The Army Of Light (Kestrel Saga)

by Fender, Stephen

  “Well, let’s go.” He said impatiently to the woman brooding at the end of the cargo hold as if she were a disobedient pet.

  “Do you think you could help me down?”

  Shawn muttered something under his breath, then began to walk back the few paces to the ship. Melissa leaned down as Shawn put his hands around her waist. She slid off of the ramp in a motion that was too quick for Shawn to compensate for and she landed on the deck, with Shawn’s hands firmly around her waist and their faces inches apart.

  She felt her cheeks flush as she tried to gently pull away from his grasp. “You can unhand me now, Mister Kestrel.”

  If she was trying to get away, she wasn’t working very hard at it, and he briefly wondered why. He looked into her eyes, smiled sheepishly, then released his grip on her.

  “Say… what happened to my tools?” Trent asked, still looking at the gaping hole in the engine room. “I could have sworn that I locked them up right here.”

  The captain looked up into the cargo hold at his old friend. “Stay here with D. I’m going to go find out what’s going on.”

  “Why does he get to stay here and not me?” Melissa asked disdainfully.

  “Because I said so, that’s why.” He then turned to Trent. “Sorry, pal. The… the, ah, Temkorian must have gotten them with that blast.”

  “You jettisoned my tools, didn’t you?” Trent, seeing right through Shawn’s lie, screamed helplessly. “Why the hell did you do that?”

  “It was either that or be dead.”

  “I don’t take kindly to having my stuff thrown out into space,” Trent exclaimed, his hands balled into fists and jammed into his sides.

  “Well, I thought you’d take less kindly to being dead.”

  “Yeah, well—” Trent looked back in the cargo hold as he began to scratch his head. “You have a point there, Skipper.” Then he turned back to Shawn in a look of desperation. “But, for pity’s sake… those were my tools, man.”

  “I’ll get you some more,” Shawn replied confidently. “In fact, I’m sure Miss Graves will be willing to help cover those costs,” he said as he smiled at her. “After all, the only reason we’re out here in the first place is because of her.”

  She looked to Trent, who was slowly nodding his head in approval. She turned back to Shawn, who’d effortlessly made her the scapegoat, and shook her head in amazement. “You’re unbelievable.”

  He turned and began to walk away, not really knowing where he was going, but sure of whom he needed to find. “Duty officer!” he screamed to anyone listening.

  As he wandered across the deck, Shawn watched as the two interceptors that had come to their rescue were secured in their respective alcoves in a bay across from the Mark-IV. The two pilots extricated themselves from their vessels in a well-rehearsed manner, then made straight for Shawn’s position. The first pilot removed his helmet when they were within speaking distance of Shawn. With a flip of his head, a swath of black hair fluttered out from under the helmet, and Shawn immediately noticed that it wasn’t a him at all, but a very attractive her. She outstretched a black gloved hand and Shawn took it lightly. Her grip was quite extraordinary.

  “Lieutenant Commander Roslyn Brunel,” she offered with the same dashing smile that every pilot seemed to be issued in flight school.

  “Shawn Kestrel, Captain of—”

  “Sylvia’s Delight,” she finished for him, then offered an almost imperceptible wink that didn’t go unnoticed by Melissa. “Mighty fine flying out there, Captain.”

  Shawn found himself smiling back at the fair skinned, dark haired officer. “Same to you, Commander.”

  “I never would have guessed that a ship like yours could survive a brawl with a couple of Temkorian fighters,” Brunel continued.

  “There were four to begin with,” Shawn said with confidence. “I managed to take out two before you showed up.”

  Brunel smiled widely. “That’s very interesting, Captain. Very interesting, indeed.”

  Melissa stepped around Shawn, placing herself between the mutual admiration society with an outstretched hand. “And I’m—”

  “Melissa Graves,” Brunel said with a curt nod and, as she took the woman’s hand, her smile all but vanished. “Yes, ma’am. I know who you are. In fact, I know a great deal about both of you.”

