The Oncoming Storm

Man! Totally excellent combat imagery. Your descriptions of space combat are definitely publishing quality, IMO.

Your characters are realistic, and unlike some writers, you 'allow' your characters to screw up on occasion. You know, like they were people, lol.

I always look forward to your work!

 

As good as it gets

 

Your work is absolutely superb Chris,what talent!

 

Yea what they say !!!

 

Chapter Forty-Five<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comfficeffice" />

The shuttles screamed overhead, racing towards the detention centre. As they closed, they launched missiles towards any remaining enemy positions, positions too close to the prisoners to be bombarded from orbit. Vanessa watched in awe as the prison camp was rapidly dismantled, hundreds of armoured Marines falling from the shuttles to secure the camp and eliminate any remaining enemy soldiers. Beside her, Bone seemed somehow unconcerned, concentrating on the terminal in his hand. The shuttles grounded rapidly and Bone sprang to his feet, running out of the undergrowth towards the Marines.

“Start loading up the former prisoners,” he ordered, as he located the Marine CO. Vanessa had been surprised to discover that he’d jumped with his men, although she’d heard that it was part of the Marine ethos. No one reached command rank without serving as an infantry grunt first. “We have to get them out of here now.”

Most of the prisoners looked terrible, Vanessa saw, as armoured Marines tore down the metal wiring and beckoned them to start filing their way onto the nearest shuttle. Many were emancipated, as if they’d spent years in prison; some had been beaten by their captors and then denied medical attention. She felt sick as she saw a pair of young girls who’d clearly been raped by the new occupiers before they’d been dumped in the detention centre, again without any medical attention. The Theocracy would be worse occupiers than the Commonwealth had ever been. But it didn’t seem fair – couldn’t they remain on their own?

She shook her head bitterly. <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comffice:smarttags" /><st1:City w:st="on">Cadiz</st1:City>’s fate wouldn’t be decided on tiny insignificant <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City>. Her homeworld’s fate would be determined on Avalon and Abdullah, or perhaps a third world if other interstellar powers got involved in the war. No matter how hard they fought – if they could mount and sustain an insurgency against the Theocracy – they would never win without outside help. They could never be independent, even with light-years between them and the nearest inhabited world. It was the Commonwealth or the Theocracy. There were no other choices.

“The enemy didn’t seem to be entirely fooled by our trick,” Bone observed, grimly. “Or maybe we just got very unlucky.”

He raised his voice. “Hurry things along,” he bellowed. “We have to be off the ground in ten minutes!”

The prisoners started to panic, scrambling for the shuttles. A handful of Marines had to use jangler pulses to take them down, picking the stunned bodies up and depositing them in the nearest shuttle. She saw a handful of enemy prisoners transported as well, back to the Commonwealth for interrogation, even though their last prisoner had known nothing useful. The Theocracy believed in leaving its people ignorant, a wise precaution when they might fall into enemy hands. Or maybe they’d captured the prison camp’s CO. They could hold him accountable for everything the prisoners had suffered over the last two weeks.

“There’s another enemy fleet in the system,” Bone explained, grimly. “There isn’t time to think, I’m afraid. Do you want to come with us, or stay here?”

Vanessa considered it briefly. The thought of leaving was tempting, but <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City> was her home and she had responsibilities to the men who followed her. And, as far as she knew, she was the only senior figure in the pre-Theocracy resistance to remain alive and free. She couldn’t abandon the responsibilities she’d assumed. Not now and not ever. With or without the Marines, the fight would go on.

“No,” she said, firmly. He didn’t look surprised at her declaration. “I’m not going to leave my world.”

***​

“The enemy fleet is shaping its course towards <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City>,” Roach reported. “They will be in engagement range in twelve minutes.”

