Hunters wrath, p.1
Hunter's Wrath, page 1
HUNTER’S WRATH
Richard Tongue
HUNTER’S WRATH
Colonial War: Book Two
Copyright © 2022 by Richard Tongue, All Rights Reserved
First Kindle Edition: April 2022
All characters and events portrayed within this eBook are fictitious; any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
“All men dream, but not equally. Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds, wake in the day to find that it was vanity: but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act on their dreams with open eyes, to make them possible.”
T.E. Lawrence
Prologue
Third Lieutenant Nykolai Kozak walked onto the Observation Deck, a Marine guard snapping to attention as he entered the room, the portly figure of the Republic Ambassador, William Knox, turning to him as he entered.
“Good evening, Lieutenant,” Knox said. “Or is it morning?”
“Oh-one-thirty, sir,” Kozak replied. “Not that it matters so much out here, of course.”
“I suppose not,” Knox said, turning back to the starfield. “Beautiful, isn’t it. I always try and spend at least a quarter-hour a day looking out at the stars, especially when I’m on assignment. It centers me, calms me. Puts it all into a different perspective.” He gestured at a faint smudge, then said, “That dot of light is a galaxy, millions of stars, billions of worlds. Starlight that has spent eons in transit, just to allow us to enjoy it for this moment.” He smiled, then said, “Forgive me, Lieutenant. Just the ramblings of an old man.”
“Not at all, sir. I know what you mean.” He moved to stand next to Knox, then said, “I was born out here. Spent the first seventeen years of my life living on Asimov’s Point, out at UV Ceti.”
“Must have been tough, growing up at the edge of the war.”
“It was all just part of the background, I guess. I never knew anything else. The war broke out just about when I was getting born, and it was always there, always present.” He looked down at his uniform jacket, then added, “I suppose that’s why I joined the Marines. It seemed the natural thing to do.”
Shaking his head, Knox replied, “I’m sorry for you, young man. You’ve never known a universe at peace, never known the certainty that we had, back before the war. When we could look out to the stars with wonder, instead of fear.” He sighed, then said, “And now another war, out in the dark.”
“Unless you can stop it, sir.”
With a grunt, he said, “That’s down to the two delegates. I can try and put them on the path, but they’ve got to walk it, and with the destruction of Carter Station, that’s going to be harder than ever.” He glared into the endless expanse, and said, “They’re all fools, of course. Though I could say the same about us. This war’s gone on too damned long. It’s changed us, and not for the better. All of us. And now the Free Worlds want to get into the game, want to play the game themselves, send their own sons and daughters to die in battle.” Shaking his head, he said, “It’s all just so damned pointless. A waste of lives, a waste of resources, a waste of time.” Looking out at the stars, he added, “When there’s a whole universe out there, a million sights to savor.”
“It’ll end, sir. Sooner or later.”
“That’s interesting, isn’t it,” Knox replied. “We don’t talk about trying to win the war as much these days. Just to end it, one way or another. To find a way to live together in peace once again. Maybe that’s wishful thinking.”
“Nothing wrong with that, sir.”
He turned to the young man, and said, “Pity they’ve already assigned my aide. I could use you along for the ride.” He shook his head again, then said, “I probably ought to go down to my quarters, get some sleep. The General told me that Hanoi is scheduled to arrive in a few hours, so we should be leaving the station shortly.” He held out his hand, then said, “It’s been good to talk with you these last couple of weeks, Lieutenant. The flight out from Earth can be extremely tedious without good company. Pity they already assigned Mendez as my aide. I think I’d probably have had a more enjoyable time with you. Until we meet again.”
“Aye, sir,” Kozak replied, shaking Knox’s hand.
Nodding, Knox turned to the elevator, the guards once more standing at attention, this time turning to follow the old man to the door as he waited for it to arrive. Kozak turned to look at the view once again, looking out at the stars, glancing at his watch. His duty shift was meant to begin in just five hours, with a training simulation scheduled afterwards.
Four months to graduation, if all went well. If he could pull his test scores up to where they needed to be. When he’d first learned that he was heading out here for his training tour, he’d been disappointed, wanting to join the rest of his classmates in the Six Systems, close to the front, but the more he considered it, the more he realized that the Commandant had done him a great favor, giving him an opportunity to build his administrative experience and focus on his academics, without fear of action.
Until word had come of a battle fought in deep space, two ships lost among the stars, the Federation moving in on a new front, into a new theater of operations. After more than two decades, Schirra Station was at least getting ready to go to war.
The elevator finally arrived, and he turned to see the Ambassador off, pausing as he saw a pair of men standing inside, the body of a guard lying at their feet. On instinct, he drew his pistol, reacting a split-second faster than the two guards, just as the two men raised rifles, aiming at the Ambassador.
Bolts of laser energy seared across the room as the groups exchanged fire, Knox caught in the chest by one of the assassins, sending him collapsing to the deck, eyes wide. One of the guards fell, the other returning fire, and only a few seconds later, both of the attackers lay dead, the air heavy with thick ozone from the brief battle.
