He looked her in the eyes, tears beginning to leak from her one natural eye. "Maybe I shouldn't be wearing it, then."
Marshall shook his head, looking back at the wounded, "They're in there – and others in the ground – to stop this from ever happening again. You did what had to be done."
"And civil war breaking out on the planet below? That what we fought for?"
Grim-faced, he replied, "Alamo isn't breaking orbit until we've brought peace back to this planet. That much I promise. A peace based on freedom rather than fear. That isn't what this is about."
"You know it all, don't you."
"This is about you. It's running over in your head again and again, isn't it, every moment, every decision, every move you made. You're wondering whether you could have done anything different, whether any of those kids could still be walking about today if you'd been smarter, faster."
She looked away down the corridor as Marshall continued, "I know. Because I see that when I close my eyes. Some nights the dead walk in my dreams, and there is nothing I can do about it. Except that I know that they all died for something, and that they all volunteered. From what Maggie told me, those kids were raring to go."
"I should have done more."
He held her in his arms, "You did everything you could. More than most would. And because of you, their sacrifice had meaning." He pulled her head up with his hand, "Remember that. Hold onto it with both hands."
She pulled back, shaking her head, "Any trace of desire for command is long gone. It all burned away down there."
"Pity. From what they told me, you were a damn good commander. All of those kids would follow you again."
She took a deep breath, shuddering. "I need to think. For a good long while."
"Come over to my cabin later, we'll get drunk. That's what you actually need."
"The answer's in the bottom of a glass?"
"Sometimes."
She walked away, heading into the elevator; Marshall looked after her, sighing, shaking his head. He knew exactly what she was living with, the price any commander had to pay. Quinn walked past her in the elevator, looking sideways at Caine as she walked past him, then continuing on to Marshall as the elevator door slid shut.
"How's our girl, Lieutenant?" Marshall asked.
He sighed, "Do you want the good news or the bad news?"
"Is it that bad?"
"Ninety percent of the hull plating is going to need repair. That means a complete strip down. The superstructure was badly strained in, well, a lot of places. We went so far past design tolerances that the damage control systems refused to believe it at first."
"How long?"
Quinn paused, looking nervously up and down the corridor before replying. "Eight to ten weeks."
"Weeks?" Marshall gasped.
"That's only because we're lucky enough to have access to a spaceport, skipper. Without a lot of repairs, Alamo isn't going anywhere. I don't dare use the main engines; we're going to have to get there on the reaction thrusters."
"That'll take days."
"About a week before we're docked. The good news is that nothing critical has been damaged; the fabricators are still working fine, and that's the main problem. We'll burn through all the spares we've got with us – and I've already got the scanning section looking for deposits of some ores were going to have to refine..."
"How much material are we going to need?"
"But Alamo will be good as new. Better; given how deep we're going to have to go into the guts of the ship, I'll be giving it a complete overhaul at the same time. We'll have to unload most of the crew while we're doing it; I'll get a crew over to make sure the spacedock can handle everyone."
Marshall shook his head, "Why do I get the impression you're looking forward to this?"
"Come on, the chance to tear everything down and make it work better?"
"Just make sure I've still got a ship at the end of it."
"Will do. Mind if I head off? I need to see Dixon about the, er, fighter repairs."
Chuckling, Marshall replied, "Fine, run along. Oh, one more thing."
"Sir?"
He pointed at Hawk, lying in his bed, "When he's up and about, I want him to get the fullest tour of the ship you've ever given anyone. The one you'd have liked to have when you were a kid."
"I was flying ships when I was a kid."
"You know what I mean. Get him in on the repairs, as well; and if he's any good, feel free to give him a uniform. I'll push through the paperwork."
Smiling, Quinn nodded, "Will do, sir." He saluted, making his way down to the elevator. Marshall paused for a moment, taking another look at the casualties and shaking his head before catching the next ride up to the bridge. After he'd gone about half-way, the lights flickered off and then on, and the door slid open to reveal a guilty-looking Harper standing outside.
"Crap."
"Another test, Spaceman?"
"New override software I've been playing with."
Sighing, Marshall shook his head, "Log it with the security team. Don't interrupt bridge-priority transits again, though. It might be important."
"Sorry."
He paused, looking carefully at her, "You did good, Harper. No-one else on this ship could have pulled off that stunt with the satellites. I don't think anyone else in the fleet could have managed it."
She shrugged, "It's what I do."
"Keep doing it. You didn't have to run off and hide like that, you know."
"I told you, I don't like anyone looking over my shoulder."
"You know what would have happened if you'd asked me – through Washington, preferably – for permission to go off somewhere and work on the hack?"
She sighed, "You'd have told me to file reports, follow protocols."
"Bullshit. I'd have told you to get on with it and tell me as soon as you had something."
"Really?"
