Badger

by Kindal Debenham

  Jacob rose and saluted back. The young officer had obviously received a message and was bursting to deliver it. His time had come. “Yes, Enisgn Cartwell?”

  “A message from Tiredel, sir. Actually, from First Shore.”

  Jacob blinked. First Shore was the local capital and the city closest to the base that stored most of the Navy personnel on the surface. Orders should have come from the base, however, not through the civilians at First Shore. Unless, of course, there were criminal charges attached. Jacob felt lead sink into his gut. The squadron hadn’t done that poorly, had they?

  He struggled to keep his expression calm. “What are the orders, Ensign? Are they deploying us to a new post?”

  Ensign Cartwell shook his head so violently Jacob wondered if the younger officer was trying to rid himself of fleas. “No, sir. They wanted to advise us a shuttle was bringing up new personnel in addition to the VIP, sir.”

  There was a moment of silence. Jacob glanced at Al-shira and saw she was as confused as he was. He looked back at Cartwell and pondered over how to respond. “The VIP, Ensign Cartwell?”

  “Yes sir.” The enisgn’s expression had suddenly started to cloud with worry. Jacob could imagine the doubt starting to gather in the young man’s mind. “They sounded like you would already know what they were talking about, sir.”

  “I’m afraid I never heard about any visitors, Ensign Cartwell.” Jacob picked up his reader and tapped through a few messages. He found nothing from Tiredel that would have indicated anything like what the ensign was telling him. “You’re sure the message was intended for us?”

  The ensign nodded. “Yes, sir, it had our message header and everything. They were actually very specific about which ship they were coming to as well.” Cartwell brought up his own reader and tapped a few commands. “They said they would be arriving in a few minutes, carrying an extra four Marines plus the previously arranged VIP. Nothing else.” He looked up, and then hesitated. “The command and control network has been glitching lately. Perhaps the earlier message got lost?”

  Jacob exchanged another look with Al-shira. “Maybe, Ensign Cartwell. If so, I would appreciate it if you would track that situation down for me. I’m going to go greet our mystery visitor in the shuttle bay.” He stood up, and glanced at Al-shira. “Care to come with, Commander?”

  She stood as well. “Yes, sir. Better to be walking than sitting right now.” Al-shira raised an eyebrow at the ensign. “Dimissed, Ensign Cartwell.”

  He nodded and scurried out the door. Jacob followed, taking a right hand turn as Al-shira fell into step beside him. They walked in comfortable silence for a moment before she spoke again. “You think they’re going to court martial you.”

  He nodded. “Yes, Commander. I do.”

  Al-shira glanced at him, but remained silent.

  Jacob sighed. “They can hardly do anything else, Al-shira. I took a half-built squadron of destroyers on a death ride into the teeth of an enemy dreadnaught, costing me a quarter of my crews and one of my ships. After I practically embarrassed both political parties and the Navy into letting me build them in the first place. And I did it in a battle where the High Admiral and half the rest of the Navy’s command structure died.” They reached the lift, and he shook his head. “It’s not going to look good, Commander.”

  She joined him in the lift, her eyes beginning to take on the familiar threatening tilt. “So what? You saved the fleet from complete destruction and managed to survive it in spite of yourself.” He opened his mouth to deny it as the lift began to move, but she cut him off with a sharp gesture. “No, don’t tell me, captain. It wasn’t enough to save everyone, but that doesn’t matter. You did your duty, the best you knew how, and that does. So don’t give me any crap about keeling over and letting them bad-mouth you this time. If they court martial you, you’ll fight it as hard as you fought for the High Admiral, or I’ll beat ten kinds of hell out of you. Do you understand me, captain?”

  Jacob eyed her for a moment and smiled in spite of himself. “Yes, ma’am. Message received.”

  She glared at him for a bit, and he spread his hands.

  “Look, I wasn’t going to roll over. Honest.”

  Al-shira raised an eyebrow.

  He shrugged uncomfortably. “If I did, then all the sacrifices of the people who served under me would be dismissed. They deserve better. They all do.”

