No Graves for Heroes

by Jason Winn

  License Notes

  This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events or real people is strictly coincidence.

  No Graves for Heroes

  Copyright © 2019 by Jason Winn

  All rights reserved, including rights to reproduce this book or portions thereof, in any form.

  Cover design by Andrew Dobell

  Web: www.JasonWinn.com

  TITLE PAGE

  COPYRIGHT

  BOOKS BY JASON WINN

  DEDICATION

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

  CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

  THANK YOU

  The Eagle’s Debt Saga

  Orbital Heist – an Eagle’s Debt short story

  No Graves For Heroes

  Rogue Scholars

  The Moonmilk Saga

  Madison Mosby and the Rose Widow

  Madison Mosby and the Moonmilk Wars

  Madison Mosby and the Beggar’s Court

  Novels

  The G Crisis

  Fortress Pentagon

  For regular updates on new books, signup for the Jason Winn newsletter here

  For John

  The hanger bay of the Yang Liwei, first in the Tang-class of carriers, was deathly quiet. Stealth fighters, bombers, and escort frigates sat on the deck or hung suspended from the ceiling. Their matte black exteriors absorbed the ambient light. Jupiter’s red eye swirled beyond the open bay doors and the energy field that protected the atmosphere inside from the vacuum of space shimmered with a faint blue light. A man and a woman stood in the center of it all; she old and frail, with a stiff back and sharp eyes, he young and muscular. He twitched with the slightest hint of impatience.

  “Shakedown complete, Admiral,” said Captain Jamal McKenzie. He tried not to look down at his commanding officer. That felt like it would be disrespectful.

  Admiral Wu Ling bobbed her head and gazed across the sprawling flight deck. She’d noted repeatedly the space would easily house ten of the first destroyer she served on. “You should be proud of the work your crew has done, Captain. Tomorrow will be a glorious day for our country.” She smiled and looked up at Captain McKenzie. “Don’t you think?”

  McKenzie knew it would be a day for the history books, but not in the way the admiral was thinking. Neither of them would be there to see the looks on the party leaders’ or CEO’s faces. But, he knew tomorrow would be a day they would all remember, and the day after and the day after that.

  “It will, ma’am,” said Captain McKenzie.

  “When will the escort group be here?”

  “The Dragon Armada is due to arrive in a week. They’re finishing up the after-action from the joint forces operation at Deimos.”

  “Ah, yes. The Indians made a statement about that, if I recall. They don’t like us so close to their research posts.”

  There was a pause. McKenzie took in a deep breath, smelling the fresh paint on the walls, mixing with hints of lubricant and that weird burning smell the new air filtration systems always gave off. It reminded him of when his father used to turn on the furnace for the first time each fall. Thinking about his childhood on Earth reminded him how far his family had come, from when they left the United States behind and found refuge in the old People’s Empire of China.

  “What’s wrong, Jamal?” asked Wu.

  “Nothing, ma’am.”

  “We’ve been together for too long for me to believe that. Come on, out with it.” They walked over to a Stealth-class frigate and Wu ran her hand along the flat black exterior.

  This was the opening Jamal hoped would never happen. He looked down at his commanding officer, a woman he’d served with for ten years. With all that was about to happen, how could he be so arrogant to lie to his mentor? The neuro-chem pill he took an hour ago was keeping his nerves calm and giving him the fortitude to carry on. Without it, he’d be second-guessing himself right now.

  “I don’t approve of all the ceremony for the ship, ma’am.” He could feel his muscles tense up as the lie crossed his lips.

  “Ceremony is important. Announcing the most powerful ship in the solar system is important. Emperor Tang believes it shows the rest of the superpowers our nation and interests are not to be trifled with. He is not the oldest man in history because he is a fool. Better to show great strength than have to fight.” She nodded to the words printed in gold above the hangar doors. “While living in peace, think of danger.”

  McKenzie discarded the comment about the wise old leader of the Chinese empire. He was old because no expense had been spared to keep him alive. As he simmered about Tang, McKenzie eyed the mini tablet secured to the admiral’s belt. He wished he could just grab it and run. But that wasn’t the plan. The ship’s biometric systems were locked and would not answer his commands until after Wu handed over control. That was a week away. Until then, Wu was the only person, along with the secretary of the navy, who had the digital keys to the ship.

  Wu walked toward the open landing bay doors, drawn to the majestic patterns of Jupiter’s atmosphere. McKenzie followed her.

  “What do your friends in Intelligence tell you about the latest rebel chatter on the nets?” Wu asked.