  Shawn frowned as he folded his arms across his chest. “And how is that, Commander?”

  Melissa caught an unmistakable sparkle in Brunel’s eyes as the commander turned her attention back to Shawn. “I’m afraid I can’t speak about that right now,” she offered politely. “However, I’ve been ordered to escort both of you to the main briefing room where we will meet with the captain. He’ll explain everything to you at that time.”

  “He needs to see us both?” Melissa asked, trying to sound confident as she locked eyes with the female pilot.

  “Yes ma’am,” Roslyn replied as if she were about to scold a small child. “He was quite adamant that both of you be present for the debriefing.”

  “Fine. Great,” Shawn unfolded his arms and placed his hands on his hips, “let’s just get it over with. I’m sure he’s got better things to do than deal with a couple of vagabonds like us.”

  Brunel’s dark eyes narrowed as the corners of her mouth turned upwards into a near smile. “You’d be surprised, Captain.”

  Melissa couldn’t help staring at the captain incredulously. “Vagabonds? Do I look like some sort of drifter to you?”

  Brunel motioned towards a small door on the side of the hangar not far from their current position. “If you’ll both follow me, please. And don’t fall behind. You have no idea how immense this ship is. You’ll likely get lost if you’re more than a few paces behind me.” And with that, she turned sharply on her heel and strode gracefully towards the hatch.

  Chapter 11

  It didn’t take long for Melissa to realize that Lieutenant Commander Brunel’s remark about the enormous size of the Rhea hadn’t been an understatement. Even the state-of-the-art heavy carriers, the last of which was built five years before the Rhea, seemed to pale in comparison to the sheer size and internal volume of this new ship.

  Within moments of leaving the openness of the hangar deck, Melissa found herself in a maze of brightly lit corridors, twisting and turning until she lost all orientation. Having already traversed three levels, the only thing seemingly different from one to the next was the banded color of paint that outlined each section of flooring, although there were probably other small nuances to distinguish them that were oblivious to the unaccustomed eye. She and Shawn, following closely behind Brunel, had started their journey on the red-trimmed hangar deck, and now found themselves on the yellow accented armory deck.

  They trio came to yet another mechanical door, one no different than any of the other dozen they’d already slipped through, and it slid open silently before them. Instead of another corridor, Melissa noted that they had walked into another open bay, equal in length to the main fighter hangar, but only a third of the width. High in the overhead, the evenly spaced white glow of floodlighting dimly illuminated the long hold. Melissa’s eyes went wide as she scanned the vehicles and equipment that were organized neatly along the compartments bulkheads.

  Where the flight hangar had been a bustle of activity, she and Shawn—along with Commander Brunel—were the lone occupants of this enormous military equipment hold. The sounds of their respective boot heels clicking on the floor echoed off the towering walls as they made their way down the center of the space. The enormousness of the void made her uncomfortable and, had the questions been asked, she would have been startled to know that Shawn was feeling the same thing and for exactly the same reasons as they trailed being their lone escort. She instead looked to him in silence, watching him size up the various pieces of equipment in the hold.

  Parked on either side of the bay, with their angular barrels facing one another, were two rows of XT-19 Unified Marine hovertanks. At over nineteen fee
t long, they were the largest cavalry unit the marines deployed with. They had an overall wedge shape to them, wide in the rear and tapering to the front where the air inlet grills were positioned. The turret, placed far back on the centerline, housed a lone, single barreled accelerator cannon as its primary weapon. On top of the turret was a quad barreled gun, which Shawn recognized as a rapid fire laser battery. The XT-19’s thickly armored hulls were painted in alternating patterns of monochromatic grey camouflage, save for the last two in the row, which were painted a flat black.

  Aft of the tanks, in crates stacked in four clusters of twenty-seven each, were military issue hover bikes. Each metallic crate measured around five square feet. On the side of each container, adjacent to the label that indicated the contents of the crate, was a small red button. Shawn knew that, once pressed, the box itself would automatically unfurl and the single seat hover bike would initialize itself for its user. Shawn had experienced the maneuverability and speed of these agile little machines on more than one occasion, and now wondered why he’d never bothered to pick up a surplus one for his own amusement.