  An echo of grief for Feist and Laurie, followed closely by the guilt for Terrier and Badger, kept him from saying anything else for a while. He looked away until he felt the lump in his throat disappear. “All I’m saying is in spite of what I could do, I may end up out of the service this time. I might as well be prepared.”

  Al-shira was silent for a moment, and she didn’t speak until the lift had come to a stop. When the doors began to open, she pressed the override key to stop them. She turned to face him, eyes serious. “If that happens, Jacob, you know you won’t be alone, right? Your sister will be on Reefhome Station, and if you had to stay there and work to build new ships, like Wolfhound and the others, you would still be able to serve.” She paused, and then flushed red. “You might even have time for a relationship with something more than your rank badge too, you know. If you met anyone you liked, of course.”

  Jacob felt heat on his own cheeks, but he met her gaze. “That is true.” Then a sarcastic smile worthy of Isaac on his best day worked its way across his face. “But let’s hope that the Navy spares me such a grim fate, right commander?”

  She let the button go and smacked him upside the head. Her expression wasn’t angry, just annoyed. “Keep walking, captain. We have a meeting to attend.”

  They left the lift and walked into the shuttle bay. The Wolfhound’s skiff was gone, helping with the various recovery missions to gather the dead from the wreckage. In its absence, the bay seemed cavernously empty and quiet. Then the light outside the bay door lit up, indicating the bay had begun to depressurize in preparation for the arrival of the shuttle. Jacob and Al-shira paused inside the observation station and waited as the bay doors opened to admit the skiff. There was another comfortable silence, and then Jacob glanced at her.

  “You would really come along if they get rid of me?”

  Al-shira nodded without any hesitation. “Yes, sir. How else are you going to survive if you don’t have me to watch out for you?” She snorted and nodded back at the shuttle. Jacob turned and saw the bay doors close. The air started to pump back into the bay. A moment later the light extinguished, indicating the bay was safe to enter.

  Al-shira started forward. “Let’s go see what they want with you, captain.”

  Jacob allowed her to precede him through the door, more out of respect for the fact that it was her ship than anything else. Then he waited by her side as the skiff settled in and opened the hatch to let out the passengers.

  The first people out of the hatch were Marines. Four of them took up positions with various weapons, while another two stepped to either side of the hatch, railgun rifles held at the ready. Their battle armor glinted in the light of the bay, but what drew Jacob’s attention was the blue stripe that ran diagonally along their breastplates. It was the mark of the High Seat’s Guard, but they were only deployed to protect high level civilian officials. What were they doing here?

  The answer came a moment later when High Seat Smithson stepped out of the skiff. Jacob had a moment to exchange a glance, wide eyed, with Commander Al-shira before he snapped his attention back to the High Seat. He stepped forward and saluted, and Smithson raised an eyebrow at him. A moment later he realized he hadn’t even bothered to arrange an honor guard. “High Seat, I am sorry for the lack of honors here, but we didn’t—”

  “No, no, don’t you worry at all, Captain Hull. Your crew is probably busy about their tasks already, and I have no intention to keep them from what needs to be done.” The High Seat waved a hand as if shooing away a fly. “To be honest, all the fanfare gets unbearably old after a while, and I wouldn’t hav
e come here if I wanted to make a scene.” He grinned; it seemed forced. “Besides, I felt it would be more than fair to surprise you this time, Captain. You’ve had more than your share of chances to take me unawares, after all.”

  Jacob’s worries returned and twisted his stomach. For all his talk of preparing for the worst, he had not truly started to accept the inevitable. To have it happen now, in front of Al-shira, was the worst of all worlds. “A surprise, sir? May I ask what you mean?”

  Smithson eyed Al-shira before responding. “Ah, yes. Commander Naomi Al-shira. I believe I knew your father once, before the previous High Seat dumped this job on me. You’ll be fine as a witness, I suppose.” He turned back to Jacob. “I apologize for my rudeness, but I have been quite distracted. I suppose the first thing I have to ask is if you are ready to give up your command of Squadron 43, Captain Hull.”

