Pax Imperia (The Redemption Trilogy) (7 page)

Sterling glanced at the datapad with stunned disbelief. He would need to oversee rescue operations on the planet, but there was nothing he could do for them now, more urgently he had to deal with the
Indomitable
. “What is the status of the
Indomitable
now?”

“She has been refusing all hails since opening fire on the planet, Admiral. Her weapon systems are still powered up, but so far she has not opened fire again.”

Sterling sank into his own seat, in disbelief. “Who is in command of the
Indomitable
?” he asked in barely a whisper, already knowing the answer to the question.

“Captain James Harrison,” came back the prompt response.

Sterling just lowered his face into his hands in despair. He had known Captain Harrison for over a decade and had sponsored his promotion to Captain, pinning the rank insignia on him personally. In Sterling’s opinion there was no better officer in the fleet. The day that he finally stepped aside, he had hoped Harrison would step into his position. “Arm all our weapon systems and target the
Indomitable
. Prepare to fire on my command,” Sterling ordered Morden.

Captain Morden took a step back in surprise, the shock clearly visible on his face. “Admiral?” he queried uncertainly. “You want us to fire on one of our own ships?”

“Do it now!” Sterling thundered, his voice echoing across the bridge, all conversation stopped, all eyes turning to face him. None of the bridge crew could ever remember seeing the Admiral so rattled. “Do it now,” Sterling repeated in a quieter, but firm tone. “Before they have the chance to fire again.”

With a nod from the Tactical Officer, Captain Morden turned back to Admiral Sterling confirming, “Weapons powered up and locked on to the
Indomitable
. Awaiting your orders, Admiral?”

Sterling hesitated, feeling a bead of sweat forming on his forehead, wiping it away with the sleeve of his uniform. He knew that every eye on the bridge was fixed on him, waiting for his decision. Worse, Sterling could recognise the hopelessness of the situation. For Captain Harrison was his direct subordinate and, more than that, a close friend. If he hesitated in ordering the destruction of the
Indomitable
his crew would view it a sign of weakness, but ordering his ship to open fire was an even worse option. The fleet
had
to know what events had taken place on board the ship to precipitate such a horrific attack. If he ordered the destruction of the
Indomitable
, then he would also be destroying any possible evidence, evidence that could even implicate him.

“Operations,” he demanded, turning to stare at the officer. “Can you tell in advance if the
Indomitable
is about to fire again?”

“Maybe Admiral,” the Operations Officer replied cautiously. “The railguns consume a lot of power, we should be able to recognise an energy spike in their reactor, prior to them actually opening fire again.”

“Yes, or no?”

“Yes, Admiral,” the Operations Officer replied.

“Very well, continue to monitor the
Indomitable
. If it appears that she is about to fire again, then I am ordering you to fire on her.”

“Understood, Admiral.”

“Communications,” Sterling turned to the other officer. “Any response from the
Indomitable
to our hails?”

“No Admiral,” came the prompt response.

Sterling tapped his fingers nervously on the armrest of his chair, deep in thought. It was obvious that he could not continue in his current capacity. Any investigation needed to start immediately in order to find out what had happened. Unfortunately, he was too intimately involved in the chain of command, he had to step aside, to isolate himself from the investigation. However, who could run the investigation in his absence.
Who was even left alive down there?
Sterling thought morosely.

“Get me Commander Radec,” Sterling ordered his Communications Officer.

*****

A blinding pain at the back of his head was the first thing Gunny felt as he slowly regained consciousness. Reaching back he delicately touched the large lump that was forming. He winced and, upon withdrawing his hand, Gunny was relieved to see in the dim, emergency lighting of the shuttle that there was no blood.

The last thing he could remember was the Commander’s desperate warning from the cockpit then, after that, everything had gone black. Glancing around at his surroundings, he assumed they had landed, but seeing as the small shuttle seemed to be resting at an angle, Gunny assumed that
crashed
was probably a more accurate description. A groan of pain from the other side of the shuttle had Gunny quickly releasing his restraining harness and checking on the other occupants.

