Coalition Defense Force Boxed Set: First to Fight

by Gibbs, Daniel

  Barton’s words stung David deeply. It felt as if he had been punched in the gut with every reiteration of the number of fatalities. This man has no idea who I am, what I believe in, or why I fight. Screw him. David turned toward him, his face warm with anger.

  “With all due respect, sir, I am not my father, and what I did was in an entirely different situation. I am sorry that so many of my crew died. I am sorry that so many of our people are dying every day. I am sorry that we are at war and that I was placed in this position. I am sorry that every day we fight, I am forced to kill people and that people under my command die in practically every battle. Each decision I make, I weigh against the risk and the cost, but I am not sorry for what I did.”

  David took a breath. “Had I retreated, had I stood down or attempted to engage Master Eight with my remaining weapons, thirty thousand innocent people would have died in addition to the numerous military casualties. I took an oath. Every single member of my crew took an oath. You took an oath, sir, to defend our countries—to defend the Terran Coalition against all enemies, foreign and domestic. That oath includes protecting our civilians with our lives. That’s what we did. We did our job. I did my job.”

  MacIntosh raised an eyebrow at the forcefulness of David’s statements, while Barton looked ready to start a fistfight.

  “Well then,” Andrews said as she picked up her personal tablet. “We’ve heard your statement, Major, and we’ll consider it while we deliberate the statements and evidence presented to us today. You are dismissed. Remain in the waiting room.”

  Gray pointed at the door with a pained expression, indicating for David to go first. As they walked out, Gray whispered in his ear, “You’ve got more guts than brains, Cohen.”

  As the door closed behind them, they joined Ruth and Sheila on a bench in the hallway. Hanson remained standing.

  “How’s it look?” Ruth asked with a worried look on her face.

  “It could go either way,” David replied.

  “Tell me something,” Gray said. “What’s it really like out there? I only served for a year on a ship, and we never saw combat. I’ve been a lawyer pretty much my entire time in the service.”

  “Major, if you want to know what the battle was like, I can put it this way. Living out there on the border leads to boredom and anxiety broken up by moments of terror. And that’s what battle is. Terror. You can try to ignore it or overcome it, but you’ll never escape it. It’s bad enough for ordinary crew members who are powerless to do anything but follow orders and hope to come out alive. Being a commanding officer is worse. It means you actually have some power to try to avoid dying with the responsibility to do what has to be done to win the battle, no matter whose life is lost.”

  Ruth gave David a sympathetic look.

  Gray was speechless for a moment. “If that’s what it’s like,” he said finally, “why do you keep doing this?”

  “Because someone’s got to do it, and for whatever reason, we’re good at it. I wish to God we weren’t. Killing shouldn’t be this easy, but our job is to keep everyone else behind the lines safe. We’ll do it with every last ounce of devotion we have, Major.”

  * * *

  MacIntosh guided the controls of the holo-simulation and paused on the frame that showed the Rand-class heavy cruiser exploding. Staring directly at Barton, he said, “If you look at the battle as a whole, this officer is clearly a fine young commander. He’s resourceful and applies the things he’s learned in his career. With that resourcefulness and ingenuity, he did something I thought I’d never see—a tin can destroying a heavy cruiser and living to tell the tale.”

  “He got seventy-eight members of his crew killed,” Barton said. “And he tried to get every single one of them killed.”

  MacIntosh replied immediately, “What was he supposed to do? Just sit and let the League ships finish him and his division off?” He picked up his computing device and waved it at Barton. “Colonel Meier believes the ramming maneuver won the battle and saved thirty thousand civilian lives.”

  “So he did it at a good time. Look at the man’s history. First, his performance reviews say he’s not staying in the service, and next ones say he’s a career officer? He wants to be a hero. He wants to be his father.” Barton’s voice dripped contempt. “He wants to go out in a blaze of glory, regardless of the cost. Why else would his first choice in this scenario be to ram another ship?”

