Resolve of Steel (Halloran's War Book 2)

by J. R. Geoghan

  “Okay, Terry, enough of a break. Granno wants to keep moving and I agree with him. Only another hour or so before the sun comes up and exposes us. We need to find cover.”

  Singletary reluctantly opened his eyes and peered at Skip Chandler, barely visible against the gloom of the night. “Was thinking about my kid days on Lake Michigan. When I first learned to love the water.”

  “Granno says the sea is full of creatures that will suck the life out of you. Nasty things.” He could hear the chuckle in the Commander’s voice.

  With a sigh, Singletary trudged up onto a rock shelf and sat to put his sandals back on. His feet throbbed with the exertion of the previous two nights. After making their way in the pitch black tunnel from within the city—thankfully without discovery by the Prax guards—they had trudged up the coast for endless kilometers, hiding during the daylight in the thick reeds that choked the shoreline.

  Skip stood over him as the others passed behind them, the group making little noise and seeming to be ghosts on the dark landscape. “Granno says another twenty klicks and we’ll be in the area of the target.”

  “So tomorrow night.”

  “Sounds like it.”

  “I wish we could just keep walking. Maybe if we go far enough we can find a place untouched by the war.”

  “Wishful thinking.” Skip laid a hand on Singletary’s shoulder. “You holding it together?”

  Singletary could hear the concern in Skip’s voice. He shrugged and said, “Seems like we got the short end of the stick, that’s all. Halloran’s out shooting around the galaxy while we slink around our own world with sand in places it don’t belong.”

  Skip moved close, glancing around. “Or,” he whispered, “Skipper’s long dead with everyone else and the bunch of us is all that’s left to organize a proper resistance. You ready to give up, buddy?”

  Singletary stared at Chandler for what felt like a very long time.

  “Exactly. Let’s get moving. God willing, there’ll be time to play in the water later.”

  Singletary followed the Commander up the beach to a reedsy hill where the rest were squatted. Men looked up, pale faces shining dimly in the dark night.

  “Have a nice swim, sir?” joked Missile Tech Arrie Hester.

  “Not long enough, Arrie.”

  “Roger that, sir.”

  As the men came to their feet, Granno passed by Chandler and Singletary and whispered, “No talk. We must go now.”

  “Roger that,” muttered Chandler to the thin man’s retreating back.

  Vice-Captain Chen was there. “Commander, while I am glad to be rid of that city, I find myself with the desire to make my way to my own country.”

  Chandler said, “China, sir? I doubt it’s even still there.”

  “I would supremely doubt that, Commander.”

  Chen had been helpful and positive the whole ordeal; there was nothing that any of them could say bad about the lanky Asian. Singletary spoke up, “If he wants to go we can’t stop him, right? He’s Chinese Navy, not US.”

  Skip looked dubious. “Sir, I would advise against it. You don’t know what the world is like now. Plus, there are bound to be Prax patrols everywhere. And China’s a long way off.” He tilted his head. “Plus, if I don’t say so, you’ve been a great help here.”

  Chen nodded. “Thank you for that honor, Commander. I would not separate without your approval. I only ask that you consider releasing me.”

  Chief Brown was there. “Sirs, Granno’s gettin’ pretty antsy at us just standin’ here out on the beach.”

  Skip waved a hand in the gloom. “After you, Chief.” Singletary could sense the dawn coming; Skip’s hand was that much more visible than when they had started talking.

  As Chen passed them Skip said, “I’ll give it some thought, Captain Chen.”

  “Thank you, Commander.”

  Singletary followed the group of sailors dressed in rags and felt the sand weaving its way around the tin sandals and into the crevices of his feet. The salt water had stung the cuts, but felt wonderful. Now the grit was filling them up again.

  Two rebels walked behind him, watching and waiting for the inevitable alien attack or ambush. Singletary had a hard time imagining what an entire life could be like spent under occupation. He didn’t want to.