Kat nodded, grimly. Admiral Christian had decided not to engage the enemy if possible, even though he had a numerical advantage. It would be countered by the fact that the enemy had intact crews and undamaged ships – and full weapons loads. No, a battle could go alarmingly wrong; it was time to cut their losses and escape with as many prisoners as the Marines could pull off the surface. Besides, they’d smashed the Theocracy’s occupation force. They’d have to divert troops from their other conquests just to hold <st1lace w:st="on"><st1:City w:st="on">Cadiz</st1:City></st1lace>.

“Contact the Marines,” she ordered, finally. “Tell them to expedite.”

“Captain, I have Major Bone on a private channel,” Roach said. “He wants to talk with you.”

Kat blinked. They’d kept their former relationship secret from the crew, hadn’t they? And it wasn’t as if they’d violated regulations since she’d found that her former lover was now under her command. Why would he want to talk with her, privately?

“Put him through,” she ordered, picking up her headset. “Greg?”

“Kat, I’m going to be staying on the planet,” Bone said, firmly. Kat felt, just for a second, as if someone had punched her in the gut. “There’s no time to argue; we won’t be able to get everyone off before the enemy fleet arrives and that’s when you have to be gone. I’m staying here, along with several dozen volunteers from the Marines. We can make the Theocracy regret that they ever landed on <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City>.”

“Greg…”

“You have to leave us,” Bone continued, as if she hadn’t spoken. “Don’t worry; we’ll be fine and we’ll make the Commonwealth proud.”

Kat gathered herself, slowly. She didn’t want to leave him on the surface, but a quick glance at the status board showed that he was right. The transports leaving the surface couldn’t return in time to pick up the remaining Marines, not without exposing themselves to enemy fire from the incoming fleet. And besides, the Commonwealth would need allies on the surface when the RAN returned to liberate the system permanently. Who knew? Perhaps after they’d tasted the Theocracy’s domination of their minds and souls, the locals would choose to join the Commonwealth. The massive investment in the system might even begin to show a return.

“Understood,” she said. The words felt like ashes in her mouth. They couldn’t re-supply the Marines; even maintaining contact through stealth ships would be hard. “Good luck, Greg.”

I love you. The words rose unbidden to her lips, but she suppressed them before she could say it out loud. Had she ever loved him? Had she ever thought that they would have more together than just casual sex? Had she thought that he would make an ideal husband and father to her children? She’d been immature when she’d first fallen for him and now…he was right; she had to leave him behind. They had different responsibilities now.

She cleared her throat and returned her gaze to the main display. The enemy force was angling in towards Lightning and her consorts, shaping their course so that they could swing around and challenge Admiral Christian if he decided to intercept them. Kat already knew that the Admiral’s force would do nothing more than pose a threat to the enemy flank, unless the situation changed drastically. And it wouldn’t unless whoever had sent Admiral Christian out had also sent the 5<SUP>th</SUP> Fleet to reinforce the 6<SUP>th</SUP>.

They were running out of time. The final shuttles were already rising from the surface, jam-packed with former prisoners, both from the Commonwealth and <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City> itself. Greg had insisted – and besides, those prisoners might form part of an Army of Liberation. They could be trained to Commonwealth standards and then slipped back down to the planet, or sent in as part of the first wave of liberators when the planet was finally liberated for good. And all she had to do now was worry about getting the shuttles docked before the enemy arrived and opened fire.

***​

A thunderous roar shook the ground as the final shuttles lifted up from the former detention centre and grabbed for sky. Greg watched with some alarm as the overburdened shuttles tipped backwards and forwards, before finally gaining height and clawing for orbit. A single Theocracy soldier with a shoulder-launched HVM or an insurgent who hadn’t realised that the shuttles were friendly would find it easy to pick off one or more of the shuttles, he knew, and prayed that any remaining enemy forces were too badly stunned to react. The monitors were still watching for any signs of enemy targets on the ground – and any they saw would stop existing soon afterwards.

“Come on,” he bellowed. Apart from the Marines who had volunteered to stay, over a thousand locals – almost all men – had also refused transport away from <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City>. They’d decided to join the insurgency instead, which created both an opportunity and a headache for the beleaguered fighters. The Marines had brought what supplies they could to <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City>, but they hadn’t been able to transport enough to make a real difference, not by the time the Theocracy returned in force. “Get into the undergrowth – now!”

