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  When he stepped out of the shower he could hear his data link buzzing. Normally he kept the wrist link on, even in the shower, but he hadn’t been expecting anything that might require his attention so he’d taken it off and set it on the automatic charger. After wrapping his towel around him he moved over to the data pad and pressed the button that brought the device to life. Expedited Orders flashed on the screen. With a tap Dean read the assignment. His platoon was being called up early. They would be taking a shuttle from Bayview to the EsDef Air Base outside Spokane Washington. From there they would be ferried up to the E.S.D.F. Charlemagne.

  The shuttle was scheduled to depart in only two hours. Dean immediately sent a priority message to Staff Sergeant Chavez, then took a moment to check the latest news on his data pad. He had an idea why they were being expedited and it only took a few clicks to find what he already suspected. The tensions between colonists on Rome Three had broken out into a full blown civil war. Dean looked at the bed longingly, then stuffed all his personal belongings into his ruck sack and put on his battle armor. They were going to war and the members of his platoon barely knew one another, but there was nothing he could do about that. Orders were orders, and his platoon might not have had time to gel as a team, but they were well trained professionals. He would pull them together and do whatever he was ordered, even if he was sent to the gates of hell to fight the devil himself.

  Chapter 7

  Dean stood on the air strip where he had landed just a little over twelve hours earlier. His platoon didn’t look happy, but they were smart enough to stay quiet until they were allowed out of the cold and into the shuttle craft. When the hatch finally opened for them, Dean let Chavez order the platoon on board.

  “Let’s go people!” he shouted. “Get those weapons stowed and everyone strapped in, on the double.”

  Dean hurried in after his platoon, glad to be out of the rain. He took off his Tactical Control Unit. The battle helmet with it’s protective face shield was running a silent ticker of news which Dean had been monitoring. He had also read the history of the colony on Rome Three. It was a lush world, with lots of native flora, and entire oceans of fresh water, but no animal life. Rome Three, or Nova Roma as the colonists called it, was first settled by traditionalist Catholics. The entire planet was claimed as a Papal State, but soon broke with the church headquartered on earth after the colonists elected their own Pope to lead them.

  Over the last few decades more and more colonists with less strenuous ties to the church had arrived, and at last fighting had broken out over the mandatory “tithe” which was essentially a ten percent tax to the church on top of the colonists’ actual taxes. The church on Rome Three had become extremely rich and offered very little in return for the tithe money, outside of allowing the Pope and Cardinals to live lavish lifestyles in palaces while most of the colonists struggled just to get by.

  Dean didn’t bother trying to identify with one side or the other. He had been raised in an evangelical tradition, but his family was not avid church goers. Dean knew a little about the Catholic church, but life on Rome Three was little more than a footnote on his newsfeed in most instances. He would carry out his orders, no matter how EsDef choose to proceed, it made no difference to him. His platoon on the other hand might have a different opinion on the matter. Religion could be tricky, and he would need to make sure that none of his people were Catholic before he took them into a religious hot spot.

  Chavez was seated next to Dean. Their battle armor was very similar, but Chavez carried a variety of bladed weapons tucked into sheaths that were part of his armor, and he was still a very large individual. He had wide shoulders and thickly muscled arms.

  “What’s with the change of orders?” he whispered to Dean.

  “Don’t know for sure. You watching the news?”

  “Never,” Chavez said sincerely.

  “You might want to start. There’s fighting on Rome Three. You Catholic?”

  “My mamá went to church, but not me.”

  “Good, then you won’t mind putting down a rebellion against the church which is stealing money from the colonists.”

  “Hey man, you tell me what to kill, I kill it. That’s all I need.”

  “I hear you, Staff Sergeant, but we need to have a private conversation with each member of the platoon. If we’re really going to Rome Three, then we have to know if any of them have strong feelings about the colony or its politics.”

  “Yes, sir,” Chavez said. “I’ll see to it.”

  “Good, I’ll get official orders once we’re on board the Charlemagne.”