  “Give up my command?” Jacob’s stomach sank. He schooled his expression, determined not to show disappointment. “If that is what the Navy requires, sir. I serve at the pleasure of the Union.”

  “I’m afraid you do, Captain Hull. And there are quite a few who are very, very displeased with you.” Smithson regarded him with a grim expression.

  Jacob forced his features to remain calm, and his stance not to slouch. He tried to brace himself for the loss of everything he had worked for, everything he had been for the past two and a half years.

  Then Smithson shrugged. “Well, they will have to get over it. If not, I’ve weathered their whining before.”

  The words took a moment to register. Jacob blinked. “Sir?”

  Smithson waved for one of his guards to come forward. The Marine handed over a small box, which the High Seat opened with a snap. “Captain Jacob Hull, commanding officer of Destroyer Squadron 43, I hereby award you the Celostian Commendation for Heroism. This award reflects the consistent sacrifices and efforts you have made on behalf of the free peoples of this Union, most recently exemplified by your actions and the actions of your squadron in the Battle of Tiredel.”

  The High Seat drew out a golden medallion, one worked into the shape of a sword and stars. He pinned it to the breast of Jacob’s uniform, just below the eagle and star that represented his rank, and then stepped back to admire his handiwork. “There, that’s the first thing. How do you feel?”

  Words evaded Jacob for a moment. He turned to stare at Al-shira, and then looked back at Smithson in a state of pure dumbfounded emotional whiplash. “Very good, High Seat. I feel very good.”

  Smithson snorted. “Well, I’m afraid I have to ruin that feeling with a promotion, Captain. As of now, you are Admiral Jacob Hull and will be reassigned the moment you are finished directing the recovery operations here in Tiredel.” The High Seat folded his arms over his chest. “I expect that to be finished as soon as possible, Admiral Hull. You are going to have plenty of work cut out for you in the coming weeks.”

  Jacob nearly forgot to salute. “Yes sir. I will do my best sir.”

  The skin around Smithson’s eyes crinkled, and he turned to Al-shira with a smile. “I’ve already pinned something on the man, so I’ll let you do the honors, Commander. Here.” He handed over a star pin, which Al-shira hurriedly added to the previous one under Jacob’s eagle. Stunned, Jacob let the process happen, and kept staring down at the second seemingly-unnatural star. Since when was he admiral material? How had he gone from fearing discharge to being given command of the remaining forces in the system?

  When he looked up, he realized Smithson was still waiting in front of him. He met the man’s gaze and saw mischief, and suddenly he knew it wasn’t quite over. Jacob braced himself and asked the one question he didn’t want an answer to. “Sir, is there something else?”

  Smithson nodded. “Yes, Captain—excuse me, Admiral—Hull. These new responsibilities come with a heavy price. It was one that was held and executed well by your predecessor, and I hope to see it handled well by you.” He bowed his head, and his cheery expression fell away. In its place, Jacob saw grief and pain deeper than any he would have suspected in the man. His eyes were haunted. “Were our need any less pressing, I would have waited to entrust it to you. Allow a kind of interim period, if only for his memory and what he has done for all of us. But we have no time, and I need someone I can trust to do what needs to be done. Someone I can count on when everyone and everything else falls apart. Someone like you, Jacob.”

  The High Seat of the Celostian Union lifted his head, and his eyes met Jacob’s. There was no hint of merriment in them now, and his voice was firm. “Admiral Jacob Hull, as High Seat of the Celostian Union and the bearer of all the authority, honor, and responsibility which the people of the Union have entrusted in me, I now ask of you a service.”

  Jacob’s mouth went dry. The words were formal, as they had been designated for only a handful of appointments under the High Seat’s power. They were a throwback to the time when the Regal High Seats had watched over the people of Celostia and had been carried over when Maxwell had founded the Union. Those words were only used for the most solemn of appointments, the ones the High Seat could only give to the most trusted individuals, such as the appointment of interim governors, or ministers, or perhaps even of a lower Seat assigned a specific task.

