by Trevor Wyatt
Ashley
“The best I can do is 26 hours,” the Edoris station engineer says to me.
“26 hours is too long. That’s just way too long to repair the deflector screens,” I say back to him. His gray eyes bore into me trying to look into my soul.
“Look, Commander Gaines,” he says. “You’re not the first person who’s come up to tell me that my repairs take too long. You’re not even the highest ranking person who’s come up to me telling me my repairs take too long. Let me ask you this. You want me to put together a half ass job so that when you go out there and fight the blue skins you end up falling apart faster and having to limp back and I got do this job all over again?”
I’m silent.
“Or … you want me to do a good job, get you good deflector screen upgrades, so that when you fight those fuckers and kick their ass you don’t have to come crawling back to the station—if it’s even around—to get an upgrade,” he finishes.
A part of me has to be absolutely honest. He makes a very good point. But the key statement in that whole long diatribe that sticks out of me is whether the station is still going to be around the next time we come back.
It’s been a long war. The destruction over the last five years has been unprecedented. Even The Seeker. We’re doing with an upgraded battle cruiser using the name v nowadays. An encounter at New Sydney in the first six months of the war led to the destruction of the old frigate. Can’t say that I don’t like the new ship, but a part of me sometimes misses the old one. It sort of became home after a lot of years.
“16 hours is fine,” I say. “There’s a problem with the inertial dampers too. Think you could take a look at that while you’re under the hood?”
“You got it,” he says to me and starts inputting orders into his tablet.
“How many ships are in the queue?” I ask. He looks at me and gives me a rueful smile.
“You don’t even want to know,” he says with a chuckle. “Fixup one, another three get in line. But I guess it’s better for them to come back damaged than not come back at all.”
The engineers got a point. At the very beginning of the war the number of Terran Union ships that it took to bring down one Sonali vessel was staggering. It seemed like every ship that we had was ill-equipped to fight the graceful and superior design of the Sonali. I remember encounters where it took five ships to bring down one Sonali vessel.
But, that’s not to say that the scientists and the corporations didn’t do their damnedest to try to even those odds. Right about three years ago during one of their largest offensives we finally began to hold our lines. Not just hold our lines, but turn the tide.
But the cost of resources? The cost of manpower? All those people for 2 ½ years who died just to halt an invasion?
That treasure can never be recovered.
Like I said, it’s been a long war. For the first time ever, the rebuilding of the planet Earth was put on hold to ensure the survival of humanity.
Not that there hasn’t been some good that’s come out of this. For the first time the Outer Colonies, seeing us at the losing end of a war and facing extinction finally began moving toward a path and toward meaningful diplomatic contact. It’s surprising to say to someone like me who’s always only known the Outer Colonies as belligerent, isolationist, and not interested in anything to do with the Terran Union. But for the first time emissaries are arriving on Earth to begin the process of opening a dialogue.
Where’s that dialogue going? I don’t know. That’s beyond my pay grade. But what I do know is that if there is some meaningful progress on that front maybe there’s hope for us as a species in surviving this.
“I’ll start working with the dock master to get the ship detailed and ready to go in the next two days with all the things we talked about,” the engineer says to me. I nod. My mission while we’re docked at the station is to make sure that the battle damage that The Seeker suffered while out on its missions gets repaired to the best of this station’ abilities.
I know that not everything’s gonna get fixed. The inertial dampers, like I said, are shot. The molecular resequencer only works at limited capacity. The captain has diverted all nonessential energy toward weapons and critical ships functions. The last firefight that we were in ravaged the sick bay but we’re making do. In order to repair it, we need a full crew to detail out the sick bay and that would shelve us for at least two weeks.
We don’t have two weeks.
We need to be out there. In space. Fighting the Sonali. Defending the innocent. Before they ravage us more.
I’m about to end my impromptu meeting with the stations engineer when I spy Jeryl walking toward me. His face is careworn. You can tell the weight of the galaxy is hanging on his shoulders. It sounds like an exaggeration but it really does seem like that.
This war has been particularly hard on him. Being the captain that carries out the first contact with an alien race who then sees his direct actions lead to five years of brutal war can’t be easy.
I tried to talk to him about it several times but he never opened up to me.
Jeryl walks up to me and the engineer salutes. I realize that I’ve gotten used to having him as my husband and some of these considerations I forget when were out amongst others.
But then again this is an impromptu meeting. I saw the engineer walking and I side-lined him, dragging him toward the bay windows overlooking deep space. That’s where I started hounding him and harassing him on when we would get the repairs done. It’s a good thing I did, or else we’d be here for three or four days getting critical repairs done… Or like some ships I know would be sent back out without being able to get anything fixed.
“How’d it go?” I ask as Jeryl looks at me.
“We have new orders,” he says to me.
“Anything fun?” I ask trying to put a mischievous smile on my face. I need to try to lighten his mood. There’s too much gloom and doom going around lately.
No surprise there with several billion dead staring down at you.
Although, just between you and me…I have to admit that a part of me is a little bit happy.
Why is that?
For the first time in a long time, the Armada is looking outwards.