Fortunately they had all survived the impact, with the most serious injuries seeming to be a couple of broken bones. After breaking out the emergency first aid kit and confirming the health of those in the back of the shuttle, Gunny made his way forward, on unsteady feet, towards the cockpit. He had grown concerned, when after several minutes, the Commander had still not appeared.

With the shuttle only running on emergency power, it took him several minutes to prise the doors open, only to find the cockpit—empty. The cockpit was tiny, barely able to fit a pilot and co-pilot in close proximity. Even then Gunny took a long while to confirm that indeed there was no unconscious body trapped under the pilot seat. Gunny’s search uncovered no bodies, but he did find the cockpit emergency escape hatch was open. Sticking his head out of the narrow exit, Gunny could barely see more than a couple of feet. A vicious dust storm seemed to be blowing outside and visibility was practically non-existent. Certainly Gunny could not see any sign of the Commander.

In the cramped cockpit of the shuttle, Gunny had to bend his massive bulk so he could squeeze into the pilot seat, wondering what the hell was going on. Where had this storm suddenly come from? Where had the Commander disappeared to? Gunny could not believe, no matter how desperate the Commander was to attend his wedding, he would ever abandon the ship. Not without first checking on the passengers at least. Gunny was a practical man, firmly believing you should tackle one problem at a time. The Commander could wait; in the meantime he had injured marines that required medical attention. Hence he activated the shuttle’s communication system, glad to see it had survived the impact, and started to broadcast a distress call.

Unbeknownst to the Marine Sergeant, this was quickly lost amidst the cacophony of myriad other cries for help.

*****

“Admiral,” a familiar voice called out to him, from behind. “What is going on?”

Sterling turned around, and was relieved to see a harried Paul Harrington stepping through the doors onto his bridge. Tall, with his blond hair and bright cerulean-blue eyes, he looked like he belonged on the front cover of some modelling magazine. However, the Admiral had known the man for over a decade, back when Paul had been a Fleet Captain leading a Special Forces task group in the Imperial Navy. More importantly, he was one of the Commander’s closest friends.

“Where is the Commander?” Sterling demanded impatiently, ignoring the question. Right now Sterling needed the Commander to take command of the
Indomitable
and find out what the hell was going on over there.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Paul replied in a worried tone. “I received a call from Sofia over an hour ago, telling me the Commander and Gunny had gone missing. I pulled their flight itinerary and found their destination to be a small piazza several kilometres south of the Senate, but by the time that I arrived they had already gone. It looked like a hell of a firefight had just taken place. It was a mess, with spent shell casings and bullet holes everywhere. The place looked like a morgue, as it was littered with corpses. I was just about to return to the Senate when I received the alert that the Senate was under attack and thought it best to divert here first. What the hell is going on, Frank?” Paul demanded.

Staring intently at Paul for a moment, his eyes flickered back to the
Indomitable
hanging motionless in space. He made a snap decision. They could no longer wait for the Commander, in his absence Paul would have to suffice.

“Paul, I’m reinstating you into the navy, as of now,” Sterling stated in a bleak tone of voice, which brooked no dissent. “Congratulations Captain Harrington. Your first order of business is to lead an armed boarding party onto the
Indomitable
. You are authorised to use whatever force you deem necessary to regain full control of that ship. Restrict the crew to quarters and arrest all the senior officers, pending a full investigation.”

Paul could only gape at him in astonishment, unable to believe what he was hearing.

“I’ll brief you on the way to the flight deck,” Sterling reassured him, recognising the stunned expression, before turning back to his Tactical Officer. “Tell Major Thompson that I want a company of marines, fully armed for boarding operations, on the flight deck and I want them there five minutes ago,” he snapped.

The Tactical Officer nodded his head in acknowledgement, hurrying to pass on the orders to the Commanding Officer of the marines stationed on board the warship.

“Paul, let’s go, time is of the essence,” Sterling insisted, motioning to Paul to follow him. “We need to get a grip on things before events
really
spiral out of control and then we will be totally screwed.”

“Frank, what the
hell
is going on?” Paul repeated in bewilderment as the two men stepped off the bridge in the direction of the flight deck.

*****

Jon could not see his hand in front of his face. The swirling maelstrom that was the dust storm blinded everything and everyone.

