Graham Paul: The battle of Devastation reef

“Fair enough, sir. So what’s next? You must have known I’d turn down the offer to resign.”

“I must admit we suspected you would,” Selvaraj said with a brief smile. “So here’s the deal, and”-his voice hardened-“it’s the only offer you’re going to get that puts you back in command … if you accept: captain in command of Redwood.”

“Redwood?” Michael said, unsure what the man actually meant.

“I said that, didn’t I?” Selvaraj said testily.

“Yes, sir, you did. Sorry. But Redwood? She’s one of the reserve dreadnoughts. I understood Fleet was scrapping them.”

“It should, but it can’t. Too many missions for too few ships with too few spacers. It’ll be the last dreadnought, but so long as it’s operational, it will be in our order of battle. Fleet is also giving you Red River and Redress . They’ll constitute Dreadnought Squadron Four. They are the last of the dreadnoughts, I’m happy to say, so do not waste them.”

“Fine, sir,” Michael said, ignoring Selvaraj’s sarcasm, his mood lifting from knowing he would be back in command, and not of one dreadnought but three. “Redwood and Dreadnought Squadron Four it is, sir. I accept.”

“Good,” Selvaraj said, tight-lipped. “So noted … right, that’s official. Let me wish you luck in Redwood . Nyleth-B needs you.”

You bastard, Michael said to himself. He had not spotted the trap until too late; he swore under his breath when it slammed shut, with Selvaraj’s sly smile of satisfaction widening into a broad grin. Michael swore some more. Nyleth-B sat about as far from the front line as one could get, so far that even the Hammers would have trouble getting to him. But so be it, he decided, so be it. If that was the best offer he was going to get, it would be up to him to make something of it.

“Can’t wait, sir,” he said.

“I’m sure,” Selvaraj snapped. “One more thing. The crew of Reckless has been posted en bloc to Redwood . Something to do with not having to train a new crew from scratch, and that includes marines. Because of Nyleth-B’s remoteness, Fleet is augmenting your marine detachment with a second platoon.” Selvaraj shook his head. “Who knows why, but Ferreira, Sedova, and Kallewi have all accepted the posting without complaint, and so have the rest of the crew. The additional marines didn’t get a choice.”

Michael did not know what to say, so he said nothing.

“You can go,” Selvaraj said, waving Michael away. “I’ll get your orders posting you to Redwood in command. Orders establishing the Fourth will be promulgated when Fleet gets around to it.”

“Thank you, sir,” Michael said, deadpan. “Much appreciated.”

Selvaraj’s eyes narrowed. “Get out of my office, Helfort, before I kick you out.”

Michael was confused. Selvaraj might be an A-grade jerk, but at least the man had given him a command. Not just any old command, either, but a dreadnought squadron command. And he was going back into space with the team from Reckless , Kallewi and his marines included. All that was better than good, but the more he studied it, the less attractive the deal appeared.

What worried him were the things Selvaraj had not said. Why had he been sidelined? Why the posting to Nyleth-B? It had to be the least challenging command in all of Federation space. He did not like it one bit. He wanted to be in the thick of it, somewhere he could make a difference, somewhere he could play a part in bringing Anna home, somewhere he could help to bring the goddamn Hammers to account.

With the elation engendered by the prospect of another dreadnought command evaporating fast, he set off toward Fleet operations. He needed to know a lot more about Nyleth-B.

President’s House, Foundation, Terranova

The final bars of the Federated Worlds’ national anthem faded away across the crowded lawn in front of the President’s House.

Spacers and marines in dress uniform stood at ease, and the diminutive white-haired woman holding the Federated Worlds’ highest office stepped forward to stand behind a simple wooden lectern.

For a moment she said nothing, looking left and then right at the two stands where families and friends were taking their seats after the formality of the Presidential Salute. She turned back to look at Michael and the rest of the spacers and marines from the dreadnoughts Reckless, Retrieve , and Recognizance standing ranged on the lawn in front of the low dais.

“Good morning, everyone, and welcome to the President’s House. Or should I say, given how long I’ve been here, my house?”

Michael chuckled as laughter bubbled up from the crowd. Diouf was the longest serving of the Federation’s many presidents; Michael reckoned she was so popular, she could make a crowd of hungover alcoholics laugh.

“In the past,” she said, “I have been accused of making long-winded speeches, and yes, I will admit I have been guilty of that”-more laughter-“but not today, you will all be pleased to hear. That’s because today is not about me nor is it about the office of president. It is about the men and women standing in front of me. And I do not need to say much, because what needs to be said takes just a few sentences.

“These are desperate times, and in desperate times, it is to spacers and marines that we turn. All too often, they die to protect us. They die far from home, with pain and fear their only companions. They die unseen and unheard by the people for whom they give their lives.”

Diouf paused for a moment.

“By honoring those here, we honor the memories of those who could not be here, those who have fallen in battle to preserve the Federation. I ask you all to stand for a moment in silence while we remember them.”

Not a word was said as the crowd stood, the quiet absolute. Michael glanced across at his parents. Both stood unmoving. Both stared into the distance as if searching for all the shipmates they had lost in their years of service, tears falling in sun-silvered lines down their cheeks. They rarely talked about their time in the Fleet, but Michael knew their long years of combat during the Third Hammer War had scarred them both deeply.

“Thank you all,” the president said. “Please be seated. We now come to the day’s business: presentation of medals to the spacers and marines of the Federated Worlds Starships Reckless, Retrieve , and Recognizance . These medals recognize their service during Operation Opera, a service directed by the captain in command of the Reckless in a manner consistent with the finest traditions of Space Fleet.”

Michael had trouble believing what he had just heard. But he had not misunderstood President Diouf’s intentions; her eyes had locked onto his as she spoke. She had crossed a line, and she had done it to tell the Federated Worlds that she was on his side.

Diouf turned to her aide-de-camp, his aiguillettes shimmering gold in the morning sun. “Colonel Kashvili?”

“Thank you, ma’am,” the marine said. “Lieutenant Michael Wallace Helfort, Federated Worlds Space Fleet.”

Michael marched briskly out to stand at attention in front of the president, his salute acknowledged with a broad smile and a quick nod of the head.

“For extraordinary leadership when in command of the Federated Worlds Warships Tufayl and Reckless , award of the Federation Command Star,” Kashvili said. “For extraordinary leadership and bravery in the face of the enemy in the line of duty without regard to person throughout Operation Opera and the Battle of Devastation Reef, award of the Federation Starburst on Gold.”