“I’m sorry,”Arthur said, raising a hand.“You can’t be talking about the invasion plan.”
Jerry shook his head, gesturing for Arthur to lower his arm.“The Ronin Protocol was a failsafe put in during the Emigration War. If the planet was taken, the leaders would cut all ties with the rest of the galaxy, trapping the invaders in a single system. But that assumes the aliens can piggyback our nodes.”
“Jesus.”Arthur looked exasperated.“Well, how do we know it’s not that?”
The Chief of Staff smiled patiently.“Arthur, it isn’t uncommon to lose communication with another planetary system. The distances involved are staggering, and the technology that keeps the colonies together is as fragile as glass. A solar flare could have knocked out a relay, or just simple human error.”
Sipping at his water, Alexander scrambled to piece the information together. He turned to the Admiral.“Has Fleet been notified?”
“Yes, sir. Commodore Osaka and CBG Sol is on standby to move out. They’ve dispatched a small scouting group, TFC Berlinfrom Sector with an escort of destroyers and frigates.”
Alexander sat straight in his seat.“Why are you sending the reserves instead of Fleet?”
“SP’s a part of Fleet since the draft,”Walker said.“They can spare the fighters and ships-of-the-line while Fleet is on high alert around Earth. Any small disturbances are more than in hand. FTL is still linked so they should be arriving within the next eight hours.”
“And it’ll look like he just put Sol under martial law,”Arthur objected.“Admiral, we’re in enough trouble with this draft. We have to consider the political ramifications.”
Walker took a deep breath and turned to face the High Chancellor.“Sir, it was a judgment call and I made it. If the pundits need someone to blame, you have me. But three hundred million people just went missing in action, and we need answers more than we need good press.”
The two men stared each other down, but in the end Alexander knew the Admiral was right. He’d been in a uniform once, though it seemed like a lifetime ago. Priorities needed to be changed if he were going to lead his people through the war. He needed to stop thinking like a politician. If he could.
“Then let’s sit down and wait for word from our scouts. If this is just a technical glitch, it couldn’t have come at a worse time.”
Admiral Walker seemed poised to say more, but his better judgment stopped the words in his mouth.“Roger that, sir.”He collected his officers and moved to an adjacent room to continue planning. All that were left were aides and politicians, and none of them had anything useful to add. Secret Service agents relaxed in their hidden corners; it was easier to protect someone in an empty room.
“And if it’s something else?”Arthur asked.
Alexander sighed.“Then this will be an interesting day.”
- VIII -
Bells echoed through the vacant passages of the TFC Berlin. Multicolored lines ran along the walls, guiding the crew to different areas of the carrier. Like all vessels in the Terran Fleet, the interior was a grid of blank halls lined with bulkheads and piping. Years back, a motivated seaman first class had run though the corridors placing historic photos of the ship, the crew and Fleet in action, giving the bland decor some much needed life. Aside from the scattered boxes of supplies and ammunition on their way to one room or another, the halls were uniformly empty. The XO made sure that the crew spent as little time sauntering from place-to-place as possible, instilling a sense of urgency motivated almost entirely by fear and loathing.
Standing by the porthole near the stern, Cameron and George played cards while bathed in ghostly blue light. Cameron’s stomach couldn’t stay still. For him, traveling in Blue Space was a constant stress. It disturbed every fiber of his psyche: The strange colors dancing on the wall, the unfathomable speeds and distances; it didn’t compute. George, on the other hand, loved the thrill of racing off into the stars.
“Got any nines?”George asked?
Cameron raised an eyebrow.“We’re not playing that, George.”
“Ahh, that’s why I’m losing so badly.”
“No,”Cameron said.“You’re losing very well.”
George muttered,“grammar Nazi.”He dropped his cards on the table, letting out a sigh. Something skipped past the window casting a sudden shadow on the wall. Cameron jerked in his seat.“Are you still a nervous flier?”
The older pilot scowled.“It’s not natural,”he said.“Why is it shaped like a giant tube? There’s no curves, no intersections with other points in space. Just a long, blue pipe from one place to another. It’s nonsense.”