  There was only one reason the High Seat would use them when talking to a Navy officer, and he heard Al-shira gasp softly as the realization hit home. Jacob felt his fists clench, and he dropped his gaze for a moment. Smithson paused, apparently willing to allow him to consider the consequences of what was about to be offered to him.

  From this step, there was no going back. He would have to be confirmed by referendum first, but if he was confirmed, the appointment was permanent. There was no resignation waiting in a few years. The burden that had worn away and borne down on a far better man than he would be his to carry, either until his death in battle or until he found someone he could trust to take his place. He would be hounded, he knew, either by reporters or favor-seekers, Representatives or Seats, all wanting his work bent to their own ends. Countless millions would depend on him and if he failed, the fall of the entire Union would be on his watch.

  It would mean his life to accept it, but he could not turn away. Not when the need was so clear. If Smithson had come to him, there was obviously no one else able to serve. His father had taught him to accept responsibility and he could not stop now.

  When he brought his gaze back to the High Seat’s face, Smithson was watching him with a question clear in his expression. Jacob nodded, and the High Seat relaxed.

  “I command you to serve, Jacob Hull, as High Admiral of the Celostian Navy. Yours is the burden to defend our worlds, to preserve our freedoms, and to protect our Union. It will be your solemn duty until you pass from this life to the next, or until a successor is appointed for you. May you be kept and guided in your efforts, and may peace be found under your watchful care.” Smithson paused and tilted his head to the side. The smile returned, and a sparkle came back to his eyes. “Will you answer this command, Admiral Hull?”

  Jacob met his eyes and nodded. “High Seat, I will.” The Marines snapped to attention and saluted, their expressions made of stone behind their helmets. Al-shira saluted as well, her face a mixture of surprise and pride, mingled with a strange sense of loss. He saluted in turn, and they fell back to their normal stances. Smithson clapped him on the shoulder, his eyes approving.

  “Then get to work, High Admiral. Our Navy has taken severe losses, and you will have a lot to do in case the Odurans decide to attack again.” His tone suggested he found the possibility remote, but Jacob shook his head.

  “They will, High Seat. They came too close here.” He glanced at Al-shira, and she nodded. “But next time, I promise you we’ll be ready. And I’ll be waiting for them. You can count on it.”

  About the Author

  Telling stories has been a part of Kindal Debenham’s life ever since he first put down a book, looked around and asked himself ‘But what happened next
?’ That question led him to write his own stories to find the answer he was looking for, and from then on he was hooked. Writing became a passion that followed him through school and led him to the writing group where he met his incredible wife-to-be, Emily. Somehow, she continues to tolerate him, and they recently had their first baby girl, born in March 2011. Writing has brought him this far, and he hopes it will continue to accompany him for the rest of his life. He’s still trying to find the answer to what happens next, and he is grateful to all those who are supporting him in his journey. Thanks for your support, and he hopes you enjoy the story!

  Series By Kindal Debenham

  Jacob Hull Series

  Wolfhound

  Ensign Jacob Hull never intended to be a hero. As a newly commissioned officer in the Celostian Navy, his goal was to serve well until the day he could retire. Then disaster strikes on his first cruise aboard the CNS Wolfhound, and he will have to display all the courage, skill and determination he has in order to keep the remaining crew members out of danger. Because if he does not, the only ones to tell the tale will be prisoners of war—if there are any left at all.

  Badger

  Captain Jacob Hull has seen better days.

  The Celostian Union is under attack on all fronts by the Oduran League, now allied with the pirates of Telos. As Jacob struggles to help stem the tide of Oduran aggression, he has to face political machinations and bitter divisions at home that are as much a threat to the Union as any Oduran task force. Yet in spite of the challenges, Jacob must learn to overcome these obstacles and once again lead those under his command to victory, because if he does not, the alternative will mean death for the people he holds dear.