  “Ramming is not always a fatal maneuver, General Barton. Otherwise, we’d not be considering a court-martial right now,” Andrews replied, conveying her increasing frustration with Barton’s histrionics. “It does appear that Major Cohen’s maneuver, while unorthodox and exceptionally risky, was quite justified by the results of the action.”

  “I don’t believe this.” Barton’s voice grew higher pitched. He must have realized he’d lost the argument. “Am I the only one to see that this man has a death wish? At the very least, we need to take him out of a command position.”

  “I can understand that,” one of the other generals said. “Maybe it’s best if we have him assigned to the officer academies. He does have solid front experience and could offer a lot to our command students.”

  “At his age? He can do far better out on the front,” MacIntosh said. “And as soon as we get this matter out of the way, presuming a court-martial is not ordered, I intend to offer him a posting with my command as a CO.”

  The rest of the generals on the review board gave him curious looks.

  “You can’t be serious!” Barton thundered. “You really do want to let this man cost us the war!”

  “Given remarks you’ve made to us at times, General Barton, you’re not one to fling about defeatism accusations,” MacIntosh said levelly. “My command needs a young officer with a lot of ingenuity.”

  “But he never went to command school,” the other general said. “He’s only commanded destroyers. The closest he’s come to commanding a capital ship was an XO posting on an escort carrier.”

  “There are no better suitable commanders available as of now. I am certain of that.”

  “This subject isn’t a part of our intended deliberation,” Andrews said testily. “The issue of General MacIntosh’s Victory Project is for him to decide, with input from the general command staff and the defense ministry. Are there any further deliberations as to whether we recommend court-martial?”

  “None, ma’am,” MacIntosh said.

  The rest of the board nodded slowly.

  “Well, then, it is time we come to our decision.”

  * * *

  As David, Gray, and the rest of David’s senior staff stood around, the door to the boardroom opened wide, and a yeoman poked his head out. “Sirs, the board has asked for you to return.”

  Gray nodded curtly. “Thank you, Corporal.” Gesturing to the door, he signaled for David to go in first. “That was a bit quicker than I expected,” he said. “Let’s go see what the decision is.”

  Sheila put a reassuring hand on David’s shoulder as he stepped away.

  He smiled back at her. “It’ll be okay… whatever happens. God has some kind of plan. We’ve just got to stay on it.”

  She smiled back as David and Gray both walked into the room.

  David and Gray once again walked to the defense table and took their respective seats.

  The corporal from before stepped forward. “All rise! This review board is now in session regarding the actions of Major David Cohen in the Battle of Sector 17A.”

  David and Gray stood at attention behind the table, waiting for the generals to walk in.

  After they all filed in and took their seats, General Andrews once again spoke for the assembled board. “You may be seated. This review panel is now in session.”

  General Andrews waited for a moment, causing anticipation to build within David. “After deliberating the details of the action on the sixteenth of August, the Special Review Board has determined that the facts do not warrant proceeding to court-
martial. That is all. This panel is now in recess.”

  David shook Gray’s hand warmly. “Major, thank you. Thank you so much.”

  “Just doing my job, Major. Now you get out there and keep doing yours.”

  David smiled widely. “Will do.”

  As they talked, the corporal who’d served as the yeoman for the board approached. “Sirs, General MacIntosh requests your presence in his office as soon as possible, Major Cohen.”

  David nodded and turned to Major Gray. “Please tell my crew I’ll be out to see them later. And thank you again, Major,” he said as he turned to leave with the corporal.

  10

  David walked through a seemingly endless labyrinth of hallways, cubicle farms, and workspaces in the administration section of the Canaan Space Dock. After a few aborted attempts at small talk, he gave up trying to have a deeper conversation with the corporal. Clearly, the young man had other things on his mind, and David wasn’t going to force him to talk.

  Finally, after a fifteen-minute brisk walk, they arrived at a door with the name General Andrew MacIntosh - Project Director (Victory) on the side. The corporal pressed the buzzer on the door then opened it and gestured for David to enter.

