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  “So you’re still officially missing in action?”

  “That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. What are you going to say?”

  “Jason Hunter? Never heard of him.”

  Four

  The marine detail stood motionless. Somewhere nearby, the song of a morning sparrow fluttered. It was a delicate contrast to the silence on the platform. Nearly seven hundred people were gathered at graveside, most in uniform. On the dais, next to a metal coffin draped in the flag of the Core Star Alliance stood a large photograph of a smiling Skywatch officer dressed in his Class A commander’s uniform and posing before the same flag.

  In the second row of mourners stood Commander Jayce Hunter. Against the better advice of counsel and at least six of her officer colleagues, she had returned to Core space with Rebecca Islington and Tom Huggins at her side the moment she received the news. The admiralty had made no secret of their original intention to chop off the commander’s professional head, but every other officer in the fleet knew the famous Hunter ferocity wasn’t going to quail in the face of a challenge. On the contrary. Jayce and her brother were more likely to show up in their own dress uniforms and look their executioners right in the eye.

  Hunter looked like an artist’s rendition of a regulation uniform officer. Gone was her trademark garrison cap. In its place was a standard black on black combination cover with a gleaming silver appointed Skywatch device and band. Adorning her black uniform were epaulets and sleeves each bearing three golden insignia with the rare command star. Her collar was affixed with silver leaf and task force badge, complete with nine pips representing the Perseus ships under her flag. Left of her silver buttons her medals were arranged. Beneath her space warfare badge were commendations for meritorious unit, combat action and ceremonial duty. Included among her other awards were the rare cybernetics combat action medal, cybernetics instructor badge, energy weapon range instructor badge and a Skywatch Fleet Good Conduct Medal with a bronze palm device. Topping off her impeccable bearing were white gloves and black shoes shined to a mirror finish.

  It was much easier for her to maintain appearances on the outside than it was for her to control her emotions on this morning. She was barely holding herself together. Jayce rationalized her alabaster expression and unflinching gaze by telling herself she had to be strong for her fellow officers. She knew if she were alone, the sight of the huge photograph and the flowers would be too much for her. She lifted her chin and held on.

  Behind her were at least a dozen rows of fellow Skywatch fleet and marines. More than a hundred were still wearing bandages and braces and making their way from place to place with mechanical assistance. They were the surviving crew members of DSS Revenge and DSS Dunkerque. At least half were here in defiance of doctor’s orders.

  Jayce stood at attention like her two fellow Perseus officers. Commanders Islington and Huggins were as flawless in their bearing, but the story of the solemn gathering was told on Hunter’s face. She was motionless. Her expression fought mightily to remain strong.

  At the small lectern stood what appeared at first to be a civilian. He was dressed in a dark suit and tie and supported himself with a cane. He looked to be only a little older than the other friends of the deceased. He brought no remarks to the stand. He simply looked out into the faces of the gathered friends, fellow officers and crew members and family and smiled warmly.

  “My friend Pat wasn’t one to spin a yarn–” The man’s voice wavered and he hesitated to clear his throat before continuing. “He wasn’t the type to hold a table rapt with war stories. He uhh– he left that to others. So when they learn he won the Skywatch Cross at Saint Huls, they are usually as surprised as everyone else. I’ve known about his heroism longer than most, because I was one of the 81 people he saved winning that medal. I know exactly how some of you feel.” The man paused a moment and put the back of his hand to his lips.

  “Pat’s ship stayed in the fight over Bayone. Even though she was outgunned and even though she could have withdrawn to save herself. Some say she should have withdrawn, but they didn’t know Pat. Revenge stayed in the fight anyway. She faced overwhelming firepower and numbers because her captain knew that was the only way to save the lives of thousands of pilots, crew and marines in the face of a treacherous ambush.”

  A breeze let the man pause to take another deep breath.