“Get a medic up here, now,” Kozak ordered, the surviving guard pulling out his communicator, issuing frantic instructions, while the young man knelt down by the side of the dying Knox, pulling out his medical kit, knowing that it could do no good, that the wound in his side was mortal, and that he only had a handful of breaths left in his body. He cradled the old man, looking down into his eyes, Knox looking back at him, a faint smile on his face through the pain.
“Don’t let then win,” Knox said. “Don’t…”
“I won’t, sir,” Kozak said, as the old man who had become his friend drew his final breath. “I swear.”
Chapter 1
Commander Jack Hunter sat in the observer’s chair, next to Captain Sam Singh on the flight deck of the antiquated cruiser Hanoi, watching as the ship left warpspace to emerge on final approach to Schirra Station, the nearest thing the United Terran Republic had to a forward command post in this part of the galaxy. The ship smoothly slid onto its pre-arranged trajectory, moving back to the position in the orbital holding pattern it had held for endless years, this recent rescue mission the first break from routine most of the crew had ever experienced.
“Two new ships in the pattern,” Singh said, turning to Hunter.
Looking at the viewscreen, Hunter replied, “Obviously warships, and obviously ours, but I’m not familiar with that design.” He paused, shrugged, then said, “Though to be fair, I’m four years out of date on the state of the art.”
“I suspect you may be better informed than I am, old friend,” Singh said with a wry smile. “They look a little like the latest generation of armored freighters, but I don’t understand what they’d be doing out here.” He shook his head, then said, “Presumably the General will brief you when you arrive.”
With a sigh, Hunter replied, “I guess I’d better go see to my men, make sure they’re ready for the transfer.” He turned to one of the rear consoles, then began, “Ensign, could you arrange a patch…”
“That won’t be necessary,” Singh said, looking at a stream of text on his personal display. “We’ve just got some new orders. You’re to head over to the station right now, by yourself, for a confidential briefing with the General. The orders specify that you aren’t to use any of the standard docking ports. Maintenance Lock Nine has been suggested.”
“Couldn’t get further from the heart of the station without wearing a spacesuit,” Hunter said. “Could you ask Nick Ortega to pick up what remains of my belongings, see they get across to the station safely, and have someone take a standard technician’s jumpsuit down to the shuttle.”
“A disguise?” Shaking his head, Singh said, “All of these cloak-and-dagger games are going to get you killed one of these days, Jack.”
“I’m like a cat. Nine lives.”
“The question being just how many of them you have already used.” He clapped his friend on the shoulder, then said, “I’ll make the arrangements.”
“Thanks for the ride, by the way,” Hunter replied, rising from his seat. “I know it was a risk, heading out into the dark. Please make sure your crew know how grateful my people and I are for the pickup.”
“All part of the service,” Singh said. “Besides, it was nice to get away from the station for a while, see a slightly different part of the dark. Good to know Hanoi still has what it takes.”
“She’s a hell of a ship, Sam,” Hunter said. “By your leave, Captain?”
“On your way, Commander. I’ll have a transfer shuttle waiting down at Airlock Three. Good luck.”
“Thanks,” Hunter replied, stepping inside the waiting elevator, tapping the control to send it racing through the decks, the mechanism working like clockwork. Hanoi was an old ship, well-past her design lifespan, but both her captain and her crew maintained her with loving care, and it showed. She’d easily have another decade or two in her, assuming nothing happened, and out here, under normal circumstances, the odds of Hanoi doing anything more involved than a couple of short warp jumps were remote.
Until the Federation, the Republic’s enemy in the bitter, decades-long Colonial War, decided to open up another front in the fighting, here on the unprotected far flank of Terran-controlled space. Until one of the most advanced ships in the fleet was lost to enemy action in a distant, forgotten system on the frontier.
Lost under his command.
No matter that he’d taken out the enemy ship in the process, a ship with five times the firepower of lost Shanghai. He’d lost his ship. Two-thirds of her crew were dead or wounded, the rest stranded for weeks waiting for the arrival of a rescue ship.
The elevator reached its destination, the doors sliding open to reveal an airlock on the far side of the corridor, a transfer shuttle waiting at the dock, ready to take him across to Schirra Station. With one last look at Hanoi, he clambered inside, the technician’s uniform draped on the co-pilot’s seat, and tapped a control to close the hatch and send the shuttle racing towards its destination, already programmed in.
It took less than a minute for him to change uniforms, stuffing his original clothes into an overhead locker, quickly tugging the jacket into place, running his hand through his hair to ruffle it up, attempting to look anything other than an officer in the fleet.
Assuming, of course, that he was still an officer in the fleet. The loss of a ship under any circumstances would warrant a full Board of Inquiry, perhaps even a formal court-martial, and Hunter had more than enough enemies back on Earth who would be more than happy to take any excuse, however slight, to destroy what remained of his career.