  “Good day, sir, and good luck out there,” he said and walked away.

  A woman seated behind a desk in the front vestibule stood. A nameplate on her desk read Major Melanie Roberts, and he figured she must be the general’s adjutant. “Ah, Major Cohen. General MacIntosh has been expecting you. Please, follow me.” He fell in behind her, sizing up her cheerful demeanor. Those sorts of positions could be a natural stepping stone in someone’s career, as serving as an aide to a politically connected flag officer could come in handy at the next review cycle.

  David entered the general’s office and braced to attention in front of the desk. “Major David Cohen reporting as ordered, sir.”

  MacIntosh nodded. “At ease, Major. Thank you for showing him in,” he said to his aide.

  Roberts departed the room.

  “Major, I hope the wait wasn’t too long while we deliberated.”

  “Not at all, sir. I’m just happy I was cleared, and I hope I can rejoin the fight with the rest of my crew.”

  MacIntosh gestured at a seat in front of the desk. “You may sit, Major. David Cohen, or do you prefer David ben-Levi Cohen?” he asked, looking briefly at a small tablet in front of him.

  “The first is fine, sir.” Okay, why am I here for a personal discussion with a four-star? They’d don’t acknowledge guys like me exist.

  MacIntosh returned his gaze to the tablet. “Your father was Levi Cohen, the commander of the Salamis. Old destroyer, even when he took it out the last time, fit mostly for a mix of inexperienced crew and officers with old reservists.” He leaned back in his chair. “I was at that battle as a staff officer under General Irvine. I saw your father’s dying ship plow into the League flagship at full burn. It was the damnedest thing. An active career officer, and I saw a retiring reservist commander save Canaan.”

  “Yes, sir.” David said, his voice taut.

  MacIntosh’s eyes seemed to bore into David’s skull. “You’re prepared to make that kind of sacrifice?”

  David nodded, and for a moment thought back to his father returning his salute in the front yard the night he flew off, never to return, the night before his birthday. “Yes, sir, if I have to. But only if I have to. My duty extends to my crew and not to waste their lives in pointless sacrifices.”

  “Well, Major, I’m going to give you an opportunity that no officer has ever been offered. I’m going to do it because I think you’re the right man for the job, and it’s up to you to prove me right.”

  David’s mind continued to race with the possibilities. “What’s the post, sir?”

  MacIntosh grinned, walked over to the side of the room, and raised a curtain, displaying an adjacent docking slip.

  “This.”

  David got up and walked over to the window, looking out in awe at the massive ship in the slip. It was an old British Royal Navy dreadnought—the HMS Lion, only she didn’t appear to be an old ship any longer. Hundreds of small craft and workers in space suits surrounded her hull, and the superstructure had been radically changed from the last picture he had seen. There appeared to be new weapons emplacements, hangar bays, and an interesting structure amidships that he had no idea what it did. He turned toward MacIntosh, mouth agape and eyes widened in shock. “I… I don’t understand, sir. Do you want me to serve on that ship?”

  MacIntosh shook his head. “No, son. I want you to command her. The CSV Lion of Judah. Our latest and greatest technological achievement.”

  David took a step back, shocked by his words. Doubts ran through his head. After all, he had just managed to win a battle by the skin of his teeth and lost many members of his crew in the process. I don’t think I can do this. Could I keep my crew safe? That thing has to have thousands of souls on it. He shook his head slowly. “Sir, with all due respect, I… I don’t think that I have the command experience to run this ship.”

  MacIntosh turned back around to stare at David. “Few men below flag rank do these days, Mr. Cohen. It’s been too long since we started moving toward the lighter, carrier-centric fleet. Back then, we had advantages we thought could let us win the war without bankrupting the Coalition. Instead, we just ended up buying time.” MacIntosh walked back toward his desk. “Our carriers destroy an invading task force, and they send two to take its place. One of our units is slightly out of position, and they jump in and invade a world that takes years and hundreds of thousands of lives to regain. Sometimes millions.”