Vanessa had anticipated that, at least, and they’d stationed coordinators nearby with orders to direct the former prisoners into hidden camps, deep in the jungle. There, they would sort out the fighters from the prisoners and feed them into the resistance, while pushing the wounded and non-fighters up to the mountains. Given time, the Theocracy would probably start tracking them down, but if they were lucky the Theocracy would have its hands full elsewhere. Admiral Christian had just served notice on them that the war would be long and hard, and God wouldn’t allow them to simply claim victory. They would have to fight their way through the Commonwealth to win…and by then, they’d find themselves dreadfully overstretched. And who knew what would happen to them then?

“Time to go,” Vanessa said. She caught his arm and pulled him with her, back up towards the edges of the jungle. Greg looked down at her, felt the flush of admiration and desire he’d felt before, and smiled to himself. “Come on!”

Greg took one last look at the burning remains of the detention centre, and the plumes of smoke rising up from the direction of New Barcelona and a dozen enemy bases, and smiled as he ran. The Theocracy could be beaten. And that knowledge would inspire a generation born to luxury to fight, if only because they had their backs against the wall.

And who knew? Perhaps failure and defeat would put the first cracks in the edifice the Theocracy called the true faith. It had happened before, in far too many wars. He grinned at his own optimism. Maybe the horse would learn to sing after all.

***​

The shuttles were rising now, too slowly. Kat had already ordered most of the transports to divert themselves to the Marine Assault Carriers and the freighters, but some wouldn’t be in orbit by the time the enemy ships entered missile range. She stared down at the display, hoping for a flash of tactical genius that would allow her to think of an easy solution to the problem. Nothing came to mind, unless…

“Contact the other ships,” Kat ordered. “They are to pick up the shuttles in orbit and then return to hyperspace. We’ll pick up the final four shuttles ourselves.”

The XO looked over at her, surprised. “Captain…”

Kat grinned at him. Risking everything on a single throw of the dice wouldn’t have pleased her father, but her father wasn't in command of a starship at war. “Helm, take us down,” she ordered, as the freighters started vanishing into hyperspace. “Take us into the atmosphere if necessary, but get us close enough to pick up those shuttles!”

“Aye, Captain,” the helmsman said. He sounded as if he was surprised at her command, but was still willing to obey, trusting that she knew what she was doing. “Going down now.”

Lightning shivered as she moved lower, down towards the planet’s atmosphere. Kat silently prayed that she was right; that she hadn’t just ordered her entire crew to commit suicide. No one in their right mind would risk coming out of hyperspace so close to a planet – a single error of navigation could slam them right into the planet – but it was possible to open up a vortex and escape, at least in theory. There had been a shortage of volunteers to test the theories, Kat knew. Piker’s Peak had discussed the theory, and then warned that risking opening a vortex so close to a massive gravity well risked overloading the generator and burning out the jump nodes. And without those, the ship couldn’t open a vortex.

“Have the shuttles make contact with the hull,” she ordered. Life support was low on the shuttles – they’d never been designed to carry so many warm bodies, even with the RAN’s customary over-engineering – but they’d last long enough for Lightning to get into hyperspace without having to worry about them docking at the remaining shuttlebay. “We’ll evacuate them once we’re in hyperspace.”

The hull shuddered again as Lightning made contact with the upper atmosphere. A dull thrumming, different from the normal background hum of the drives, started to echo through the ship, accompanied by a rumbling that seemed to shake the deck and send trembles up her spine. Lightning had never been designed for flight within a planetary atmosphere and while she might make it down to the surface in one piece, she would never be able to get back into orbit. Every so often, designers proposed starships that would be able to land and take off again, but their designs had never been practical. It was far easier to use shuttles to land troops while keeping the ship in orbit.

“Enemy ships are locking weapons on us,” Roach warned. Kat winced; the enemy had ordered their light cruisers to run forwards, targeting Lightning before she could escape. Even if Admiral Christian wanted to act, the time was past. Lightning would have to survive or die on her own. “They’re preparing to fire.”

