Scrapyard Ship 7: Call to Battle

by Mark Wayne McGinnis

  Jason spoke into an open channel: “Split into three groups. Hold fire until my order.”

  They all moved from the cover of the towering pines out onto a manicured gravel pathway that looked to circumvent the entire property. One team led by Billy moved left while the second team led by Rizzo went right. Jason’s team stepped back into the woods and waited sixty seconds. “Billy … Rizzo … in position?”

  “Affirmative,” came Rizzo’s voice.

  “We’re set,” Billy said.

  Jason’s team moved back out from the cover of the woods and onto the lawn. Keeping low, they hurried forward in the direction of a cluster of Korean soldiers eighty feet away, standing in a circle—all smoking cigarettes. As Jason approached, he heard their hushed voices getting louder. Someone must have said something funny because the group as a whole started to laugh. The soldiers were now flicking their cigarettes to the ground and using the toes of their boots to extinguish them. Two soldiers looked up and froze.

  “Take them out,” Jason said over the open channel. He pulled the trigger of his own multi-gun four times. Plasma bolts flashed around him as he and his team brought the Korean soldiers to their definitive demise.

  Within thirty seconds, the three teams had intersected into one group again. Closer to the main structure, Jason saw that the main house, more like an industrial building, was practically all glass, with brushed aluminum accents. The team approached, skirting three dramatic fountains; each one, square-sided, had four majestic waterfalls pouring into Zen-like pools some fifteen feet below ground.

  Little time was spent gawking at the lush surroundings. Not far within the confines of the residence, he noticed something repeatedly flashing: explosions! Faintly, he heard gunfire. “What the hell …”

  DeMille, the stocky, friendly-faced Seaman, was pointing into the residence. “I’d recognize that sound anywhere. Call of Duty, sir. Definitely Call of Duty. Looks like someone’s got a PlayStation.”

  Jason nodded. “Why don’t you do the honors, DeMille. Give us a back door.”

  The young SEAL took a step back, made an adjustment to his multi-gun, and fired.

  The back of the residence erupted into a shower of glass and metal. The SEAL team rushed in, weapons held high and at the ready. Separating into their smaller teams of three again, they proceeded forward—some scouting out the first floor, others climbing up a thick glass stairway to the upper levels. Jason entered last. Jason heard a definitive clear as, one after the other, the SEALs secured the premises. Jason knew, from the singular red icon showing on his HUD, that the only inhabitant here was in the adjacent room.

  As Jason entered what must be considered the great room, sitting on a humongous sectional couch was Kim Jong Un. Five SEALs stood behind him, their multi-guns trained on his head.

  Sitting in his tighty whities and a black T-shirt far too small for his amply protruding belly, the young North Korean leader looked up at Jason. A bright red bowl, half full of popcorn, was precariously propped on his leg. He turned his attention to the wall-sized flat screen TV and then back at Jason, who noticed the video game was paused, frozen on a combatant figure in the midst of firing some kind of RPG weapon. The figure wore a battle suit remarkably similar to the one Jason and his teammates were currently wearing.

  Jason gestured for everyone to lower their weapons, as Billy directed several of the team to secure an outside perimeter. Looking at the young leader, his mouth open and half-full of popcorn, Jason wondered if the Korean leader had any idea what was going on; if he was even aware that his country was now at war. Then Jason noticed several smaller TVs. Four of them hung higher up on the wall, above the game playing on the large TV screen. Two TVs were tuned to North Korean news channels, showing helicopter shots of Kumsusan Palace, and the fleet of Craing warships parked on its sprawling quad. One TV was tuned to an old Gilligan’s Island rerun, while another displayed a feed from some high-level meeting; no fewer than ten military officers, clad in dark-green uniforms that were decorated with ornate chest ribbons and gold shoulder stars, stood like wax statues, their faces looking back at him in stunned attention. So, while his country sent a nuclear warhead toward America’s fiftieth state, this little shit was playing video games. The absurdity of it made Jason’s blood boil.

  Kim Jung Un smiled up at Jason and then resumed, slowly at first, to chew on the popcorn kernels still in his mouth.

