1st to Fight (Earth at War)

by Rick Partlow

  “We did. But we also kept a professional separation. You have to when you do the shit we do. He didn’t keep that separation with you, sir. I think he would have wanted you to have it.” He shrugged. “At least that’s what I told Colonel Olivera when he asked me.”

  I blew out a breath, squeezing my eyes shut for a second against another surge of unwelcome emotion. I hadn’t been able to stop myself when the President read the citation.

  “All right,” I conceded. “It’ll take good care of it.” I fiddled with the blue ribbon around my neck. It felt as if it was about to choke me to death. “I don’t know how I ended up with one of these instead of you, or Quinn, or Colonel Brooks.”

  “We’ll get ours,” Pops told me. “Silver stars, bronze stars, enough for everyone on the mission most likely, from Colonel Olivera down to the lowliest maintenance tech. It was one of those sorts of operations, you know? But being honest, sir, not a one of us would be alive if you hadn’t figured out how to use those big-ass guns against the enemy ship. And we wouldn’t have the hyperdrives to build three starships if you hadn’t made the call to go for them after Jambo died. That could be the difference between winning and losing this war.” He laughed softly, eyeing Crenshaw and the gaggle of Defense Department suits clustered together in a protective formation against the press. “Besides, I think the need for a positive press spin on everything helped. They needed heroes, dead and alive. And the hero the press loves the most is an unlikely one. You’re about as unlikely as they come.”

  “Clanton.” I nearly spun around at the voice behind my right shoulder before I recognized it as Olivera. The look on his face told me this was business, not pleasure. “Find someone to take care of the medal for you. The President wants you in the Situation Room in ten.”

  “Shit.” It wasn’t quite “yes, sir,” but I was already trying to transition back to civilian life. I had moved back to my house in Vegas three weeks ago, just after Jambo’s funeral and I’d had to get a haircut before the ceremony so I wouldn’t look like a shitbag in my dress blues.

  I handed the case off to Pops and followed Olivera. At least I wouldn’t have to wait around for the reporters to take their turns at me. Julie and Colonel Brooks fell into formation with us as we strode down the hallways, and I had to force myself not to march in step with them.

  “How’s Vegas?” Julie asked me.

  She looked younger, I realized with a start. Not that she’d ever seemed old or unattractive, but she was a woman who’d lived an active life in a stressful career and you don’t get to your early forties as a Navy pilot and not look it. She no longer looked it. She could have been thirty or even twenty-five again, and I wondered if it was the same for me and I just hadn’t noticed because the change had been so gradual.

  “It’s hot,” I said, trying to sound coherent, and I wasn’t sure if I was speaking of the early fall weather in Nevada or her. “Taking a bit of getting used to after so long in Idaho. Have you had time to visit your daughter?”

  She laughed and even the laugh sounded younger.

  “Yeah, she couldn’t shut up about how much I’d changed.” Her smile smoothed into something more thoughtful. “You know, hers may be the last generation to remember old people. Blows my fucking mind.”

  Daniel Gatling was waiting for us, though it took me nearly three seconds to recognize him. He’d apparently taken advantage of the retelomerization process as well, and his beard was free of grey, his skin smoothing out at the neck and forehead. Joon-Pah sat beside him, quietly conversing, and I was surprised the Heltan was down here. I hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him on the news for weeks and figured he’d be busy upstairs helping refit the new ship. Of course, there were so many shuttle flights up and down every single day now, it wouldn’t be too hard for him to sneak back down for the meeting.

  We’d been told ten minutes so I expected to wait at least a half an hour for the President, but I’d underestimated either Crenshaw or the gravity of the situation, because he showed up almost immediately, before I could even finish greeting Gatling and Joon-Pah, without as much as an announcement or a Secret Service escort.

  “Attention!” Olivera barked, coming to his feet, but Crenshaw waved it away impatiently and signaled for his National Security Advisor to close the door behind us.

