First Strike - - (free romance novels .txt) 📗

the size of our armed forces by ten percent. Which I might add would still leave us with a military half the size of the one we had when I first joined as a lowly ensign.”

“My thoughts exactly. It’s no coincidence that they hit us before we could modernize our forces. If they can snatch a quick victory and force us back to the negotiating table like they did one hundred years ago, then we’ve lost this war already.”

“Well, whatever the reason may be, we’re at war with the Kurgans and that’s all that matters right now. The historians can tell us why later.”

Oshiro sagely nodded. “Robert, I’ll be in your location in three days’ time. I’m bringing General Denisov, the ground force commander, with me. I want you to brief me on your portion of the plan at that time.”

“Right, sir. I also take it this means that you want my fleet ready to deploy in seventy-two hours.”

Oshiro smiled.

“Very good, sir, I look forward to your visit.”

“Robert, before I sign off, I want you to place your fleet on yellow alert. There have been rumors of saboteurs trying to gain access to the nuclear arsenals on board our ships. If they were to set off a single bomb anywhere within the fleet, the result could be crippling.”

“Yellow alert it is, sir.”

Oshiro’s image vanished from the screen. Admiral Sheridan called for his chief of staff. If his staff thought they were busy before, they had no idea of the amount of work he was about to dump on them. While he waited, he brought up a picture of Derra-5 and its solar system on the screen and studied it. A plan already began to percolate in his mind. He wondered if his staff would see the same thing. If they did not, they surely would before he gave his briefing to Admiral Oshiro. His thirty-seven-year career was about to be tested in battle for the first time, and he did not intend to fail.

Chapter 26

“Sir, Captain Rolleston’s coming,” said Cole to Sheridan.

With a tired sigh, Sheridan sat up, pulled off his dust-covered blanket, placed his helmet on his head and walked out onto the bridge. The wreckage and frozen Chosen bodies were still being moved to one side.

“Mister Sheridan, you look like you just woke up,” Rolleston said.

“Yes, sir, I was just having a catnap.”

“Sorry about that.” Rolleston looked over at the macabre pile of Chosen dead. “I’ll get Gunnery Sergeant Wilson to clean that up today.”

Sheridan wearily nodded. He was tired and numb inside. He saw the Chosen remains as nothing more than debris that had to be removed.

“You and your men fought well yesterday,” said Rolleston.

“Thank you, sir. Any word on replacements for my casualties?”

“None yet. Besides, it won’t be your problem anymore. You’re being sent to the rear. Someone back at headquarters wants to talk to you.”

Sheridan was genuinely confused. “Sir, I don’t get it. Why would they want to talk to me?”

Rolleston shrugged his beefy shoulders. “I have no idea. All I know is that I was told to tell you that you’re to hand over your platoon to Second Lieutenant Miles and report to divisional headquarters ASAP.”

“What about the people I came with?”

“For now, I was told that they will remain here.”

“Yes, sir,” Sheridan replied reluctantly.

“Grab your things and I’ll walk you to the rear.”

Sheridan turned and walked back to the bunker to grab his few possessions. Cole walked in. “Sir, I heard it all. Perhaps they’re giving you a medal and then sending you right back here.”

“And if they don’t?”

“Then you take care of yourself, sir,” replied Cole, offering his hand.

Sheridan shook his mentor’s hand and then slung his pack over his shoulder. He felt that he should say something but found himself unable to find the right words to thank Cole.

Cole grinned. “Keep your head down, sir.”

“You too, Sergeant.” With that, Sheridan reluctantly walked out of the bunker and joined Rolleston. Walking away from his platoon, Sheridan felt a pang of guilt. They were staying and he was going somewhere safe. He did not like it and planned to give someone at headquarters an earful when he got there.

An hour later, after washing the dirt and grime from his face, Sheridan sat in a long hallway at divisional headquarters. He was sipping on a cup of coffee and nibbling on a biscuit. The people scurrying around the building were all clean and looked fresh compared to the men and women he had left behind on the bridge. A sergeant walked over and escorted Sheridan to General Gruber’s office. He was more than a little surprised to see that he was going to see the commanding general.

“Second Lieutenant Sheridan to see you, sir,” announced the sergeant.

“Send him in,” replied Gruber, his tone tired and gruff.

Sheridan stepped inside the office, came to attention and sharply saluted the general.

“Please take a seat, Mister Sheridan,” Gruber said, returning the salute.

Sheridan took a seat facing the general’s desk. The division’s sergeant major was in the room as well.

“I’ve been hearing good things about you, Mister Sheridan.”

“Thank you, sir,” Sheridan replied, unsure where the conversation was heading.

“How’s Staff Sergeant Cole doing?” asked the sergeant major.

“Fine, Sergeant Major. I doubt I’d be alive if it weren’t for him.”

The old soldier smiled.