  Jason stepped over a small tower of comic books lying scattered about the floor and sat down next to North Korea’s supreme leader.

  “As of now, we are taking control of your country. When you learn to play nice with your neighbors, perhaps someday you will get it back.”

  No one spoke. Jason said something into his comms and then gestured toward the TV, currently showing the fleet of U.S. warships sitting on the quad of Kumsusan Palace. The Lilly rose slowly into the air, only five hundred feet or so. Small cannons appeared beneath her underbelly. In a spectacular blaze of plasma fire, The Lilly let loose a fire barrage for nearly ten seconds. The cannons then retracted back into the ship’s hull and The Lilly resettled down onto the quad.

  Jason was on his comms; out of habit he placed two fingers to his ear. He nodded and looked over at the North Korean leader.

  “There are now none remaining of the few nuclear warheads your country possessed. Even their silos have been eradicated. Your air force and naval assets have also been destroyed. For all intent and purpose, your country is now totally defenseless.”

  Chatter erupted from the TV feed up on the wall. The military officers, earlier stone-faced and quiet, were now in frenzied states of agitation. One of the officers was standing, screaming at the camera, trying to get Kim Jong Un’s attention.

  Jason was being hailed.

  “Go for Captain.”

  “Change of plan,” the admiral said.

  “What’s up?”

  “We need to get you and The Lilly, and your convoy, back into space.”

  “We haven’t quite finished here,” Jason said.

  “We’ll take care of the Russians later. I’ve dispatched another light cruiser to take up residence in Pyongyang Square. We need you up at the line … The Craing fleet is on the move.”

  Chapter 8

  Rain continued to buffet her two, side-by-side bedroom windows. She pulled the curtains further apart and peered upward, toward the sky. The tallest of the six surrounding castle spires disappeared into the dark, menacing clouds above, never seeming to move away.

  Dira lifted her arms up to let El, her young handmaiden, pull the silver mesh gown over her head. El gripped the sheer, snug fitting fabric on both sides of Dira’s body and, with two practiced hands, pulled the garment down over her breasts and upper torso. The two briefly made eye contact.

  “This is ridiculous, El. Seriously … I don’t need a dresser,” Dira said, trying to contain her irritation. “And I certainly don’t need to be dressed up like this.”

  El made a resigned expression, which bespoke she’d heard the same complaint a thousand times before. She continued to adjust the bodice until the material lay flat over Dira’s belly, then smoothed it around her narrow hips. The full length of the gown blossomed out into shimmering, cascading folds that fell lightly to the floor.

  “Nonsense, you’re a princess … soon to be queen.”

  Dira’s eyes shot to the dresser’s face. “Watch your tongue, El!”

  El stood back and placed a hand over her heart, bowing her head. “I apologize, my princess. That was incredibly callous of me … heartless.”

  Dira’s thoughts turned to the queen, who was abed, unconscious, in the royal suite two floors below. She was not expected to live through the night. Injuries from the Craing attack had put her at death’s door. Even with Dira’s advanced medical training, there was little that could be done to help her. What she needed was a MediPod. Requests to her father—to bring this amazing technology to the palace—had fallen on deaf ears. The king’s adherence t
o ancient, out of date monarchy tenants was infuriating.

  Dira mimed the dresser’s repentant gesture by placing her own hand over her heart. “No … it’s all right. You are just saying the simple truth.” She watched El move off toward one of the wardrobes. Continuing to press her hand into her chest, Dira wondering if the pain inside her would ever subside. Leaving The Lilly, and Jason, was the hardest thing she’d ever done. Her departure from him broke her heart. Then, upon returning to Jhardon and the palace, her already broken heart was ravaged anew upon seeing the rapidly declining condition of her mother’s life force.

  Dira stepped in front of the full-length mirror positioned in the corner of her bedroom and appraised her refection. She turned her upper body slightly to the left—then to the right. She was unaccustomed to dressing this formally. Her eyes fell to her exposed shoulders—the neckline that gave the briefest glimpse of cleavage. Again, her thoughts returned to Jason. She imagined him here now, his fingers gently following the contours of her neck—like a whisper; his lips kissing her there, at the nape, where her violet skin flushed—

  “You should wear these,” El said, holding up a pair of strappy-looking silver shoes.