  “Today, we pay our respects to a husband, a father, a grandfather, a teacher, a pilot and a man who showed us all what it means to be one of the finest officers in the fleet. Commander Patrick Enright, skipper of the starship Revenge, brought a unique strength to every unit he served with. He twice refused promotions to captain so as to remain at his post at Skywatch Academy for nearly ten years. He always spoke fondly of his ‘kids,’ as he called them. He took a special pride in guiding new graduates into command.”

  That remark caused another stab of pain through Jayce. Memories of the first salute she had ever received came flooding back. It was Enright’s face she saw. She remembered the day. The white uniform. How she felt so much like a young cub next to this lion of the fleet and his towering array of medals and citations. How his eyes twinkled when he encouraged her and her brother. How he made a point of being there when she boarded her first command. And then it was she who pressured him to join her–

  “His last act was exactly what any of us would expect in the face of the hell that erupted over Bayone Three. He would not leave the bridge of his ship until every last survivor had been rescued, and even then–” The man cleared his throat quietly. “He stayed at his post and faced down enemy guns at the helm of his ship until the strike force arrived to relieve Monarch Squadron. Revenge stood alone between death and more than two thousand men and women who would have been defenseless without her. Some of you are here today. Your lives were purchased, and paid for, by the sacrifice of Captain Enright.”

  Jayce clenched her fists. She wasn’t there. She should have been there, but wasn’t.

  “And yet in spite of all that has happened and more, I look out across the multitude gathered here under the approving eyes of God and I see in all your faces the same promise Pat saw. I see in your eyes the hope that he stood for and the resolve and determination he taught us all to strive for even in our darkest moments. I know he would be proud. Proud to know you will all carry on and follow the path he blazed. I can add little to that light except to announce what has transpired since.”

  The man unfolded a small piece of gold-colored paper and held it carefully in trembling hands. “Upon the recommendation of Commander Skywatch, by order of the president of the Core Worlds and upon unanimous resolution of the Core Council, I am humbled to report to you all that Captain Patrick Enright–” The man’s voice broke, but he recovered. “Captain Enright has been awarded the Medal of Honor–”

  A gasp rolled through the audience. Delilah Enright put her hands to her mouth and trembled. The color drained from her face. Her next oldest daughter gathered her sister and brother close and looked on with a silent pale expression. Behind them stood her oldest son holding his own four-month-old daughter.

  "– for an act of conspicuous gallantry and heroism far above and beyond the call of duty among his actions over Bayone Three leading Monarch Squadron in the Victory Engagement.” It seemed the words exhausted the last of the man’s breath. He folded the paper and put it in his coat pocket. He tried to keep his bearing as he took another breath. “That’s all.”

  A marine corporal stood reverently at Enright’s coffin and laid a white and blue banner across the red and gold flag of the Core Alliance. On the folded white cloth the word VALOR was visible, along with a portion of the seal of the president of the Core Worlds. The second banner was a solemn honor reserved for only a very few. Upon it the marine laid the heavy seven-pointed star of the Skywatch Fleet Medal of Honor and its royal blue ribbon adorned with the Invictus Star Map signifying the emblem of the Core Star Alliance. Struck upon the medal was the profile of a som
ber Admiral Clyde Jefferson gazing up towards a single star in the sky with the words VALOR, HONOR, EXCELLENCE emblazoned around him. The marine stood for a moment at attention and then returned to his place among the guard.

  “Detail. Tehh-hut.”

  Six marines in crimson uniforms came to attention, rifles at their sides. A strike sergeant stood off to one side, sword blade resting against his arm and the bill of his cap almost covering his eyes. His next command was too quiet to hear, but the six marines moved as one. The detail turned and cradled bolt-action rifles in gloved hands. A voice shouted in the morning air.

  “Present ARMS!”

  Every able Skywatch crewman, marine and officer saluted.

  “Ready!”

  The rifles rose.

  “Aim! FI–!”

  The crack of simultaneous rifles rang, and several of the civilians jumped. Enright’s widow sobbed.

  “Ready!”

  The marines pulled and released the bolts on their rifles with flawless precision.

  “Aim! FIR–!”

  Again the rifles reported. The sound echoed from the nearby memorial wall.

