Admiral – Part II

This is not the first time that Kohler had been staring down the barrel of a gun.

By his count, it’s technically the third, though he often fails to count the first, since the one holding the gun had never really meant to kill him. Today was another story.

“Don’t try it, Peter.” Commander Hughes says, adjusting the grip on his handgun. His voice quivers, though he tries to mask it with zealous determination.

The bridge of the Ascendant Dawn is a disaster – panels are blown open, sparks shower from cables in the ceiling, and the bodies of several crewmen are blown open on the floor.

“Let’s just talk, Ed,” Kohler says. He tries to hide his own fear. “Let’s put the gun down and we can talk about this.”

“No!” snaps Hughes. “No, don’t you get it? Don’t you see what the USSC has become?”

Kohler sighs. This rhetoric again. “What do you think Captain Grayson-“

“Admiral Grayson!”

“Fine. Admiral Grayson. What do you think Admiral Grayson is going to do?”

“He’s going to right some wrongs, that’s what. We’re all just puppets, don’t you get that?” Beads of sweat are cascading down the side of Hughes’s face, leaving red streaks as they collide with smudges of blood. “We act like the Anti-Cols are the enemy, but the real enemies are us.”

“And so… what?” Kohler says, trying to buy himself some time. He tries to maintain eye contact, but he looks for any possible means of escape. “You’re going to hijack the Dawn? You know there are tracking systems on these ships.”

Hughes gives a cocky smile. “Chief Warren is taking care of that right now. Do you think I’m stupid?”

Kohler shakes his head and looks down toward the ground. There’s a gun only about two meters away in the cold hand of Lieutenant Vega. That will do. “So you’re just going to kill me?”

“Nope.” Hughes says, the smile still settled on his face. “You’re far more valuable as a hostage.”

“But what if we—”

“Enough!” Hughes growls and shifts his grip again. “We’re done talking.”

The disgruntled Commander shifts his attention briefly toward the ceiling. “SAI! Spin up the gravitational drives and be prepared for departure as soon as Admiral Grayson arrives.”

“NEGATIVE, COMMANDER.”

“Dammit, SAI! That’s an order!” Kohler’s smug look collapses into fury.

“YOU DO NOT HAVE CLEARANCE TO COMMAND, AND THERE IS NO ADMIRAL GRAYSON IN THE SYSTEM.”

Hughes leans into the communicator attached to his flight suit. “Warren, this is Hughes. Ignore the tracker for now. I need an override on the-”

The perfect moment. Kohler lunges to the right.

BLAM! A shot rings out.

He lands near the remains of Vega, and grabs the handgun.

BLAM!

A red hole suddenly appears in the center of Hughes’s forehead. His eyes go wide. His hands go limp and the gun falls to the floor. The rest of him does the same.

Kohler breathes a sigh of momentary relief and tries to get up. His left shoulder strongly protests. Hughes’s first shot has hit its mark. He can feel the shifting of bone, torn muscle, and searing pain as he tries to move it. Not good.

Nevertheless, he pushes himself off the floor with his right hand and stands amidst the chaos. Grabbing hold of his arm, he leans against the closest control station.

“SAI,” he manages, wincing from the pain once more. “Contact Captain Zhao.”

“AFFIRMATIVE.”

“Broadcast overhead.” Another cascade of sparks descends from a nearby panel. He glances at the status monitor, but the screen is shattered.

“This is Bright Pinnacle. Hughes, I swear I’ll-”

“It’s me, Zhao.” Kohler interjects. “Hughes is dead… and so’s the rest of the bridge.”

“Thank God.” Zhao’s voice crackles through the bridge. “Now what do we do?”

“Grayson’s on his way here. And that’s not going to end well.” Kohler glances at the body of Commander Hughes and a wave of anger and sorrow washes over him. “The station is vulnerable.”

“Where’s the rest of the fleet?”

“Three, maybe four hours out,” Kohler concedes. “And I don’t think we have that much time.” He begins to punch in commands to a nearby terminal. “I’m sending you coordinates. Call Knapp and the Ardent Fire. Head to this location, and don’t engage until I tell you.”

“What are you going to do?”

Kohler winces at his shoulder. He’s glad that Zhao can’t see him. “I’m going to improvise. Grayson doesn’t know that Hughes is dead.”

“But you don’t have a crew.”

“You’re right. But I’ve got SAI and the element of surprise.”

He can tell Zhao isn’t happy. He was never one for improvisation. “Good luck, Kohler.”

“Same to you. SAI, end transmission.” He moves toward the helm station.

“AFFIRMATIVE, CAPTAIN. SHALL I BOOT THE AUTOMATIC PROTOCOLS FOR THE RAILGUNS?”

“Yes. Missiles, too.” The screen brightens as Kohler resurrects the engines. “We’re going to need all the firepower we’ve got.”

“CHIEF WARREN IS STILL TAMPERING WITH SYSTEMS, AND THERE ARE AT LEAST TWENTY-TWO HOSTILES STILL ON BOARD.”

“We’ll deal with that. Just keep the doors locked and get those guns online.”

“Admiral?” It’s a new voice.

“Admiral… sir?” The voice seems distant. Strange.

Kohler wakes suddenly. He’s nestled into a transport seat, and a young private is gently nudging him awake.

“Sorry to wake you, sir. But we’ve arrived at Luna Station.”

He blinks his eyes and runs a hand over his goatee.

