Coalition Defense Force Boxed Set: First to Fight

by Gibbs, Daniel

  “Well, that’s about the only time I’ve seen someone shut that pompous ass up. Congratulations.”

  “I doubt he’ll shut up for long. He just didn’t want to tick off the guy with his hand on the money spigot.”

  “No doubt.”

  David laughed, and his mind wandered as they walked through the ship’s passageways. After less than five minutes, though it felt longer, they arrived at an office marked with an electronic sign displaying Maj. Elizabeth Merriweather, Senior Project Manager. Hayworth walked through the hatch into the office, followed by MacIntosh and David.

  Merriweather was seated at her desk. A woman in her midthirties, she wore a standard khaki CDF duty uniform. She belatedly jumped to her feet and braced to attention. “Sir! Apologies, sir,” she said as her face turned red.

  MacIntosh offered a small smile. “At ease, Major. I recognize the result of being around civilians too long.”

  Hayworth made introductions. “Colonel Cohen, this is Major Elizabeth Merriweather from the CDF’s Special Projects Division. Eliza has been on the project from the beginning.”

  David stepped forward and offered his hand. “Major, good to meet you.”

  “Likewise, Colonel,” Merriweather said, shaking his hand firmly.

  “Colonel Cohen is newly assigned as the commander of the Lion,” Hayworth explained. “We need to bring him up to speed on the antimatter system.”

  “Oh, of course. Allow me, Doctor.” Eliza tapped a button on her desk, and a hologram popped up, showing a hydrogen atom with a plus sign on it. “Basically, antimatter is matter with a reverse charge to normal matter—the electrons have a positive charge and the protons, a negative charge. When antimatter and matter come into contact, they annihilate each other, producing energy. The potential energy release from this reaction is as high as one hundred orders of magnitude above that of a fusion reaction. Of course, antimatter occurs very rarely in the universe and is usually annihilated almost instantly because of contact with normal matter, so we have to create it through specialized particle accelerators.”

  “Wouldn’t it just be destroyed after creation when it comes into contact with normal matter?” David asked.

  “That’s where the magnetic containment comes in,” Merriweather replied. “You can keep antimatter isolated through a magnetic field. We’ve already successfully concluded tests with magnetic field containers for antimatter that will serve as your ship’s fuel bunkers. They’re quite safe, Colonel, I assure you.”

  “Maybe in normal operation, but what about in combat?”

  “The bunker space is within the ship’s armored keel, as is the center point of the reactor. Though I believe it best if I finish these explanations in your tour of the ship. It might be a bit easier to understand if you can actually see what we’re doing to her.”

  “That sounds like an excellent idea,” MacIntosh said then turned to David. “The tour is scheduled for tomorrow afternoon. I trust everyone can accommodate that?”

  “Actually, I have a lecture at—” Hayworth noticed a dirty look from Merriweather. “But I believe Dr. Hart can fill in for me in the later lectures.”

  “Excellent, Doctor. Have a lovely day,” MacIntosh said and led David out of the office. As they moved farther down the hall, he whispered, “You’re going to have your hands full with that one, Colonel.”

  * * *

  The CSV Oxford was not actually a warship in the Coalition Defense Force but instead a technical research ship, as she was outfitted with a pinpoint sensor suite, extensive listening equipment, and a large complement of intelligence analysts. Tasked to patrol far behind the front lines, the Oxford was a CDF intelligence vessel for spooks and run by spooks.

  Sitting in the middle of the enormous operations-center floor, which took up several decks of the ship, Lieutenant Colonel Robert Sinclair glanced up at the large plaque mounted in the center of the holoprojector displays. It proclaimed the motto of CDF Intelligence: “In God We Trust. All Others, We Monitor.” He turned back to a decryption program that ran on several intercepted League transmissions and watched as the progress bar ticked one more percent.

  “A watched decryption never finishes, sir,” Second Lieutenant Alon Tamir said, unable to keep the hint of a grin off his face.