Kat glanced at the display. A thump ran through the ship as one of the shuttles docked with the hull, but there were still three more shuttles fighting for attitude. The enemy ships were entering firing range…seconds later, enemy missiles appeared on the display, roaring towards her position. She cursed under her breath as the missiles closed in rapidly, slipping into point defence engagement range within seconds. A single mistake on their part and a missile would slam into <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City> at a reasonable percentage of the speed of light. The results would be devastating. <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City> would end up looking like Old Earth after the Breakaway Wars.

“Point defence is engaging the enemy missiles,” Roach reported. “Nine down; ten…”

A missile detonated, alarmingly close to Lightning. In space, it would have been harmless; in the atmosphere, shockwaves slammed into the starship’s hull, sending it careening through the sky. Somehow, the helmsman regained control, only to nearly lose it again as a second missile detonated. This time, a bomb-pumped laser stabbed deep into Lightning’s heart.

Kat hung onto her command chair for dear life as the entire ship screamed around her. The consoles blinked out for a second, only to come back moments later as emergency power came online. A dozen different alarms sounded – hull breach, reactor failure, computer nodes lost… - suggesting that her ship had been badly injured. The damage control panel was a mass of solid red icons, each one reporting major damage to her command. A handful blinked out moments later as the systems rebooted, but the damage was still shockingly high. One of their reactors was completely gone, along with three jump nodes. Losing any more would make it impossible to escape.

And if she surrendered to the Theocracy, she knew exactly how they would treat her crew.

“Report,” she gasped. The alarms, mercifully, quietened, just enough to let her hear herself think. “Damage report…”

The intercom was a blast of static. It cleared, just barely. “Major damage to drive sections,” the Chief Engineer reported. He sounded as if he had been badly injured. “We’ve only got one reactor running at full capacity, Captain. Another hit like that will kill us.”

“Understood,” Kat said. Another rumbling burst of thunder ran through the ship. She glanced at the console and winced. None of the damage was fatal individually, but collectively it was devastating. Her ship was on the verge of coming apart. “Can we open a vortex?”

“Maybe,” the Chief Engineer said. “If we have any other choice…?”

A new wave of enemy missiles were already lancing towards Lightning. “We don’t,” Kat said. One more shuttle had docked, but the third had been caught in one of the missile blasts and blown to atoms. Nearly four hundred men and women had died with it. “Helm, open a vortex – now!”

She heard the ship’s drives screaming in protest, winced as creaks ran through her once-proud ship, just before the vortex roared to life in front of them. The final shuttle altered course, racing for the vortex; Kat allowed herself a smile just before a final shockwave slammed into her ship. Ahead of them, the vortex began to waver, spinning out of existence. There were bare seconds left…

“Take us in,” she snapped. It was crazy, but it was their only hope of escape. The jump nodes started to fail, one after the other, yet they lasted just long enough for Lightning to make it through the vortex and into hyperspace. Moments later, the Admiral’s ships opened their own vortexes and joined Lightning in hyperspace. “Take us towards the RV point, best possible speed.”

She sagged back into her command chair. Three shuttles out of four had survived, even though her ship would require months of repair work before she was fit for anything other than scrap metal. Not that there was any danger of Lightning being sent to the breakers; even a badly damaged hull was worth far more to the RAN than just scrap metal. They’d need every hull they could scrape up to fight the war.

“And add a general message to the entire crew,” she added. They’d escaped <st1lace w:st="on"><st1:City w:st="on">Cadiz</st1:City></st1lace> and poked a finger in the enemy’s eye. The Theocracy could be beaten. “Well done.”

 

Chapter Forty-Six<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comfficeffice" />

It was very cold in the holding cell.

