Roark (Women Of Earth Book 1) (12 page)

Chapter 14

The day had gone from good to bad to worse in a matter of hours. The predawn attack had begun favorably, as Roark knew it would. The Hahnshin did not respond well to surprise. They were slow to adjust to a change in tactics and that was the key to beating them. His plan was simple; hit them and withdraw, hit them from another angle and withdraw. He had neither the troops nor the equipment to do much else until the transports carrying his own warriors arrived. The bad began when the sun had lost its dawning orange and presented the world with its yellow daytime glow.

At first, the enemy reaction to the seemingly random attacks was chaotic, the exact response Roark predicted.

Modern scientific theory insisted that the upright, bipedal body form went hand in hand with species sapience. It didn’t matter what the coating of that body looked like as long as it stood on two legs, had arms that extended to hands with fingers, and could manipulate its environment. Individual thought and self-awareness was necessary to accomplish these manipulations. The Hahnshin met these criteria.

They were a little larger than the average biped. Their skull capacity indicated they had sizable brains. They had a soft and pliable inner skin that was covered by an extremely hard, chitinous one. In other words, the Hahnshin warrior was born wearing armor. They had hominid faces and bled a viscous green fluid. Little else was known about the galactic enemy. Captured or wounded Hahnshin warriors died within hours and their bodies deteriorated to mush within minutes after death.

The problem, as Roark saw it, was that modern scientists had never fought the Hahnshin. They might appear hominoid, but their actions said otherwise. As far as Roark and most of his military colleagues were concerned, the Hahnshin ground troops were two-legged insects that acted with a hive mentality. They were even referred to as bugs. Sure, someone with intelligence was at the controls, but the bugs marched and fought without thought or reason. You could slaughter a thousand of them and a thousand more would take their place.

There was a time delay while whoever was in control issued the orders to move. When they changed direction, it was as if every warrior heard the command at one time. It was eerie watching them turn to march away without acknowledging their comrades dying beside them. That was why the hit and withdraw tactic worked. The Hahnshin couldn’t adjust fast enough. Or they couldn’t until today.

A few hours after the first air assault, the Hahnshin response began to change. It was tentative, as if whoever was at the controls didn’t trust their own decisions. As the morning wore on, those decisions became more confident. New Godan attacks were met instantly. Every move his troops made was anticipated.

The situation was suddenly reversed. The Hahnshin changed. The Godan didn’t. Roark was now the one issuing delayed commands, orders that should have come minutes before from his Field Marshals. Orders to the troops were either being unnecessarily delayed or disobeyed.

“Damn it, damn it, damn it!” With each curse, the First Commander jabbed his finger at the visual display rising from the com-screen on the table. Like a stone thrown in a pond, the live action map broadcast from a Carrier ship high overhead shimmered in concentric circles with each poke. “Why aren’t they moving?” he shouted. “Where’s the fucking air support?”

He called the Con Room where his Marshals should be sitting before their screens directing the traffic on the battlefield. There was no answer.

Roark swore a string of curses and turned to Mira, but before he said a word to her, she waved her hand and shooed him toward the door.

“Go. Go. I understand. Go.”

He turned away and then turned back. She looked like temptation wrapped in a bed sheet and someone was going to pay for the pleasure he would miss in those sultry eyes and that full and sensual mouth.

“You will wait here until I return,” he told her.

“I can’t, Roark. It was a lovely ball, but you need to return to running your kingdom and Cinderella needs to find her gown and go home. I’ll see...”

“You will wait here until I return,” he repeated. “I command...”

“Don’t.” Those sultry grey eyes hardened to stone and that sensual mouth thinned with anger. “I told you last night, your kingship begins and ends in the bedroom. Outside of that, the only thing you can command me to do is be on time to work and do my job. This,” she said, pointing to the floor, “is not where I work, and this,” she plucked at the sheet she wore, “is not my job. I had a great time last night, but Cinderella has better things to do than hang around waiting for Prince Charming to come home, particularly when he’s not being very charming.”

On any other day, Roark might have been amused by her feisty rebellion, but not today. He pulled her to him so quickly she tripped over the ends of the sheet and fell into him. The sheet slid, but he gave her no time to retrieve it. He held her against his chest and forced her chin up to look at him.

“I have no time for this argument, Mira. I will not have people see you skulk home like some female I picked up from the street for a few hours pleasure. You are mine to keep safe and your safety lies here. We will talk about it when I return,” he ordered again. “I command it, so it shall be.”

He gave her no time to reply. When he kissed her, he did it without gentleness or regret. It was hard and wet, and dominant, as he intended it to be. He only released her mouth when he felt her body yield. He left her looking stunned and thankfully, silent. It was only after the door closed that he heard her shout.

“You can take your command and shove it where the sun don’t shine, First Commander.”

It took him a few moments to understand her reference and when he did, it made him smile a little vengefully. “We will see who shoves what where, little human.” Looking forward to proving it to her was the only bright spot in the rest of his day.

He stormed into the con room ready to chew some Field Marshal ass. There was only one ass to be had and it wasn’t a Marshal. It was a lone Captain with an Airborne insignia on his sleeve. He was speaking aloud as his hands manipulated the screens in front of him.

The man looked up from the screens and paled when he saw the First Commander. His hands never left the screens. They flashed by like lightning.

“S-sorry, sir,” he said without looking up again. “I’ve got my hands full. Talking helps me keep things sorted.”

“Don’t apologize for doing your job. What’s your name, Captain.”

“Artley, sir.” He gave Roark his family designation, unit and assignment.

Roark took the seat beside him and moved three of the six visuals the Captain was now trying desperately to maintain. “Tell me what you’ve got, Captain Artley, and what you need,” he said as he took over the screen controls.

