by Daniel Gibbs
Seville reflected on the fact that the Terran Coalition had survived for nearly thirty years in a war against the League; mostly due to the fact the League couldn’t bring its overwhelming superiority in numbers to bear because it had to police its internal holdings. The Terran Coalition’s citizens would tell you that God was on their side, but Seville thought them a bunch of children that feared the monster under the bed. The truth was, if the League ever summoned the balance of its fleet against the Coalition, their military would wilt and die.
The League wouldn’t bring its fleet to bear because everything in the League had to go through fifteen committees before any decision could be made. Ah, socialism, Seville thought to himself, such a noble experiment, but a failure as a government leadership model. Someday, Seville would fix that. He previously had plans that once the Terran Coalition was defeated, and he was hailed as the hero of the League, he would use that power to overthrow the old men of the Social and Public Safety Committee and create a new League based on authoritarian power. But that now would have to wait.
“Admiral, I am not sure of this. Exposing our officers to direct contact with these capitalists and religious zealots…” Colonel Strappi, the political officer and overall morale commissar for the Destruction, said, breaking Seville’s train of thought.
Seville suppressed the urge to slap Strappi. He hated political officers with a passion, but he tolerated Strappi for one reason; the man could be reasoned with and lacked enough connections to truly hurt Seville. “Do you truly have no faith in the loyalty of my staff, Colonel?” Seville asked in an acrobatically mocking tone. “Do not worry. There is no harm in having a dinner before we get to Canaan. Are you not the least bit interested in what these Terrans are like?”
Strappi would not be deterred. “But if your people are not loyal…”
Seville cleared his throat. “They are completely loyal, Colonel. Do not concern yourself with it,” Seville said with a commanding voice. He was immediately amused by how Strappi acted like a cur dog and backed down even with his body language.
“Of course, Admiral.”
“Now I suggest that you remember your manners and tact, as you will be joining us for this dinner.”
“What of the prisoner, sir? I am unsure of the minister’s order to let her go so soon. The things she might say…”
Seville again suppressed the desire to backhand Strappi. “I will be fine, Colonel,” Seville grated. “Everything is going as we expected.”
Taking the hint, Strappi excused himself and walked away. Seville looked over his bridge, thinking about how much he looked forward to meeting the son of the man who took sight from one of his eyes and defeated an armada. That would make the entire trip worth it.
The medical bay of the Lion of Judah, referred to interchangeably by the crew as medbay, sickbay, or the doc shack, was massive compared to those on other ships David had served on. He remembered that the technical specifications said it could handle two hundred acute cases at once and even more sub-acute injuries. The ship had several doctors, and many nurses and nurse assistants. Today though, there was only one person as a patient in the medical bay: Captain Adriana Barrigo. She sat on the edge of a high-tech hospital bed with various sensors and scanners poring over her vital signs.
David stood behind Dr. Tural and asked quietly, “What’s her condition, Doctor?”
“She’s at the peak of health physically. Well fed, constant exercise, and no signs of injury recently,” Tural muttered.
“Recently?”
“There are older injuries here and there, but the newest is between eighteen and twenty-four months old.”
“What about mental health?”
“That’s not my field, Colonel. But professionally speaking, I’ve worked with many liberated POWs and service members that have PTSD. I believe she’s disturbed in some way. That’s natural in this situation, and I’d like to establish a rapport with her as a physician first before exploring any mental issues.”
David nodded. “I understand, Doctor. I would like to know what they’ve done with her and the others, though. We haven’t seen a POW released by the League in nearly eleven years.”
Tural furrowed his brow. “Why, sir? They will all be home soon enough, Colonel. I don’t think that dredging up trauma from the last ten years will help.”
“I need to understand what we’re dealing with from the League, Doctor. We all need to know if there’s anything else going on here.”
Tural frowned. “Colonel, please be gentle with her,” he said, gesturing for David to proceed.
David walked over to her bedside; as she was in uniform, she jumped off the bed and came to attention.
“As you were, Captain,” David said with a smile. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m okay, sir.” Barrigo made eye contact with David after a fashion. It wasn’t so much she was looking at David; she was more so looking through him. “I… I’m happy to be going home, sir.”
“I can’t imagine what you’ve been through, Captain. But I must ask, what was it like, especially recently?”
Tural frowned and looked toward David, starting to open his mouth to protest the question. Before he could form the words though, Barrigo spoke. “It wasn’t easy. The League has had the attitude of ‘adapting’ us to life as League citizens. We get settled in prisoner colonies and are made to study League history and society. We weren’t mistreated recently, at least, not badly. There were incidents sometimes, especially if we resisted them.”
“Resist them how?” Tural asked.
“Refusing to recite the League oath of allegiance. Questioning their government’s decrees and decisions. Showing overt and public religious devotions. Really, anything that strikes the morale officers as being rebellious against what they call the Authority of Society.” Barrigo shrugged. “You get put into prolonged isolation, restricted diets. If they’re really mad at you, they send you to the pit... to sensory deprivation tanks and environmental alteration chambers. At least...they did.”