  “I don’t recall asking your opinion, Butter Bars,” Sinclair replied in his polished English accent.

  Tamir thought he enjoyed poking fun at him and hoped with time he might end up earning the colonel’s respect with his abilities.

  “Of course, sir.”

  “Did you finish composing an analysis on those reports I gave you earlier?”

  “Yes, sir. It’s in your inbox.”

  “What’s the BLUF, Butter Bars?” BLUF stood for bottom line, up front.

  “That the League fleet in this sector has limited supplies to carry out ongoing offensive actions, so we should plan a counterattack immediately before they’re able to resupply,” Tamir responded with a smile.

  “Good. The same conclusion I reached, but maybe you’re learning something on this tub.”

  “Perhaps great minds think alike, sir,”

  Sinclair narrowed his eyes. “Keep dreaming.”

  Tamir took the pokes in stride, as the Oxford was legendary in the fleet for its practical jokes. Tamir had even heard a group of chiefs had taken the entire contents of the XO’s quarters and arranged them on the outer hull exactly as his quarters was set up. The XO had left it all out there for a week before the ringleader fessed up and moved everything back. At some point, another newbie would come on the ship, and that person would get the attention rather than him. Tamir really looked forward to that day. “Yes, sir,” he replied with a grin.

  Tamir’s console beeped, showing a League communication being intercepted. Turning his attention to his console, he noticed that the transmission lacked typical League encryption protocols. “Colonel, I’ve got an unencrypted League transmission, sir.”

  Sinclair snorted. “Probably a propaganda video. I’m in the mood for a good laugh. Put it up on the big screen.”

  A few moments later, the flag of the League of Sol appeared on the main holoviewer in the operations center. It was quickly replaced by a white flag then transitioned to a man’s face. Tamir and Sinclair exchanged glances as the images on the screen changed.

  “This message is for the government of the Terran Coalition,” the man began. “I am Diplomatic Minister Carl Jenner of the League of Sol Social and Public Safety Committee.”

  As he spoke, Sinclair snorted again. “Oh great. They want us to surrender. Not bloody likely.”

  “For the last twenty-seven years, our respective militaries have fought and died in a galaxy-wide war. The League of Sol believes that now is the time for us to set aside this mindless slaughter and try to find common ground between humanity.”

  Tamir’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull. Is this some sort of sick joke the comm techs are playing on us?

  “The League of Sol realizes that an overture for cessation of hostilities after so many years may be difficult to comprehend. To prove our sincerity and goodwill, we propose to send a ship with five thousand prisoners of war to the Terran Coalition along with our delegation to Canaan for the purpose of a negotiated peace that is acceptable to both sides. As a further gesture of goodwill, the League will halt military operations in Terran Coalition space for the next five days while this proposal is considered. We await your response.”

  The transmission ended, leaving only a blank screen in its wake. The operations center was very quiet as officers and enlisted personnel looked at one another, not sure what to make of what they’d seen.

  Sinclair cleared his throat. “Okay, which one of you chaps put that together? That’s got to be the best prank ever pulled on this ship.”

  No one answered him. It began to sink in with Tamir that perhaps the video was genuine.

  “Lieutenant Tamir, can we confirm that the signal originated from League terr
itory?”

  Tamir had started working on that before Sinclair asked him. “Yes, sir, I can. Triangulation shows it originating from behind their front lines.”

  “Get me a gold-level communications channel to the SecDef, Lieutenant.”

  As Tamir moved to comply, he realized he had been referred to as Lieutenant for the first time that week and not Butter Bars. “Yes, sir.”

  Perhaps the League wanted to end the war. The implications were incredible, and Tamir fought to keep his excitement in check so that he could focus on the task at hand.

  A few minutes passed as the link was made. “I’ve got the Secretary of Defense’s office for you, sir.”