"Yeah." He shook his head, "Next time maybe you'll ask first. For the moment, I'm bumping you up to Spaceman Second and giving you a commendation. I know none of that means anything much to you, so – is there anything I can do for you?"
"Anything?"
"Within reason," he clarified, bracing himself for the worst.
"Mind if I move into one of the crawlways?"
"What?"
"I've got this little space staked out, and..."
He held his hand up, "Never mind." He shook his head, "Get a communicator wired up and have Quinn mark it as off-limits. Otherwise, go nuts."
"Thanks, skipper!" That was a slight improvement. Without waiting to be dismissed, she ran back down the corridor towards the security station, a datapad already in her hand. The doors closed and he continued up to the bridge, scanning over Quinn's report as the elevator moved through the ship. Ten weeks seemed optimistic, if anything, but if anyone could do it, Quinn would.
He walked across the bridge in three strides, snapping a quick salute at Franklin in the command chair as he made his way across the bridge, making a mental note to get Quinn to install that third chair while he was tearing everything apart. Orlova was poking at the tactical station; she looked over at his office door as Marshall walked through it.
Orlov was waiting inside; he was standing over by the picture of Marshall's father, shaking his head. When he turned to face the captain, he did a quick double-take before sitting down at the desk. From somewhere he'd scavenged a Triplanetary uniform of the correct rank, by the looks of the fit borrowing it from Mulenga; it hung loosely on his shoulders.
"Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Orlov."
The older man held up his hand, "A Captain must care for his ship and his crew first. Old men can afford to wait around for a while." He gestured up at the picture, "I was there when that was taken, you know."
"At some point in the near future the two of us are going to sit with a bottle between us. We've got a lot of history to share."
He shook his head again, "You are the image of your father when
last I saw him. It's hard to get used to; I feel like I've grown old while the rest of the galaxy has stood still."
Marshall leaned forward, "For now – what can you tell me about Hercules."
"After we headed out from Procyon, we ran into a heavy concentration of UN forces blocking our return to Sol. Your father decided to head out; we had full tanks of Helium-3, and then we stumbled across a depot like this one – though not as well fitted-out – at AD Leonis. That gave us the freedom of action to launch some raids on their outer settlements."
"You were trying to break the blockade?"
He shook his head, "There was a war on; we wanted to keep as much pressure on as possible. After about a year, we got into a major battle. We won – took out one of their missile battlecruisers, the Tito, but got badly mangled ourselves in the process. It took six months for us to make repairs."
"Where was that?"
"Groombridge 1618. There was a small outpost there we managed to hit. No idea what they were doing that far off the beaten track, though, but..."
"What is it?"
Orlov paused for a second, "Your father seemed to be expecting them. He never shared his reasons, but somehow I got the feeling he was putting together the pieces of a pattern. I don't know what. Finally, he decided to try and head for home; we found the fuel dump in the spaceport and were planning on heading back. I went with a team to investigate the satellites we thought were inert..."
Marshall finished for him, "And were shot down. The others?"
"I was the only survivor of the crash. Hercules broke orbit a few weeks later. I kept on watching the skies, but yours was the first ship I saw."
"Mr. Dietz will give you a proper debriefing later, of course."
"I understand." He paused, then said, "I still consider myself in the service, Captain. I am under your orders."
"I appreciate that, Captain Orlov." Marshall emphasized the rank.
"We can make it Lieutenant, if you wish. There should only be one Captain on a ship. Besides, I would like to transfer to Triplanetary service. If I'm going to be serving here, I'd like to wear the right uniform."
"I think that can be arranged. Seniority backdated to when you were promoted to Captain, for the duration of this mission? After which I'll take you home to Mars."
"That won't be necessary." He looked conspiratorially around the room, "My daughter..."
"Is one of my finest officers in what I consider to be a damn good crop. She's a credit to the service. Give it ten years and she'll be thinking about a ship of her own."
"It was good to watch her in action on the surface." He chuckled, "I will resist fatherly admonishments to not put her at risk."
There was a knock on the door; a stern-faced Cunningham walked into the office, dropping a datapad on the desk, shaking his head.
"I think the word is out about the satellites; we're picking up radio chatter now. The moratorium seems to have been lifted. We're also picking up explosions in a couple of the towns on the surface, as well as troop movements up the rivers."
Orlov frowned, "I would say full-on civil war is brewing quickly." He turned to Marshall, "What do you intend to do about it?"
"We broke it, we'll fix it. And we're not leaving till we do."
Thank you for reading 'Victory or Death'. For information on future releases, please join the Battlecruiser Alamo Mailing List at http://eepurl.com/A9MdX for updates. If you enjoyed this book, please review it on the site where you purchased it.
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Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
<<<<>>>>
Table of Contents
There's a race of men that don't fit in,
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Thank you for reading '
Table of ContentsChapter 1Chapter 2Chapter 3Chapter 4
Victory or Death Page 23