Captain Zaid sat on a bench, his arms shackled behind him and his legs chained to the floor. His clothes had been removed when he’d been taken from the bridge of his ship and transported to the clerical vessel, leaving him naked and alone. No one had come to visit him, not even one of the Clerics who were supposed to tend to their flock’s souls. A failure had no friends or family, for fear it might be contagious. His family would rush to disown him, if they hadn’t already been rounded up merely for being related to a failure. He thought, briefly, of his wives and shuddered. What had they done to deserve the punishment that would be heaped upon them?

He’d failed, he knew. It had been his report that had sent the vast majority of the active battle fleet to Bristol Deep, where they’d discovered that the 6<SUP>th</SUP> Fleet was gone and all they could destroy were a handful of ECM drones and sensor buoys. They hadn’t even been able to capture the mining facilities or asteroid miners; the former had been rigged to blow when the Janissaries landed and the latter had vanished into the darkness of interstellar space. Like in <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comffice:smarttags" /><st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City>, they would hide, harass the invaders where possible and bide their time.

And he’d been marked out as the scapegoat. His punishment would save the Admiral and his political patrols from disgrace. Well, it wouldn’t work, he told himself firmly. If he had nothing more to lose – and if the lives of his family were already forfeit – he could tell them exactly how the Admiral had been tricked. No amount of propaganda would convince the Commonwealth that they’d lost, not after they’d slipped in, blown hell out of the occupation force and then vanished again. The Commonwealth bitch who’d defied him before had even managed to escape just before her infidel life could be destroyed by the relief force. He cursed her under his breath as he rattled his shackles, staring at the hatch in front of him. Even without the shackles, it would be impossible to escape. He looked down at the cold metal deck and felt despair welling through him. He’d done his best, he’d served the Theocracy as best as he knew how…and now he was being tossed away, as if his years of faithful service had all counted for nothing, in the wake of a single overwhelming failure…

And it hadn’t even been his failure!

He looked up sharply as the hatch hissed open, revealing four figures. Two wore the black and white garments of Senior Clerics, but it was the two men behind them who caught and held his attention. They wore the all-concealing red robes of the Inquisition, the men who ferreted out disbelief and apostasy throughout the Theocracy and beyond. Even the Caliph feared them, it was whispered, even though they swore to serve him with all their might and wisdom. The Inquisition had a terrifying reputation for finding sinners where all would have sworn that none resided.

“Be at peace, my son,” the lead Cleric said. He stepped aside to allow the Inquisitors to walk forward, their gloved hands holding savage-looking devices. “It is time for you to pay for your failures. For is it not truly said – failure represents a punishment from God? You must be cleansed of your failure before you are fit to serve the Theocracy again.”

Captain Zaid found his voice, somehow. “But Your Holiness, I beg of you…”

“Be at peace,” the Cleric whispered. He placed one hand on Captain Zaid’s forehead. “Your sins will soon be purged.”

***​

The StarCom transmission was as static-filled as ever, but it was clear enough for Admiral Junayd to tell that his young master was not happy. Losing an entire squadron of battleships was bad enough, yet that hadn’t even been the worst of it. They’d also lost hundreds of thousands of troopers on <st1lace w:st="on"><st1:City w:st="on">Cadiz</st1:City></st1lace>, while the enemy had clearly been able to slip additional troops down to the surface – and show the local population that the Theocracy could be beaten.

“It is a setback,” Admiral Junayd agreed, when the Caliph had finished expressing his displeasure. He was mildly surprised that he hadn’t been ordered to place himself under arrest and report for execution, but the Caliph had enough sense not to throw away a useful tool until it had become truly useless. Besides, they already had a human sacrifice to blame for the debacle. “However, it is not a complete disaster.”

He ticked off points on his fingers. “First, 6<SUP>th</SUP> Fleet no longer has a secure base within the sector,” he said. “We wreaked their facilities at Bristol Deep before we departed the system and <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City>, of course, is back in our hands. They will have to fall back for repairs, which will take them several months, at least. The meantime is ours. Once we move the reinforcements up to <st1:City w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">Cadiz</st1lace></st1:City>, we can open a new offensive and hit them right where it hurts – the heart of the Commonwealth itself. They will be forced to listen to their people and go onto the defensive.”

