This well defend echoes.., p.1
This We'll Defend: Echoes of Liberty (Book 3), page 1
This We'll Defend
Echoes of Liberty (Book 3)
Jason Fuesting
Ordered Operations, Inc.
This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
Published by: Ordered Operations, Inc.
Copyright © 2022 by Jason Fuesting
Cover Design: © 2022 Cedar Sanderson
Contents
Dedications
1. Captain’s Log
2. Alea Iacta est
3. Donuts in the Sky
4. Electric Sheep
5. Road Trip
6. Better the Hell You Know
7. Three if By Orbit
8. Quiet Harbor
9. Not What Ships are Built for
10. The Only Americans…
About Author
Dedications
For PCC Buford Hollinger, USN (1943-2008), LCDR Patricia Hollinger, USN (1952-2006), and Vaughn Hollinger (1983-1999)
No bond is as strong as blood save the family you choose.
No man is truly dead while the living still speak their name.
***
In memory of the men of Task Unit 77.4.3 (Taffy 3) who were surprised by the Imperial Japanese Navy off the coast of Samar, October 25, 1944, as part of the larger Battle of Leyte Gulf.
With only 6 escort carriers, 3 destroyers, and 4 destroyer escorts, Taffy 3 faced off against impossible odds, and having suffered major losses, routed the 4 battleships, 6 heavy cruisers, 2 light cruisers, and 11 destroyers sent to stop the attack on Leyte and prevent the American retaking of the Philippines.
By the end of unspeakably fierce combat against all odds, Taffy 3 lost two escort carriers (CVE-73 USS Gambier Bay and CVE-63 USS St. Lo,) two destroyers (DD-533 USS Hoel and DD-557 USS Johnston,) and one destroyer escort (DE-413 USS Samuel B. Roberts.) On the opposing side, IJN’s Admiral Kurita saw half his heavy cruisers sunk and the other half left heavily damaged, some unable to fight. With the rest of the American fleet closing in, those casualties convinced Admiral Kurita that the cost of continuing the attack was too high. He retreated.
Fair winds and following seas, shipmates. May you have found safe harbor wherever you have gone. You surely earned it.
Captain’s Log
Yesterday I buried a friend. Today, I’m sitting in my office waiting for a meeting, and my mind keeps wandering. Yesterday I buried a friend, and yet today is just another day. Another day that I simply have to grit my teeth and gut whatever bullshit life drops in front of me. Another day I’ll have to ruck up and continue this forced march. And today my load is heavier than it was the day before. Why? Yesterday I buried a friend.
I can’t help but remember these random moments with her. The patient smile she always had when she was trying to teach me. Her laughing at me when I realized the trajectory I was plotting for an orbit change made no sense because I’d flipped a sign halfway through the math. The stoic lack of concern she had when we took fire on patrol. The presence she projected, walking into a room of recruits. The understanding she had; the patience she had with me when Leah died, and the concern she showed for me afterward. The little doodles she’d draw in her notebook when we were on the Bounty during our ridiculously long bridge watches. The determination I saw back on Orleans when she told me we couldn’t get to the roof. The look on her face when Morgan told us it would only be five minutes and that we’d make it. How angry she was when I was trying to tourniquet her leg. How peaceful she looked there at the end. And…
I can’t escape it. There will be no more new memories. No more happy moments together to balance out the bad, no horrible jokes and shared smiles. Because yesterday I buried a friend.
Today we’re supposed to discuss my plans for the next few years. It’s odd, after a lifetime of never having enough money, now my problem is making sure my money is doing something. I need knowledge and skills if things are going to change, but there’s so much to do in the meantime. Money needs to be shifted, people hired, tasks completed, information obtained, and decisions made. Like Byron says: places to go, people to kill, secrets to steal. Still, I’ve never planned something this big before, but I guess that’s why I have people now. I don’t need to plan every detail, just make sure they know what my goals are.
I will say this much: starting today, things change. Soon it won’t be a non-stop parade of shit happening to me. No. Soon, people are going to find out what it feels like when I happen to them.
Because yesterday I buried a friend, and I’m tired of burying friends.
Alea Iacta est
1029, October 2, 221 PE
Eric sighed and sat his tablet on his desk. Rubbing at the bridge of his nose, he pushed away his anger and all the dark thoughts that had kept welling up all morning. Can’t afford to lose focus. They should be here any minute.
Someone knocked. And there they are. “Enter.”
While Byron and John showed themselves in, Eric found himself amused that Byron still stuck to military custom even now. Sure, I’m a Captain, but that doesn’t mean much without a ship. Besides, this is just business. Eric stood to shake hands with John as Byron closed the door behind them.
Both men looked like they’d seen better days. Both had been quite busy since Turing reclaimed the company John had been stewarding, though Byron had weathered the pace better than John by dint of relative youth. Byron might be twice Eric’s age, but John looked closer to three times that on a good day.
An errant thought crossed Eric’s mind, causing a mental grimace. John was well past the age when even the most accomplished Captains hung up their sword back in the Reach. Things might be softer on Pershing, but the grindstone of time was unrelenting, even when you didn’t help it along.
