Scrapyard Ship 7: Call to Battle (8 page)

“
Pssst
… they’re sitting ducks,” Bristol interjected. “They’re living in a fantasy world if they think that Ot-Mul, and his Craing forces in space, will allow them to continue.”

The admiral looked irritated at Bristol’s unsolicited comment. “We’ll get to Ot-Mul in a moment. Moving on to issue number two … it’s been confirmed: Both Ricket and Gaddy have been taken prisoner and are confined on something called the
Dreathlor
prison barge. Unfortunately, from the intel we’ve been able to uncover … the damn thing is impregnable. The vessel has never been breached. No escapes … no successful incursions.” The admiral looked like Jason felt … totally disheartened. His father had spent many a year with Ricket by his side. It was the admiral who had discovered the then-cyborg, buried far beneath the scrapyard, within an ancient, dried-up aquifer. As close as Jason had become to Ricket over the last year, his father was equally close, perhaps even more so.

“There will be no rescue operation. Not with what we’re up against—”

Jason wasn’t sure he was hearing him correctly. He cut him off, “After what he’s done for you … for all of us … how can you sit there and casually relegate him to a miserable life on a Craing prison barge?”

All eyes were on Jason. He hadn’t realized he’d stood—his fists clenched white in anger.

“Sit down, Captain, and let … me … finish!” the admiral barked, fury smoldering in his eyes. He waited for Jason to sit back down before continuing, “There will be no rescue operation, not with what we’re up against … until … we first deal with the three Craing fleets sitting on the other side of the line. If that is acceptable to you, Captain Reynolds.”

Jason kept his expression neutral and said nothing. It was obviously a rhetorical question, anyway.

“Captain Reynolds, you will put together a plan of attack and assemble your best-of-the-best Special Ops forces to bring about the successful retrieval of both Ricket and Gaddy. When the time comes, if … it comes … be ready to roll.”

“Yes, sir … we’ll be ready,” Jason said, briefly making eye contact with Billy.

“Issue number three: As we can all see by the attendance of many of our past Alliance dignitaries on virtual display, there is an interest in rebuilding the Alliance. If we can make that happen, our fleet of one hundred warships will more than double. It’s a start. By the end of today, we will attempt to ratify a new, unilateral declaration. One that reestablishes our commitment to one another.”

“I don’t mean to throw a wet blanket on such positive talk, Admiral … but what’s different now?” Nan asked, looking mystified. “I’m sorry, but it wasn’t that long ago when Earth was on the brink of destruction at the hands of a Vanguard fleet, when many of the leaders at this same meeting refused to come to our aid.”

“Just as you refused to come to our aid when the Craing set our sister planet ablaze, only days prior to that,” countered the green alien, wearing a black turban. He looked indignant, as he looked left, and then right, in an apparent attempt to garner support from the other live-feed individuals in attendance.

The admiral held up an open hand and nodded in agreement, “Our friend, the esteemed Sultan of Ali Cafrica, makes a valid point … just as you do, Madam President. And this brings us to issue number four: Ot-Mul’s combined forces in space. No longer can we refer to him and his kind as the Craing. He’s the rogue leader of an incredibly powerful, far-reaching military force. Gaddy, in the past, commonly referred to him as the Drac-Vin … the evil one. So, for no better terminology, we’ve designated Ot-Mul’s forces as Drac-Vin. The truth is, we’re not entirely sure how many warships are at his disposal. It could be a hundred thousand … it could be more. What we do know is there’s much contention. Thousands of Craing, sympathetic to the revolution back home, have gone AWOL. No less than two hundred warships have either returned to the Craing worlds or fled away into open space.”

“Where does that leave us with Fleet 9, Fleet 173, and Fleet 25—the five thousand warships sitting on the other side of the line?” Jason asked.

For the first time Jason saw a smile on his father’s face. “For the last ten minutes I’ve been getting NanoCom updates from the
Minian
’s bridge. I wasn’t going to read too much into this, but indications are … well, quite promising.”

From the looks around the room, and from the live feeds, the admiral knew he’d better get to the point fast. He sat up straighter in his seat and gestured for everyone to look at the display just over his left shoulder. As if on cue, the feed changed to open space. They were looking at a single, painted white Craing light cruiser.