  McKenzie almost stopped in his tracks. Was this a test? Was the old woman probing him? Did she know? “Nothing.”

  “The young never want to follow the old, jealous of the wisdom that comes with age. All this talk of techno revolution. It’s nonsense. Commerce is what drives empire and keeps the people safe, not frivolous exploration. Reckless. Civilization craves stability. This ship and her future sist
ers will see to that.” Wu looked up at McKenzie. “I’m sure your father knew all about that, growing up in America. Shame what happened to your old country. They shined so brilliantly two hundred years ago, but the vanity of hyper-individualism and religious fundamentalism caused them to rot. Civil complacency, in the face of an oblivious government, leads to ruin. Don’t forget that.”

  There it was. Statements like that made McKenzie believe Wu might agree with his position, along with the others. But the old woman had too many friends in the politburo and board rooms across the solar system. One didn’t rise to the rank of Fleet Admiral without being tightly connected to the solar system’s most influential people. Individuals that would be upset at any disruption in the status quo of ‘commerce first.’

  Wu smiled. “I’m glad you’re here, though.” She took his hand in a motherly gesture. “You will do great things once you take over this ship.”

  McKenzie stayed quiet, instead looking out the bay doors at the Dongfeng shipyard floating several kilometers away from the Yang Liwei. The construction platform was a skeleton of composite beams that had cocooned the ship during construction and was almost two kilometers longer than the Yang Liwei. It housed foremen, engineers, and Dongfeng corporate executives as they supervised the massive 3D printers and drones that built the ship and hundreds before it.

  Supply ships flew gracefully between the array of twinkling space stations, factories, and shipyards that comprised Chinese territory above the gas giant. There were similar networks over Saturn and Uranus, only those were interspersed with space installations owned by the other superpowers, as well as multinational corporations. However, Jupiter and all its satellites were the domain of China alone. From this altitude, the gas mining and processing plants were lost against the backdrop of the planet’s beautiful yet violent storms. Thousands of structures a hundred times the size of the Dongfeng shipyard floated just above the torrent of storms, harvesting helium and nitrogen before compressing it into solid form and jettisoning it skyward to the shipping stations, to be ferried off to other settlements for industrial purposes. Drone ships worked day and night, like colony ants, going from the orbiting space stations down to the mining installations.

  McKenzie looked at his watch, an antique Rolex Wu had given him the same day as his captain’s insignia. It was time to begin the next revolution. A pounding in his chest rose to a staccato rhythm. He took a deep breath and looked at his mentor one last time. Wu didn’t turn to look back, choosing instead to stare out the bay doors.

  With the speed and strength of youth, McKenzie struck the frail woman’s head as hard as he could. His fist met her temple and she collapsed to the deck without so much as a whimper.

  Not wasting time to second-guess his actions, McKenzie knelt down and took Wu’s limp head and twisted until he heard a muffled pop. Then, he slipped the admiral’s mini tablet from its case on her belt, pressed Wu’s thumb to the screen, and entered the password he’d seen Wu use on countless occasions, the date she met her long-dead husband.

  The tablet’s black screen came to life. McKenzie now had complete access to the ship’s systems. He tapped the security icon and disabled the ship’s security cameras and monitoring sensors. There was a good chance the control tower would see this, but he’d be long gone before they could do anything about it.

  With two more taps, McKenzie initialized a series of armament drones and instructed them to begin loading one of the Stealth-class frigates. Seconds later, a dozen drones the size of refrigerators began scooting across the flight deck carrying railgun ammunition, nuclear tipped rockets, and crates loaded with small arms and ammunition. The latter was a box the size of a drone which was loaded into the crew compartment. Modular in design, the new frigates could be loaded out for any number of mission profiles.

  As the drones worked, McKenzie picked up the admiral’s body and made for the engine room. He left the old woman leaning against one of the dark matter reactors to ensure that her body would be completely disintegrated. Government investigators would comb through every single part of the ship, what was left of it anyway. Plus, there was the very real possibility that if he left the admiral where she lay, she would be sucked out into space for all to see.

  Back on the flight deck, McKenzie pulled out his micro tablet and sent a message to the rest of the co-conspirators.

  McKenzie: it’s spring over Jupiter

  He watched as the armament drones returned to their individual bays. Part of him felt bad that this magnificent ship was about to meet an untimely end, but it was too powerful of a weapon to leave on the field. It carried five hundred warships, and it was better for military high command to believe that he had perished in some catastrophic accident along with the admiral.