  Sinclair turned and faced the camera for the communications vidlink. “Mr. Secretary, you’re going to want to sit down for this.”

  15

  MacIntosh glanced at David, who was sitting in front of his desk, then turned his gaze toward the Lion. She was visible through the windows that looked out upon the nearby dock. Cohen had better be the right one.

  He finished pulling up a file on his tablet and cleared his throat. “Colonel, the clearances of your preferred command crew have been approved. That leaves the other officers being assigned.”

  Before David could speak, an intercom on MacIntosh’s desk went off. “General Barton is here to see you, sir. He insists that it’s urgent and cannot wait,” Roberts said.

  “Let him in,” MacIntosh said, annoyed.

  The office door opened, and in walked General Barton. He braced to attention respectfully as MacIntosh and David stood. David braced to attention as well.

  “General, I wasn’t expecting you so soon,” MacIntosh said with an edge to his voice. “Colonel, I’ll get back to you later. You are dismissed.”

  “Yes, sir,” he said and quickly exited the room, glancing at Barton with curiosity.

  With David gone, MacIntosh and Barton sat down.

  “You’ve told him there’s no way he gets his command crew where he wants them, correct?” Barton asked.

  “Of course.”

  “Ah, good. Wouldn’t want to make him feel spoiled, would we?” Barton sneered.

  They stared at each other intently.

  “General Barton, if this is about—”

  “His unfitness for this kind of command? Not really.” Barton cracked a smile. “You know as well as I do what this project really is. ‘Victory Project’ sounds all nice and optimistic, but it should be more like ‘Last Gamble Project,’ and you know it as much as I do. The only reason they’re letting you pick that kid is because half the joint chiefs are convinced the technology won’t work. Better to let the young colonel take heat for a failed ship design than a man who’s about to get general stars and actually do some good in this war.”

  “You know, Barton, I thought you were simply overselling your part in the court-martial, but you really don’t like Colonel Cohen, do you?”

  “Like? That has nothing to do with it, Andrew. As far as I’m concerned, he’s the perfect man for this project,” Barton said. “As I said, you know as well as I do that this is hardly going to win the war. As it stands, if we’re lucky, it won’t bankrupt the Coalition before the strain on the fleet would anyway. And don’t throw that old canard of defeatism around.” He leaned forward. “It’s one thing to keep the morale of the public up, to keep them working overtime in factories and paying more for goods to help keep the war effort going. That’s why nobody says these things in public. But let’s face facts. The Coalition is in a war that it’ll be lucky to survive with a negotiated peace. We’re not going to drive the League out with or without these new ships.”

  “You’re being pessimistic.”

  “And you’re being foolish. There are other matters we should be turning our energy to, not putting everything we’ve got into magical technologies to end the war.”

  “It’s not magical. It works,” MacIntosh said flatly. “Hayworth’s team has proven consistently in the last six months that the antimatter reactor is everything he claimed it would be. All it took was the right amount of funds being applied to procure the right materials and the best people to work on it.”

  “Congratulations. One ship will not turn the tide of this war. Or need I remind you that with the start of the latest spring offensive by the League, we’re being pushed back across nearly the entire front?” Barton asked, raising his voice.

  “One ship isn’t supposed to turn the tide of the war. It’s supposed to become a symbol that drives morale back up and serves as a test bed for new technologies that can be implemented fleet wide…and that will turn the tide of the war.” MacIntosh’s calm façade was breaking. I hate political appointees. This man doesn’t deserve the stars he wears. Without connections, he would never have made it beyond major.

  The intercom on his desk went off again, and MacIntosh pressed the button to answer it with some irritation. “Yes?”

  “This is Secretary Dunleavey’s office, sir. He says it’s urgent and he needs to see you right away,” Roberts said in a singsong.

  “We’ll continue this discussion later, then.”

