Several minutes went by as they hailed the enemy ship. Eventually, the Zodarks responded with the equivalent of “Get bent.” The ship’s captain must have initiated their self-destruct operation because a couple of minutes later, the entire ship blew apart.
Shaking his head, Hunt turned to Captain McKee. “XO, conduct a full sensor sweep of the entire area. I want to know if we have human or Zodark life pods floating among the battle wreckage. If we do, then I want them recovered. The battle may be over, but the recovery efforts need to start in earnest now. They won’t have much oxygen left at this point.”
“You heard the admiral,” McKee bellowed. “Lieutenant Commander Arnold, please send a message down to flight ops to launch their recovery craft. Let’s get our folks pulled in as quickly as we can. Also, send a message to the Lakeland and the Mobile. Tell them to jump through the gate and monitor what’s happening on the other side. If another enemy fleet is in the system, I want to know about it before they arrive.”
The RNS crews spent the next two hours collecting thousands of life pods from the wrecked starships strewn about the area. It took a while to recover them with all the blown-apart ships spread across such a massive area around the gate. While the recovery operations were underway, the damage control parties were hard at work getting the George Washington repaired and ready for another battle.
“Admiral Hunt, do you have a moment?” Captain McKee asked as she walked away from the communications terminal.
Hunt nodded and walked with her to the back of the bridge. Judging by the look on her face and the fact that she wasn’t insisting on talking in his office, he suddenly felt optimistic.
“What is it, Fran?”
“Sir, we got the report from Admiral Halsey’s fleet. Your son is safe; his ship lost twenty-three people, but most of them made it out. Your son only suffered a broken arm and some lacerations—nothing too serious.”
Hunt let out a sigh of relief. He looked up at Fran, wiping a tear from his eye before anyone else could see. “Thank you, Fran. I appreciate it.”
She smiled. “It’s the least I could do, Admiral. I’m just glad he’s safe. Let me get back to a few of my duties. I’ll be around if you want to talk privately or anything. Don’t hesitate to ask.”
Hunt took a deep breath in and held it for a second before letting it out. He wanted to make sure he had his emotions in check before he went back to his station. As the fleet commander, he needed to be strong for his crew and those looking up to him.
Hunt watched his people hard at work around the bridge, trying to get the ship ready for the next battle. Many of them had been awake for more than twenty-four hours, yet they were showing no signs of slowing down. They were hyped. They had just fought the greatest fleet battle in human history against a foe that had enslaved humanity, and they had won.
His crew was running on adrenaline, fueled by that feeling one has when scoring a great victory. Despite the adrenaline coursing through their veins, Hunt knew he needed to start cycling his people through some crew rest. He was reasonably sure this attack was the only immediate Zodark threat they’d have to deal with, but he knew it wouldn’t be their last. He needed his people rested and sharp.
The crew spent the next three hours primarily collecting the life pods of his fleet and more than four hundred Zodark life pods. He now had hundreds of new prisoners to interrogate. This meant new and valuable information that could help them understand their enemy better. It was an opportunity he was determined to make sure his intelligence group fully exploited.
Once he was reasonably confident they had collected all the life pods in the area, Hunt ordered two of his frigates to stay at the gate. Their job was to work with the frigates on the other side of the gate and continue to monitor for any sign another Zodark ship or fleet was inbound. Hunt then ordered the remainder of his fleet back to New Eden. They were in need of a shipyard, and while they didn’t have a full-scale shipyard operational in New Eden yet, they did have a lot of repair drones and Synths they could leverage. His main goal right now was to get his primary magrail turrets operational again and, if possible, their lone plasma cannon.
Down on the flight deck, the flight ops group was hard at work fabricating new fighter drones. It’d take a few weeks, but they’d get their squadrons back up to strength again. Hunt felt fortunate that his fighter wing consisted of drones and not human-crewed spacecraft. He’d lost nearly eighty-six percent of his fighters, but not a single pilot. Pilots took time to train, and time was something the human forces didn’t have on their side—not with an enemy like the Zodarks.