Gruber placed his hands on his table and looked into Sheridan’s eyes. “Son, it’s because of young people like yourself that we’re still in the fight. I don’t mind telling you that it’s nothing short of a miracle that we’ve lasted this long. If we’re going to keep fighting, I need to know what the enemy is planning to do so I can match his strength with mine when he attacks us again. With the damned Kurgans still jamming all of our radio and sensor equipment, I’m blinder than a bat.” 

Sheridan nodded, even more confused than when he walked in the room.

Gruber continued. “Son, Sergeant Major Trang and I have been discussing this and we both believe that we need someone with experience to go outside of the capital and take a look around. Our lines have held to date, but they are very thin lines. All it would take is a concerted effort in one location by the enemy and they’d easily breach the line and overrun the city before we could stop them.”

“Sir, what about the divisional reconnaissance battalion?” asked Sheridan.

“Son, we’re a division in name only. I never got one when they rushed whatever they could here to Derra-5. I wish I had one, but I don’t. I re-read your initial report and saw that you speak and understand Kurgan; that’s gonna help you when you go outside.”

“Me, sir?”

“Yeah, you, son. I need to know what is going on out there and as far as I’m concerned, you’re my man.”

The enormity of what was being asked of him weighed on Sheridan. He felt as if he were going to be sick.

“You can’t do this on your own, sir. Can you think of anyone you would like to take with you?” asked the sergeant major, steering the conversation along.

Sheridan sat straight up. “Sergeant Major, I can think of three people who would be ideal, two of whom have already been outside the city.”

Gruber said, “Give the names to the sergeant major; he’ll make sure that they’re brought to you. The clock is ticking, son, can you think of anything else you might need?”

Sheridan’s mind was in a whirl. He had a million questions. “Sir, is the black-marketeer we detained available for questioning?”

Sergeant Major Trang nodded. “I’ll get the MPs to bring him to you ASAP.”

“Anything else?” prodded Gruber.

“Not right now, sir,” replied Sheridan.

“Very good. I won’t keep you from your assignment. Your point of contact from here on out will be the divisional intelligence officer.”

“Yes, sir.” Sheridan cringed. The officer had all but accused Sheridan of lying when he presented his report to the general. 

Gruber smiled. “I saw that flicker of hesitation in your eyes, Mister Sheridan. Don’t worry, Lieutenant Colonel Donaldson is a changed man. You’ll find him much more receptive to your ideas now that we’ve been attacked.”

Sheridan wished that he had not been so transparent.

Gruber stood, as did Sheridan. He held out his hand and Sheridan shook it. “Before you go, there are two things I need to do. First off, I would like to thank you for keeping PO Tartov alive. He’s been working his ass off night and day going through our computers. So far, he has identified two suspicious transmissions sent before the Kurgan invasion. One, I hate to say, was from a member of my staff. The other was from a high-ranking civilian who worked in the capital’s administrative offices. Both men have been arrested.”

Sheridan had originally had his doubts, but it seemed that Tartov had been telling the truth after all.

Gruber cleared his throat. Sergeant Major Trang stepped forward and handed Gruber a small box. He opened it and then gave it to Sheridan. Inside were a set of silver bars. “Congrats, on your promotion to first lieutenant,” said Gruber as he firmly shook Sheridan’s hand. “Keep this up, and you’ll replace me by the end of the month.”

Sheridan smiled. “Thank you for the promotion, sir.”

“You earned it. Now, son, get me that information.”

Ninety minutes passed before the black-marketeer arrived. In a quiet corner of the headquarters, Sheridan and Cole sat behind a desk. A pair of gruff-looking MPs brought in the man. He was wearing handcuffs. By the surprised look on his face, Sheridan could tell that he had not expected to see Sheridan or any of his people alive.

“Remove his cuffs,” ordered Sheridan. The MPs obliged and then waited outside of the room.

Sheridan looked down at his notes for a second before fixing his eyes on the man seated in front of him. The profiteer had long, scraggly brown hair. His clothes were filthy. Sheridan knew that water was a scarce commodity in the city. He doubted that the prisoners got more than drinking water on a daily basis. “Mister Leon, let me reintroduce myself. My name is First Lieutenant Sheridan, and according to the Provost Marshal, you are facing at least twenty years in jail for your crimes. That is, of course, if we manage to hold onto the capital. If not, then you are going to die at the hands of the Chosen when they take what’s left of the city. Since the idea of wasting away in jail or dying at the hands of your enemies is not something I bet you relish, I have a small proposal to make.”

“Go on,” said Leon as he rubbed his sore wrists.

“In return for your cooperation, the Provost Marshal is willing to adjust the time you will have to serve in jail.”

“By how much?”

Sheridan dug into a jacket pocket and placed a piece of paper down on the table in front of Leon. “If you get me everything on this list, she’ll reduce your sentence to one year.”

Leon picked up the note, read