  Chavez nodded, content to let his Captain worry about the whys. He was happy to carry out his orders without being burdened with the business of command, and Dean didn’t blame him. He felt he could do the same thing, under the right circumstances. He would have to trust his commander, he thought to himself, and the strategy would need to make sense. For the first time since joining EsDef he realized why he had been chosen to be an officer. He wasn’t convinced that he was a good leader, but he was certain he would be a lousy follower.

  The air between Bayview and Spokane was choppy, but it wasn’t a full blown storm and the shuttle made the trip easily enough. It was faster than driving, Dean knew that much, but he didn’t enjoy the trip. His body ached with fatigue, and the jarring flight made rest impossible. Instead he monitored the EsDef channels, until their flight information up to Space Base 13 came across his data link. Dean’s platoon wasn’t the only thing going up, but at least they would be on an actual carrier jet and not another cargo plane.

  When the shuttle landed, the platoon was picked up by a flat bed cargo hauler, not unlike the piece of equipment they used on Newton Six. Chavez had the troops well in order, so Dean took care of himself and tried not to let his exhaustion show. He had been through a lot over the last several days, but none of that mattered to his platoon. They wanted to know that he was fit to lead them into battle. Compassion was not a virtue practiced by Off World Force Recon.

  Armor had to be removed and stowed for the trip up. EsDef still used air launched orbital craft, piggybacking on large atmospheric planes. The weight had to be calculated and the payload, including passengers, carefully arranged so that the orbital ship could break free of earth’s gravity and dock with the space base. Dean didn’t mind getting out of his armor, except that he couldn’t monitor the news without his platoon knowing. He didn’t mind the wait on the tarmac either. The seats on the transport were padded, and even reclined slightly. It wasn’t the lavish comfort of a commercial flight, but it was much better than most military transports. Dean adjusted his seat and promptly fell asleep.

  Several hours later the orbital craft docked with Grooms Lake, as the space base was called. It was familiar to Dean, although he had only been in certain sections during his Officer Training and then for a debrief that lasted nearly a month after his platoon captured the Urgglatta ship. A Petty Officer met them, promised to see to their gear, and gave Dean directions to where the E.S.D.F. Charlemagne was docked and waiting for them.

  “Make sure our armor gets moved,” Dean told Chavez. “I trust these guys, but their lives don’t depend on getting this right.”

  “Yes, sir,” Chavez said. “I’ll get everything squared away and be waiting for you on board.”

  “Thank you, Staff Sergeant,” Dean said.

  The hallways of Grooms Lake were immaculately clean, and well lit, but strangely disorienting. There were no straight lines on a space base or interstellar space craft. Everything depended on centrifugal force to create a false gravity, and that meant everything was moving at all times. The space base was spinning in place, like a top that never stopped.

  Dean did have the opportunity to take a look at the ship via one of the hallway monitors. The Charlemagne was an older vessel, with a large wheel on one end that could rotate while a long drive shaft that was connected to the engine system ran straight through the center of the spoked wh
eel, propelling the space craft. The wheel was still turning, while the drive shaft was actually connected to the docking arm of the space base. It didn’t surprise Dean to see a zero-gravity warning sign flashing over the air lock that led to the ship.

  “Captain Dean Blaze,” Dean said to the private operating the air lock.

  The private saluted, checked his list, then nodded. He was swallowing strangely and looked nervous. Dean was almost afraid to ask if something was wrong, but he didn’t want to go floating down the long docking arm only to be sucked out into space if there was a problem with the ship.

  “Private, are you okay?” Dean asked.

  “You’re him,” the man said. He was older than Dean, skinny by Recon standards, his skin pale despite the mandatory Vitamin-D solar treatments Dean knew every member of EsDef was required to take while off world.

  Dean looked at the Private questioningly.

  “I’ve seen you on the news.”

  “Yes,” Dean said.

  “Hot damn, I didn’t know you were going back out.”

  “That’s where the action is,” Dean said with a smile.

  “Ain’t that the truth,” the Private said proudly. “It’s an honor to meet you, Captain.”

  “Thank you Private. I’ll board now, if that’s acceptable.”