The thought made him smile. A political system where the governors had to listen to the governed was alien to him. The mere thought of consulting any of the rabble in the slums below the palace was absurd. And yet, it represented a strength as well as a weakness. The Theocracy’s attack had angered a population that was used to making itself heard and it would demand blood. Coming to any agreements might be harder than projected.

“The war is far from lost,” he concluded. “We still have formidable advantages and we have the help of a fifth column in their ranks. By the time they harness their formidable industrial power to help them win the war, it will be far too late.”

He wondered, idly, what the Caliph made of it all. He was a young man, more used to sudden decisiveness than long careful plotting, and yet he’d grown up in the harem, a formidable political school for a young nobleman. Or maybe he knew that there was little other choice. A defeat or two, a lost war...and others would start considering unseating the Caliph and placing their own behinds on the Peacock Throne. The Caliph had no choice, but to fight the war to the bitter end. He wondered if the Caliph understood that, before dismissing the thought. The Caliph was a careful student of his own Court. It was one of the skills that had allowed him to assume the throne with only a small amount of bloodshed.

“Watch your back, Admiral,” the Caliph said, finally. “And don’t allow the infidels a second victory.”

“Of course, Your Excellency,” Admiral Junayd said. It hardly mattered that the Theocracy had recovered Cadiz before it had been completely purged of Theocratic troops, or that the enemy fleet was in some disarray. The infidels could portray it as a victory – and the Caliph’s internal enemies would portray it as a defeat. “We will not allow them a second opportunity to reverse the course of the war.”

***​

“She’s magnificent,” Jeremy breathed.

The light cruiser HMS Cadiz floated in the midst of a network of shipyard framework and industrial modules. Worker teams were buzzing over her hull, making the final alterations required before Cadiz could depart from Avalon and head out into open space. She’d been altered twice as the Naval Design Board analysed the reports from the first battles of the war, but now she was finalised; a light cruiser suitable for both independent and squadron missions. Her hull, a brilliant pearly white, seemed to perfectly complement her sleek arrow-shaped lines, broken only by weapons and sensor blisters.

And she was all his. The Promotion Board had been overworked following the disaster at Cadiz, with too many commanding officers pushed into early retirement as a long-overdue purge took place. It was a shame that so many fine ships had been destroyed in the process, but the media had picked up on the true reason for the disaster and the response had been savage. Admiral Williams had had political allies who suddenly found themselves in a very cold dark place – and they’d responded by leading the demand for an open enquiry and a mass purge of incompetent political commanders. It probably wouldn't be enough to save many of their seats in the Assembly, but at least it meant a few competent officers who’d been held back would now be promoted.

He looked down, towards the blue-green sphere of Avalon. Lightning had vanished into the shipyards as soon as she’d returned home, suffering the final indignity of having to be towed out of hyperspace by a destroyer from 6<SUP>th</SUP> Fleet. Most of her crew had rapidly been reassigned to other ships in the desperate attempt to mobilise the RAN for war, with her commanding officer still in a bureaucratic limbo. They wouldn't keep her there forever, Jeremy was sure; the media had been making a terrible fuss over how the brave commander of Lightning had been the only one prepared for the coming war – and how her ship had been badly damaged in the heroic rescue of POWs from Cadiz. And she deserved it. He’d had his doubts about her, and her inexperience had been almost painfully obvious, but Kat Falcone had proved herself more than worthy to wear her uniform.

Smiling, he started to walk towards the gangplank connecting Cadiz to the shipyard, which would allow him access to his ship. His official orders hadn't been cut yet, but he’d been tipped off by a friend in Naval HQ that he might be heading out back to the war front. No one believed that the Theocracy would remain quiet for long, not when they had a chance to take the offensive deeper into the Commonwealth. By then, Jeremy and his ship would be there to meet them. Or so he hoped.