“Okay … a U.S. fleet light cruiser. Big deal,” Bristol said, dismissing the feed with the wave of his hand.

The feed widened to show no less than five hundred ships.

“Um, we don’t have that many warships … not even close,” Jason said, not fully understanding what he was seeing. Then, under closer scrutiny, he realized not all the ships were white. Some were only partially painted, others not at all. The feed changed to another, close-up, view—this one showed a gleaming white Craing destroyer. Everyone around the table leaned forward.

“There’s something wrong with the flag,” Billy said.

Jason counted the bright red stripes of the U.S. flag emblem on the side of the vessel. Sure enough, there were eight red stripes instead of seven. Chuckles erupted around the table.

“Good intentions. But their message to us is anything but subtle. Why it took them two months to convey it is anyone’s guess,” the admiral said.

Jason shrugged. “That’s a hell of a lot of white paint. Probably had to bring it in from somewhere else. Another planet somewhere.” Jason smiled at his father. “Are we to surmise our fleet has increased by five thousand warships?”

“It’s certainly an unconventional way to convey the news.” The admiral raised two fingers to his ear. He raised his other hand at them as he listened. He nodded twice and said, “Understood. Admiral Reynolds out.” He looked around the table, then to the feeds on the displays. “As of three minutes ago, we received an unconditional surrender from the 9th, 173rd, and 25th fleets. Apparently, they wanted there to be no doubt about their intentions.”

Cheers erupted from all around the room. Those on live feeds were just as vocal as those sitting at the table. Jason saw Nan smiling, wiping tears from her eyes.

“All right, settle down, everyone. It’s about time we’ve had some good news. Obviously, we need to sit down with the fleet commanders. Captain Reynolds, assemble a security team and prepare to join me on board their command meganaught.”

Jason sat back and watched as those at the meeting quickly dispersed. So much had changed within a matter of minutes—everyone needed to make new preparations. One by one the live feeds flickered off. The admiral left the compartment, talking to Walker.

Jason eventually stood and stepped away from the table. To his left he noticed one of the display feeds was still active. There, standing alone, was Dira. Her eyes … those incredible, violet eyes, were watching him. A full minute passed—neither spoke—neither moved. The sadness Jason felt was also mirrored on her face.

“I’ve missed you, Jason.”

“Come back … come back to me.”

She shook her head with barely any movement. “I’m needed here. My parents … Jhardon needs me.”

“There’s no way I’m giving up on what we have.”

Her expression changed from one of sadness to cynicism. “I think Nan might have something to say about that, Jason; she’s carrying your child.”

“Listen, you and I weren’t … well, we weren’t together then. Not really. Hell, it was one night. A mistake. It took place over six months ago. Neither Nan nor I have any intention of getting back together again. How could you not know that my heart belongs to you?”

She seemed to take that in and the sadness returned to her face. “Well … then. This truly is a bitter goodbye, isn’t it? I need to go. My life is no longer my own. One week from now I will assume the title of Queen of Jhardon. Nothing can change that. Goodbye, you will always have a special place within my heart, Jason.”

Jason’s mind reeled. He wanted to reach through the display and pull her into his arms—to hold her tight and make everything perfect between them again. She tilted her head and smiled—the kind of sad smile that conveyed all the pain and regret that a person could possibly endure. She turned then and slowly walked away. The display flickered twice and went black.

Chapter 11

Apparently word had quickly spread throughout the remaining Allied worlds that three Craing fleets had been dropped off at Earth’s doorstep, all tied up with a pretty red bow. Jason and his team waited on the flight deck outside the
Perilous
. The admiral was soon inundated with interstellar communications—it seemed everyone now wanted to be friends. Jason himself had been contacted by a constable, a premier, and an empress when they couldn’t directly reach the admiral.

Moving with haste, the admiral emerged from the DeckPort.

“Sorry for the delay. Seems we’re the
belle of the ball
, today.” Jason’s team came to attention and saluted the admiral as he came to a halt at the back of the shuttle.

“Billy, Gunny, Rizzo … good to see you,” the admiral told them.

“You remember Sergeant Toby Jackson, Delta Forces?” Jason asked.