*******
RNS Voyager
“Commander Amy Dobbs, reporting as ordered,” she said in her most professional tone. It was the best she could muster, considering she’d just lost her ship.
Fleet Admiral Bailey stood in the boardroom with the President and a couple of other officers. Dobbs had no idea why she’d been summoned here, so she stood there not saying anything further until she knew what they wanted.
“At ease, Commander,” Admiral Bailey said as he pointed to an empty chair.
The group of officers sat down and waited to say something until one of the cooks, who had brought some sandwiches and coffee for them, had left the room.
“Commander, I called you up here because the President and I don’t often get a chance to meet or talk with our forces battling the Zodarks,” Admiral Bailey began. “We watched the battle over New Eden, and we saw what your ship did. That was some impressive flying. The way your ship swooped in like it did, using the Voyager to hide behind until the very last minute and then unloading your missiles and torpedoes—you guys took that enemy transport out before it was able to offload even half of its troops. That was an incredible feat.”
Now that she knew why she’d been called up here, Dobbs relaxed a bit. “Thank you for the praise, sir. The flying was my ensign. You can thank him. For a new officer, he’s a superb pilot. But I still lost my ship, sir. I had only been in command of it for a few months.”
Brushing off her concern, President Luca commented, “Commander, we can build more ships. We can’t readily replace commanders and crews like yours. You did a great job taking those ships out. I read your AAR from your attack on the Zodark fleet a few days ago. I’d say your ship and crew have done more than most. You also gave us the heads-up, allowing us the needed time to get ourselves organized and ready to meet them at the gate. You and your crew are a big reason why we just crushed that Zodark fleet, Commander.”
Blushing at the praise, Dobbs countered, “We’re military officers, ma’am. We all have a part to play in this war. We just played our part a bit better than the enemy, that’s all.”
Admiral Bailey laughed at the reply. “Well, I agree, Commander. We all have a part to play in this war. So, I want to talk with you about yours. The Viper-class frigate has performed exceptionally well in its role as a scout ship, but this battle identified some pretty crucial weak points that need to get fixed. I don’t mean to rub salt in a wound, but you are without a ship until we get a new one built for you. I’d like you to come work on my staff and help our engineers improve the Viper design. Either we find a way to improve the Viper’s armor so it can take more than a single hit or we design a stronger ship that can still perform its primary mission of being a recon bird and raider, but take a few hits and still survive. This may turn into a long war, Commander. We need our ships to survive multiple engagements. We can’t keep replacing ships at the kind of loss rate we saw today. It’s not sustainable.”
Dobbs took all of about two seconds to think about the offer before she responded, “I’d love to, Admiral. Having some firsthand combat experience on both the Rook and now the Viper, I think I could help us gin up the perfect warship for this kind of fight.”
“Excellent. When the President and I return to Sol in a few days, I’ll have you travel back with us,” Bailey explained. “We’ll keep your crew out here and reassign them to f
ill in any losses Admiral Hunt’s fleet suffered. We just got a report from him. They’re on their way back here now. They won, but it wasn’t an easy fight. We lost a little more than half our ships in the final battle.”
The President then interjected, “We lost a lot of good people today, Commander. But let’s not lose sight of the fact that we scored a huge victory in this war. We defeated what just two years ago would have been a superior force. According to your own ship’s reconnaissance of the area, this was probably the only enemy fleet standing between us and the Sumerian home world. We’re going to repair our ships, and then we’re going to liberate Sumer.”
“I like the sound of that, Madam President,” Dobbs replied. Then she turned to the admiral. “Sir, I still have some injured crewmen I’d like to go check on. Do you need me for anything else?”
“I’ll come with you,” Bailey said. “I don’t often get a chance to award Purple Hearts in person. Oh, before I forget, and before we leave the system, I’m putting you in for the Navy Cross. I want you to pick five crewmen you think earned a Silver Star today or during the last few weeks. I’m going to award the rest of the crew a Bronze Star with V device. You and your crew earned it, and we need to show our people back on Earth what real heroes look like.”