He knew for a fact it must be close to noon, as the sun was reaching its zenith in the sky. But on the ground the dust storm blocked out almost all of the sun’s rays, making it appear to be closer to dusk. He was unable to see, nor could he hear anything above the howling of the wind. It was almost as if the planet itself had been mortally wounded and was now crying out in fear and pain.

He ignored everything except putting one foot in front of the other, again and again. Even those simple actions used almost all of his concentration and balance. The ground was uneven, strewn with debris, an indication of the fury of the damage that lay ahead. The destruction must be enormous, as the resultant rubble had been thrown this far from the point of impact, still some kilometres distant.

Jon’s thoughts momentarily turned back to the occupants of the shuttle he had abandoned, several hundred meters behind him. Regrettably, he could not spare the time to check upon them, although they rested heavily on his conscience. Instead the same constantly repeating thoughts were driving him forward—family. Sofia and Marcus must be out there somewhere. He had promised his protection to both of them and sworn an oath to return to Sofia. A small part of his conscience recognised the folly of these actions and accepted neither of them would have or could have survived the devastating bombardment. But the rest of him pushed that thought aside. He would never give up, never accept defeat, as he pushed ever onwards into the heart of the storm.

Suddenly the way ahead was blocked by a pile of rubble, what was left of a wall, a house or an apartment block. Jon could no longer tell and it mattered not. Falling to his hands and knees, he slowly began to crawl, up and up, over the obstruction. When he finally reached the very top, he tried to look ahead, but it was impossible. The dust storm was impenetrable. He had to use one hand to shield his eyes, otherwise he would be blinded by the grit and small stones carried on the wailing storm. A sudden gust of wind caused him to lose his balance, and he rolled back down the hill of manmade debris, faster and faster until, with a jarring impact, he crashed onto the ground at the bottom. The side of his face was a wall of pain from scraping along the ground. Glancing at his hands, he observed they were now covered in dust, the scratches only visible beneath the grime by the bright red blood flowing from them.

Unsteadily he got to his feet, staggering forward, one hand tightly wrapped around his sword, which he had grabbed prior to departing the shuttle. Everything was covered by a thick layer of dust. The entire scene was like some sort of nightmarish winter wonderland, everything covered in white, while a heavy storm whirled around him. However, this was not snow and the scene was not one of beauty, but of horror. Death surrounded him, stalked him with every step that he took forward.

Now he could see the occasional body lying motionless on the ground and covered by a heavy layer of powder. But Jon did not stop, did not spare them even a glance. His gaze was fixed firmly forward, to the distant horizon where occasionally, when the storm slackened for a moment, he could see the distant, broken outline of the Senate building.

Taking another step forward, he tripped and landed face-first on the ground. Pain washed over him, as if he had suddenly jumped into a lake of freezing cold water. He had to take a moment to blink away the sudden darkness encroaching on his vision. Jon realised he could hardly breathe as the dust was all encompassing, choking his eyes, nose and mouth. Suddenly something drew his attention, a noise above the roar of the wind. A flapping sound, as if a great condor was about to take flight. The noise was very close, so Jon crawled on hands and knees in the direction it was coming from.

When he eventually reached the sound, he discovered it was just some dark cloth flapping in the wind. The cloth had become wrapped around some bent and broken metal girders, which had stopped it blowing away in the wind. Disappointed by the find, but realising it was better than nothing and something he could use to protect his mouth from the dust, Jon stretched out a trembling hand and caught hold of the edge of the fabric, pulling it closer to him.

As he pulled, he realised that the dark cloth was much larger than he had initially thought, as most of it had become wrapped around the obstruction, giving a false impression of its size. As it finally came away and he held it up in his hands, he realised it was a large cloak, made from the deepest darkest, black. Even in the dim twilight, the cloak seemed to absorb all the light around it, a pool of darkness lying in his hands. Struggling on his hands and knees, he unfolded the cloak, wrapping it around him. He was delighted to find that the cloak had a deep hood and he quickly pulled this up, covering his head. The cloak blocked out the noise of the screaming wind and Jon found that by angling his head it also shielded his face from the vicious dust and rock particles. He was amazed to find that the cloak was exactly the right size, as if it had been personally fitted for him by the finest tailors in all the Confederation.