The Marine standing at the hatch connecting the ship to the shipyard snapped to attention as Jeremy approached, although his implant reported that it was being checked out carefully before the hatch opened to allow him access to his ship. It was a wise precaution. The Theocracy had scattered action groups throughout the Commonwealth and some of them had proven very deadly. And there were spies and traitors everywhere. No one knew who they could trust.

He smiled again as the hatch opened and a blast of warm air – the indefinable, but instantly recognisable atmosphere of a newly-launched ship – struck him in the face. The officer waiting to greet him snapped to attention and saluted; Jeremy, as was proper, saluted the flag first before returning the salute.

“Captain,” the officer said. “Welcome onboard.”

“Thank you,” Jeremy replied. “It’s good to be here.”

***​

“Well,” Kat said. “Here we are again.”

Her father didn't smile. He seemed to have aged in the past six months, ever since their last meeting at the Majestic Hotel. The armed and augmented bodyguards behind him were a constant reminder that they were at war; even Kat, who had grown up surrounded by bodyguards until she had learned to give them the slip, was slightly aghast at their presence. They were sitting in the Empire Suite rather than a private room, an odd decision for her father. Unless, of course, he had something he would prefer to do in public.

“I’m proud of you,” he said, once the menus had been studied and orders placed. Kat had resisted the temptation to order fish and chips again and had settled for roast beef, potatoes and gravy. It was possible to imagine that the city was at peace, and the war nothing more than a distant memory. “You did far better than I had dreamed.”

Kat scowled at him. “I could have done more,” she said. “I could have assassinated Admiral Williams...”

Her father snorted. “I don’t think that assassinating your superior officer would have looked good on your service record,” he said, dryly. “It’s the kind of thing the military mindset tends to frown upon.”

“True,” Kat agreed.

She shook her head. The trip home to Avalon had been nightmarish, even with the assistance of other badly damaged ships from 6<SUP>th</SUP> Fleet. Admiral Christian was still out there, using the remains of 6<SUP>th</SUP> Fleet to raid and harass the Theocracy, hoping to win time for the Commonwealth to mobilise and launch a massive counteroffensive. And Greg was still down on Cadiz, along with hundreds of other Marines, fighting a hopeless underground war against overwhelming odds. Kat felt a bitter twist in her heart at the thought, silently vowing to return to Cadiz as soon as possible. If, of course, they gave her a ship. Naval HQ had been stalling on assigning her to a new ship, all the while using her as a recruiting tool. Reading some of the media stories, she got the impression that she’d stood off the entire Theocratic Navy with nothing more than a baseball bat and a bad sense of humour. One cartoonist had even drawn a picture of her – with muscles on her muscles and breasts the size of her head – wearing an eye patch, a reference to a popular space opera series that had been distributed for public entertainment. She’d wanted to challenge the cartoonist to a duel, but the local PR staff had insisted that it was all good publicity – and something that would help stiffen civilian spines. Besides, they had to maintain good relations with the media. Even with Admiral Williams a known enemy pawn – if he hadn't been killed during the bombardment of Cadiz – there were enough problems within the naval hierarchy to ensure that the RAN would be embarrassed, if the media turned a gimlet eye upon murky waters.

Her father seemed to understand her thoughts. “I’m sure you’ll get a new command soon enough,” he said. Kat scowled at him. She hadn't forgotten his role in her last assignment, although she had to admit that she had forgiven him. “Until then...why not enjoy being the media darling?”

“If I had wanted to be the darling of the media,” Kat reminded him, pointedly, “I would have stayed in High Society. I could have had four boyfriends like Candy, or maybe deliberately exposed myself to the peeking voyeurs of the media...”

“True,” her father said, “but you earned these plaudits. You weren’t born into command of a starship – and mere birth alone isn't enough to ensure that you will be good at command. You did the right thing at the right time – and you were very lucky. Never underestimate the value of good luck.”