  I looked around the room. The President, Gatling, Joon-Pah, Thomas Caldwell, and us. No generals, no admirals, no Secretaries of State or Defense, no CIA. The hackles raised on the back of my neck. Something was up.

  Crenshaw sat at the head of the table, fingers steepled together, tired and thoughtful.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, “I’m not going to bother telling you all what an incredible job you did, because we just spent a few weeks doing that.” He eyed my medal. “Quite visibly and earnestly. You brought us hope and your timely arrival quashed what had the very real potential to be World War Three. What I am here to discuss is what comes next. And I can see in all your eyes, you’re wondering why the people in this room are here and not someone higher-ranking or some Secretary or department head. You’re here because you’ve been out there and seen it. I know I can trust you because you’ve proven it. Nothing said in here goes further than this room.”

  We all nodded. Again though, I thought he might have been looking at me a bit longer than the others.

  “Before we begin, I need to ask you a question, Major Clanton. Are you in or out?”

  “Sir?” I said, feeling inane but unprepared for the question.

  “I understand you want to be a civilian again. If that’s the case, I can arrange your separation immediately. I’d still like to keep you around as an advisor, but I’m certainly not going to force you to remain active duty military. I’ve been where you are.” He tapped a finger beside his eye. “But I look at you, look at your record, and I can’t help but think you’d be better utilized in the field.”

  “In the field as what, sir?” I asked. “I’m not a Ranger, I’m not a pilot or a Space Force tech. I was barely a company commander for a few months before I got out of the Marines, and now, I’m at a staff rank without a staff. This….” I pointed at the Medal of Honor around my neck. “…which I don’t deserve, was awarded for actions I took leading a squad-sized element, and any one of those Delta operators is a better tactical commander than I am at any level. My only virtue was in being more familiar with the technology involved than they were at the time.”

  “What you are, Major,” Crenshaw told me, “is mentally flexible, and you’d be surprised what a rare quality that is. Which is another reason you’re all here and the Joint Chiefs are not. Colonel Olivera….” He smiled thinly. “Sorry, soon-to-be General Olivera wants you with him out there. He’s made that very clear.”

  I looked at Olivera, my eyebrows shooting up.

  “You’re a pain in the ass jarhead,” Olivera said, shrugging, “always calling shit port and starboard and bow and stern, but I like having you hanging at my shoulder on the bridge. You’re like an oversized Jiminy Cricket.”

  “Not to mention,” Crenshaw went on, “that Chief Warrant Officer Tremonti told me you’re the only officer he’d want to follow into battle. You asked me what you’d be doing, and here’s the idea I’ve kicked around, Andy. The Rangers are going to be our strike force, a hammer to any of our problems that look like nails, but I need someone there who can handle the problems that don’t need a hammer, that need a scalpel. The Delta team is going back out and no, you aren’t near qualified to lead a Delta team. But they’re not going out there as hostage rescue specialists, or to retrieve high-value targets, they’re out there to be our utility outfielders, people we plug in where we need them. And I want you to be their commander. So, are you in or out?”

  Well shit. What could I say? The President of the United States wanted me in, Olivera wanted me in, Pops wanted me in. And even though I’d tried to tell myself I was done, I wanted me in. How the hell did I ever think I could go back to writing science fictio
n and making a living off of being a celebrity when the greatest challenge in human history was staring me in the face? It wasn’t as if I had anything worth staying here for.

  “I’m in, sir.”

  “Glad to hear it. Because our next operation isn’t going to be with the Helta looking over our shoulder. It’s going to be on our own ship, the USS James Bowie.”

  I looked up, my focus sharpening on him. He nodded, the corner of his mouth turning up.

  “Congress approved it this morning. Hard for them to say no, given the Master Sergeant was the first American to die fighting aliens in another star system.”

  “She’ll be ready within three months,” Daniel Gatling added. “My people are modifying the crew quarters, controls, even the acceleration couches. And installing the new Impulse Gun and a few other surprises we thought up after reading your mission briefs.”