  “Ready!”

  Six bolts moved back and forward together.

  “Aim! FI–!”

  And again gunfire blasted into the sky. A moment later, the marines turned as one to face the dais again.

  The rolling echoes were gradually absorbed into the distant thunder of atmospheric engines. The soaring whine grew until a formation became visible in the distance. Not a single man or woman’s salute moved. Finally a wedge of six silver-hulled Yellowjacket fighters became visible against the clouds. They rocketed ahead over the trees, the barely restrained sound of their flights cold against the sunlight. All the assembled civilians looked up and watched in reverent awe as the formation screamed overhead, filling all creation with deafening thunder. Moments later, just as they had passed the graveside, one of the six climbed out of the formation and soared straight up into the clouds. The other five flew on, leaving the empty space in their formation. Then they were gone.

  The first notes of Taps sounded from the silver horn of a fleet bugler. Far in the distance, the same notes sounded again from another trumpet held by a marine bugler standing on a low hill against the pastel clouds of morning. The second refrain sounded, and was dutifully taken up by the second horn a measure later. The two men played through their somber duet until the last note rose far away on clear wings towards those same clouds. They stood at attention, looking away, as if watching after a departing friend.

  “Order ARMS!”

  Every saluting hand snapped back to attention as one.

  Major General Louis Penn presided over eight marines as they performed their duty of folding the Core Worlds flag and wrapping it tightly with the president’s banner and placing Enright’s medal upon it. He stood before Mrs. Enright and leaned forward, holding the triangular folded banners in white gloved hands.

  “On behalf of the president of the Core Worlds, please accept this flag, this banner, and this medal as symbols of the appreciation of a grateful Alliance for your husband’s faithful service.”

  The chaplain quietly dismissed the honor guard as the service concluded. Neither Islington nor Huggins spoke as they followed their commander back towards their transports. Jayce was one of the first to offer her condolences to Delilah, but she quickly excused herself. She didn’t appear to be in any mood for further conversation, so her two fellow officers decided to let silence prevail for now. They strode quickly, climbing the perfectly manicured grass covering the gentle hill behind the graveside crowd. It was a beautiful morning. White clouds floated lazily in a perfect blue sky. The breeze was a little chilly, but not uncomfortably so.

  Hunter’s commlink sounded. She froze as she examined the status code.

  Five

  Captain Hunter had already explained to at least four people in the last three hours no further information about their mission was forthcoming from Skywatch Command. Admiral Powers had more than a few constraints on his time, as most four-stars did. His days and more than a few of his nights were spent in meetings with his own staff, or with other admirals, or generals or whichever urgent problem presented itself. Jason knew he was quite fortunate to have someone like Powers on his side, as the CINC Southern Banner could run interference at HQ something fierce. Jason also knew he had a high bar to clear, as officers like Admiral Powers had little to no patience for nonsense or non-results.

  The current issue was Hunter’s second chair. After Skywatch Command insisted Commander Doverly be posted to Chief Medical Officer, Hunter was left with few choices. Leaving aside the fact the Gitairn schism had drained the fleet of experienced officers and more than a few serving hulls, the truth was re-assigning someone to Argent’s second chair would deprive another ship or another department of a senior leader. Hunter wasn’t as worried about hierarchy as he was about training, especially since his own ship had so many moving parts. He knew that was on the mind of other captains too, so he took the more administrative approach and tapped his network of friends and academy classmates to find someone to offset his personality with some old-fashioned book learning.

  Rumor was, they had found the man, and Powers had already signed off. He wasn’t a pilot, but he was an unusually good administrator. He was a details man, which was a highly prized talent in an executive officer. Hunter was on his way to meet the solution to his problems when he stepped into the magneto-lift with Yili Curtiss, who was characteristically distracted by an ATMAS handheld.

  “Yili.”

  She nodded as the captain keyed in the observation deck level to the lift controls.

  “Anything I can do for you?”

  She shook her head. Jason grinned.

  “How’s engineering coming along?”

  Yili shrugged.