Kat sighed. The private update she’d received from the family had told her that, among other things, her father had been appointed the Grand Coordinator of Military Production. It was a political decision, of course – the big corporations would hardly allow someone not of their choosing to take such a powerful post – but it was one that would eventually force him to give up his position as CEO. The King had – apparently – assured him of his full support, yet everyone knew that it had limits. And if the Assembly suspected that he was using his position to further his own aims...

“Thank you,” she said, tightly. “And when can I expect to resume taking advantage of my good fortune?”

“When the time comes,” her father said. “But you may have changed things in a different way, Katherine. And you know how many people just hate the idea of change.”

Kat had no patience for word games, or her father’s mental manipulation. “What have I changed?”

Her father looked at her for a long moment, and then inclined one hand towards the window. Kat followed his gaze and blinked in surprise. There was a single small table set up there, against the transparent barrier, with two people seated together, sharing a glass of wine while they waited for their dinner. It took her a moment to recognise one of them, but the other was instantly identifiable. She’d brought Princess Jasmine to the Commonwealth, after all. And the person she was dining with was the King.

“The security here isn't all for us,” her father said, when Kat turned back to face him. The Princess looked well, for someone who had been forced to flee her own society and dumped into a universe that operated by very different rules. And the King...looked charmed. “Aren’t they quite the pretty couple?”

Kat stared at him. Her mother had hoped and prayed and schemed for one of her daughters to attract the royal eye – and so had every other mother in High Society, all hoping to find themselves in the position of Queen Mother. It would have done wonders for anyone’s social position, but the King had never showed any sign of being attracted to anyone, male or female. The most eligible bachelor in the Commonwealth had seemed doomed to permanent solitude. And now he was courting the Princess Jasmine.

She remembered her mother’s lessons, back when she’d hoped that Kat would be just another blushing society beauty. If the King had married anyone from High Society, as they’d expected, it would offend far too many grand dames. But if he married Jasmine...it would ensure that none of the grand dames won the game, wouldn't it? And yet...she remembered the odd feeling of dislike that had affected her when she’d met Jasmine, back on Lightning, back before the war. How would the general population react to the King marrying a Princess from the Theocracy?

And what would happen if they lost the war?

She looked down at her plate of food and shrugged. Whatever passed between the King and Jasmine wasn’t her concern. She would eat, she would be the darling of the media...at least until they gave her another command and a mission. They couldn't keep her out of space forever, not if they intended to keep using her to overawe the media. She would be given a command soon.

And then she would go back to the war.

The End​

​

Kat Falcone Will Return​

​

Soon.​

 

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If you've enjoyed reading this, why not head on over to my Smashwords store and take a look at Patriotic Treason (formerly known as Who Dares To Call It Treason?) It's book one of a series I enjoyed writing.

Chris

 

I am sorry,I will read these short books on line but I am a bit old skool,A book in print is what I like to relax with.E books are not my thang. Thanks for the work so far.

 

Wow. What a great story! Going to the link now. Can't wait for more!

 

I'm a third of the way through Patriotic Treason and it's very good I can't wait to see happens next To Kat and to Walker so keep them coming !!!!!

 

I read Patriotic Treason last night, kept me up late. I highly recommend it, it is really good shtf political fiction just set more in the future. Everyone here, but it, it is really good.

Thanks, Chris, for all you have written. The $2 price is a bargain.

Could you sell more on Amazon?
I hoped to find a bio

 

I'll certainly try. Please review it if you can - I need to encourage buyers.

Chris

 

WOW!!!! An absolutely fantastic read, Thanks for the hard work.





Fanderal

 

Thanks!

Chris

 

I read Patriotic Treason over the last couple of days, and it is every bit as good....THANKS


Fanderal


ETA: it could really use a good proof reader though, quite a few wrong word choices from spell check.

F

 

Thank you - that means a lot to me. Please feel free to review it as well...

Chris

 

You have a great ability to drag your reader into the story. Another great read will be getting your book this week for sure

 

Thank you! I have a new ongoing story up and running.

Chris

 

Fantastic story. Thanks for all your hard work. Can't wait to see what the future holds for Kat

 

Me too. Don't worry - it's something spectacular.

Chris