“Thank you. Err… Thanks.” He tries to shake off the dream – or memory – and take note of his surroundings. Standing, he adjusts his uniform and exits the transport. The ship has landed inside a massive hangar bay – one he’s visited many times before. He thanks the crew and proceeds down a long, white corridor. Enlistees and lesser officers stop and salute him as he walks past, and Kohler responds with nods and half-hearted salutes in response. As he passes by a sprawling mess hall, he craves a cup of coffee but he knows he’s already late.

“Here we go,” he says to himself as he finally enters a tall atrium lined with office doors. He approaches the receptionist and informs her of his destination. Before he can be seated, a portly man with a face ringed in a silver beard steps out of his office.

The man smiles and nods in his direction. “Welcome, Admiral.”

Kohler returns the gesture. “Admiral Reed.”

Reed waves him in. “Sit down, sit down. Glad you’re here.” Kohler obediently sits in a soft gray chair while Reed assumes his own post behind his desk.

David Reed clears his throat and slides a paper-thin data screen in Kohler’s direction. Behind him, a massive window displays the darkness of space and the skyline of the Luna Station. Two Osprey-Class Gunships whiz by, racing toward a Dauntless cruiser hovering in the distance. The windows give the office the illusion of spaciousness, despite the reality of its small size. The spartan décor of the room betray Reed’s character: No frills. No nonsense.

“This is the entire ship roster?” Kohler says, taking the screen into his hand. He scrolls down the list as his eyes dance across the text. He is relieved that Reed seems to have dispensed with what he assumed was inevitable small-talk about Deborah. That’s not the purpose of the meeting, after all.

Reed nods, then stops. “Well, sort of.” He presses the screen embedded in his desk and the outlines of two vessels appear. “One of the industrial platforms was damaged – likely ACA-sabotaged. And the Eva’s Memory is being pulled out for concerns about its reactor. Colonists are going to be redistributed to the other transports.”

“So… 70 ships, then.” Kohler sighs, setting the screen down. He tugs a bit as his uniform and brushes at a smudge on the black fabric. “And you want me to be your delivery boy.”

“You’re the only person left with the approval of both the DCA and the USSC.” Reed admits.

“So I’m, what, your fifth choice? Sixth?” Kohler chuckles, but Reed isn’t amused.

“You would have been first, Peter.” His bearded face is stern. “But with everything happening with your wife, they were trying to be respectful.”

Kohler nods and tries to dodge any more on the topic. “I know. I had a visit from Mitch Connor.”

Reed rolls his eyes at the name. “Sending their best, I see.”

The comment is ignored, and Kohler leans forward. “Here’s my biggest hesitation: For us, this operation is a joke. Three destroyers and a half-dozen gunships – which don’t even have grav drives, I’ll point out – are being tugged along purely for the amusement of a handful of politicians.”

Reed sighs and nods his agreement. “You’re preaching to the choir, Peter. I’m the one that was almost thrown out of the committee hearing for yelling at Senator Gibson.”

“Oh I remember,” Kohler recalls. “But if there’s a legitimate military concern, here, then we need a legitimate military presence.”

“And there’s neither.” Reed says, shrugging. “Every scan argues that 354 is completely empty. No life signs of any kind – from Earth or otherwise. The suits know this. It’s why they’re sending Outbound through with what they’ve got. The Roosevelts are retiring as museums for kids half a galaxy away and the publicity that Windfall will get from the new Ospreys will keep their shipyards busy until the next war can be invented.”

Kohler notices a coffee machine in the corner. Thank God. He stands from his chair and begins to busy himself with it. “It just looks bad, is all.” Steam begins to rise from a mug as it fills. “It shows how powerless the USSC is in this entire scheme.” He sips at the top to keep it from spilling. “And how Windfall can still do anything that it wants. They’re the heroes in all of this. They’re building the civilian ships. They’re sending us with their gunships. They’re the ones resurrecting the Dawn.”

“You sound like you have an alternative.”

“I do,” Kohler says, collapsing back into the chair, but grimacing. “Oh, for God’s sake, man. You drink this stuff regularly?”

“You’ve already been retired too long. That’s USSC coffee, my friend.” A thin smile cracks across Reed’s lips.

“Windfall’s scheme is missing a vital component.” Kohler begins.

“A leader.”

“An admiral. A USSC Admiral,” nods Kohler. “They need the USSC and its blessing for a sense of legitimacy. We hold an important card here. So let’s get what we want.”

Reed seems perplexed. “And what is it that we want?”

“We want more ships. We want a true military presence. We want to show humanity that it’s not Windfall leading us into the future, it’s good American muscle.” He grins, seeing he has Reed’s attention.

“I like it in concept.” Reed says. “Anything to reign in those Windfall bastards. But we can’t just give up ships like that.”

“That’s the thing.” Kohler leans forward over Reed’s desk. The display instantly inverts to face him. He presses a few buttons of his own, and two new ship outlines appear.

“The Bright Pinnacle and the Ardent Fire. Both Lincoln-Class Cruisers. They’re damn fine ships, and they’re both being decommissioned at the end of the year.”

Reed raises an eyebrow. “Huh.”

“Windfall will balk that they don’t have time for upgrades, of course. But last I heard, the suits are pretty worried about the stability of this whole adventure.” He crosses his arm and leans back in the chair. “They can’t afford to be turned down by another admiral.”

Reed nods, quiet in thought. “What made you change your mind?”

Kohler is quiet for a moment, and his thoughts drift to the datacard nestled into his jacket pocket. “I heard what I needed to hear.” He jabs a finger toward the desk. “But I want more goddamn ships.”

Reed begins punching numbers into the desk’s comms unit. “Let’s make some calls, shall we?”