Legacy of the Saiph Read online

  Commander Zeidler.

  He had no idea what her given name was, she had never introduced herself as anything other than her rank or surname and by the time he understood that he needed a lawyer, it was too late to ask.

  So, Commander Zeidler it remained.

  Zeidler sat motionless. Her dress whites were free of blemish, so much so that they looked as though they had been freshly issued that morning, while the creases of her blouse and pants looked sharp enough to cut through battle armor.

  The day after John’s return to the Sol System, he received notification that his actions in the Guzman System would be subject to a formal board of inquiry and he was required to report to naval headquarters in Carson City, forthwith.

  When his shuttle door cracked open, on the roof of the impressive skyscraper that was the home of the Terran Defense Force Navy, he was met with the sight of Commander Zeidler awaiting him. After the briefest of introductions, where she assessed him like a law enforcement interrogator rather than a defense lawyer, Zeidler escorted him to a pre-prepared briefing room and began her, for want of a better word, interrogation.

  With no remorse the she had analyzed, second by second, every move John had made, again and again. With the aid of a wall-sized holograph projector they ran through the battle around the colony in Guzman, stopped at every decision point and gamed out what could have happened had he chosen differently.

  As hours became days, John grew weary of every line of questioning.

  Each evening, physically and mentally drained, he would return to his quarters wishing the inquiry would end. He dreamed of jumping on transport and returning to Geneva to be reunited with his wife. In reality, a video call at the end of the day was the most he could manage.

  Seemingly sated, Zeidler moved onto more personal questions about John’s relationship with his wife.

  How is your home life?

  Had you argued before your departure for Guzman?

  Were you under any stress from home, that might have affected your judgment?

  His anger had grown with each question, until, he exploded from his seat and barely restrained himself from grabbing the unemotional commander by the throat. After a few moments he regained his poise, the blood pounding in his ears gave way to the realization that Zeidler was baiting him; to see how, or if, he would react. Played me like a world class pianist, he had thought, before giving the lawyer grudging respect. Zeidler had identified the chink in his armor, now she could defend it.

  And how he needed that armor.

  The intense preparation Zeidler put him through felt like nothing compared to the actual Board of Inquiry; a solid two weeks of grueling, sometimes pointed, questioning of his actions in Guzman.

  The navy had not treated him lightly.

  They brought tactical expert after tactical expert.

  Instructors from the Naval Advanced Tactical Course, retired admirals, civilian weapons’ experts, even graduates from his own peer group.

  After all, on paper, CSG Itus was vastly superior to the Black Ships that she faced. The cruisers attached to Itus should have been more than a match for the Black Ships, let alone the CSG’s battleships and, not forgetting, TDF Itus itself; the first human-built carrier and home to seventy-two deadly Mosquito space-fighters. The odds must surely have been stacked against the Black Ships.

  However, the Saiph cruisers had leveled the playing field with their Active Energy Shielding. That shielding forced John to close with the much smaller ships, to allow his Mosquitos and battleships to pound those energy shields flat, for while the shields were active the Black Ships fired back with impunity. The brave Mosquito crews had done exactly as ordered. They closed with the enemy, harassed them with missile and rapid-fire plasma cannon and they gave their destroyers the opportunity to race ahead of the lumbering capital ships, of CSG Itus, to add their firepower to the relentless battery.

  The Black Ships had raced to clear the spheres of overlapping interference generated by equipment aboard John’s cruisers, which prevented the Black Ships from activating their gravity drives and impeded their escape. In a fatal error the Black Ships abandoned their headlong flight to safety and turned to face the human destroyers. Perhaps their commander thought they could defeat them, make good their escape before the capital ships caught them, but they were wrong.

  The destroyer’s sacrifice was enough. The battleships closed to point-blank-range, firing missile after missile at the enemy, repeatedly battering their energy shields with mega-tonnes of nuclear blast. All the while, the fighters darted and danced in their hunt for the tiniest gap in the Black Ships’ defenses.