  “As to where you’ll be going,” the President went on, “well, Joon-Pah has been busy while we’ve been refurbishing the ship.” He nodded to the Heltan.

  “I took the Truthseeker clear of your system and used the warp field to send a message to Helta Prime, our homeworld and the center of our Alliance. I told them what occurred at Fairhome, and how you were able to retrieve something positive out of yet another Tevynian incursion, how valuable you would be as allies.” He looked around the table at us. “You must understand, not everyone feels as I do, as my faction does. Some think it is madness to seek aid from you, who are so like the Tevynians in appearance and temperament. But I believe the time is right to bring you to the Alliance leadership and see you and your people incorporated into our struggle. When you’re ready, your ship will follow ours to Helta Prime.”

  “And hope they don’t shoot us down,” Olivera added.

  “I’ll drink to that,” I said. “Figuratively, of course.”

  “Delia Strawbridge will be handling the diplomatic contingent,” Baldwin put in, speaking for the first time since we’d entered, “and your team, Major Clanton, will be her personal bodyguard.”

  “You’re going to be representing the whole of the human race,” Crenshaw added. “Don’t fuck it up.”

  ***

  I stood in my doorway, staring at the emptiness of a house full of expensive furniture and feeling a strange sense of gratitude that I didn’t have any pets. I got the feeling I wasn’t going to be back to Las Vegas much in the next few years and I would have hated to foist any wayward cats, dogs or fish off on the various acquaintances I had once called my friends.

  The sun was setting across Sin City, gleaming off the buildings and setting the mountains on fire. I’d miss the sunsets here, but maybe I’d get to see other stars set on other planets, which seemed a worthwhile tradeoff. I’d turned on the air conditioning via my phone app on the drive from the airport, and I closed the door rather than continue, as my father had used to say, to refrigerate all the great outdoors.

  I had a luxury this time, not like the last starflight I took. I had time to pack, to spend a few days back at my house and decide what I wanted to bring with me for however long we were gone.

  What do you take when you might never come back?

  My books and music and movies were all on my phone and tablet. I mean, I still had cases full of physical books, as every author does, but I wasn’t about to try to pack them in the two duffle bags I was allowed.

  Clothes? I’d pack maybe two sets of casual civilian clothes, but I’d be wearing a uniform almost all the time. What the hell else did I even have in the house? My gun safe? I was pretty confident the military would provide the weapons I’d need on the trip. My camping gear wouldn’t be of much use. I suppose I could roll up some of the movie posters hanging on my walls if I wanted to decorate my compartment on the ship. I just wasn’t a collector, wasn’t someone who carried a lot of things around with me.

  I walked into the kitchen and opened a cupboard, pulled out three family-sized bags of Sour Patch Kids and a case of Diet Coke. There. Finally, something I’d really need for the trip.

  The doorbell rang. I frowned, thinking of all the people who might show up here unannounced, which included solicitors, religious proselytizers and the press and deciding none of them were welcome. It rang again. I cursed softly and pulled out my phone to check the camera.

  Staring into the video pickup was a face I’d dreamed about and seen in nightmares, at once warm and heart-shaped, with blond hair as soft as the clouds and yet carrying the chill of a mountain pass in winter in her blue eyes and the stubborn set of a stone statue in her jaw.

  It was Allie, my ex-wife.

  I hesitated, still unsure whether to answer. Why would she come here? I hadn’t seen her outside of a courtroom for four years.

  Oh, fuck it. What’s the worst thing she can do? Sue me? Where I’m going, I won’t need the money anyway.

  I pulled the door open. Allie stood there, still looking damned good in her designer blouse and $500 jeans and $900 shoes.

  Beside her was Zack. I almost didn’t recognize him. He’d shot up until he was nearly as tall as me, the once chubby and childish face thinned out now to a teenager’s sharp edges, his brown hair shaggy and shoulder length.

  “Hi,” I said, helpless and nearly incoherent. “I, uh…”

  “I was going to call,” Allie said, “but I didn’t know if you’d pick up.”