“Yes, good to have you along, Sergeant,” the admiral said, nodding.

Muscular, and over six and a half feet tall, Jackson grinned, revealing a white smile with a gold front tooth. “Good to be here, sir.”

“The rest of the team are on board, Admiral,” Jason said.

The admiral strode up the ramp and acknowledged the five other SEALs, already seated. Jason and Billy, bringing up the rear, sat at the back of the shuttle. Jason used his NanoCom to let Lieutenant Grimes know everyone was on board and they were ready to go.

Once the shuttle was off the deck, had cleared the
Minian
’s starboard flight port, Jason stood and moved to the seat next to his father. Billy made a face. “Was it something I said?”

“Talk to me about Walker, Dad. What’s he doing here?”

The admiral looked as if he knew the question was coming. “Look … Walker’s not only a politician, he’s also a master strategist. The country’s made mistakes over the last few years … Hell, I’ve made mistakes over the last few years. I’m military. I think like a soldier when sometimes I should be thinking like a politician. Earth is entering a new phase. A phase where strategic alliances will become even more important. Can you think of anyone you’d rather have at the table than Secretary of Defense Walker?”

Jason thought about that for a moment. “No … he’s smart, cunning, and loyal to his country. I’m sure he’ll represent Earth from space with that same tenacity. I guess what I’m getting at … we’ve always had a clear delineation between the two. Now who’ll be in charge of space command?” Jason shrugged. “It’s hard enough taking orders from my father. Will I … will we now be marching to the drum of the president? My ex-wife … or through her proxy, Walker?”

The query brought a smile to the admiral’s face. “I don’t know what to tell you, Jason. I’ve offered you my position several times now. I’m getting too old for this bullshit. You should have moved up the leadership rung last year.”

“This isn’t a plea for a promotion. I’m just getting the lay of the land, seeing it the way you see it.”

“I see it the way I’ve always seen it. Only now, the stakes are much higher. I’m not prepared to make decisions that not only affect the Alliance, but Earth … hell, all human kind.” He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Look at what we’re up against. Ot-Mul … his Drac-Vin forces make anything we’ve gone up against in the past look like child’s play. Think about one hundred … two hundred … hell, it might be three hundred thousand warships. Nothing gets in the way of that kind of military prowess.”

“So why bother?”

“You know why … it’s not over till the fat lady sings. And from where I’m sitting, she may be singing a different tune than Ot-Mul is counting on.” The admiral turned in his seat and looked into his son’s eyes. “Jason … I’m putting through the paperwork for your admiralship. You’re what, forty now? It’s time for you to take the next step in your career. Grow the hell up!”

“I’ll think about it … if we even survive the next few days,” Jason said, wondering how the conversation got so turned around.

“Well, don’t think about it too long. I’m getting goddamned tired of making this same offer to you.”

* * *

The four dreadnaughts coupled together made the vessel, by default, a meganaught. As the
Perilous
approached the massive vessel it became evident it too had been painted a brilliant white. Five miles long, over a mile high, the Craing ship looked as if it had just come off the assembly line.

“Cap, I’ve been given clearance to approach. Looks like they want us to move to the forward dreadnaught.”

“Proceed, Lieutenant. Keep your finger close to the trigger, Miller. Just in case.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Jason stood and the rest of the team stood with him. “Lock and load, boys and girls, I’m not expecting any trouble, but …” he let the words hang in the air. One by one the team triggered their SuitPacs. Jason saw that his father had one of the small devices on his belt, but hadn’t initialized it. “You going in there bareback, Admiral?”

“Show of confidence and respect. And if I’m not safe with this team surrounding me, we’re all in trouble anyway.”

“Your choice, Admiral.”

The shuttle rocked as it settled onto the Craing vessel’s flight deck.

“A-Team … move out. I want a perimeter around this ship,” Jason ordered as the ramp was deployed from the stern of the
Perilous
. B-Team consisted of Billy, Gunny, Rizzo, and Jackson, and, along with Jason, tasked with the security of the admiral. As the admiral moved toward the shuttle’s exit, B-Team fell in around him.

Jason brought up the rear. Halfway down the ramp he hailed Wilson.