Dobbs wasn’t sure what to say. She was a bit taken aback by the gesture. “I’ll get you a few names by the end of the day,” she finally managed to respond. The two names she knew off the top of her head were Lieutenant Reynolds, her tactical and weapons officer, and Ensign Hunt, her helmsman and navigator. They’d both done an exceptional job. She felt they’d earned the third-highest award the nation could give.
Chapter Fourteen
Terminators
RNS George Washington
New Eden
The flight deck of the GW was humming with activity. It was one section of the ship that hadn’t suffered a lot of damage during the battle from a few days back. The rest of the ship was crawling with synthetic workers and repair bots, welding new armor plating across some areas while sealing and repairing tears in the hull in others. Most of the repair activity was taking place around the massive magrail turrets and the plasma cannon. Those weapons had proved to be decisive in defeating the Zodark ships.
Standing with his hands on his hips, Lieutenant Brian Royce looked at the shuttlecraft that just arrived from one of the nearby transports. A number of his Deltas stood there with him, looking at the rear of the shuttle as they prepared to lower the ramp. When it finally opened and settled on the flight deck, what everyone saw took their breath away.
Inside the darkened rear of the shuttle, a series of red glowing lights turned on. Then in unison, four columns of combat synthetics marched out of the shuttle toward the Deltas.
Is that Adam? Royce thought as he saw one of the new combat Synths walking toward him. It had a gold patch on its armor, distinguishing itself from the others. It was also the only Synth that fell out of formation.
The C100 walked up to him. “Lieutenant Brian Royce, it is a pleasure to see you again,” he said. It is Adam, he realized.
Royce’s platoon members looked back and forth between him and the machine standing in front of them. They weren’t sure what to make of this mechanical killing machine just yet.
Smiling, Royce replied, “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Adam. I hope your trip was OK?”
“Our trip was spent studying everything we could about the Zodarks and the environment of New Eden and her two moons. My command stands ready to assist,” Adam replied, devoid of emotion.
Just then, a Delta colonel named Charlie Hackworth walked up to Royce. “Ah, Lieutenant. I see you’ve met Adam.”
“Yes, sir. I actually met him several months ago with Admiral Hunt,” Royce replied. “I wasn’t aware we’d be deploying with them so soon.”
Colonel Hackworth grinned. “That’s right—I forgot you’d been given an exclusive tour with Admiral Hunt. Well, we hadn’t planned on deploying them so soon, but old Walburg was able to throw together a battalion of them for this trip. They’re going to deploy with our units and get some experience. It’ll help us work out their kinks before we start deploying C100 battalions.”
Before Royce could say anything else, the colonel turned to look at the rest of the Deltas eyeing the machines as they formed up not far from them. “This, ladies and gentlemen, is the future of modern warfare in the twenty-second century.” Hackworth had a serious look on his face, a stern look that left no evidence of his opinion as to what he’d just said. The soldiers eyed the machines nervously. They’d all seen movies and videos of the human surrogate drones that went rogue in the last war, and no one wanted a repeat of that. These machines looked a lot fiercer than the surrogates of the previous war.
Adam turned and headed over to his company of combat Synths, standing in front of them like a company commander would. The machines were oblivious to the stares of the soldiers and sailors around them. They remained standing there like the sentinel warriors they were, waiting for their next set of orders.
One of Royce’s soldiers stepped forward and asked the question they were all thinking, “What do we call these things, Colonel?”
Hackworth laughed. “Well, son, that’s a good question. Walburg Industries calls them C100s. Space Command calls them combat Synths. Me? I call them terminators.”
A nerdy-looking soldier, aptly assigned as Royce’s coms and drone operator guy, lifted his hand. “I remember watching a movie from like a hundred years ago about machines that would take control of the world and try to kill all the humans. They called them terminators too.”