  When the enemy’s shields failed and the onslaught of human missiles reached the battle armor skin of the cruisers’ hulls, their fight was over.

  Two of the enemy cruisers ceased to exist, except as rapidly moving gaseous elements.

  A third, its drive impaired during its attempted escape, suffered an infliction of brutal damage from a pair of heavy cruisers; wrecking the Black Ships’ ability to continue their fight.

  And the fourth and final Black Ship? She was broken clean in half by the combined fire of six destroyers. The sight of the two tumbling chunks of ship trailing atmosphere, wracked by explosions as the thick brown atmosphere of a sole gas giant swallowed them up was etched into his mind.

  The cost of victory had been high. All six of the plucky destroyers had been lost, along with thirty-eight fighters, five cruisers and two battleships. 2,384 men and women.

  Nevertheless, he had weathered the Navy investigation with patience, answered their questions with forthrightness and remained calm in the face of their, sometimes, accusatory tones and today his fate would be decided.

  Twice more the bell rung, sounding like the death knell of John’s career. Not that his career was that precious to him, he was surprised to learn himself, after he understood the conflicted feelings that coursed through him on his return to Sol Systems Gateway Station.

  He absently wondered if the officers and political hacks, filling the three rows of seats behind him, fathomed the depth of his grief at the loss of life. Probably not. The only person who did was Patricia.

  Sitting right behind John, separated by a waist high wooden rail, Patricia Radford, nee Bath, absentmindedly worried her lower lip, before admonishing herself for displaying an outward sign of nervousness and forced her features into their default pose of complete self-control.

  Patricia had borne witness to the toll that Guzman had taken on the man she loved. Over the years in which the bloody conflict with the ‘Others’ had dragged on; John’s steadfast resolve was that he fought for something greater than himself and that resolve had been his rock. No matter how bloody the battle, how hard-fought the victory, the end result was always worth the cost.

  Except for Guzman.

  John had returned from that far-away-system a different man.

  Patricia knew that a spark was missing from his eyes, a once bright light, symbolic of his warmth and playfulness was extinguished and replaced by shadows. Patricia was sure he still saw the world around him, but it was with a more cynical eye than before.

  Beside Patricia, silent and unmoving as a rock in the middle of a storm, sat Admiral Ai Jing, Chairman of the Combined Joint Chiefs of Staff, Commonwealth Union of Planets.

  It was most unusual for an officer of his rank and position to be present, never mind blatantly supporting, an officer who was subject to a board of inquiry.

  Jing had ignored the whispered gossip in the corridors of power in Geneva and beyond. Each day the board sat in session Jing was found in this exact same seat, directly behind John. Never saying a word or expressing an opinion, for his presence alone spoke volumes and his presence acted as a signal to the rest of the fleet.

  On the second day of the inquiry two flag officers took seats in the public gallery. Analisa Chavez Commanding Admiral of the Home Fleet and Admiral Abdul-Rauf Assaf, Chief of Naval Operations.

  Ove
r the following days the public gallery became a veritable who’s who of Terran Defense Force flag officers.

  By the close of the first week the politicos were so concerned about the media coverage of the board of inquiry, that bright and early on Friday morning, a none too subtle message was received by Admiral Jing’s office. Signed by the Secretary of Defense a memo sought clarification on the current disposition of fleet and branch commanders. Scuttlebutt had it that when Jing returned to his office, during a brief hearing recess, he was overheard swearing in a number of languages, not all of which were human.

  Jing was not a man who took to political interference; however, the wily old admiral had learned to play the game of politics at the feet of the man Jing considered to be the father of the modern TDF, Olaf Helsett, the Viking powerhouse himself.

  On the Friday afternoon a signal was dispatched from Admiral Ai Jing, Chairman of the Combined Joint Chiefs of Staff; a thinly veiled snub to those politicians who were more afraid of the optics than in showing support for a man who, more than once, had laid his life on the line to protect them.