It’s upgrading.
The infrastructure of the fighting force is getting a retrofit. We’re finally starting to take exploration and defense seriously. And we’re becoming leaner, and meaner. It’s an evolutionary process. Only the strong amongst us are surviving.
For the longest time, no one in the Armada knew what a real conflict is like. Sure, little border skirmishes with the Outers. Helping some corporations chase down some pirates.
But the real war?
This is going to stay with us for life. And yes, that’s a bad thing. But somehow, it’s also a good thing as it teaches us to treasure the time that we have.
What does that do internally?
What damage to the democratic institutions and the things that the Terran Union has enshrined in its society?
Our president is elected every six years. Three years ago, we had a new one who was elected at the height of defeat. Three years from now and it’s time for him to step down. But if this war is still going on, will he?
Will there be a peaceful transition of power at the highest halls of the Terran Union?
Sighing, I let my gaze fall down to my hands, and then to the golden band on my finger. It catches the bright lights of the hangar, and I see my distorted reflection in there, as if my soul was trapped inside.
It’s been a long war. But at least we’re together.
There’s no more awkwardness about what happened back in New Sydney. That went away once we got married, after all.
But how will this war test our marriage? What will I do if Jeryl dies?
“Depends what you think is fun, Ashley,” Jeryl says bringing me back from my reverie.
“The Seeker’s gonna be leading a group of starships as part of a ne
w offensive,” Jeryl says. “We’re going to be making a major offensive. This is the Wolf Offensive the people have been waiting for and our ship’s gonna play a critical role.”
I can see the engineer and his ears perk up. The last couple of weeks all anyone can talk about has been the Wolf Offensive. Designed by Mortimer Wolf of Armada Intelligence this offensive is supposed to be something big. No one knows what it is but they do know that it’s supposed to be a game changer.
“I need battle readiness in 24 hours and I’ll debrief you at that point,” Jeryl says to me maintaining formality in front of the engineer. “At the temporary quarters on the station,” he says to me.
“I’ll actually have the deflector screens repaired, a new complement of torpedoes ready for you, and the inertial dampers stabilized so that they don’t give you any trouble anymore in 12 hours,” the engineer says both to Jeryl and myself. “When your ship goes out in the battle, she’ll be ready.”
I nod, smiling at the sudden importance The Seeker has taken on the engineer’s queue for repairs.
“Great,” Jeryl says with a sigh. Before I can say anything he turns around and walks to the elevator.
“He’s a legend,” the engineer breathes, almost to himself.
I nod. After discovering the Sonali, dealing with them, and leading many of the campaigns of this war, Jeryl Montgomery very well might be a living legend.
But I know him better to know what he really is.
The first casualty of the Earth-Sonali War.
Admiral Flynn
War – it’s never pretty.
After almost destroying ourselves, it’s almost ironic to think that the demise of the human race might end up happening at the hands of an alien race. I wanted nothing more than to serve my final years as an Armada Admiral and perhaps enjoy a comfortable retirement back on Earth. Or, hell, maybe New Sydney. There’s got to be at least a dozen worlds with good climates I could go and relax my last years on.
The money I’ve saved (and never had the time to spend) would be enough for me to spend the rest of my days drinking imported liquor from the Atuar colony while nodding off at one of these pink-colored beaches.
The Sonali respect nothing, though – and that includes my retirement plans.
Standing in my office, which is directly adjacent to the center of operations of the Edoris Station, I place my hands behind my back and look out the curved window. Outside, the vastness of space seems to call to me. It whispers the name of four billion dead, a legion of souls lost in a conflict no one saw coming.
The entire office is rugged in a deep blue, stern and uninviting. Hanging behind the desk is the giant emblem of the Terran Armada, a red eagle with fierce beaded eyes encircled by stars. The massive window looking out into deeper space is behind my sprawling desk (which is more of a work station). On the other end of my office, opposite from my desk is the entrance into my office; this is the common entrance and past that door is a small anteroom where my secretary is.
To the right is a couch arrangement and a small central table. A few years ago, these couches were always filled with diplomats and politicians – nowadays it’s always high-brass military men. When the politicians want in on those meetings, we use the conference room one deck below.
To the left is another door that leads directly into the Station Control Center (SCC). That is where everything about this ship is being run. And in the case of an emergency, that is where the commands to evade or fire will be given.
By the right wall is a shelf that displays all my laurels and awards. Trinkets, the way I see it. A man’s worth isn’t measured in badges, but at least they prove that I’m not a desk jockey who rose the ranks in the Armada by pushing papers.
I’m battle tested. Battle hardened.
When Captains and Commanders come in here, they know they aren’t dealing with a bureaucrat. I am every bit the man the Armada panders about, even if I never cared about all that bolstering. I’m not a wash out. I’m not a flunkie, unlike some other admirals, whose positions are really political rather than strategic or tactical.
Sinking down onto my chair, I let my gaze fall on the stack of reports sitting there, most of them belonging to Captain Montgomery.
