Solfleet: The Call of Duty (38 page)

“I’d love
to, sir, believe me.” She glanced back into the bedroom to make sure Karen was
still out of earshot, then lowered her voice. “But like you just said, we can’t
risk any delays. Assuming he lives through this, we’re going to want to get him
back here and into the academy as soon as possible. I think I should still go.”

“
I agree
completely, Commander,
” Hansen said, relief clearly evident in his voice. “
But
since you volunteered for this, I felt obligated to give you the option.
”

“I
appreciate that, sir, but I really think it’s best that I go.”

“
Thank
you for not disappointing me, Commander. Have a safe trip, and good luck.
Hansen out.
”

Liz closed
the channel and set the headset down, then went back into the bedroom to get
dressed. She went to the bureau and pulled on clean underclothes, then chose a
new pair of jeans and a pullover top from the closet and put them on.

Karen came
out of the bathroom wrapped in a thick white towel—one that actually reached
around her and covered everything—and followed Liz back into the living room.
She waited while Liz pulled on her soft, well worn deck shoes, then stepped
into her welcoming arms.

Liz kissed
her tenderly and said, “I love you,” then grabbed up the suitcases she’d packed
yesterday afternoon and left for the aerospace terminal.

“I love you,
too,” Karen quietly responded as the door slid closed in front of her.

The Next Morning

Earth Standard Date: Sunday, 29
August 2190

Except for
last night, and whenever necessary in order to complete those mundane tasks
they’d long ago coined as the ‘official business’ of being a married couple—cleaning
the house, buying the groceries, preparing the meals, paying the bills, and
whatever else happened to come up—Dylan and Carolyn had hardly spoken to each
other for most of the day yesterday, which had left Dylan feeling more than
just a little bitter. Sadly, he was growing used to feeling that way toward
her. God only knew where her heart truly lay amidst all the trouble between
them, but Dylan had long since resigned himself to the fact that he was
probably going to be miserable for most of the rest of his life unless he
divorced her or got himself assigned to a starcruiser again to escape his
domestic life for a while.

But last
night something very unusual had happened—something so rare that he couldn’t
even remember the last time it had happened. They’d enjoyed a nice dinner
together and had actually engaged in a few hours of intelligent conversation
afterwards without getting into an argument. They’d even gone to bed together
and made love before they went to sleep, which was something else they hadn’t
done in quite a long while.

He fastened
his boots, then stood up, tucked in his black tee shirt and fastened his green
battle fatigue trousers, then picked his mug up off the nightstand and stepped
over to one of the bedroom windows to stare out at her while he sipped his
coffee. She was just standing there, leaning against the deck railing with the breeze
blowing gently through her auburn hair and the early morning sun shining
through her thin white nightgown, silhouetting her athletic body. She was a
vision of beauty—a vision that served to remind him of what it was that had
attracted him to her in the first place.

The
bitterness in his heart began to languish. He was funny that way. No matter how
much headache and aggravation she caused him, he always seemed to be able to easily
let go of his anger, if given a little time. He liked to think that he had
mastered a uniquely high level of self-control, but he knew that it was more
likely just a subconscious response to the undeniable likelihood that her
moodiness wasn’t always completely her fault.

He finished
his coffee and set his mug down on the bureau, then stepped out onto the deck
and approached her from behind. He wrapped his arms around her slender waist
and gently pressed against her as he kissed the nape of her neck. “Good morning,”
he said as warmly and pleasantly as he could. To his surprise she responded in
kind, resting her hands on his and welcoming his loving touch. But when he
kissed her again, she grasped his wrists and gently freed herself, then ruined
the moment completely by opening her mouth.

“Don’t get
carried away,” she said as she stepped away from him. “Just because we had a
nice dinner and I let you fuck me last night, doesn’t mean I’m not still upset.”