David frowned, but felt he needed to press on. “So what do they do now?”
“Nothing.” Barrigo breathed in for a moment. “About sixteen months ago, the League had a change of leadership internally. Nothing too public, the same people are in power as before, but the balance of power inside the government shifted away from the League’s Social and Public Safety Committee to the League Defense Council, that is, the military and security services. I don’t know why; our guards and caretakers tend to be tight-lipped about that part. All I know for sure is that the League’s defense establishments are getting tired of the war and how the politicians were running it.”
That comment brought curious looks from both David and Tural. “So this peace offer is... genuine?” David asked.
“Yes, very much so. The League is desperate for peace. Even with all their secrecy toward us, our sources in the prison colony have talked about tax riots all the way back to Earth itself. Alien races along their far frontiers are starting to exploit their need to keep ships facing us. If the League doesn’t make peace with us soon.... I think it’ll be torn apart.”
David nodded and prepared to leave. “Thank you, Captain, for clearing things up a bit. I’ll leave you to recover with the doctor.”
Tural walked with David into another section of the medical bay. “There’s no way she just knows all that from interaction with the guards,” David said to Tural, his tone blunt and direct.
“I would have to agree with you, sir,” Tural replied. “But why plant that information in her? They have to know we won’t trust it.”
David shook his head. “I’m not sure, Doctor. I find it interesting that she allowed them to release her ahead of the longest serving POW.” At Tural’s quizzical look, he said, “There’s a code of honor among all POWs…they won’t allow themselves to be released out of order, as it were. First in, first out, basically.”
Tural nodded in understanding. “I think I read s
omething about that in a briefing, that the three thousand POWs in the transport are the longest held. She is in that group.”
“True, but it all adds up to odd. At the end of the day, all that matters is the League signing a legitimate peace treaty with us, so you won’t see me complaining too much about the order of POW release…just as long as we get all of them.”
“I’m not sure I see what you do, sir. But I can’t disagree that she needs more help. I’ll continue to have her health monitored and get a counselor to follow up.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” David said as he turned to walk out of the medical bay and back to his duties of preparing for the diplomatic dinner the next night. Stretching his neck from one side to other, thoughts raced through David’s brain. This just doesn’t make sense… the League’s never been interested in peace. We’re being told exactly what we want to hear. Now I sound like one of those crazies on the holonets. Focus, David. Play this out and do it the right way.
25
David woke up the next morning at 0430 hours and went about his morning routine. First, he went to the officer’s gym for a forty-five-minute workout, then he showered, shaved, and readied himself for the day. Since this morning was the first full day in space and under way, he’d decided to attend the morning flag ceremony. Held onboard every CDF ship in space at 0800 hours in the largest cargo bay onboard, the flag was raised, the anthem was played, and honors were rendered. For reasons he couldn’t readily explain, seeing the flag raised and saluting it with his brothers and sisters in arms reminded him that he was part of something bigger than himself. It was a feeling that sustained him, even when things looked bleak. For him, the flag of Terran Coalition stood for something; it stood for freedom and justice, ideas that were worth fighting for, just as his father had taught him.
At 0730, he stepped out of his office and began making his way down the one-point-two-kilometer-long vessel; even with automatic grav lifts, it simply took a while to walk from the bow of the ship to the stern cargo bay. As David entered the cavernous bay, he saw a sea of people inside; hundreds of CDF members and a number of people in civilian attire, whom he assumed were contractors.
A sharp-eyed chief petty officer noticed David as he walked in and announced his presence. “Colonel on deck!” The assembled crewmen and women braced at attention to acknowledge him.
David immediately said, “As you were.” The crowd relaxed and began to line up in rows facing the portable flagpole standing in the middle of the bay. He remembered that there was a small Marine Corps band onboard, hastily assembled for rendering honors when the League delivered the former POW, Captain Borrego, and he hoped they would be in attendance for the ceremony.
At 0755, the 1MC came to life with an announcement from Sheila. “Attention, all hands, first call! First call to Colors!” Over the next couple of minutes, even more crewmen and officers streamed into the bay. David was sure that at least eight hundred people all told were stacked into the cargo bay.
A few moments before 0800, the Marine Color Guard paraded into the bay, carrying the flag of the Terran Coalition, the battle flag of the Coalition Defense Force, and the CDF Marine flag, followed by a small Marine Corps band. At 0800 sharp, the bugler sounded the call for attention, and all uniformed members of the CDF came to attention.
A moment after the bugle call ended, the Marine band began to play the Anthem of the Terran Coalition. David and everyone else in uniform brought their hands to their brows and sharply saluted the colors for the duration of the anthem, while the civilians placed their right hands over their hearts. As the music was played, a separate Terran Coalition flag was attached to the flagpole and slowly hoisted to full mast. As the last bars of the anthem were played and the sound of music ended, hands were lowered. The drum major leading the band raised her voice, speaking toward David. “Colonel, would you lead us in the pledge of allegiance, sir?”