Jeryl’s almost like a son to me. An interesting fact, given the fact that I never had a son to call my own. But Jeryl was someone I saw myself in. His impulses, his reasoning, his ability to function under pressure. I’ve never seen such cunning and talent in any other fleet captain since I was a captain. It isn’t that we don’t have great captains, we do. But I am yet to see anyone who combines a host of excellent qualities in the pursuit of their duties as officers in the Terran Armada. I’ve never told him all this, of course, but the trust I have in him has always been a factor in my decision process.
“Admiral, you have a slipstream call from Admiral Walker,” the communications officer says over my comm link.
“Right. Patch him in,” I say, stowing away the papers.
The Admiral blossoms into view right in the middle of my office. It is a live size three dimensional rendering of the Admiral. He is dressed smartly in the overall of a five star Armada admiral, his hands folded behind him. He has a white moustache and, despite the deep carved lines in his face, he possesses the vitality of a man in his prime. With more than ten years on me, Walker still looks fierce enough to chew off a Sonali battalion all by himself.
“Admiral Walker, sir,” I say with a firm nod by way of greeting.
“Flynn,” he nods curtly.
“The Wolf Initiative has begun,” I tell him, doing my best to read the expression on his face. Like always, it’s a completely blank page. I doubt the man knows the meaning behind the word emotion. “Captain Jeryl has been briefed about it, and given command of the other Captains in his section of the fleet.”
“Captain Jeryl,” Walker whispers, his unblinking eyes never leaving mine. “You think he’s the man for the job?”
“I do,” I merely reply, and I let my tone do the job.
Walker doesn’t need an explanation. He’s more than aware of everything Jeryl has done during the war. Captain Jeryl Montgomery made his name as the captain that discovered alien life, but he didn’t stop there. Instead of resting on his laurels, he was instrumental to the war effort. Commanding a retrofitted version of The Seeker, he has been through the thick of it all.
Children all across the galaxy have heard his name. Who hasn’t? After the battle for the Chartly star system Jeryl became a household name. Commanding The Seeker, he outmaneuvered a Sonali Dreadnaught responsible for downing more than ten of our ships.
The Spartan, as the young recruits liked to call it, was a Sonali ship responsible for the destruction of too many ships in our fleet. Up until it clashed with the Seeker, the Spartan had a track record of all kills.
Every battle it fought in, it won.
Every ship it met with, it destroyed.
Then it met the Seeker and its captain.
Six months after that, and Jeryl made the headlines again with his capture of the Sonali Main Forward Base, just outside the Edoris Star System.
Obviously, we don’t know what the Sonali called it. But what we do know is that the they planned most of their attacks through it. They re-supplied their ships operating in enemy space through it. Ground invasions that did occur were staged in the systems on this planet.
Three months stalemate between the Sonali and our forces have gradually enveloped both powers.
Many ships have been destroyed. Billions of lives on both sides…too many lives have been lost. The Sonali are winning, albeit in trickles.
Not like before. During their last major offensive, Armada Command estimated that had things progressed the way they were going with the losses on our side…that in a matter of three more months of continued warfare we were done for.
Then came our upgrades.
Our counteroffensives.
Armed with a combination of trickery, skill, and sheer b
rute force power, and spearheaded by Jeryl Montgomery, we were able to crack up the Sonali tight defense, which gave the remaining fleet the opportunity to mount a potent offensive that obliterated the Sonali trying to make a run into the Edoris Sector.
“Sir, Captain Montgomery has been doing a good job,” I continue, filling the silence in the room. “I want to put in a recommendation for him to be promoted to a Vice Admiral in charge of Edoris Theatre of Operations.”
Walker seems to agree. He nods his head, his eyes still on mine. “Noted. Do send in an official recommendation. I will take it up with the board and consider it.”
“There’s something else I have been thinking about,” I say as I let my gaze wander out into the coldness of space. “This war has opened up a lot of avenues for us to grow in military strength and power. Many people who have joined the Academy, and we now have soldiers with nothing but military experience. Don’t you think this will cause the other vital aspects of our community to atrophy? Aspects like science, exploration…?” Sighing, I clasp my hands behind my back and look back at Walker. “We’re more than just warriors.”
“War doesn’t always go well for humans,” Walker replies. “Or for anyone. Do we like it? No. Can we help it? No. So what do we do?”
“We focus on what we can do, which is winning the war,” I reply.
“Because the sooner we win this war, the earlier we can all go home or pursue the areas that we came out into space to do,” he continues. “This final offensive needs to be so effective that the Sonali will have to come to the negotiating table. We want them to negotiate a truce, or at least an armistice. We can’t keep this war going for much longer. We don’t have a conscription policy in the Terran Union, and frankly I know many planets will rebel and break away if there were.”
“How bad is it right now?” I ask.
“Bad,” is all Admiral Walker says. “If we don’t start making some material gain from this conflict, which you and I know is a rare possibility…and if we don’t gain some momentum, then we’ve just delayed the inevitable. We’re exhausted, Flynn, and we estimate that we will be defeated in under a year. I don’t have to remind you, then, how important this planned final offensive is. The continued survival and freedom of the Terran Union depends entirely on this operation.”