Dylan let
out a long, silent breath, but held his tongue. How discouraging was that? He’d
thought, somewhat naively perhaps, that he and Carolyn had gone a long way last
night toward finally starting to heal their ailing relationship, and he’d
prepared himself to break things off with Marissa immediately, difficult though
it would be to hurt her like that. And he’d decided that no matter what, he was
not going to say good-bye with another argument this morning.

“Besides,”
she continued, staring down at the garden. “You don’t have time for that. You
have to go.”

“I still
have a few minutes,” he said, glancing at his watch.

“You don’t
want to be late.”

“I’m not
going to be late!” he told her, much more harshly than he’d intended. Perhaps
the bitterness that had been festering in his heart for so long hadn’t
completely languished after all. His self-imposed patience was obviously
wearing thin, and he could only shake his head in disgust at himself for having
been naive enough—no ‘perhaps’ about it—to think that last night’s truce might
actually carry over into this morning.

“Don’t you
yell at me!” she snapped back, glaring at him. “I’m not one of your little tin
soldiers you can scold whenever you want to!” Then she turned her back on him
and said, as if to dismiss him from her world completely, “See you when you get
back.” She actually sounded disappointed at the prospect.

Dylan
thought about trying to kiss her good-bye, but only for a moment. Why he’d even
bothered to consider it, he couldn’t guess. Instead, he just shook his head in
disgust again, waved her off, and went back inside without another word. How
the two of them could share a nice dinner and conversation and even make love
afterwards, then turn right around and not be able to talk to each other the
next morning without tempers flaring was beyond him.

He huffed at
his own stupidity. At least he’d
thought
at the time that they were
making love. She obviously had her own way of looking at it.

He grabbed
his shirt and his beret off the back of his chair and headed out.

Minutes
later, as he tore down the road in his sleek red sports car on his way to the
base, he glanced at the bright gold band on his left ring finger and made a
mental note to take it off and secure it in his locker when he arrived at the
barracks.

He sighed.
Despite their problems, he’d never taken his wedding ring off before. Come to
think of it, he’d never even thought about taking it off—at least not
seriously. Not even in combat, when he probably should have. Did the fact that
he’d decided to do so now necessarily mean anything significant? Had he also
decided, perhaps, without even realizing it until this very moment, that
Carolyn just wasn’t worth the effort anymore? Was his rocky marriage finally coming
to an end after almost eight years?

“All right,
listen up, people,” the lieutenant called out, grabbing the brand new perfectly
shaped black beret off of his clean-shaven head as he marched into the briefing
room, already dressed in his black battle fatigues. A recent academy graduate,
he’d only joined the unit three weeks ago, but he wasn’t soft and unseasoned
like most other rookie second lieutenants—the kind who often hoped to start
their careers sitting in an office at some rear echelon jumpstation somewhere,
assigned to one of the more technical specialties. Not at all. This man was
hard-core and tough, a real Marine through and through, and he had the strength
of mind and body to back up the attitude. He’d gone through the same Sea-Air-Land-Space
combat training as the rest of the Rangers, and then some. Dylan had no sooner
met the man than he’d learned to admire and respect him, despite the fact that
he hadn’t proven himself in actual combat yet.

“You may
continue to attack that lame excuse for coffee and those incredibly fattening
donuts,” he added as he marched to the front of the room, “but I want your
otherwise undivided attention on me.” He looked around to make sure he had it,
then began his briefing.

“Okay. Here’s
the reason you’ve all been so graciously invited back so soon. The Crown Prince
of the Eastern Republics and his Royal Consort have been missing for three
days. They are now known to have been abducted by members of the Caldanran
Unity Front. The C-U-F has openly claimed responsibility and has threatened to
execute the royal couple unless the Cirran government meets a whole laundry
list of political and economic demands. Number one on that list is their
insistence that the Coalition pull all Solfleet forces off planet and out of
this system for good. Needless to say, that is not going to happen.”

“Hell, no,”
someone commented. “We haven’t been here long enough for the Veshtonn stink to
clear out yet.”

