Faulkner could only stand and stare in disbelief. The woman in front of him bore little resemblance to the one he’d last seen on the Mantis.
She was wearing a heavy wool jacket tied at the waist and a conical hat which she now removed, revealing an unflattering haircut. And yet for all her dowdiness, there was something about her eyes which demanded attention. An intensity which few could match.
Morton turned to one side and brought forward a Yakutian young enough to be her son.
“Had to give it all up when I married this fellow.”
The young man bowed courteously to Faulkner.
“Married?” Faulkner said simply.
“Yes,” Morton said. “Didn’t you get the invitation?”
She laughed distractedly though it did nothing to dispel the sense of awkwardness.
“But why?” Faulkner said.
Morton looked to Sunderam for an explanation but, when none was forthcoming, she simply batted the question away. “Long story.”
Faulkner stared straight at her and, for her part, Morton stared straight back.
“So, this is your husband?” Faulkner said, stepping forward to belatedly offer his hand.
She introduced them as they shook hands.
“Bayas was the one who…” she looked to Sunderam.
“Helped liberate Captain Faulkner,” Sunderam said. “I’ve seen the surveillance footage myself. In a moment he’ll no doubt be asking you for political asylum.”
“In which case,” Faulkner said, though he was looking at Morton. “I’d be only too happy to comply.”
By this time, the last of the prisoners had filed past and Faulkner turned back to Sunderam.
“Captain, I’d like to thank you for everything you’ve done for my people.”
“I only wish that we could have done more,” Sunderam said.
“Oh, but I think you have,” Morton said playfully. She turned to a group that had been waiting at the far end of the cargo bay. She beckoned them over.
“What’s this?” Faulkner asked as the group approached pushing twin hospital beds. “More survivors?”
“Sort of,” Morton said before walking across to meet them. “Though I’m not even sure you’ll be able to remember these two reprobates.”
Faulkner heard someone gasp and then realised it was him.
If these two were who he thought they were they’d both lost a considerable amount of weight. The broader of the two appeared to be of Asian descent while the other, despite the obvious hardships he’d suffered, still managed to retain a certain rakish charm.
“I give you Lieutenant Yamada and Lieutenant Commander Bertran.”
Faulkner found himself standing between the pair of them, grabbing hold of Bertran’s hand while hooking his arm around Yamada’s neck. All the while, he was staring at both of them in disbelief.
“Well, I …” he said his voice straining with emotion. “Have you ever seen such a sorry looking pair?”
The big man, Yamada, laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.
“Good to see you too, sir.”
Bayas and Morton took charge of the two beds and started pushing them over in the direction of the ramp.
Sunderam turned to Faulkner as they departed. “I’m afraid that your former Surgeon Captain got caught up in a clash between two of our Houses. I would have preferred to have kept her out of it but, as it was, she acquitted herself admirably.”
A clash between two of our Houses, Faulkner thought. Anywhere else, that would be called a mutiny.
Sunderam said, “I take it you’re familiar with the way that our Yakutian Houses operate, captain?”
Faulkner gave a hesitant nod. “Your noble families aspire to build up alliances in order to strengthen themselves both politically and militarily. Is that about right?”
“In layman’s terms, yes. It’s based on generations of social and cultural conflict. Each House aspires to overall dominance but it’s a process fraught with compromises. What seems like strength from the outside is undermined by shifting loyalties and a mutual distrust.”
Sunderam gave him at significant look, as if suggesting that this was a process he’d long grown tired of.
“It sounds like a very dangerous game to play,” Faulkner said, his eyes shifting to the two young officers who were approaching.
One of them looked to be carrying something.
Sunderam said, “I’m sure that Captain Muhbarat would agree with you there.”
“What’s this?” Faulkner said as the two officers came to attention.
The first one was holding up a long sword, still in its scabbard. The second one stepped around in order to take it, lifting the sword perpendicular to the ground. He stopped when it reached eye level.
“We have a tradition in my culture,” Sunderam said. “If a commander finds himself isolated, cut-off with no hope of rescue there is no need for him to sacrifice himself and his men. He simply acknowledges his opponent’s tactical excellence and simply leaves the field.”
Faulkner felt like he was back at the Academy being lectured on the importance of knowing one’s enemy.
“And how does he manage that?”
“He surrenders his sword. It is as a sign that he has been out-maneuvered. There is no disgrace in acknowledging a superior opponent.”
“And is that what happened to Muhbarat? Did he just walk away?”
“Captain Muhbarat was, I’m afraid, a man full of foolish arrogance. He refused to concede even when it was clear that his cause was lost. Because of him, many good men needlessly lost their lives.”
The young officer stepped forward and presented Faulkner with the weapon.
“I don’t understand. Why are you giving me Muhbarat’s sword?”
Sunderam pressed his hands together, as if waiting for the right words to come.
“Forgive me, captain. This isn’t Muhbarat’s sword. This is mine.”
The three Yakutian officers came to attention before saluting Faulkner, holding the position fractionally longer than was necessary.
“Captain Faulkner,” Sunderam said. “I offer you this sword as a sign of my utmost respect. You are, sir, the superior opponent.”
Faulkner, clasping the sword to his side, managed to return the salute.
But when he tried to speak, he found that he couldn’t.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Well, that’s it. And I can only thank you for sticking with the story right the way to the end.
I hoped you enjoyed the ride and if you’d like to get in touch to tell me about the bits you enjoyed or your favorite characters, I’d really love to hear from you. Have a look at my website for updates and contact details. https://www.rlgiddings.com/
I had quite modest expectations when I started writing Eve of War three years ago, but the series has grown into something with a life of its own which has helped establish me as a writer. It was quite an undertaking therefore to start this last book knowing that I had to pull all the various storylines together in a way that made sense and did justice to the characters. Hopefully, I’ve managed to pull it off.
Anyway, I’ve loved writing it and trust that you enjoyed reading it.
I’m currently working on a new military sci-fi series. This one focusses on a young naval lieutenant put in charge of a group of unruly Marines. Their mission is to go behind enemy lines and track down a missing scientist. Needless to say, nothing is as it seems and his plans quickly go out the window.
It’s called Storm Front and it’s the first in a new series starring the young lieutenant.
Why not subscribe to my newsletter through my website to find out when the new adventure begins?
Again, thank you for being here.
Rick
m.Net
Cry of War: A Military Space Adventure Series Page 40