by C J Klinger
“Boundary,” Lt. Burns yelled.
“Jump,” Jon said almost as quick.
Black of space replaced the planetary surface glow. The first jump was only as far as the LaGrange point trailing the planet’s orbit. The squadrons would regroup, count their losses and make a decision to either go back or go to the rendezvous point to meet the rest of the fleet from the other planets.
“Damage report,” Jon demanded.
Adele Suniami said, “We are holed through and through in the crew’s quarters. It is sealed and not affected operations. We will have to stay under Mach one on our next re-entry. We have four surface wounds, only one of them serious. The hull should hold together under normal operating conditions.”
“Weapons,” Jon said next.
CPO Garcia was his oldest crew member with the most experience, but even he had a sense of relief in his voice. “All weapons functioning, but capacitors are at ten percent. It will be at least an hour before they are fully charged.”
“Engineering,” Jon asked, beginning to come down from the combat-induced adrenalin high.
CPO “Buddy” Larson was the most laid back person on the ship. He was also probably the smartest. He took great pride in understanding the science behind the ship’s power plant, a compact fusion generator. Ruggedly built, yet delicate, Buddy could fine-tune it for maximum output. He frequently spoke to it as if it was a human member of the crew. “Everything’s A-Okay, skipper. Miss Betty is purring like a kitten.” Miss Better was his name for the fusion generator.
He instructed Lt. Burns to send a condition report to Vice Admiral Estes on the Enderson. Only after he had completed his obligation to his ship and the squadron did he ask Talor about Annika’s ship.
“She and her ship are fine, Jon. She has some battle damage like us, but nothing life-threatening.”
The relief that washed over Jon made him feel weak. He bowed his head for a second to regain his composure. When he looked up, he saw Lt. Burns looking at him with a shocked expression on his face.
“What’s wrong, Penny?” he asked.
“Sir, the CSF Burkholtz reported the Enderson took a direct hit as it left the planet’s surface and exploded. They didn’t see any signs of survivors. You’re now the senior officer in the wing. The other squadron commanders are asking for your orders.”
Jon stared at her in disbelief. Vice Admiral Estes killed? Until three months ago, Annika was his XO. Had she not received that promotion, she would now be nothing but a pile of ashes on an alien planet. A tremor passed through him. He quickly got control of himself.
CPO Andy Zuni, the defense officer, sang out, “We have company coming, Sir. Five minutes to firing range.”
That made Jon’s mind up. “Send orders to all ships to jump to the rendezvous point.”
“Yes Sir,” Lt. Burns said with enthusiasm that was endorsed by the entire crew.
“We live to fight another day,” Jon thought as the crew prepared the ship to execute his order.
Chapter 42
Newhope
Two weeks had passed since the raid on the Khruellian Hegemony. The Allied Command classified it as a success, but the cost had been horrendous. Fourteen Confederation ships, three Hylox fighters, and fifteen other assorted allied ships had been lost. Over two thousand Allied Defense Force fighters had been killed. Recon shots of the three Khruellian planets revealed massive damage to the Hegemony’s military installations, but the number of their ships remaining undamaged plus the estimated number of ships they had in space was still far greater than the combined allied fleet, many times greater.
“Many more victories like this and we won’t be able to put a fleet into space,” Jon thought as he sat with thirty other CSF and Alien commanders, listening to one of Admiral Chen-Warren’s aides talk about the losses the Khruellian’s had suffered. They had already heard the statistics on Allied losses. If talking about the Khruellian losses was supposed to lift their morale, it wasn’t working. No one was smiling or cheering; everyone had lost somebody they liked and loved. Adalan-Kyfor sat next to Jon, and her posture expressed her opinion.
A lot had happened in the week since he had set the Islandia down at Command Central, starting with an emotional reunion with Annika right on the field. It brought home to both of them the depth of feelings and commitment they felt for each other. The Hylox ships had landed nearby, and Adalan-Kyfor had disembarked from her ship and headed toward the reuniting couple. Jon and Annika had recognized the unmistakable signs of grief on her alien face. Instinctively, Annika had opened her arms, and Adalan-Kyfor stepped into her embrace. Sounds that could only be interpreted as sobs came from the beautiful creature as her body shook almost uncontrollable. Talor had stood silently by while the humans and then the alien had expressed their emotions. Later he had explained to Jon that one of the Hylox fighters lost had been piloted by Adalan-Kyfor litter-sister. Loss was a universal emotion. Since then, the Hylox fighter had remained close by their sides using Talor to translate their conversations
The following day, Jon had been promoted to leader of the Eagle Squadron. His rapid promotion was unprecedented, but war created vacancies at all levels of command. It was a hollow promotion given the loss that had occurred to create the vacancy. Normally Jon would have assumed command of the squadron’s cruiser, but it had been destroyed. Islandia II would serve as his command ship until another cruiser became available. Given the nature of the losses the CSF Forces had suffered, that was not lightly to happen for a while.