  Dira let out a breath and nodded. “Those will be fine.” She reached down with both hands and pulled the hem of her gown up. Kneeling, El fitted first one, and then the other, shoe onto Dira’s feet and then stood up. Both turned their attention to the mirror.

  “Oh my … A more beautiful vision I have never seen, my princess.”

  Dira gave El a smile that didn’t quite make it up to her eyes. “Thank you, El. Please inform the king that I’m ready.”

  The dresser bowed her head and quickly bustled out through the bedroom door. Dira turned away from the mirror and slowly walked toward a tall antique armoire, opposite her bed. As El had left its doors slightly ajar a narrow swath of light filtered into the old cabinet. As Dira reached to close the doors, she suddenly stopped. Three shelves down from the top, folded into a perfect square, was the spacer’s jumpsuit she’d arrived in. Atop the clothes was the small silver SuitPac device she customarily wore on her belt. She closed the cabinet doors.

  * * *

  The King and Queen of Jhardon were far more than their monarchy titles implied. No, here they reigned and ruled with full authority in their titled positions. For one thousand five hundred uninterrupted years there had been a ruling monarch—either a king or a queen—or, sometimes, both. Dira walked along the wide cobblestoned hallway that bordered the open palace courtyard to her left. Every fifteen feet she passed another magnificent fluted column, which reached hundreds of feet into the air. Rain continued to fall into the courtyard; the koi ponds had overflowed their banks weeks ago and the intricately patterned formal gardens, formerly lush with colorful flowers, were now nothing more than sodden rows of sagging, flowerless, stalks and vines.

  As Dira approached the king’s antechamber she slowed her pace. Her mind was reeling. She was debating with herself whether to avoid their discussion entirely. Her head down, the intersecting hallway loomed ten paces in front of her. She made a quick left and then stopped. Shit! What’s wrong with me? She’d already had days to prepare … no, a full week now. Why is this so difficult?

  “Dira!”

  She turned back toward her father’s antechamber.

  He stood there, looking around the half-opened door. “Come in, Dira. Join me for a hot sangerine.”

  She smiled and joined her father as he widened up the doorway, and entered into what she knew was his favorite refuge. She eyed the leather couch, and the two matching leather chairs in front of his desk, but didn’t sit. She watched the King of Jhardon walk to a credenza and pour two steaming cups of the bittersweet sangerine. He handed her a cup and waited for his daughter to speak.

  She took the cup and sipped. Finally, she met her father’s loving gaze. That was all it took for her eyes to brim up with tears. Her father’s thick arms surrounded her—pulled her into his chest. “This is what you were destined to be, my sweet daughter. I have never known a more capable person than you, Dira.”

  She pulled herself away and looked into the king’s heavily lined face. “I don’t know if I can give up my life—”

  “Yes, you can … and you will. Because this involves much more than simply you and what you want.”

  “But why now, father? Why not in a year, or five years?”

  “Because when your mother dies … I’ll die. We are one. It is the Jhardon way, Dira. Husbands and wives … kings and queens, we have always had this choice. Our ultimate commitment is to one another. You are our sole heir, my daughter. In less than a week … you will be queen. You will rule Jhardon, and those who live here … our good, wonderful citizens … you’ll rule all the land, and the space around our still spectacular planet.”

  Again, Dira’s hand found its way to her heart. Every beat ached for the love she would never realize. Every beat pounded, like a distant drum—echoing her shattered dreams. And then she thought of Nan and her unborn child. Jason’s unborn child.

  “Yes, father. I will do as you ask. I will make you proud. And when you lie down next to mother … next to the Queen. When you go …” tears were now streaming down Dira’s cheeks, “I will send both of you on your way … back home … to the heavens of Calime. I will then proudly take my rightful place on Jhardon’s throne.”