“Better than walking.”George grinned.“Don’t be so hard on yourself, I’m sure there are lots of pilots that have a fear of flying. They hang out with hydrophobic sailors.”
“Or a claustrophobic chimney sweep,”Cameron added.
“Chimney what?”
“Sweep.”He shuffled the cards and began to deal.“They used to clean chimneys with long brooms, get all the soot out.”
George shook his head, taking his cards.“Nah, I’m pretty sure you’re full of it.”
“Read a book sometime.”
“I’d rather not,”George said. He dropped his cards down on the table.“Gin.”Satisfied, he folded his arms and leaned back in his chair.“How do you like that, son?”
Cameron read the cards.“Well, two things.”He looked into his friend’s face.“One, we’re not playing Gin. Two, that’s just a mess of cards and what appears to be the rules of the deck.”
“So,”George began.“It’s a draw?”
Another bell sounded, signaling the end of the watch and alerting the relief crew to their stations. George gathered the cards and stuffed them into his pocket. Cameron grabbed his flight jacket from the back of the chair as he got up, making sure to lock the seat in place with a tie-down strap. Together they walked down the corridor toward the hangar. They took the stairs after seeing a small line forming at the elevator. George made a comment about Cameron needing the exercise, but Cameron didn’t take the jab. In truth, he was in better shape as a pilot than he’d been during boot camp. Mostly it came from being too poor to afford a lot of food, but he found it made flying more comfortable if he weren’t carrying an extra ten pounds.
They arrived at the hangar door and donned their jackets. The air inside was significantly colder than the rest of the ship, mostly out of necessity. Many munitions had to be kept cold so as not to freeze when exposed to the vacuum. That and heating such a large space was expensive. As they entered, Cameron watched a drone launch down the magnetic rail that ran the length of the room. The craft shot out the open end of the hangar into space, passing through a thin field of electrons that separated their environment from the harsh vortex outside. It was standard procedure to launch recon UAVs during a blue jump as TSI wanted to gather as much information on the mysterious space as possible. The buoys almost never lasted long enough to transmit, but the scarce data they reported was invaluable.
The hangar hung under the belly of the carrier, a Europe-class design, providing a safe base from which to launch. A battery of anti-aircraft guns stuck out from beneath like pins in a cushion, deterring any attack on the underside of the ship.
Cameron walked over to his fighter. SP had been rolled up into Fleet, and all of Luna had been thrown aboard the aging Berlinin order to save the active units the hassle of flying all the way out to Tallus. At least they’d had the decency to have Fleet engineers take a look at the long mistreated Sector Patrol craft, giving them much needed maintenance. Cameron’s Phoenix had never looked so clean, and no fluids formed puddles underneath the wings. Even the seat had been reupholstered. Two silver stripes had been painted down the wings, marking him the wing leader. It didn’t come with a promotion, but the solo bunk was perk enough.
“Try not to break her now,”a voice said from behind. Cameron turned to see Chief Wallace, the maintenance team leader. Stolen from New Eden’s reserves, Wallace added ye
ars of experience to the skeleton crew on Berlin. Long past his required service, the Chief knew the ins and outs of every Naval vessel since the moth-infested Crows. He walked over to the young pilot, looking every bit like his nickname,“Bear Wallace.”His bushy brown beard was strictly against Fleet regulations, but New Eden had a much more relaxed stance on such things, and talent of his level was often allowed indulgences. Chief was short and square, with thick hairy arms and a ceaseless smile.
“Not when she looks this good,”Cameron said.
“The ailerons needed a lot of love, but you should have an easier time keeping her level.”
“Cam can’t fly level, Chief.”George punched his friend on the arm as he walked up.“No amount of work on his fighter will change that.”
Wallace looked the junior officer over.“Aren’t you the one who tried to thread the needle at Okami Outpost a few months back?”George turned beet red.“I knew it. They’re still pulling pieces of your ship outta that rock, you know? Said they’ve never seen anyone misjudge a flight path like that.”