  “Of course, of course,” he stammered. “Medal of honor…”

  He was speaking out loud but clearly to himself as he pressed the release lever and opened the air lock. Dean didn’t wait to be told, but hurried down the long corridor. It felt to Dean as if someone were pushing him from behind. Fate, he considered, although he had been truthful with Miranda when he said he didn’t believe in fate. Yet his return to the stars, and to conflict seemed inexorable. Perhaps there was something to it, he would have to wait and see.

  Chapter 8

  “Captain Blaze, I’m Lieutenant Lindsey Crandel. Welcome to the Charlemagne.”

  “Thank you,” Dean said through clenched teeth as he regained his bearings from the long passage in zero gravity down the drive shaft corridor.

  He was in a very plain looking hallway that curved up in both directions. There were doorways on either side, and he felt the centrifugal force normalizing his inner ear again.

  “Vice Admiral Duncan is looking forward to meeting you. If you can join him in the wardroom he would appreciate it.”

  “Of course,” Dean said. “Lead the way.”

  Dean followed Lieutenant Crandel, who was petite, with short hair and a plain face. Her voice didn’t seem to match her body, it was deep and almost masculine. She wore the standard EsDef cosmic black uniform that reminded Dean more of pajamas than actual clothing. But, after being in zero gravity again he was reminded just how practical the flexible clothing really was in space. It was both warm and practical, without accentuating the physical form of the wearer, which Dean guessed was a consideration with EsDef personnel on board space craft for long periods of time. If their fatigues fit like costumes on sci-fi movies, there would almost certainly be more unwanted sexual aggression on board ship.

  Each room was labeled clearly, Dean noticed as they progressed around the ring of the ship. Some rooms he recognized, such as the REC facility, and the various training rooms. He wanted to look into the VR training room for the Recon platoon, but that would have to wait. They also passed the Bridge, Enlisted Mess, and officers state rooms. He saw his name on the small digital display of a room close to the Wardroom, but he would have plenty of time to see about his quarters once they were underway.

  The door to the Wardroom slid open with a woosh, and Dean was surprised to find a simple looking dining room. There were only ten chairs around the rectangular table, and the refreshment stations looked exactly like those in the Enlisted Mess. Dean stepped into the room and saluted. He had read in the information that Major Jons had sent to him at Coronado that a recipient of the Planetary Medal of Honor had the right to salute or not, even to his superiors, but Dean wanted to make it clear he would abide by the chain of command. He didn’t want to repeat the horrible experience he’d had on board the Valkyrie with Admiral Hamilton.

  “At ease, Captain,” Vice Admiral Duncan said, without getting up. He had three screens illuminated on the table and his data pad propped up and powered on as well. “I’m sorry to have you join us on such short notice, but as you may have heard things in the New Rome system have turned ugly.”

  “I’ve monitored the news,” Dean said, sitting down as the Vice Admiral waved to the chair opposite from him. “Otherwise I’m in the dark.”

  “Are you Catholic?” the Vice Admiral asked.

  “No sir,” Dean said.

  “Well, at least there’s that. There’ll be plenty of closet Catholics coming out of the woodwork on this one. I’ve gone over your personnel file. You’ve only been on one tour with two missions. Both successful, but not nearly enough to move you up in rank.”

  “I would agree,” Dean said.

  “I’ve never had a Planetary Medal of Honor recipient on board my ship before. I’m not sure how I feel about it.”

  “Sir, I’m just here to lead my unit. We will be the best Recon platoon possible.”

  “I’d love to believe that, Captain. I really would. And I don’t suppose you’ll believe me when I say I’m glad to have you on board. There were plenty of rumors about your last tour, and probably enough truth to make serving on board a navy vessel distasteful to say the least.”

  “I’m looking forward to changing all of that,” Dean said. “I have a great team. Let us do what we’re trained for and we won’t let you down.”

  “You're not what I expected.”

  “I'm fully committed to the service, sir,” Dean explained. “I didn't ask for the promotion and I certainly didn’t ask to be the EsDef show pony. But I obey orders, even when I don’t like them. I had my choice of assignments when the media tour ended. There is no where else I’d rather be.”