  P 151826Z MAR

  FM ADMIRAL AI JING CHAIRMAN OF THE COMBINED JOINT CHIEFS OF STAFF

  TO ZEN/ALNAVFLEETCOM

  INFO BUENAVCOL

  BUENAVWPS

  BUENAVDESG

  BUENAVRECE

  BUENAVSURV

  WD GRNC

  BT

  SECRET TDF EYES ONLY

  CCJSS CONSULTATIONS AT HEADQUATERS TDF, CARSON CITY, EARTH COMMENCING 180700Z MAR.

  ALL OFFICERS OF FLAG RANK TO ATTEND.

  LIST OF ATTENDEES AND DAYS TO FOLLOW.

  BT

  NNNN

  WHEN THE MONDAY MORNING arrived, true to his word, Admiral Jing hosted a breakfast in his private dining room on the top floor of the sprawling building of Naval Headquarters.

  The Six attending flag officers enjoyed the commanding views of the city and the peaks of the Rocky Mountains beyond, through the floor to ceiling windows and over their hearty breakfast and steaming coffee, Jing chaired a free-flowing discussion of varying views on the colonization program, weapons development and the shortage of personnel.

  At 0850 hours Jing called a halt to the proceedings, thanked those attending and released them to enjoy the remainder of the day, before heading to the elevator which took him down forty-nine floors to where John Radford’s board of inquiry was being held. Entering the room, he silently took his seat in the front row beside Patricia. No sooner had he made himself comfortable when six flag officers trooped in and ignored the hovering holo cams of the massed ranks of the media, arrayed in the press section, and the harsh glares of the handful of politicians who had, inaccurately, judged the savaging of a high ranking naval officer as an opportunity to forward their own lukewarm careers.

  And so, proceeded each day of John’s board. Until today.

  Senior officer of the board, Admiral Kengi Kone, plucked from her usual position as the senior instructor at the Joint Naval Academy on Garunda, cleared her throat and the sound focused the suddenly quiet packed rooms’ eyes upon her.

  Patricia had met Kone only once, at some fancy shindig before John had relinquished command of Third Fleet and Patricia hadn’t been able to put her finger on the ‘something’ behind Kone’s polite yet superficial murmurings. However, when Kone’s appointment to the board became public, whispered rumors of bad blood between John and Kone, finally, reached her ears.

  Kone had, apparently, been in line to succeed John as Third Fleet’s new commander once his rotation ended. But, following the brutal battering inflicted on Third Fleet at the Battle of Narath, the Joint Chiefs of Staff decided to rebuild Third Fleet from the ground up; with its constituent Battle Forces distributed amongst, what the Chiefs considered, higher priority units such as Admiral Chavez’s First Fleet. The final nail in the coffin for Kone’s aspirations for fleet command, came when the Garundans blindsided the entire Commonwealth by declaring their intention to offer Yolva, or succor, to the few remaining survivors of what had once been their most feared enemy; the Others. The ancient tradition of Yolva demanded that the Garundans care for and protect their defeated enemy as if they were family and Garunda had bent to the task with a will that had left the other worlds of the Commonwealth in awe.

  Yolva resulted in the few remaining ships that could have been assigned to Third Fleet being re-tasked to assist the Garundans and crushed Kone’s hopes of becoming its commander.

  Patricia’s attention came back to the here and now as she watched Admiral Kone lift her PAD and cast a hasty look around the room. Patricia suppressed the inklings of a shiver and steeled herself, unaware that she had reached out to touch Jing’s hand and he had responded by placing his hand reassuringly atop hers.

  If the flag officers, perched on the row of seats behind Jing, noticed this show of emotion from a man reputed to be as animated as a rock face, then they chose to ignore it.

  “After careful deliberation and having examined all the facts before the Board -” Kone hesitated, eyes leaving whatever was written on the small electronic device and locking with those of John. Was it anger he registered in those narrowed eyes? Disappointment maybe? John returned her gaze with unblinking, unflinching steadiness.

  If Kone’s intention was to stare him down, then she was onto a hiding to nothing.