George glowered, but was clearly putting up a front. He enjoyed his celebrity status, despite how he’d earned it.“Some people just don’t know how to build watch towers. There’s a regulation distance for a reason.”
“And that distance is still a full half-meter short of a Sparrow’s wingspan,”Cameron said.
“I’m noticing a lot of negativity coming from your side of the room, Cam. I’m going to chalk it up to nerves, seeing as how blue you seem to be getting.”
Wallace laughed.“Ain’t nothing to be scared about out here, sirs. Blue Space is just like other space.‘Cept you can’t leave the ship. Anything smaller than a Valkyrie tends to disappear out there.”
Cameron paled as he stared out into the void.“I’m fine where I am, thanks.”He shuddered.“Looks so cold.”
Chief Wallace chuckled.“Actually, all probes report it’s warmer out there than regular space. Not exactly tropical, but you could get by with a light jacket.”He slapped Cameron’s back.“Now, I’m sure you troublemakers didn’t come down here just to chat with me.”
“We’re here for our watch, Chief,”George said.“Where are the rest of the pilots waiting?”
Wallace pointed toward the rec room on the far side of the hangar. Pilots and crewmen sat on couches and talked, while others dozed off. During a jump, the quick reaction force was more of a drill than a practical chore. No fighter had ever survived in the vortex, even trailing the wake of a supercarrier. Most pilots took the time to fix their ships, catch up on reading, or catch up on sleep. More often it was a healthy dose of the latter.
George walked with Cameron to the waiting area and they plopped down on a stained blue sofa. The television in the corner played reruns of some game show from the Unified Orient. On the screen, a contestant failed to negotiate part of an elaborate obstacle course, ending up waste deep in noxious-looking sludge. A few of the pilots laughed, but most used the show as background noise to conversations.
Hours passed in the dimly lit room, and Cameron dozed without realizing. When George finally shook him awake, the last tone of the bells sounded over the loudspeaker.
They had arrived in the Valley.
* * * * *
Tallus was under siege, though no one on the ground would know it. Floating high above the only civilized landmass, watching with cruel intent, the Boxti frigate beamed FTL coordinates from a spiky transmitter on its dorsal tower. Almost immediately it received a coded response.
Dozens of small probes shot from the warship, setting up a node for the incoming war party. The beacons broadcasted a navigation lock, coded to the alien’s frequency. On the surface, radio and television programs broke into static, overpowered by the intense transmission.
Khuum...khuum...khuum
Within minutes, blue motes of light began to appear in the sky over the Terran planet. The nearest Boxti group was hours away, but the frigate would use the time wisely, gathering intel. Already, the creatures aboard the vessel had plotted the various population centers of New Freeman and begun preparing firing solutions for all of them. Covering an area the size of Australia, the metropolis made a difficult target, but a coordinated assault was more than a possibility.
With incredible patience, and inhuman banality, the Boxti planned the destruction of the planet.
* * * * *
Berlin entered evasive maneuvers only seconds from exiting Blue Space. Followed by three destroyers and a half dozen frigates, the strike group entered a battlefield littered with the dead. Gettysburg floated in pieces, none bigger than the smoldering hangar wing from the flagship. The two destroyer escorts were nowhere to be seen, having been blown out of existence hours before.
The Terran vessels navigated the sea of debris, hulls resounding with every impact. Inside Berlin, crewmembers clung to bulkheads as each strike reverberated throughout the carrier. A smaller fuel frigate, TFF Atlantic, struck a floating munitions room and blew off its starboard reserve tank. The explosion caused a fury of action until the commander of the fueler reported all clear.
Captain Newman, standing on the bridge of Berlin, watched the scene with horror. What could do this much destruction? He turned to Captain Shandras, Berlin’s commanding officer. At his place near the center of the room, Shandras wiped a tear from his eye, whispering a prayer for his dead brothers in uniform. A full head shorter than Newman, Shandras was revered as a man of faith by his loyal crew.