David stepped forward, and still facing the colors, came to attention and saluted. His words echoed loudly across the cargo bay. “I pledge allegiance to the flag of the Terran Coalition and to the republic for which it stands. Many nations, under God, with liberty and justice for all.” Modeled after the American pledge of allegiance, it was known by virtually every citizen within the Terran Coalition. Repeated every morning by every child in school, at every national event, and at the swearing in of politicians, it contained the core of what the Terran Coalition stood for. Lowering his hand to his side, he completed the pledge and glanced at the drum major, indicating for her to continue.
“Thank you, sir,” she said before ordering the bugle call for “Carry On.” At that, the assembled company began to depart.
David decided to stay behind and talk to the band for a moment. “Master Sergeant Poirier,” he said, addressing the drum major. “An outstanding performance.”
“Thank you, sir,” Poirier said stoically.
“I can’t say I’ve ever seen a Marine Corps band on a ship before.”
The trace of a smile graced her face. “First time I’ve ever been on a ship underway to play music anyway.”
David raised an eyebrow. “I must confess, I have little knowledge of how the band works. Have you been deployed as well?”
“I have, three times. That bit about ‘everyone is a rifleman’ isn’t just a slogan, sir.”
David nodded, smiling. “Well, glad to have you on board. Though I am not entirely sure I’m looking forward to us playing the League’s anthem on our flight deck.”
She made a face. “I’m not looking forward to playing it, sir.”
David laughed. “Well, hopefully, it will help toward a lasting peace.”
“I hope so, sir. I really do. We all do.”
“Carry on, Master Sergeant, and thank you for a beautiful ceremony,” David said, preparing to leave.
“Yes, sir, thank you, sir,” she said in response as he turned and walked out of the cargo bay.
26
Inside of the large officer’s gym on the Lion, TCMC Lieutenant Colonel Calvin Demood took out his stress on a punching bag, dressed in his workout clothes as opposed to a duty uniform. Stepping back a moment for a breather, he saw Lieutenant Robert Taylor at a nearby station practicing as well. He watched him for several seconds before Taylor dropped his hands from the bag. He decided to strike up a conversation.
“Pretty good for a comms geek, Lieutenant.”
Taylor glanced over to him and flashed a quick smile. “I grew up fighting, Colonel. My father made Master Guns, not to mention some uncles, an aunt, and a few older cousins in the Marines.”
“But you became a comms geek?” Calvin asked with a chuckle.
“Well, you go with your strengths. I’ve always been good working with technology and signals.” Taylor made a face. “And I’ve already heard all the tech geek jokes from my cousins, so you don’t need to bother.”
“Hey, I’m too experienced to pull that crap on you computer nerds, had too many of you guys pull me out of the fryer.” Calvin laughed. “So do you think this is going to work out? This peace stuff?”
“Well, who knows? The League’s never talked peace before, but after all these years, you never know how they’re feeling about it.” Taylor shrugged. “I mean, think of how they acted toward us, attacking almost out of the blue, and you wonder how many other civilizations and nations they’ve pissed off and who want a piece of them. I know they’ve angered the hell out of the Saurians as it is.”
“Oh really? Guess you learn those sorts of things listening to conversations for a living all day.” Calvin smirked at him. “So, want to show this hard-ass Marine officer just what your cousins taught you? I’m tired of smacking punching bags around.”
Taylor returned the smirk with one of his own. “Sure, Colonel. I’ll even go easy on you. Wouldn’t want you to break a hip trying to keep up with a young guy like me.”
“A wise guy too. Damn, you must have had an interesting family. Well, let’s hurry up so I can kick your as
s in time for a shower before meeting our guests.”
The two men walked over to a sparring mat and faced off. Calvin asked, “Are we boxing or doing martial arts here, Lieutenant?”
Taylor smiled. “Anything you want, Colonel.”
With that, Calvin stepped forward and threw a standard sucker punch at Taylor, thinking that the young man was all talk and little experience. He might as well have thrown a paper airplane. Taylor dodged the punch by stepping to one side and brought his arm down sharply, striking him on his elbow, inflicting pain and a stunning blow. A couple of Marines that had been watching the exchange in passing interest stopped what they were doing and stared.
“Ah, martial arts it is, then.” Pretty quick on his feet for a comms guy.
Calvin closed the distance between them and delivered a series of karate moves that Taylor deftly met blow for blow. Taylor then stepped into the attack, grabbed his right arm, and flipped the older man on his back. Standing over him, Taylor stuck his arm out. “Best of out three, Colonel?”
Calvin grabbed the arm and helped himself up. “Sure, but we’re doing pugil sticks next.”
David stood in front of the mirror in his main cabin, which was more of a small apartment than a stateroom. Having served on smaller ships for most of his career, he was used to the cramped quarters of destroyers and frigates. On the Lion, however, junior officer’s staterooms were larger than his old commanding officer’s quarters on the Rabin.
Above all else, he hated wearing dress uniforms. Tonight’s dinner called for full dress, and David’s uniform had to be immaculate. He also had to wear his entire set of campaign ribbons, pin insignia, and medals. He found the entire display to be ostentatious, as he tried to downplay any rewards or recognition that he received.