Jon realized the aide was through talking when the murmur of conversation brought him out of his revelry. Admiral Chen-Warren let it run for several minutes then called the assembled group to order. She expressed what everybody was thinking; the allied forces could not sustain these kinds of losses for any length of time. She did something she was famous for; she opened the meeting for a general conversation to see if her commanders had any tactical suggestions that might reduce their losses in the future.
The group immediately erupted into a much louder conversation. The admiral held up her hand and said, “Easy, everybody. Let’s listen to everybody one at a time. After that, we’ll break up into five smaller groups to discuss the better suggestions.”
After the eight commanders spoke, the rest, including the alien commanders began repeating the previous suggestions. Almost all of the suggestions involved maneuvering and formations. Talor acted as the general translator for the alien commanders who were physically present and for those who were teleconferencing because of their intolerance for oxygen-based atmosphere.
When the admiral asked Jon for his thoughts, he stood up and looked around and said, “Most of our losses occurred when our ships were most vulnerable, when our CSF ships lost speed as they attempted to get to the boundary. The Hylox ships when they had to stay in formation to provide cover. The Hooshag ships when they were maneuvering in the atmosphere, the Brotoon ships when they had to slow down to make a turn.” The dead silence told him he had their full, undivided attention. “Each of these allied ships had individual strengths and weaknesses. What if we had ships with all the allied strengths and none of its weaknesses, ships with the CSF IS-Drive, Hylox and Alphan inertia dampers, Hooshag shields, Aardiam long-range guns? We would have ships that could outperform, outshoot and outlast anything the Khruellians could throw up against us. Would we be here today lamenting our losses? No, I think we would be planning our next strike.” He sat down, his buried anger subsiding. Adalan-Kyfor put her hand on his arm and gently squeezed it.
The silence lasted for ten seconds before Admiral Chen-Warren said, “I wholeheartedly agree with your suggestion, Commander McKinnah, but that is a political decision, not a military one.”
Captain Rudy Baron, Annika’s wing leader and close friend to the now deceased Vice Admiral Estes said, “Begging your pardon, Ma’am, but the two thousand dead we left on the Hegemony’s planets might have something to say about that sentiment.” A chorus of ‘ayes’ echoed
his statement. Rudy had a reputation for being blunt, and he had just proved it.
Admiral Dexter had been sitting quietly without comment as the Commander-in-Chief of the Allied Defense Forces conducted her meeting. Admiral Dexter, as the military commander-in-chief of the CSF forces, outranked her in CSF matters, but not in the Allied Defense Force. He asked her for permission to address the matter, and she quickly agreed.
The older man rose to his feet. He was widely respected among the assembled officers, many of whom had served under him as junior officers when he was a fleet commander. He looked over the assembly before saying, “Admiral Chen-Warren is correct, it is a political decision, but as the people who actually do the fighting and dying, we would be remiss in our duties if we did not express our needs clearly and fully to those political leaders. I will do so today, and I urge our allies to do the same to their leaders back on their homeworld.”
When the admiral was through speaking, Talor stood up. The android was enough of a novelty to bring total silence to the room when it was apparent he had something to say. In his particularly clear annunciation, the android spoke, “Commander Adalan-Kyfor of the Hylox tells me her parent-grandmother is the political leader of the Hylox Empire and she feels certain she will agree to share the inertia damper that allows her ships to maneuver radically. General Holosager says his sire is the political leader of the Hooshag Confederation and he feels certain he will also agree to share their shield technology. The other allied members are in general agreement and will present the idea to their leaders when they return home.”
Admiral Dexter nodded his head in approval. He looked meaningfully at Jon as if to remind him that the key to all this sharing of technology was Jon’s grandfather who controlled the secret of the IS-Drive. Jon felt the weight of the future of the allied forces descend on his shoulders. He had no idea of how his grandfather would react when Jon proposed sharing the IS-Drive.
Later that day Admirals Dexter and Chen-Warren shared a drink as they looked out Dexter’s office window at the parked ships.
Admiral Dexter spoke first, “What do you think of Commander McKinnah’s suggestion, Barbara?”
She sipped her drink before answering. “Well, it’s certainly nothing more than most of us thought when we saw our allies’ ship in action. Young McKinnah just had the balls to suggest it publically.”
Admiral Dexter chuckled, the first laugh he had in several weeks. “Well, he has an abundance of those. It’s in his DNA.”
This time it was Barbara’s turn to laugh. “His old man once chewed out my ass when I was a young ensign. I can’t imagine what his grandfather was like.”
Admiral Dexter was curious. He had known Barbara Chen-Warren since their days in the academy. They had not been particularly close in the rigid environment of the school, but time and attrition in the ranks had brought them together more frequently in recent years. The more they learned about each other, the more they liked each other’s company. “What did you do to deserve that?” he asked.
She grinned at her comrade in arms. “No way am I going to tell you that, Dexter. I’ll be hearing about it at every cocktail party for the next five years.”
Admiral Dexter sobered up at Barbara’s statement. “I hope we have another five years.”
Barbara nodded her head in understanding. “Maybe Young McKinnah can help us make that possible.