Using capital Turing’s father given him when he ventured into the Confederacy, John had grown Eclipse Interstellar into a manufacturing and research powerhouse before turning it over. Nobody knew the ins and outs of his company better than he did. Yet how many years does he have left in him? This is no different than Solitude, really. Too much to learn, to do; too little time for any of it.
“Thanks for coming, John,” Eric said while they sat.
“Not a problem,” John responded and then somberly offered, “My condolences for your loss.”
Eric sighed. “Thanks, John. Elizabeth was a hell of a woman.”
“So I’ve heard; your wife, too.”
Eric accepted the compliment with a tight smile before changing the subject. “Did something happen to the engineer you said you were bringing? Matthias, I believe you said his name was?”
“Ah, yes, sorry. Matt pinged me as we arrived. One of his connecting flights was delayed. Made a good mess of the rest. Instead of getting here last night, he landed a bit over an hour ago. Should be here in a half hour or so.”
Eric leaned back in his chair and picked up his morning coffee. “We still have plenty we can cover without him. Anything come up for either of you I should be aware of?”
“Nothing pressing that I’m aware of from my lane,” Byron answered.
Eric wasn’t terribly surprised at the answer from his new Chief of Security. The old Caledonian generally kept his own counsel and fought his own fires while keeping unnecessary chatter to a minimum. Shifting his eyes over to John, Eric found himself happy that Byron had taken to the new position like a duck to water. Between him and John, I’ll be able to rest easier when I can’t oversee things directly.
John nodded. “Business as usual so far on my end. I doubt you want to hear about the upcoming tax certifications or export negotiations at the moment.”
“Not unless there’s something concerning about them right now, no.” Eric pursed his lips. “Though, I won’t be able to put off stepping into that world forever.”
“Between what Turing and Byron told me, you’ve got enough on your plate for the foreseeable future,” John noted and then smiled. “That’s why you kept me onboard, right?”
“Exactly,” Eric replied. “I know you understand, but I’ll apologize up front anyway. Some of this is something you’d task an assistant with, not the president of a company. Conveniently, the biggest example of that is that I need someone to find me an administrative assistant.”
“Ah.” John chucked. “No harm there. I do understand. I might be able to find a few candidates on relatively short notice. Anything in particular you’re looking for in an assistant?”
Byron grinned. “Someone who won’t put up with his shit.”
“Fair,” Eric admitted with a guilty shrug. “I’d need someone who can both tolerate and keep up with Turing and me for one. They’d have to be a particularly trustworthy sort too.”
“I’ll be vetting potential candidates,” Byron noted. Anyone else would’ve missed the subtle irritation in his words. “They’ll be trustworthy.”
“Sorry, Byron. Issues focusing this morning.”
Byron accepted the apology with a slight nod.
“So, aside from enough technical skill to keep up with Turing,” Eric continued, “I’d appreciate it if they knew their way around a gun.” That earn
ed a raised eyebrow from John. “My plan is going to piss off a lot of people, John. I don’t want some hapless wallflower sitting at the front desk if someone decides the easiest way to solve their problem is to come in my front door. Byron might be some flavor of Caledonian spook, but he’s not God. This assistant shouldn’t be a bodyguard, but if things go sideways, I’d appreciate not having to babysit them.”
“So noted,” John commented. “Any other qualifications?”
“Actually, this bit I just remembered goes further than just the assistant. If you haven’t already, filling openings with people from my crew would be well worth your time. They’ve already passed Byron’s muster, and most of them have post-grad degrees in a variety of fields.”
John’s lips quirked upward. “Already done. Some of their fields are more advanced than what we have here in the Confederacy. I wasn’t going to let them get away without a fight. Had to outbid the NIA and the CIA for a few of them. Anyone in your crew in particular I should look at for the assistant position?”
Eric found himself at a sudden loss for words. No, Anne’s not technical enough. Damnit. “Actually, no. The ones that are technical enough are more valuable somewhere else.”
John chuckled. “Such is life. I could easily find one of those qualifications, but all of them in one person won’t be easy. I’ll prioritize Persian citizens, particularly the military ones.”
Eric heard the words, but the context simply didn’t feel correct. He held up a finger. “Sorry, I’ve had a lot to absorb these last few weeks. Wouldn’t everyone we’re looking at be Persian citizens?”
“Well, yes?” John said, somewhat confused. “Ah, right. Sorry, citizenship here is tied to service. Have to pay the ante to sit at the table. The induction numbers have skewed heavily toward military service the last few decades, but not every volunteer puts on a uniform. Aside from low level government service, there’s a rather robust apprenticeship program to train skilled craftsmen too. The CRAFT program is largely how Pershing stood up so many competent shipyards as fast as they have.”
“Ah, okay,” Eric commented. Non-military service must’ve skipped my mind. He waited to see if John had anything else to add before moving on. “Next item, we have to be out of here by the twenty-third of October. I need a place to live and a place of business for Liberty Interstellar proper. As far as I’m concerned right now, how you have Eclipse set up is just fine, but I’d like to keep the two structures separate for now.”