“Flight, report,”Shandras said in his usual soft voice. His eyes never moved from the screens in the front of the room.
Lieutenant JG Vega worked the helm, guiding the wide ship through the field.“We’re clear of the larger fragments, sir. I’ve got us on a path to double back around for a better view.”
“Engineering?”
“Hull is ninety-nine percent and holding. We didn’t take too much, sir.”Lieutenant Gordon leaned back in his seat at the engineering position, rubbing his face with his hands.“Shields moved to full front until we clear the debris.”
“Good work,”Shandras said.“You’ve all done good work here. Let’s set up position in Q17, let our search-and-rescue craft have a chance at combing through the derelicts.”
“Aye, sir.”The response came from all stations.
Newman quickly moved to the commander, speaking low.“I’ll have Wolfpack in the air to provide escort, Captain.”It was strange to bear the same title but sit significantly lower on the rank ladder. By Sector Patrol’s standards he was an O-3, while the ship’s commander was an O-7. He’d always had trouble figuring out naval rank, preferring the Army structure.
Shandras nodded to his subordinate.“Good. Have them running the same frequency as the Valkyries.”
Newman picked up the handset by the communication officer and connected to the Quick Reaction Force.“This is Captain Newman. Wolfpack is clear to launch. Flight line Hotel, channel 2-5-2.”After his order was confirmed, he hung up the line. He turned his attention to the monitor and watched as fighters launched from the hangar out toward the battlefield. Fat-stomached Valkyries, the all-purpose military transport, rocketed out on four engines. Their bubble-domed cockpits reflected light from the distant stars.
The rescue ships charged headlong into the wreckage, scanning for any signs of life. Every now and then a Valkyrie would launch a tow cable and pull a piece of metal away from a portion of the carrier, but no living crew were found. The fighter escort weaved in and out of the debris as they patrolled the ominous landscape. Nimble Sparrows dropped sensor pods into the smoldering husks of Cambridge and Cape Cod. The latter barely existed anymore, save a steadily disintegrating section of hull.
In his fighter, circling the remains of one of the fallen destroyers, Cameron couldn’t believe his eyes. From all reports, this attack had come at the hands of five Boxti craft and a frigate. The amount of firepower needed for this level of carnage couldn’t have come from so small a group. It just didn’t add up. He could remember a
ll too easily the fighting from only a few weeks before. What had been so different here?
“Wolfpack, this is Berlin.”
Cameron pulled his thoughts back to the moment.“Go for Wolfpack.”It didn’t feel right to still use the call sign. Only four of the original squadron remained since the draft, with the rest still in recovery back in Sol.
“We’re showing residual energy from a Stride outside of the debris field. Investigate and report, out.”
George pulled up alongside, rolling his eyes.“And here we were, hoping for a leisurely flight through a graveyard.”
“Hey,”Cameron snapped.“Have a little respect, George.”
George blushed.“Did you know anyone here?”
“Does it matter? We’re all in the same uniform.”
The younger pilot closed distance so he could look the other in the eye.“What’s happened to you, Cam?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve been like this since Luna. Every time we fly. McLane was green, but he was a grown-ass man. We risk it everyday out here.”
Cameron stared straight ahead, his blood boiling.“I should have seen it coming.”
“I’m sick of the moping, Cam. We’re all hurting. Hell, I’m beating myself up about him, too. But this is war. Get your shit on straight, there was nothing you could do.”
“Sure,”Cameron said dismissively.“Whatever.”
For a moment all George could do was fume inside his cockpit. Then he angled his wing down and rammed his friend’s ship, sending sparks flying out where metal met metal.
Cameron shouted.“Christ, what the hell are you doing?”
“Normally I would slap you, but these damn fighters were in the way.”
The older pilot jerked the yoke to the right, his collision light smashing against George’s hull with a resounding clang that shook both men in their seats. The diamond-glass cracked from the impact.“What is the matter with you?”
“You’ve lost people in a fight before. What makes this different?”
When the Stars Fade (The Gray Wars) Page 11