  “Hey Dad,” Zack said, his voice deeper than I’d ever expected it to be. He seemed as awkward as I was. “I missed you.”

  And that was all I could take. I pulled him into a hug, barely able to keep myself from breaking down, thinking of all the missed time, how much of our life I’d pissed away.

  “I saw you on the news,” Allie explained. She smiled, an expression so full of sadness and pain and regret, I wondered how it could even qualify. “And I talked it over with Paul and…well, if you can keep your shit together long enough to save the world, we both thought we could trust you enough to be part of his life.” She laughed. “We tried to reach you through the military and the family liaison told us you were going on two week’s leave before you were going to have to take off again. So, I kind of….” She put a hand over her face, embarrassed. “I grabbed Zack and drove here from Austin and kind of, well…parked across the street and waited for you.”

  I let Zack go reluctantly, as if he might vanish into dust once he was free of my embrace. Allie handed him a bag.

  “Mom and Paul said I could take a few days out of school,” he said, sounding excited, whether about seeing me again or getting out of school, I wasn’t sure. “If it’s okay with you.”

  “It’s more than okay,” I assured him. “It’s perfect.” I turned to his mother and guilt warred with gratitude. “Allie, I’ve thought and said some pretty nasty things the last three years, and most of them were probably unfair to you. I was a mess, and I don’t blame you for wanting out.”

  “We were both a mess. And I guess I wanted to blame it all on you because I didn’t like what I was feeling about myself.” Allie shook her head as if she were shaking the memories away. She waved back across the street, where a new model Tesla was parked by the sidewalk. “I’ll be back to pick him up Friday.”

  I watched her go before I closed the door, looking at my son in amazement.

  “What are we gonna do?” he asked me. “I’ve never been to Las Vegas before. Do I get to go to the casinos?”

  I barked a laugh.

  “Not for another seven years. But I have a garage full of camping equipment I haven’t been able to use in months and I’ve been cooped up on a starship full of recycled air. What do you say we go head up to the mountains and do some hiking?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, looking at me with skepticism in his dark eyes. “What’s the cell phone reception like up there?”

  “It’s wonderful,” I assured him. “There is none. Not a single bar.”

  As he tried to convince me how horrible that was going to be and how he’d told some girl named Kelley that
he’d video chat with her every day, I couldn’t help but grin like an idiot. There was one thing I could take with me on the James Bowie, luggage allowance be damned. A reason to come home again.

  Thank you for reading 1st to Fight, the first book in Rick Partlow’s Earth at War series.

  Tap here to get the next book in the series, titled Primary Targets

  Rescue Mission

  By Rick Partlow

  Thank you for reading 1st to Fight. Next comes an Earth at War bonus novel from Rick Partlow, Rescue Mission.

  In reading the story it tells, you’ll discover what happened to Andy in Venezuela…and the outcome of an attempt to rescue a crew of Helta technicians from the Tevynians’ clutches.

  Chapter One

  The mid-morning sun vaporized my sweat before it had a chance to gain purchase on my skin. I was in a convection oven and I fought an urge to pull out my phone and check the date again, sure I’d lost track of time and it was actually mid-July instead of well into the fall months. The flap at the back of my fishing cap covered my neck, but any exposed skin sizzled, eating away at the sunscreen I’d applied only an hour ago.

  “I can’t believe how hot it is down here,” Zack said, as if he were reading my thoughts. He paused on the sandstone-red trail to tighten the shoulder straps of his backpack. “Can we hike back up into the mountains again where it’s cooler?”

  I laughed softly.

  “Just this morning, you were saying how you wanted to get back down to the campground so you could get cell coverage,” I reminded him, “so you could video chat with that girl again.”

  “Yeah,” he admitted, tilting his head down so the brim of his cap hid his eyes. “I dunno though, I think I’d rather take a chance of getting Kelley mad at me than hiking any more in this fu—” He broke the word off, looking up at me like a prairie dog at a circling hawk. “…this freaking heat,” he finished.