“Fair. Requirements?”
“Something relatively small and inexpensive for either isn’t unreasonable given how short notice this is. I’m perfectly happy living far under what my current income would suggest, so long as the place is relatively safe and local. I’ll worry about upgrading to a snazzy place like yours later when I have the time. Same goes for the place of business. I don’t need anything extravagant, small and secure works. It’s not like I have a bunch of staff yet. We can always negotiate new leases or the like when the time comes.”
“I’ll coordinate with Byron on both of those. I’m sure he’ll want to vet locations, too,” John noted.
“Speaking of which, Bryon, I need you to do something.”
That got the old commando’s attention. “Which would be?”
“Your job.”
Byron cocked his head a little to the side. “Excuse me?”
“More your old job, that is, provided you have enough spoons to go around. I want to set up an intelligence operation.”
Byron’s eyes momentarily twinkled with amusement. “Let’s pretend for a moment that I have the time and skill necessary to pull that off. We can also keep pretending that I know enough to staff such a thing. You do know that will be expensive? Prohibitively so, even.”
Eric nodded and shifted his gaze to John. “How many metric tons of gold do you have on hand as reserve?”
John started to reply, but paused to refer to his tablet a moment. “In total or just on Pershing?”
Eric smiled. “Let me rephrase. If we ignored the economic effects, could you produce a trillion Pershing Dollars by the end of next month without endangering our liquidity, short or long term?”
John tapped away at his tablet for the better part of a minute before reluctantly answering, “Yes.”
“So if I asked you to work with Byron to finance this endeavor, what would be your first, most pressing concern?”
John’s brow furrowed and his eyes drifted down to Eric’s desk for a few moments. “What currency do we need it in and how quickly? I’ve done my best to limit our influence on the commodities markets, but some are more tapped out than others. Frankly, some markets are too volatile for a liquidity squeeze. The British Systems, for example. I’m not fond of the idea of expending any of the reserves I have there simply because of how undependable my read of their markets are, thanks to the Belgians.”
Eric nodded. “Yeah, I’d imagine the whole Belgian separatist movement hasn’t done anyone any favors. I was thinking we’d start with francs for now.”
A slow grin spread across Byron’s face. You know exactly what I’m about to task you with, you old hound. Eric couldn’t help but return the grin.
Byron’s grin evaporated. “Before we get much further, don’t forget my conflict of interest.”
“I know you, Byron. You’ll resign before it becomes a problem,” Eric stated. “I have zero intention of making it one, either. Besides which, I’m counting on that conflict of interest to help us.”
Byron’s eyelids narrowed. “How so?”
“Well, first off, you’ve read all the documentation we recovered from our trip here. I’d like you to try to negotiate an intelligence sharing agreement between us, the NIA, and the CIA. Call it Three Eyes or whatever, but I’d like the three of us to cooperate, not compete. I don’t know how receptive either of them will be to the idea.”
“What makes you think they’ll be interested?” Byron asked quietly. Eric could see the gears turning in the old man’s head.
Go ahead, play your cards close to your chest, Byron. “If we do our jobs right, we should be able to get into places they can’t. Aside from the Belgians, the playing board here hasn’t changed appreciably in decades, if I recall our last conversation correctly. Potential targets will be looking for known state actors: NIA, CIA, whatever the British have.”
“MI5, MI6, and a few others,” Byron offered.
“Right, so everyone knows the other players. They have profiles on everyone else. Nobody has profiles on us, provided we don’t accidentally look like someone else. With luck, even if they do spot an operation of ours, they might misattribute it to someone other than us, too.”
Byron remained utterly still a moment. “Continue.”
“I don’t think selling information would be the best way to defray costs. If we expect the others to share information with us, we’d get a lot of good will by doing the same, provided they accept the Three-Eyes agreement. Otherwise, well, we won’t have much choice but to charge for our services. John might have some useful advice for figuring out that sort of structure.”
“Noted. Intelligence service is awfully broad, Eric. Any particular goals? Priorities?”
Bryon’s mood was hard to judge, but Eric noted the man still hadn’t rejected the idea out of hand. Keep reeling it out then. “I don’t particularly care about military information, though I wouldn’t pass on incidental collection. Our lane would be primarily economic information and technology, though I’d look for anything that leads to the Protectorate, even if it’s military. Specific to Orleans, we’re going to root out those pommie bastards like the weeds they are, and try to make money doing it. Legality is the least of my concerns. If you’re not cheating—”
“You’re not trying,” Byron interrupted and finished with a dark chuckle.
Eric grinned. “Right. When it comes to any pommie-run business, I want every franc, every dollar, every last fucking shred of currency pried from their grasp.”
“So, say someone leaked some unflattering information to the right people leading up to a contract renegotiation, and suddenly the unions involved aren’t nearly so eager to reach an agreement?” Byron levelly asked, not even a hint of innocence in his voice. “Or, say, someone took a page out of Turing’s playbook and a dozen new malware campaigns sprang into existence targeting them?”