  “That's a nice sentiment, but things are changing Captain. Some things are moving even faster than this ship at light speed.”

  “I don’t understand, sir,” Dean admitted.

  “Of course you don’t. Neither do I. For instance, have you ever seen this designation? MA5547, it’s listed as a Force Recon acquisition.”

  “No, sir. It’s not something I requested.”

  “Then it’s something that was set aside for you. And a lot of it, from the looks of things. We won’t get our official orders until we’re under way. All I’ve got is a direction and a timeline. In my experience, that means things are about to get dicey, and the last thing we need is a Recon Captain out to make a name for himself.”

  “That’s not me, sir. I assure you.”

  “I want nothing more than for you to succeed, but I will not tolerate showboating, insubordination, or asinine politics. Not on this ship, do you understand me, Captain?”

  “Absolutely,” Dean said. “We want the same thing.”

  The Vice Admiral stared at Dean for a long moment, his eyes peering deep into Dean’s own, but the younger officer didn’t flinch or look away. He had nothing to hide and his ego was the last of his concerns at that moment. Finally, the stern look softened, and Vice Admiral Duncan leaned back in his chair.

  “Well, we're a small ship, eight officers counting you. You’ve met my first mate, Lieutenant Lindsey Crandel. Then we have Communications, Navigation, Medical, Engineering, and Operations. I’ll introduce you once we’re underway. We all wear a lot of hats and we’re pretty informal. There wasn’t much time for a true liberty, but anyone not busy with resupply and maintenance is stretching their legs on the space base. A few more hours and we’ll be ready to go. Make sure your platoon is ready.”

  “Yes, sir!” Dean said, standing and saluting.

  The Vice-Admiral smiled, stood to his feet, and smartly returned Dean’s salute. As soon as VA Duncan returned to his work, Dean turned and left the Wardroom. Lieutenant Crandel was waiting outside in the co
rridor, reading a message on her wrist link.

  “You’re platoon has just come aboard,” she said. “They’re getting settled.”

  “Good,” Dean said with a smile. “And our weapons, ammunition, supplies?”

  “All stowed. You’ve got a Ready Room for armor and weapons, a storage room for ammunition and supplies, and the VR training room. We share the REC, officers and enlisted.”

  “Who’s running Operations?” Dean asked.

  “Our O&A contingent is light, just Lieutenant Owens, and three Operators.”

  “No one board above Lieutenant besides the Vice-Admiral?”

  “Just you, Captain,” the first mate said with a smile. “Most of our tour has been spent ferrying colony officials. I didn’t even hear about your adventure on the Urgglatta ship until we docked here at Grooms. And that was just seventeen hours ago.”

  Dean felt a little uncomfortable. People assumed they knew him or worse still, that they knew what he’d done on the Urgglatta ship since it was in the news. But they didn’t know how close he’d come to destroying the ship, or being killed by his own platoon on direct orders from Admiral Hamilton. If he had been wrong, the ship would have impacted earth. They would have been forced to set off demolition charges with his platoon still on board, and even then the wreckage would have impacted earth causing unfathomable damage. He shuttered just thinking about it. The decisions he made had been proven right in the end, but the weight of them still haunted his dreams.

  “Just doing my job,” he said quietly.

  “Well, you’re the first medal of Honor winner I’ve ever met, Captain. It’s a pleasure to have you on board.”

  Chapter 9

  Lieutenant Crandel left Dean at his personal quarters, but he didn’t go inside. Instead he went directly to the training room and checked the VR equipment. Everything was in working order, but older than most of the equipment Dean was used to. There was no exercise equipment in the training room, so he quickly checked the REC facility and found the resistance machines pushed into one corner. It wasn’t satisfactory, but Dean could understand the role of the Charlemagne and probably the Recon soldiers stationed on her before Dean’s platoon arrived. In fact, it was possible that the small ship didn’t even have a platoon of Recon Specialists. It was certainly an older model ship, and it might have been called into duty as a military vessel simply because of the fighting on Rome Three.