The nervous Captain’s fingers stumbled and the screens blinked out.

“Take your time. Give me the ones you think I can handle.” Roark smiled to put the man at his ease.

They worked together for some time, two men doing the work of six. Roark altered his earlier orders based on the reports he was getting first hand from the people on the ground, reports he should have received from Field Marshals. When they finally had their troops pulled back into fairly secure defensive positions and could breathe normally again, Roark turned to Artley.

“Where the hell are they?” he growled. There was no need for him to clarify who they were.

“My CO, Field Marshall Zoares, Airborne, is catching some shut eye. He was on duty most of the night and all of this morning. The rest are at lunch, sir,” the Captain replied. His voice showed no emotion, but the tight lines around his mouth showed the effort it took not to let his opinion color his words. “They’ve been receiving reports and issuing orders from the Officer’s Mess.”

“How long were the others here and when did they go to lunch?”

“Two hours here and two hours ago for lunch, sir.”

One. One out of six had done their job. The others had arrived late to their posts and then left them uncovered in the midst of a battle, a clear dereliction of duty. Roark clenched his jaw so tight he thought his teeth would crack. He wanted to hit something or someone to dissipate his fury. Instead, he let a minute, and then two, pass until he could maintain his equilibrium.

“Your CO just lost a good man, Captain, because you just got yourself a promotion.”

“Um,” the man’s previous nervousness was back. “I’m grateful, sir, but I don’t think I’m ready. I’d rather stay where I am in Air Traffic Tactical Communications if you don’t mind, sir.” He looked over the screens in front of him. “I was just helping out here, sir, and as you can see, it wasn’t going well. ATTC is what I know.”

“You’d never know it, watching you work.” Roark admired the man’s honesty, but there was no need for false modesty.

He clapped the Captain on the shoulder and was surprised when he jumped. Had the previous First been so removed from his troops that his presence made them nervous? If so, it was another routine that was about to change.

“Why don’t you think about it for a week or two and then we’ll talk.”

The tide turned again during the course of the day with Roark issuing new orders from the Con Room. In the end, no territory was lost, but little was gained. Some might consider that a victory. First Commander Roark did not. He felt the poor performance of his troops were a reflection upon himself. The order was given to hold the current line when the Hahnshin suddenly decided to withdraw.

The Field Marshals, who’d returned from their extended lunch in time to witness the victory, were ready to celebrate.

“I think we deserve a little something for a job well done. Don’t you, Roark?” one had the audacity to declare.

Roark’s dragon earpiece flared and burned, reminding him to control the rage boiling up inside him. It was all that prevented him from tearing the man’s head from his neck.

“I do,” he answered before he issued his orders to Artley. Mentally, he added insubordination to the charges. Among the military, only Harm had earned the right to call him by his name. To all others, he was the First Commander or First until permission was given.

This base was about to find out just what that rank meant. He would rebuild the chain of command link by link if he had to. His plans to wait until the troop ships carrying his men and officers arrived were altered, too.

When that troop ship docked with the Carrier circling above, there would be five ex-Field Marshals waiting to be sent home plucked and trussed. He would no longer worry about ruffling petty feathers. There would be no feathers left. Roark had documented proof that these officers had deserted their posts. They would resign their commissions or face the General’s Court, a Court Roark knew from experience had little patience for third sons sent to play soldier with purchased credentials.

The Military Guardsmen were called in. They looked like they were chosen more for their brutishness than for their willingness to uphold Godan Military Law. They were of the same ilk that beat Mira at the gate, but Roark had no choice. Protocol would be followed to the letter. Hands cuffed behind their backs, the Field Marshals were marched across the base to their quarters. Word of their arrest would spread like fire and every remaining officer would understand that they had one chance and one chance only to comply with the new regime.

The rest of the day was spent going over the successes and failures of the day in minute detail. Harm, who’d been doing his own investigation, waited until the higher ranking officers left the debriefing room before voicing his concerns to Roark.

“I’ve never seen anything like it, Roark. It looked like a fucking dance recital they were so in step with us. Either those Hahnshin bastards found a way to cut through our security systems or they’re growing bugs with bigger brains and that don’t seem likely.”

Roark nodded in agreement. “I want the transmission and security systems gone over with a Corrolian sieve,” he said, referencing the tool Corrolian miners used to separate the fine crystals of Kessium from particles of dust. “Tomorrow I’ll contact the other Sectors to see what they know about the Hahnshin changing their tactics.”

“You want to know my opinion on that?”

“No, because I already share it. The Hahnshin haven’t changed in a thousand years. Why would they do it now? I’ll check with the other Sectors because I want all our asses covered before I start looking for a traitor.” Roark shook his head and let his shoulders slump, showing a weakness he would never show to anyone but Harm. “I should have been there, old friend. I should have been in the Con from the first shot fired. Instead, I was...”

“Enjoying yourself?” Harm punched Roark’s arm hard enough to make him stumble. “Get your head out of your ass, boy. That mission today was straight out of the military handbook they use for raw recruits. There was no reason for you to be there. Hell, I was floating above in a skimmer, taking in the view, until the shit exploded. Everybody from Blooded to Captain is pissing fire because they were ordered to stay the course. Ordered, Roark.”

“Who? Who gave the order?”

“You did.”

The dragon eyes of Roark’s earing seemed to glow as the unit warmed. “I gave no such order.”

“No, but they’re all saying the order came from you. There’s no vid in the field. I haven’t found anyone to answer that one yet, but I’m betting that’s where the misunderstanding comes from. You haven’t been here long enough for them to recognize a voice transmission. They assumed it was you.”