  Granno led them to an abandoned complex of buildings that he seemed to know about. They took their time scouting around the half-caved-in structures before selecting a mode of entry. A door that had been blown off its hinges. There was room in a long, dusty hall for everyone to find a spot and little light entered save from the doorway, which Chandler assigned Arrie Heister to watch along with a rebel Granno had pointed to. Heister got one of the guns from another of the natives—something Singletary had noticed was unusual.

  Chandler motioned to him and together they cornered Granno. “How far to this installation?” asked Chandler pointedly.

  Granno made a vague motion with his hands. “I have not been here in many time.”

  “Years? Months?” Singletary was frustrated.

  “Yes, yes. Many.”

  “Guess, then,” offered Chandler.

  Granno considered. “Very close, I think.”

  Chandler looked at Singletary. “There may be patrols.”

  “Do we post someone outside?”

  Chandler thought, then shook his head. “Those drones we saw flying around in the city—I don’t want to risk getting caught in the open.”

  “I’m sure they have infrared. Won’t matter if it’s day or night should they come looking.”

  “Well, they haven’t so far,” Chandler noted. “Or they’re watching us to see what we do.”

  Singletary smacked the fire-streaked wall with a fist. “If this is all a game, I think I’ll go nuts.”

  Granno had been following the interchange. Now he raised his hand. “No, no, Prax do not watch; if they did, we be dead already.”

  “Well, there you go, Terry.”

  “Reassuring.” Singletary deflated, feeling exhausted. “Permission to get some shuteye, sir?”

  “Two hours, then spell me.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  When Singletary had gone down the hall, stepping over the legs of sprawled men and women, Granno leaned over. He motioned with his head in the Singletary’s direction. “Your man, he is weak.”

  Chandler stared at him. “Thank you for your opinion.”

  Granno slid down to a seating position. “All I say is the truth.”

  Chandler ignored him and went to look for a spot of his own, knowing that the rebel leader had indeed put his finger on something troubling. He’d have to watch Terry.

  “Thoughts?” Chandler and Chief Brown were prostrate, mostly buried atop a rise in the dunes. They had painstakingly dug themselves up the last fifty feet to the crest, making every effort to stay completely out of sight should an errant drone burst overhead. Literally every crevice of Chandler’s body was sand-packed. But they had—by all indications—made the journey undetected. Now they peeked over the lip at the distant structure.

  “Sir,” Brown whispered. “I don’t see no activity down there.” The Chief had the best eyes of the Americans, and Chandler wouldn’t allow a local with him to assess a tactical situation. “Think it’s abandoned?”

  “Unlikely, Chief.” Chandler spit some sand from his mouth in disgust—quietly. He thought of the rest of the sorry excuse for an assault team back in the dunes. They had traveled only a few kilometers before seeing the first signs of alien presence. Then Granno had a revived memory, and they’d taken to hiding despite the dark night. “See the lights inside?”

  “Sure, Commander. But they look like nothing. Like a night light at home. You know.”

  “Never had one of those. Let’s watch a bit more.”

  But an hour or so passed without any movement whatsoever. The Prax facility was comprised of three low buildings, two with openings—windows—that emitted light as though something was wit
hin. The third structure was dome-shaped with no apparent openings. “A radar installation?” offered Brown suddenly.

  Chandler saw the parallels to a twenty-first century station. “Could be. Automated?”

  “That Granno fella hasn’t been in a long time. Maybe they converted it and left?”

  “Seems too easy.”

  “You’re the officer, sir.”

  Chandler frowned. They had to be at least thirty kilometers from the edge of the city with its protective shielding. They had seen almost no enemy activity since exiting the tunnel out. Perhaps the Prax had gotten lazy, automated some systems in the decades since the invasion?

  We’ve come this far. The only option is to go in and check it. “Alright, Chief, we go back and get some guns and see what there is to see.”

  Brown’s sigh was audible. “No more hiding, sir. Let’s do it.”

  Prax Sol Center - Rat City

  As soon as the comm signaled an incoming connection First Advisor Vellerx jumped at the tablet, pulling to him across the table. “Yes?” His practiced calm veneer made the words sound casual.