“That’s not
coming from here,” someone else added. “It’s floating through space from the
next system over.”

“Odors can’t
float through space, dipshit.”

“All right,
stow the nonsense!” the lieutenant barked.

“Why don’t
we just leave this system like they want us to?” someone asked.

The
lieutenant looked over the small sea of disbelieving expressions, then asked with
obvious disdain, “Who the hell said that?”

“I did, sir,”
one of the replacements responded, raising his hand. Disappointed struck Dylan
straight through the heart when he saw that it was one of his new fire team
leaders—a brand new buck sergeant.

“On your
feet, Ranger,” the lieutenant ordered. The young sergeant practically leapt out
of his chair and stood at attention. “What’s your name?”

“Sergeant
Allen Matrewski, sir.”

“Matrewski.
You’re one of Squad Sergeant Graves’ new men, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Sergeant
Graves.”

Dylan stood
up and came to attention as well. “Sir,” he answered, clearly not pleased.

“At ease,
Sergeant.” Dylan relaxed. “Has this man been given his newcomer’s orientation
briefing yet?”

“No, sir,”
Dylan answered, glaring at Matrewski, “he just arrived on planet last night.”

“Thank you,
Sergeant. Sergeant Matrewski, if I were you I’d ask my squad sergeant why we
don’t leave this system. But save it for after this briefing. Do not interrupt
me again.”

“Yes, sir,”
Matrewski answered.

“Take your
seats.”

The
lieutenant glanced up at the ceiling for a couple of seconds as the sergeants
sat down, then continued. “Our current big brother up there,” he said,
referring to the Solfleet starcruiser watching over the planet from orbit, “has
detected an artificial energy source on a large, remote island that was
completely uninhabited just two months ago. The power levels are such that
Intel has determined they’re leaking through a rather inefficient cammo-screen.
High intensity scans through that screen have provided us with a layout of
everything it’s hiding. From all appearances, what it’s hiding is a small,
hastily but fairly well built C-U-F compound, manned by at least seventy-two
enemy soldiers—if you can actually call that gang of self-interested, murderous
terrorists ‘soldiers’. We believe that’s where the royal couple is currently
being held. Our mission is to go in quietly and get them out, gather all the
intelligence we can, and take the terrorist commander and as many of his troops
as possible into custody.

“As always,
the Sulaini government has officially condemned this latest act of C-U-F
aggression. However, not surprisingly, the Cirran Council of Nations still
believes that C-U-F actions are secretly and routinely sanctioned by the
Sulaini government, and a quick end to their patient temperance seems to be
fast approaching.” He paused, then sidestepped to his left and faced the spot
he’d just been standing in.

“What do you
mean by ‘a quick end to their patient temperance’, L-T?” he asked the empty
air.

He sidestepped
back to his original position, faced back to the spot he’d just abandoned, and
answered, “I’m glad you asked, Lieutenant. The Cirran government has refused to
rule out the possibility of total nuclear retaliation against Sulain.”

Dispensing
with his ad-hoc comedy routine as murmurs of both disbelief and disapproval
resonated through the room—along with a few snickers that no doubt pleased
him—he addressed the troops directly again. “Therefore, this is not just
another simple rescue mission, and it’s much more than a simple favor to the
Cirran government. If we fail to recover the hostages unharmed, this one
incident will likely plunge these two worlds back into full-scale civil war, Coalition
or no Coalition.”

One of the
troops asked, “How do we know the Crown Prince and his little whore are there,
sir? For that matter, how do we know they’re still on the planet at all?”

The
lieutenant looked at the young man with fire in his eyes. “His little whore? Ranger,
you’re stationed here as a guest of the royal government of the Unified Cirran
Republics. You will not...I repeat, will
not
speak of its leadership in
such a disrespectful manner. Your words reflect on the whole platoon. Therefore
they reflect directly on me, not to mention the rest of the Ranger Regiment, my
beloved Marine Corps, and the entirety of Solfleet itself. Do I make myself
clear?”