  After the hover bikes, parked in four rows of two each, were what was affectionately known as ‘crawlers’. These one-man artillery vehicles were six-legged infantry units, used mainly for urban assault or jungle warfare, and could scale nearly anything placed before them. The main body module could be outfitted with various weapons, from mortars to flamethrowers. Currently, each appeared to be armed with the same twenty millimeter photocannon.

  Finally, at the opposite end of the bay from where they entered, Shawn saw a trio of forklifts parked neatly next to the imposing metal wall.

  “What’s all this about?” he asked before they exited the space. “I don’t recall asking for the grand tour.”

  Brunel seemed to pay his statement little mind as they continued forward. “This is one of the equipment holds for the Second Marine Expeditionary Unit.”

  “Just one of the holds?” Melissa replied in disbelief.

  “That’s right,” Roslyn replied, and although he couldn’t see it, Shawn had no doubts that she was smiling broadly as she said it. The twinge of pride in her voice was unmistakable. “This is one of three identical holds for the Second EU. The Fourth, Sixth, and Tenth EU’s have storage areas on this deck as well, and also on the one below us.”

  “What happened to the Eighth unit?” Melissa asked as her head swiveled around the room a final time. She didn’t hear the sound of the commander’s footsteps coming to a halt. Had she not turned to face Roslyn at the last moment, Melissa would have run surely headlong into the Lieutenant Commander’s nose. Mere inches from the woman’s face, Melissa smiled awkwardly and backed up a pace.

  “What did you say?” Brunel asked flatly.

  Melissa was startled, both by the abrupt stop and the glare coming from the woman’s near black eyes. “You said the Second, Fourth, Sixth, and Tenth marine units have their equipment on board. Shouldn’t there also be an Eighth on the Rhea as well?”

  Brunel pursed her lips and nodded somberly. “There was an Eighth. That was… until a month ago.”

  “What happened?” Melissa asked with curiosity.

  Brunel shifted her eyes from Melissa to Shawn uncomfortably. “I’m afraid I can’t speak about it. It’s classified.”

  There seems to be quite a bit of that going on around here, Shawn thought. And I have a feeling your commanding officer isn’t going to be as open as I’d like him to be about it. Still, Brunel had brought them down here for a reason. On a ship this large, there was surely at least six ways to get to the briefing rooms from the flight deck, and none of them would have required a stroll through the armory. Brunel was definitely trying to say something she wasn’t allowed to verbalize, and it was important enough to her that it be done before they reached their destination. While Shawn couldn’t piece her motives completely together, the gesture itself wasn’t lost on him. “Well, I’d still like to thank you for saving us out there.”

  Roslyn smiled, dropping her defenses for a moment. “That really isn’t necessary, Captain Kestrel. It’s just part of the job.”

  Knowing that it would be some time before Sylvia’s Delight was repaired, and hoping he might be able to get more information from her in the near future, he tried to offer her a way to provide it. “Nonsense. Maybe we can grab a drink in the officer’s lounge later under less formal circumstances?”

  The commander smiled, and it looked as if she were seriously considering the offer. Before she could answer, however, Melissa piped in. “I believe your CO is waiting for us, Commander.”

  The smile faded and Roslyn nodded curtly. “Exactly right, Miss Graves. They’ll be time enough for less official duties later.” She turned sharply, her thick long hair whipping behind her and nearly colliding with Shawn’s face as her heels thudded against the metal floor of the cargo deck.

  Shawn turned quickly to Melissa and lowered his voice barely above a whisper. “What the hell was all that about? I thought you didn’t want to see the old man? Now it sounds like you can’t wait to be in his presence.”