A smirk spread across the old colonel’s leathery face. He walked up to the soldier who’d just spoken. “You mean like the surrogates from the last great war? Those terminators, or some made-up crap Hollywood cooked up? ’Cause I remember fighting those bastards in the last Great War, and let me tell you, they nearly wiped us out—killed millions of people.”
Colonel Hackworth paused for a moment as he surveyed the Deltas standing in front of him. “I call these hunks of metal terminators for one simple reason, Deltas. They’re killing machines; they’ve been specifically built to kill, nothing more. They’re equipped with an armored exoskeleton frame and an enhanced super-AI that is a million times smarter, faster, and more adaptable to a situation than you Special Forces grunts ever could be. These are terminators, plain and simple. Now, we’re going to unleash these bastards on the Zodarks, and you Deltas are going to observe them in action from a distance. Your job is to watch them, see how they learn and, most importantly, observe how the Zodarks respond to them.
“If this experiment proves successful, we may well drop a few thousand of them on some Zodark-controlled worlds and let them go crazy. Now, in six hours, we’re all going to load up into our Ospreys and head down to the surface of Pishon. This moon is not habitable for us humans. You’ll need to keep your helmet on at all times. If your helmet loses its seal or your suit gets damaged, you’ll have exactly two minutes before you’ll become unconscious. In five minutes, you’ll be dead. When we land on the surface, I’m going to make sure we have some medical support. However, let’s not try to test their skills, OK?”
The Deltas gave the colonel a loud “Hooah,” which was the official battle cry of the Republic Army to just about anything you wanted it to be. It dated back to the old days, before the consolidation of the Department of Defense from six separate military departments to just two. The Fleet had largely absorbed the US Air Force, Navy, and Space Command to form the backbone of the US Space Command naval force. Then the US Army, Marines, reserve components and National Guards had merged to form the Republic Army soldiers or RAS battalions, which had become the ground component of the Fleet. There had been a lot of grumbling for a few decades after the consolidation efforts. Some specialized groups continued to live on, like the Deltas, which traced their lineage back to 1st Special Forces Group, the 75th Rangers, and Marine Force Recon. These groups
all fell under a unified Special Forces Command, performing unique military operations outside the scope of the RAS.
The old Special Forces colonel walked up to Lieutenant Royce and got right up in his face. Speaking in a whisper so no one else could hear him talking, Hackworth said sternly, “Listen up, Lieutenant. I don’t trust these toasters any more than I can throw them, which, considering the fact that these bastards weigh nearly two thousand pounds, isn’t very far. I want your men to keep a real close eye on them. Specifically, monitor their interactions with each other, all verbal and nonverbal communications. They’ve been programmed to use vocal communications for the time being so we can know what they’re saying, thinking, and doing.
“Don’t underestimate them, Lieutenant. If they deviate from their programming one bit, you and your platoon sergeant will be carrying a kill switch that’ll allow you to deactivate them all should you need to. If that happens, your platoon needs to be ready to finish their job and take these Zodarks out. I read your file, and I know your history; killing Zodarks shouldn’t be a problem for you if it comes down to it.” Hackworth then patted Royce on the shoulder and turned to head toward the briefing room just outside the flight deck.
Turning to face his platoon, Royce barked, “OK, listen up, Deltas. Our mission is to observe these…terminators. So, that’s what we’re going to do. Pack your gear for a five-day mission. Bring enough stim packs and food pouches for ten days in case these Fleet bastards forget to pick us up. I want everyone in the briefing room in three hours. We’ll go over the mission parameters, and then we’ll board up with our new friends. Dismissed.”
Three hours later, the Deltas of Second Platoon, Bravo Company, 2nd Battalion, filtered into the briefing room next to the flight deck. This room was generally used as a training room for the fighter drone pilots, so it was decked out with holographic map tables, three-dimensional monitors, and a few other features the newest warships were now incorporating.
Into the Battle Page 22