  “Freiderwelt.” Seeing MacIntosh’s expression, David added, “Lieutenant Goldberg was raised there. Lost her parents when she was sixteen.”

  “I see.” MacIntosh gestured toward the window again. “Without ships like her back on the front, I don’t know if we’ll ever have the raw firepower to deal with the League.”

  David raised an eyebrow. “An old capital-line ship? She’s got to be at least twenty years out of date.”

  MacIntosh offered David a small smile. “She’s not the same ship anymore, Major, with all we’ve done to her. The largest magnetic cannons mounted on any ship in the fleet. The most up-to-date electronics systems, our longest-range engines, the toughest armor, and the strongest shield generators.”

  David began to raise the objections he had heard throughout his career in regard to why the CDF used swarms of smaller ships as opposed to large battlewagons. “Twelve or so reactors that demand constant attention and even one going down leaves you stranded?”

  “Four reactors, actually, and unless the main one goes down, you’re still more than combat capable,” MacIntosh said with a hint of satisfaction.

  David raised his eyebrows and scrunched his nose in surprise.

  “You don’t believe me.”

  “Sir, I know of no fusion reactor that powerful...” David saw the expression on MacIntosh’s face. “General?”

  “Who said anything about fusion?” MacIntosh tapped a stylus on a tablet, indicating it was their next item of business. The document displayed on the tablet, a nondisclosure agreement, was the kind necessary to get access to highly classified materials that were considered special compartmentalized information.

  “Are you in, Major?” MacIntosh asked.

  David’s mind raced. One half of his brain thought he could command the ship and do it well, but the other half wondered, But what if I screw up? He pushed the thought aside.

  “If this goes through, can I have my senior crew?”

  “As officers on the crew?”

  “Not just as officers but as my senior crew.”

  Seeing MacIntosh’s negative reaction, David said, “Sir, First Lieutenant Goldberg’s record as a tactical action officer puts her high on the fleet bell curve. Captain Hansen transferred to field operations after serving as a military engineer on an advanced reactor design team, so if you’ve got some fan
cy new power source for the ship, he’s a good pick for someone who can operate it. And as for Captain Thompson, she does know how to keep a leash on my getting too inventive.”

  For a moment, MacIntosh didn’t respond, clearly pondering David’s arguments.

  David held his breath.

  “Well, I’ll give their records a final once-over and see if they’re willing to sign on, but I’m not making promises as to their final assignments. To be frank, on the matter of Captain Thompson, even if promoted, she will not be your XO. She will be permitted to be a senior watch officer and navigation officer only. Take it or leave it at that, Major.”

  After a slight hesitation, David nodded and picked up the stylus to sign the form. When he finished, he put the stylus down to find MacIntosh’s hand extended. He took it, and they shook hands firmly.

  “Welcome aboard, Major.” MacIntosh grinned. “Although Colonel may be more appropriate now, at least as soon as you’re cleared and permitted to formally join the project. I should have an answer soon. When there is one, you’ll be getting a call, assuming you will be staying planet-side.”

  “I was going to visit my mother this evening. She’s the only family I have left,” David answered. “The contact numbers for my private cell and my mother’s home are in my personnel file.”

  “Of course. I’ll be seeing you soon, Major. Dismissed.”

  David braced to attention then walked out of the room, his mind whirling with excitement at what he had gotten himself into.

  11

  David sat aboard his helicar for the forty-five-minute autopiloted flight to his mother’s home. He pulled out his specialized secure tablet, opened the file from General MacIntosh containing the Lion’s technical specifications, and read the ship’s high-level operating manual. Many hundreds of billions of credits had been spent on the technologies that went into the Lion’s defensive systems, offensive weaponry, and support systems. To begin with, the ship had a power plant that rivaled a smaller planet’s power grid. At full power, the antimatter reactor system could put out more power than the fusion reactors of fifty destroyers. CDF engineers had then scaled up the engines, shields, and weapons already in existence to match the power output supplied by the new reactor.