  The interaction between the two officers did not escape Jing; he resolved, there and then, that a certain Admiral Kone, for as long as he had influence within the naval forces of the Commonwealth, would never receive a fleet command.

  “It is the view of the majority of the Board - a narrow majority - that the decisions of Admiral John Radford, Commanding Officer, Carrier Strike Group Itus, were not responsible for the significant losses inflicted on CSG Itus during the Guzman action. It is therefore the Board’s recommendation that no -” The word seemed to make Kone want to gag. “Disciplinary action be taken against Admiral Radford or any of his officers.”

  The ringing of the bell, signaling the dismissal of the board, was drowned out as reporters raced each other for the exit, already pulling out their mini cams or tapping away on their PADs as they rushed to be the first to get the news out.

  John was deaf to the raucous sounds around him. The weight on his shoulders evaporated, like the morning mist struck by the first warming rays of the new day’s sun. Commander Zeidler lifted the stack of PADs on the table and placed them into her attaché case before standing and momentarily brushing away a piece of imaginary lint from her, as normal, immaculate, pressed uniform.

  “I believe my work here is done, sir.” Placing her cap upon her head her hand came up so fast he thought she would knock the cap flying. Instead, the edge of her fingers stopped on the peak of her cap as she saluted him.

  Pushing himself to his feet John returned her salute.

  “With your permission, sir?” Asked Zeidler.

  For the first time in what seemed a lifetime a smile tugged at his lips. “Of course, Commander. And -” Zeidler was caught off guard as he stuck out a hand. Lowering her salute, the usually aloof and professional Zeidler took the proffered hand. “Thank you.” Said John.

  To his surprise Zeidler flashed the briefest of smiles. “My pleasure, sir.” And with that she turned in place to face Jing. Snapping a salute to the Chairman which he returned before releasing her on her way.

  “I don’t know where you found her, sir, but I’m damned grateful you did.” John said to Jing, only for the Chairman to let out one of his all too seldom short, barking laughs. John cocked his head to one side and his brow creased. Turning to Patricia he saw his confusion reflected in her face.

  “Commander Zeidler has not been a serving officer for over a decade, though, she still holds a Naval Reserve commission which she requested I activate to allow her to represent you.” The crease on John’s brow spread to cover his entire forehead which seemed only to fuel the amusement that Jing was obviously relishing.

  “I have no
doubt that the good commander’s decision to take unpaid leave from Geneva’s top law firm came as a bit of a surprise to them too.”

  Patricia let out a loud, theatrical gasp as she rounded on Jing. “If you do not explain yourself now, Ai, then there shall be no tea for you the next time you call!”

  Suitably admonished, by probably the only person on this side of the planet who would dare call Jing by his given name, Jing threw up his hands in mock defeat as he took a step back and allowed himself another brief laugh. “As the commander explained to me. She received a message from her husband,” Jing tipped his head toward John. “A man, I believe, you served with at the First Battle of Garunda? The message indicated that you may require legal representation, so, she hopped on a sub orbital and, the next I knew, she was standing in my office offering her services.”

  John prided himself on knowing the names of everyone serving under his command, though, as he had reached the dizzying heights of flag rank, remembering all of those names become a near impossible task. However, he did know the name of every ship’s captain and second in command, from the largest battleship to the lowliest cargo hauler. Racking his brain to remember any officer called Zeidler he found himself shaking his head slowly admitting defeat.

  “For the life of me I cannot place the name Zeidler.”

  “I don’t remember saying that the commander’s husband was called Zeidler.” Replied Jing mischievously.

  “Oh, put him out of his misery will you, Ai.” Scolded Patricia with a semi playful swipe at the diminutive chairman.

  “Okay, I’ll give you a hint.” Jing was enjoying watching him squirm but decided to bring his dilemma to a close. “Dagger.”

  John reached behind him; his hand found a table to steady himself against as his mind reeled at the sound of that single word. Patricia instantly threw him a concerned look as she leaned over the low wooden rail separating them with a reassuring hand.

  “What is it, John? I don’t understand.”