alliance was determined to take back the world with force, it could turn into a slaughter. The Coalition might let the earth go, but they might just wreck it on the way out.
Angela picked up the phone and requested the White House switchboard. Policy was not hers to decide or make. She was just a facilitator.
The phone rang two times until the White House switchboard answered. She was quickly connected to the Chief of Staff, Nicholas Beaudrot.
“The Alliance is in play.” She said it slowly, and with a very precise delivery.
“When can we expect a full briefing?”
“I’m leaving now.” She put the phone down, then dialled the motor pool and requested transportation.
42
TK-Prime System
21 March
It took Rhea and her party a considerable time to track down Admiral Lex and his massive command ship. The Epsilon had jumped into the TK-Prime sector on information they had gathered from the head of Fifth Fleet logistics who was able to track the Five from its enormous use of purified water to make jumps to various sectors. A degree of pressure had been required to get the information, but Estiva Controller Roper Daz had his methods.
“Jump complete.” Yuli reported from her station on the bridge. “W
e are in the TK system.”
“Only one ship on the scope.” Jonas reported from the Detection Technician position. “It is the Five.”
Ranix shifted in his command chair. “Activity?” He asked to no one in particular.
“None.” Jonas reported. “She’s just sitting there.”
“Rais. Take us into within one million kilometres.” Ranix ordered, then looked up to Royal Inspector Wey who was standing next to him. “How do you want to play this?”
Wey rubbed his chin and looked down at Ranix. “Carefully.” He looked at Rhea who was standing next to him. “That thing could kill us without evening trying.”
Wey looked over to the communications station. “Hail them.”
“Alliance vessel Five, this is the Alliance warship Epsilon.” Communications Hiks said. “Request open communications channel.”
The primary monitor on the bridge flickered to an image of the bridge on the Five. It had dozens of stations and seats, but there wasn’t a soul in sight. A metallic voice came over the ships PA system.
“This is the Five. Command ship of the Fifth Fleet. State your intentions.”
Ranix looked at Wey. “Where is the crew?”
Wey shook his head and looked over to Roper Daz. Daz caught his glance, and nodded, then stepped closer to the monitor.
“This is Estiva Controller Roper Daz. Seventh Fleet. I wish to speak with Admiral Lex.” Daz looked at Rhea and shrugged.
“You do not have jurisdiction on this vessel.” The robotic voice replied.
“But I do.” Wey said in a tone that only those standing around him could hear. “Comms Off, transmit my credentials, and instruct that ship’s AI to provide us with a landing dock.” He pointed at the screen.
“Transmitting.”
Edge of the Vortex Page 22