  “Advisor, the ships have returned,” reported a somewhat breathless tech on the other end.

  “Get Horax on as soon as you are able.”

  “Lord Calxen is in command now, Advisor.”

  So Horax was dead. With the Flotilla commander out of the way, Vellerx had moved that much closer to the new Premier’s inner circle. The Xu son was an annoyance—a dangerous one at that—but only Conquest veterans made the jump to Prime status. With Axxa and Horax dead, and Admiral Xylan locked up beneath his feet, Vellerx as First Advisor was the obvious choice for Prime. He’d served the clan well, and spent many cycles here on this disgusting planet. Perhaps as Prime I could take pleasure in squeezing the remaining life from these pathetic humans.

  “Advisor? Are you connected still?”

  “What? Yes, put the Xu on when you can.”

  A moment later the line beeped. “Sol Center, Sol Center.”

  Vellerx felt a flash of annoyance. “Yes, you son-of-a-Mugpa, yes!” He knew it wasn’t Calxen on the connection; even he wouldn’t be that brash to a Xu.

  “This is the Captain of the Braxxar.”

  “Where is Lord Calxen?”

  “He, er, has retired to his cabin.”

  “Then report, Captain.”

  “Lord, we have returned four ships to the Sol flotilla.”

  “What!” Vellerx suddenly felt the weight of possible shame lay across his shoulders. “Explain!”

  “Advisor. The human defenses of the Struve System were vigorous. Commander Horax and his ship were destroyed, and additional human reinforcements arrived to box us in. In all truth, Advisor, I was fortunate by the seven suns to be able to withdraw with three other vessels. All sustained significant damage, and two ship’s jumpdrives failed after the first jump, delaying our return as we defended them during their efforts.”

  “And the humans?”

  “They did not pursue, Advisor. This is my report.”

  Vellerx didn’t speak for some time.

  “Advisor? I would like to request that I attend to my ship.”

  “Sol Center out.” Vellerx cut the channel and rose, feeling many time heavier with the responsibility. His would be the task to inform the Premier of the Sol fleet’s failure.

  Horax should have taken more ships. If it wasn’t for the need to keep Xylan’s loyal Captains and their ships boxed in near Earth, he could have. The Admiral had some staunch supporters and the stalemate was going to wear thin. Vellerx knew that the traitorous Captains knew of Xylan’s imprisonment and would refuse to leave him in the hands of the Terxan clan. Could he negotiate something with them—offer to release the Admiral? Then trap them during the transfer?

  The comm signaled again, and he leaned over the tap it. “First Advisor.”

  “Advisor, science officer Elexxan reports that he is transferring weaponry to the fleet.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes, Advisor.”

  Vellerx frowned. He knew that Elexxan and Talxen were close confederates. Until recently, he had never given serious consideration to the scientist as a potential rival. But… “What ship?”

  “The log reports it as a new arrival in the system.”

  “What? Why wasn’t I informed?”

  There was hesitation on the line. “Advisor, I do not know. This is the first we are seeing this ship here in the command center. Most unusual.” Someone said something in the background that Vellerx couldn’t make out. “It couldn’t just appear on the scan. Check those calibrations,” ordered the Prax to the other person. “Advisor, it seems…it seems there is a technical difficulty with the sensors. I will investigate. But the log shows that Elexxan and members of his team have requisitioned several large transport shuttles.”

  Vellerx slammed down the tablet and stormed out to pay a caustic visit to the command level. By the seven suns, he would not be overshadowed by a…scientist.

  Part Six - Fulcrum

  Chapter 35

  Perses System - Telos Station

  “Sir, I don’t think we’re going to get out of here without a fight. But the ship needs us. Bad.”

  Halloran stopped his pacing near Reyes and whispered fiercely. “Don’t you think I know that, Reyes? Try being useful with your comments instead.”

  The hurt look that jumped into the back recesses of the Chief’s eyes shamed Halloran, but he ignored it and paced off, feeling the guilt within for what he’d said. The anger and helpless pain he felt allowed no room for sympathy.