  16

  Lieutenant Colonel Calvin Demood of the Terran Coalition Marine Corps—a tall, very well-built, dark-skinned American of African descent—sat on the couch in his living room, flipping through a stack of medals. He looked closely at several. Just seeing them made him recall the events that led to each: planetary defense operations, invasions of League-occupied worlds to liberate them back into the Terran Coalition, boarding operations, and everything in between for twenty-one long years of service. Until a few minutes ago, Calvin pondered bitterly. The time had finally come for him to retire in six months, but that was being delayed. Jess isn’t going to react well to this development. Not even sure what I think about it.

  He leaned back, glancing around the room in his relatively modest home on the grounds of Camp Fox, a large TCMC base in a remote area of Canaan. Its primary function was as a training ground for new Marines. Calvin had been in command of a training brigade for the last eighteen months.

  Jessica walked in then gave him a kiss as she sat next to him. “Putting everything away for retirement?”

  Calvin stared at a medal he’d earned during one of his first deployments as second lieutenant for fighting off waves of League troops while protecting a group of wounded Marines whose corpsman had been killed by enemy fire. “They’re giving me new orders,” he said before looking up at his wife.

  Jessica’s face clouded over. “What do you mean, ‘new orders’? You’ve got less than six months to finish at Field Command School.”

  “They want me to take a new assignment, overseeing an MEU connected with the Victory Project.”

  “What? Why? They know you’re retiring in six months. They know that, right?”

  Calvin steeled himself. “They also asked me to stay on for another three years.”

  At that, Jessica’s emotions got the best of her. “Oh no! No! You’re not going to let them do this to us!” she shouted. “You said you were done. You were ready to settle down!”

  Calvin struggled to respond to his wife’s outburst. He knew that, more than anything, she wanted him to get out of the military.

  “I was, Jess. It’s just… It wasn’t just any request. This came straight from General MacIntosh himself. He wants me to lead the MEU on that ship they keep saying they’re building. It’s real. I’ve got to do this.”

  Calvin reached out to take her hand, but she swatted it away and just stared at him. “So that’s it, isn’t it? They raise the flag again, and you go running off without a thought?” she asked, seething.

  “I took an oath, baby.”

  “You’re damned right, you took an oath. You took one to me. You promised me this was the end. I want a child, Calvin. I’m sick of wondering if you’re not coming back every time you walk out the door. What about me?” she shouted.

  “Jess—”

  “I’ve been waiting for you to se
ttle down for twenty damn years, Calvin! I’m tired of waiting!”

  Flustered and seemingly unable to say anything else, she stormed out and into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

  Calvin went to the door and knocked on it. “Hon? Please, come back out. We can talk about this.”

  After more than a few seconds of silence, he stepped away and sat back down in the living room. Looking at the tablet that held his new orders, he shook his head. This posting had damn well better be worth it.

  * * *

  David pulled his cover on as he walked onto the bridge of the Lion of Judah, taking in the sight of all the people working on the bridge and its combat information center, or CIC. General MacIntosh had already given him the so-called nickel tour of the ship, but this was his first time alone on the bridge. Many technicians, both military and contractor, worked on various consoles. Recalling his old days as damage-control team leader, he walked over to one of the many stations with cables and parts strewn around it. A CDF officer was under the console. David could just make out his rank as a first lieutenant.

  “And what are we doing here, Lieutenant?” David asked.

  The younger man poked his head up. “Trying to troubleshoot a short in the communications control system. Not enough engineers to go around, and the contractors are all focused on weapons and shields,” he explained.

  David felt mildly amused as the young man glanced up, saw his rank insignia, then dropped everything to stand and come to attention.

  “Colonel, sir!”

  A few other personnel took notice of David and came to attention.

  He said quickly, “At ease, everyone. Carry on with repairs.”

  As the rest of the technicians and contractors resumed what they had been doing, David returned his focus to the young man. Taking note of the name on his badge, he spoke again. “So, Lieutenant Taylor, what station are you assigned to?”