  “Carry on, commander,” Hunter said as he stepped out of the lift and the automatic hatch whispered shut. The lift proceeded on to the engineering deck where the captain presumed far more interesting things were waiting for the Jack of Spades.

  “Cochrane O’Malley!” Jason roared as he entered the officer’s lounge. The startled commander rose and stood at a semblance of attention with a glass in his hand. Seated across from him at one of the nicely appointed tables was a Skywatch civilian administrator the captain didn’t recognize. “As you were,” Jason said as he shook the tall, lanky man’s hand. “My apologies for the hastily arranged conference. We’re on a tight schedule and I’m afraid we’re only half-prepped.”

  “Not to worry, captain. This is Marcus Roarke. He is one of our fleet efficiency experts. I’ve been relying on his background information to formulate our mission parameters.”

  “Honored,” Jason shook Roarke’s hand before taking a seat. “I trust you’ve acquired your command codes?”

  “Yes, captain,” O’Malley replied. “In fact, all the senior officers have cycled their permissions except Zony Tixia, who I am expecting at 1100. She had a last-minute meeting to attend with maintenance on Deck 17‘s lateral antenna array.”

  “Understood. Mr. Roarke, you personally recommended Cochrane as my new XO. I can only assume the Atlantis Cluster is the reason?”

  “You’re very perceptive, captain,” Marcus replied as he was handed his glass. The galley able crewman first class stepped around and set a drink down for Jason. “Commander O’Malley knows the region better than most. He is also the leading Skywatch authority on the particulars of your new battle group.”

  “We haven’t flown together yet,” Jason said, implying one of the obvious questions. “Our ground forces haven’t operated in concert yet either.” Hunter leaned back and took a sip of his drink. He simply waited, knowing full well this conversation was the reason O’Malley had been assigned in the first place.

  “The admiralty has been most impressed with the performance of the Delaware-class experimental destroyer squadron. I believe you had an opportunity to work alongside Commander W
alsh and Rhode Island?”

  “Mostly my sister, but I got all the high points.”

  “It didn’t take much to convince the Core Council’s armed services chairman subspace warfare is the future,” Roarke offered.

  “Yes, Mr. Roarke. Lighter, faster ships have always been attractive to bean counters. Heavy hulls are expensive. And now that we can make those lighter ships virtually invisible, it’s only going to turn the civilian affinity for them into an obsession.”

  “You don’t sound convinced, sir,” O’Malley said, resisting the urge to adjust his glasses.

  “Argent single-handedly almost wiped out the Agamemnon’s battle group,” Jason replied. “I’m sure you read my report on the engagement at Uniform Tango. Now I realize they were all automated, and I’m all for more a effective battlespace. My concern is our enemies may not cooperate with our notions of efficiency.”

  “You’re holding with the opposite side of the argument,” Roarke said. “That one big ship is superior to three smaller ships?”

  “I’m saying one big ship is a match for three smaller ships, especially if the big ship is heavy enough and well enough protected,” Jason replied. “The whole point of the Citadel hybrid design is to prevent what happened to the Agamemnon. The traditional approach to defeating a carrier is to close range. I welcome enemies who close range, because I have a main battery, and I can throw a punch. Agamemnon is a company of archers, as my sister likes to put it. She had to rely on her escorts, and that was a fatal mistake. "

  Roarke looked increasingly nervous. He wasn’t expecting to be dropped into an academy class on deep space strategy and tactics. Hunter continued.

  “I’ve been on both sides of this argument in classrooms and in the field. What worries me is how quickly three smaller ships can turn into two overmatched targets if the big ship gets off a solid well-aimed shot.”

  “Point taken, captain.” Roarke didn’t look convinced, but it was clear to both Skywatch officers he didn’t have a quick comeback this time. It was hard to match academic theories to real-world experience. It was also hard to overlook the fact Jason’s former command had done exactly what Roarke argued against. Argent achieved mission kills against three enemy vessels over Bayone in the ill-fated assault mission that had cost both Jason and his sister’s task forces so dearly.