  Yes, she’d said the words. With them went any chance of a future life with Jason. The Queen of Jhardon could never marry outside her Jhardonian bloodlines.

  Chapter 9

  With the fingertips of his hands touching—as if in prayer—Jason sat quietly in the command chair as they approached the line. It was six hundred thousand miles of nothingness—a mere stone’s throw away, considering the vastness of space, between the U.S. fleet of about one hundred ships and the three Craing fleets—about five thousand strong. Jason stood and looked up at the display and what comprised the entirety of the U.S. fleet. Even with their recommissioned Craing meganaught added to it, the small U.S. fleet seemed ridiculously outmatched. But the advanced technology of The Lilly and the Minian, both Caldurian vessels, put things on a somewhat more level playing field.

  Jason watched as they approached the Minian. Nearly identical looking to The Lilly, she was almost twenty times her size, and significantly more advanced. They’d had two full months to complete the Minian’s repairs. Ricket, Bristol and Granger, an impressive combination of intellect and talent, revived the ship to her former glory; after having been technologically gutted, thanks to the Craing, she was now operating at full capacity.

  “XO, you have the bridge.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Perkins replied, taking the vacated command chair.

  As Jason left the bridge and passed by his officer’s quarters, he thought about his priceless cargo, Mollie and Boomer, still asleep in their bunks. Would having them on board affect his decision-making? He didn’t think so … at least, no more than usual. But the battle that was coming would be like none any of them had fought in before—he knew that. He also knew losing to the Craing would ensure Earth’s demise. There simply wasn’t a safe haven for anyone … especially the children of Captain Jason Reynolds.

  Off in the distance, down the corridor to the left, Jason’s eyes locked on the entrance to Medical. How many times had he taken these same steps only to see Dira emerge, coincidentally, fifty feet in front of him? Their eyes would meet and neither would be able to keep themselves from smiling. But today the corridor remained quiet—Dira didn’t emerge from Medical … she probably never would again.

  He made his way to the DeckPort, stepped in, and emerged from the DeckPort closest to the flight deck. He still had forty minutes before he was due at the command meeting taking place on board the Minian. He could simply phase-shift over, but he needed to think and he knew the best way to do that would be getting behind the stick of the Pacesetter.

  The flight deck was relatively quiet, with only a few droids moving
about, conducting general maintenance on the varied selection of shuttles and on the six Caldurian fighters. The dark red Pacesetter sat on the open deck; she’d been prepped and seemed to be waiting for him—beckoning him to hurry up and climb on board. Jason felt his pulse quicken. With her gentle curves and slightly backswept wings, the fighter could best be described in one word: sleek. Everything about this fighter said fast—fast and dangerous. Jason climbed up the inset ladder and climbed into the forward cockpit. The canopy slid silently into place as Jason went through his pre-flight checklist.

  Within a minute’s time, he’d brought the Pacesetter off the flight deck and was heading into open space. He banked right, giving himself ample clearance of The Lilly’s two powerful drives, and accelerated. Jason moved away from the fleet of U.S. warships and headed into open space. With his HUD synced to the fighter, he placed the Pacesetter into training mode and started with some simple Basic Fighter Maneuvers, BFMs. Some of what he was seeing now was simulation and Jason marveled at the complexity of it all … how reality, such as the contours of the adjacent ship, was integrated into this new battle scenario. He scanned his surroundings—the brightness of distant stars—a giant nearby planet with its amber continents and blood red oceans. Four silvery moons … all of it transported Jason to another place in reality. This was the ultimate video game and he couldn’t help but smile. He heard the soft voice of the AI in his ear, “Three bogies are approaching at sub-light speeds. All three have detected your presence and have locked on to your coordinates.”

  “Who are they?”

  “Caldurian RAM fighters, Captain.”

  Jason saw the three fighters, approaching in a V formation, on the center 3D virtual display. Another smaller display to his right showed a wire-frame depiction of a RAM fighter, along with the vessel’s impressive stats. More compact than the Pacesetter, these little beasts were fast and highly maneuverable. They also possessed a generation newer tech.