  After the initial possibilities that the meeting with the alien leader had seemed to create, things took a turn for the worse when the humans had been summarily hemmed into a tight space and relieved of their weapons forcefully. At first, Halloran thought it might just be a security measure but when the group was herded into this room—cell, it seemed—his anger had returned in full force. And Axxa…he had not returned.

  They were trapped.

  And Reyes was right, the ship needed them. Needed him. With a skeleton crew and several wounded men—some badly—the Serapis was in trouble. And if Parker hadn’t fixed life support, the jerry-rigged system might have already collapsed.

  He caught Kendra’s eye. She was angry with him, he could tell. You got us into this, he seemed to read on her face. But maybe he was imagining it.

  Wilson and Flagler sat against the bulkhead, heads down and seemingly asleep. Djembe conferred in low tones with Bruce Brown, and Halloran caught a surreptitious glance from Brown. They think I’ve lost control. Well, I have.

  Why had he thought coming here was a good idea? They should have limped off and found a safe place to patch up the ship and tend to the wounded. But even as he thought that, the cold anger returned and washed over him like a bucket of cold water splashed in his face. It’s my job—my mission—to keep going into the unknown and subdue it. He needed to deal this uncertain future a blow from his past. Their past. If that meant dropping in unannounced on the ruler of the Prax Empire then so be it. An image of the woman from his dreams leaped into his mind unbidden. She’s been following me all along. What was it called…the Sight, his translator had termed it? Some kind of connection that he found completely incomprehensible. But the general gist was that beings could be interconnected somehow. He snorted quietly at his own ridiculousness.

  Halloran believed in God, always had. He saw the Earth, the sea as obviously too delicate and balanced a thing to be the product of random chance—there had to be a creator. In recent months, though, he’d questioned his own faith. The days following Cindy and the baby’s death had been hard, even with Tom Junior and Laura there at the house to keep him company. He’d tried going back to the church they’d attended in town in past years, but the sea of unfamiliar faces punctuated by several well-meaning but too-insistent counselors had blunted his interest. Fact was, he’d fashioned a life around a series of steel tubes filled with crew who loved t
heir roles—despite all the complaining that was the ritual. Cindy and the kid’s life ashore had been comfortable but disconnected from his intense profession.

  The thought struck him that there was a bond—an interconnection—between the crew. One generally didn’t look at it from a metaphysical angle but a well-trained and comfortable crew worked as a true unit, anticipating the others’ words and movements smoothly. In fact, that was the goal all the leadership strove for. In battle and stress situations, it was that intuition and reaction that would save the ship and, ultimately, the crew within her.

  “Hmm.” Perhaps, if he opened his mind a bit, this concept of interconnectivity would make more sense to him. He exhaled and found himself feeling more relaxed. He felt some peace with what he had to do.

  Reyes was standing there. “You better, sir?”

  Halloran took the man’s hand. “I’m sorry, Chief.”

  Reyes slow-grinned up at him. “It’ll take more than one chewing-out to break us up, sir.”

  The door opened and a Prax guard stood there. He looked around the expectant faces in the room. “You, come.”

  The guards herded the humans into a large lift and up they went. Halloran leaned casually against the wall and crossed his arms, thinking. Kendra paced back and forth. Reyes stared from one of the two guards to the other. Bruce Brown was down on his haunches. Karen Flagler, Djembe and Gerry Wilson stood stiffly, clearly more afraid in the presence of the armored aliens. Halloran glanced over his group, taking them in. He found himself missing Skip Chandler. His XO would be in firm control of the tactical situation by now. In fact, Halloran was certain that many of his decisions in the past months would have been far better executed by the taciturn Kansan.

  But Chandler was stranded on Earth and that had to remain Halloran’s priority. As much as he despised the Prax for what they did to his best friend and crew on Earth, he needed to keep threading through the fabric of this war, making his way to Earth to rescue his people.

  His eyes rested on the Prax guards, whom Kendra was now standing in front of, staring. They were the enemy of humanity, but Halloran also had the stirrings of a new interest in them.