  Melissa scowled at him in response. “You heard the lady, Mister Kestrel. They’ll be time for a less formal chat later, whatever that means.” She turned to follow the commander, but then spun around quickly before she took another step. “And, just because we’re following her, it doesn’t mean you have to follow her. There’s such a thing as manners, you know?” She turned abruptly and took three long strides to cover the distance between herself and the retreating Lieutenant Commander. Meanwhile, Brunel had stepped into what looked like a brightly lit elevator.

  Shawn looked to the overhead and raised his hands in appeal, wondering what he’d done to deserve all of this. Just as he was about to ask as much aloud, Both Melissa and Brunel’s voice rang out in unison. “Let’s go, Captain.”

  *

  Save for the rhythmic pulsations of the repulsers that propelled the elevator along its tracks, the ride to the upper decks of the Rhea was silent. Brunel was still being tight lipped about what was going on, and both Shawn and Melissa had had the good sense to stop asking questions about it. Shawn, standing behind the two women who were shoulder-to-shoulder with one another, idly looked around the confines of the capsule-shaped elevator. While it was large enough to easily hold three times as many people, the conveyer somehow felt exceedingly crowded. As he turned his head towards the doors, he glimpsed down between the women at the level indicator and, noting how high in the ship they were going, let a slow whistle escape his lips as his mind took in the sheer size of the vessel.

  In unison, both women turned their heads in opposite directions towards the captain. It was then that Shawn realized that the elevator controls were just low enough to be in-line with certain portions of the women’s anatomy that they might not think to kindly about him staring at. Then he realized that he was indeed looking at the things he wasn’t actually looking at in the first place, and knew instantly he’d entered a no-win situation. Desperately hoping to feign ignorance, he darted his wide eyes from one woman to the other.

  “What?”

  Roslyn cracked an almost imperceptible smile, then turned her head back to the closed elevator doors. Melissa, on the other hand, vaporized a hole through the captain with her eyes. Shawn tried once again to shrug off the incident as a simple misunderstanding, but she didn’t seem to want any of it. Her eyes rolled up as she shook her head in disgust before slowly turning away from the captain. Thankfully the lift came to a halt seconds later and deposited them onto deck twenty three, the blue-trimmed flag deck, the area of the ship dedicated to the upper echelon of the carriers officer compliment.

  Before them was a long, gleaming white hallway, framed with partitions made of a silvery brushed alloy. With Brunel in the lead, they walked quickly down the corridor, passing closed doors on each side of them. After about fifty yards they came to the end of the corridor, and Roslyn turned into the entryway of the final set of br
ushed metal doors. Shawn noted that the highly polished plaque beside the door read ‘Briefing Room One’. Roslyn held a palm to the door control panel and the hatch hissed opened, with an audible greeting.

  “Permission to enter granted, Lieutenant Commander Brunel.” Roslyn motioned Shawn and Melissa into the room and followed closely behind.

  As they entered, Shawn heard a voice call out from the far side of a long conference table. “You’re late. I was beginning to wonder when you’d show up.” It sounded discernibly annoyed, but something about it also sounded strangely familiar, but Shawn was having difficulties placing it.

  Lieutenant Commander Brunel straightened and came to attention. “Sorry, sir,” then she stepped forward to introduce the civilians to the carriers commanding officer. As the high backed chair at the far side of a long, silver table pivoted in their direction, Shawn looked into the ice-cold eyes of a man he’d have been happy to have never seen again in this life.

  “Krif,” Shawn said with obvious disgust, all but spitting the name out like bad roast beef. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  The well built, blond haired, blue eyed man stared intently back at Shawn. “It’s nice to see you, too, Kestrel.”

  First hiding his surprise, then burying a flare of animosity, Shawn attempted to remain unmoved. “I don’t recall saying anything was nice about it.”

  Captain Krif leveled his eyes at Shawn. “I’m in command here, that’s what I’m doing here… not that something like that would matter to you.” His words were measured. Even.

  Nonetheless, Shawn looked at him dubiously. “You’re the Captain of this ship?”

  Krif gave him a single, slow nod. “That’s right,” he said with even aloofness. “Best you remember it from here on out. I won’t tolerate any of your crap while you’re on my ship. Period.”