Chapter 43
The planet Khruel
Attendance was mandatory; no exceptions allowed. Every officer above the rank of flock commander was required to stand at attention and witness the very public execution of Blikor-Bukal, most recent Minister of Defense. When they were all assembled the doors to the massive courtyard doors opened and Bukal-Blikor was dragged out by his armpits. He was too frightened to resist. It was impossible for the assembled officers not to look at the tragic figured as he was chained to the execution wall with his arms spread out in full flight mode. When the two guards were finished, one of them stripped open his tunic exposing him down to his belt. The other guard took a sharp knife and cut off his crest. He was not polite about doing it, and soon a substantial trickle of blood ran down the disgraced figure’s face and body.
After five minutes of watching the pathetic figure’s weak struggles, the doors opened again. The Absolute strode out with his cabinet behind him. He was dressed totally in red, his traditional color for state executions. Some said it was to hide the blood that might spill on him. There was no fanfare, no words of condemnation, no marshal music; nothing. The only sound was the Absolute drawing his knife from its gilded scabbard as he advanced toward Blikor-Bukal. The crest on top of his head was fully erect. Without a word, he strode up to the pathetic figure and with a slow, deliberate stroke eviscerated him. A wail of anguished disbelief erupted from the chained former Defense Minister followed quickly by racking sobs as he slumped in his chains and watched his life spill out on the courtyard floor. The Absolute turned on his heels and strode purposefully back through the open doors. His entourage followed obediently, but with less certainty in their steps.
The assembled officers stood rigid for another full minute before an order of “dismissed” was heard. Uniformly they turned away from the now dead creature slumped in his chains. They understood what had just happened and why it had happened. They cost of failure was death, death by the enemy or death by the Absolute. Their absolute leader had just made that abundantly clear.
The Absolute went directly to the cabinet chamber without changing out of his ceremonial red robe. This too was a message, a message to his cabinet; succeed or suffer the consequences.
Even Merkalomal, the Absolute’s brother and Administer of the Gathered Worlds was shaken. He had witnessed his brother’s cruelty many times since they had hatched together. It was only because he was not a threat to his brother and might be useful in the future that he had been spared his other brother’s fate. This most recent act of cruelty was close to home, not some distant officer who had failed to carry out an order. The troubling part for Merkalomal was that Bukal-Blikor had not completely failed in his assignment; they had hurt the attacking enemy badly. Merkalomal suspected the Absolute’s wrath had been caused by the Defense Minister’s arrogant assurances of total defense plus having to stop the outward expansion until this enemy was destroyed. Merkalomal knew most of the administrators and ministers did not fully realize how seriously the current Absolute took his responsibilities to fulfill the Legend. It should not have been a surprise to them; all of the previous Absolutes were judged by the number of suns they had brought under control during their lifetimes.
On a signal from the Absolute, Merkalomal opened the meeting. No mention was made of the execution. After the ministers had nervously completed their reports, the Absolute ordered Commander-Defender Mebul-Brolo to enter the chamber and give a personal account of the enemy attack on his installation on the planet Khruelaka.
The grizzled veteran wearing an eye patch and a restraint on one arm as a result of the attack strode in without fear. If he were to be executed for his actions or his words, it would be a fate he had long ago accepted. He was a warrior, not a seed eater like some of these fat ministers sitting here far away from the action. He took his seat and waited to be told what to do.
He Absolute looked at the scarred veteran with something akin to affection. He had no quarrel with soldiers like Mebul who were the ones actually doing the fighting. It was some of their useless leaders who were the problem.
The Absolute took steps to ease the man’s anxiety, although it was unnecessary. “Have you received all the medical care you need, Mebul-Brolo?” he asked in a solicitous tone.
“I have, my Absolute. I am ready to fight.” The older warrior said looking the most powerful person in the Hegemony squarely in the face.
The Absolute liked that; he admired courage so long as it didn’t threaten his rule or detract from the job at hand. “Describe for me in your own words what happened on Khruelaka.”
Mebul took that as his cue and started into a dialog, first describing what he saw personally, then relating the after-action statistics. It was delivered with military precision and clarity. When he was finished, he just stopped talking like a machine that had been turned off.
The Absolute was impressed with how many details the old warrior was able to recall and deliver so clearly and precisely. He said, “Thank you, Mebul-Brolo that was very helpful. Tell me, what is your opinion?”
The grizzled veteran was too literal-minded to understand the Absolute’s question, but he was not afraid to ask for clarification. “About what, my Absolute?”
The Absolute smiled for the first time in weeks. “About the enemy,” he said, providing the old warrior with another opportunity to speak.
“Very courageous, willing to take losses, good ships,” he related in a military bullet-style fashion.
The absolute listened to what Mebul-Brolo was not saying. He already knew the statistics and had seen every one of the combat vids. He looked at the older individual with respect and said, “I hear something you’re not saying out loud, Mebul-Brolo. What is it?”
For the first time, the Commander-Defender looked uncomfortable. He dealt with facts, not speculations, but after an encouraging look from the Absolute, he dived in, “It seems to me, my Absolute that we were dealing with a multi-species force. There were no significant wreckage or bodies for us to examine, but I am convinced at least three different species were flying those ships.”