  With that, Captain Jamal McKenzie sent a command for the frigate to open its crew hatch. The doorway from the sleek outer hull opened and a small step ladder extended to the flight deck. He boarded his escape ship and made for the bridge. From there McKenzie powered up the frigate and using the admiral’s tablet initiated the carrier’s plasma reactor overload sequence. This required certain failsafes be disabled. Using the admiral’s override authority, McKenzie clicked off all safety protocols. With the security system already disabled, the ship-wide alarms remained silent. Thus, there would be no emergency signals sent to flight command.

  Finally, McKenzie keyed the command to disable the docking bay force field. He engaged the frigate’s stealth systems and gently lifted the craft off the flight deck. He hovered for a moment before turning to port and exiting the Yang Liwei. As he cruised away from the massive carrier, he sent the final command to the ship’s reactors. The explosion would be incredible, but he would be nowhere near when the ship imploded.

  McKenzie opened all emergency military communications channels and listened for anyone attempting to report something wrong on the Yang Liwei. Hearing nothing out of the ordinary, he set a course for the rendezvous point to meet up with the rest of his team, leaving the ship to erupt on her own.

  Killick had maybe thirty minutes tops before he was turned over to the War Crimes Commissioner’s office. Axel Nash ran faster through the rainy DC streets. He wasn’t going to let his old war buddy and freelance partner get tortured to death. He pushed nightmarish thoughts out of his head, focusing on his mission, ignoring his pounding heart and sore joints.

  How had they found him? he wondered. It didn’t matter now, though.

  Any American veteran of the Solar War was sure to be interrogated for information on larger groups of soldiers in hiding.

  They lied to us. Said we were attacked. Packed us into tin cans and shot us into the stars.

  What’s a man supposed to do in that situation? You fight for the marines standing to your left and right.

  Thirty years later, the bounty on fugitive soldiers could be worth an off-planet exit visa or foreign currency. The vets were still paying a price for losing a war no one wanted. Axel prayed all of that might change next week when President Gardner was sworn in, if the crazy bastard lived long enough to take the oath of office.

  An armored police van trundled down Massachusetts Avenue toward Dupont Circle, its anti-personnel cannon sweeping back and forth, scanning the streets for crime. On its side, a giant gold cross shimmered under the passing streetlights. The men inside were trigger junkies looking for one more fix. Axel dove behind a pile of garbage to avoid the facial recognition camera. People running in the middle of the night drew attention he didn’t need right now. He would be shot on sight if they saw what he was carrying on his back. Once the van passed, he jumped back up, body aching, and turned down 17th Street.

  Neon light buzzed from all-night shops, reflecting off oily puddles in decaying sidewalks. A few members of a street gang huddled under the carcass of an old spider tank, stripped of its weapons and sensors arrays. The smell of burnt plastic hung in the air, mixing with aromas of trash and piss.

  Every few blocks Axel spared a second to brush loc
ks of wet gray hair from his face and look at his phone.

  Dash: unloaded him at the Knights of Christ offices on Q

  Axel didn’t bother to respond. He knew Dash was probably sitting under a pile of wet blankets in an alleyway with his bad leg propped up. Q Street was several blocks north. But he recognized the mention of the Knights of Christ as a veiled warning. The militant wing of the Values political party would be in a violent mood with the changing political tides.

  He continued past camps of homeless and phalanxes of police barricades surrounding corporate offices and upscale apartment complexes. None of the corporate cops paid him a second glace. They only cared about suicide bombers or thieves.

  The Knights of Christ office building soared above the street. A huge banner, depicting an image of President Jonas Petty IV smiled down at the smaller buildings below. The well-groomed tyrant would be out of a job in a week, but you wouldn’t know it from all the idolatry surrounding the place; statues, posters, and video screens ringed the entrance to the offices. The Values Party flag flew from no less than a dozen flag poles outside. It looked exactly like the real American flag, only with seven of the stars in gold to form a cross in the center of the blue field. It had become the symbol of a merging of church and state.

  Axel took refuge behind a holy water vendor truck and pulled out a thick hypodermic needle. The word Hijack in bold red letters ran down the side. He straightened his arm and felt for the IV plug just below the crook of his elbow. With the push of a button the needle shot out from the bottom of the thing and he jammed it into the rubbery plug. His body shivered as the fluid went to work.

  The sounds of the city amplified. The thin mental fog of old age cleared. The night-veiled street brightened and the motion of the world appeared to slow. This was his last shot of the old juice in Axel’s stash. He had to make it count. Next, he pulled off his backpack and slipped into his work uniform, the blue jumpsuit of the city’s maintenance union. He slipped his weapons under the suit and clipped them to his wet clothing underneath. The baggy blue jumper hid the deadly bulges well enough.