He looked up at the station, growing closer by the second, the shuttle guiding itself on its pre-planned trajectory, down to the lower levels, to the barely inhabited decks, relics of a future that had yet to materialize. When the Republic had constructed Schirra Station, forty years ago, it had been hoped that it would serve as a launching point for expeditions into the Rim, pushing out the boundaries of human space for a new generation of colonies.
The Colonial War had ended all of those hopes, turning Schirra Station into a backwater, a ten-credit station with a skeleton complement, only just sufficient to keep the station operational. To be fair, the Cartel had also played a part in the downfall of the station, the consortium of megacorporations who dominated the Republic’s economy reluctant to allow the government easy access to their settlements and projects on the edge of known space, instead deflecting attention elsewhere, to the Six Systems, to the front-line of the war.
The shuttle slid smoothly into position at the airlock, clamps locking down with a loud report to herald his arrival. The hatch slid open, and he rose from his seat, stepping out into the corridor beyond, the familiar figure of General McBride waiting for him, a pair of guards at the rear, standing behind her at parade rest.
“Welcome home,” McBride said. “Sorry we can’t arrange any sort of celebration for you, but once you learn what happened out here, I think you might understand.” She looked over his uniform, then said, “I don’t believe that really suits you.”
“I was told to exercise maximum security.”
“Within reason, but you’ll have a chance to put on a dress uniform for the transfer of command ceremony.” Before he could reply, she said, “I think I might be getting ahead of myself. I need to make sure you’re probably briefed before the press conference. You don’t formally arrive here for an hour.”
“Press conference?”
“Come on, Jack. You destroyed a Federation battlecruiser, a ship with five times your firepower, one that could have turned the tide of the war. Do you know how long it has been since Public Relations had a victory like that to brag about? I hate to break it to you, old friend, but you’re a hero.”
“A hero who lost his ship and two-thirds of his crew.”
She nodded, then said, “I know. The first reports didn’t mention any of that. Lucky for you that they didn’t. You were front-and-center on every news broadcast for days. By the time we found out the whole story, it was too late to pull back. Too many politicians had committed themselves too publicly.”
“Tell me they aren’t putting me on the road?”
“The dog-and-pony show?” McBride replied. “Not a chance, not with your reputation. They’d be too damn scared of what you might say.” She pulled a worn wooden box from her pocket, passing it to Hunter as the two of them stepped over the threshold into the elevator, and said, “You have, however, been breveted to Captain.”
He took the box in his hands, running his fingers over the material, and said, “I don’t deserve it, Maggie. The price was too damned high…”
“You weren’t even in command when the bulk of the casualties were taken, and you took a crippled ship into battle against overwhelming odds, and won. Hell, you probably saved the whole damn war. If you’d lost, or fled, then there wouldn’t have been anything to stop that ship for weeks, maybe months. This station would have been destroyed, the Free Worlds turned away from Earth, and the Federation would have won everything they wanted. You and your crew prevented that from happening.”
“We did what we had to do. Nothing more.” He paused, then said, “What about the traitor, Fujiyama? Hyperborea…”
“Their Central Committee is launching a full investigation, and I can assure you that they’re taking it pretty damn seriously. A couple of dozen officers are already under arrest or in hiding. Right now they seem to be in the middle of an old-fashioned purge. Maybe some good will come of it.”
“Maybe, but I somehow doubt it,” Hunter replied. He paused, then said, “We’re not finished out there, General. Not until we’ve found at least some of their bases out in the dark, their route back to the Federation.”
“I agree, but we’ve got bigger problems, and I’m afraid that means you and at least some of your crew have to go out again, almost at once. The loss of Carter Station has led to some unexpected consequences. There’s trouble on the Thalassa/Hyperborea border. We’ve been hearing rumblings for some time, but the Thalassans have asked for arbitration over the issue of just who owns Lemuria. The Hyperborean claim was largely based on prior occupancy, but the Thalassans do have at least some sort of case, and that world could prove both strategically and economically valuable in the long-term.”
“How serious are they?”
“There’s an election on Thalassa in three months, and the government is on course for a pretty spectacular defeat. Add to that the exiled oligarchs from the Hyperborean Revolution, and you have a substantial faction that needs to win some heavy concessions from Hyperborea if they’re going to hold power. Hyperborea can’t conceded anything either, not if their government wants to survive, especially with the discovery of traitors in their midst.”
“All of this must have brewed up pretty damned fast…”
“Fast enough that I suspect there is a lot more to it than that.”
“The Federation? Some sort of contingency plan?”
“More than likely.” She took a step forward, then continued, “We do have one break. The governments are both calling for arbitration, and called for the appointment of a Special Representative, a conference to settle this dispute once and for all. Neither side wants a war, officially, but both sides are at a heightened state of alert.”
“And if two of the Free Worlds go to war, the rest will be drawn in, and given the Cartel’s involvement in the local interstellar economy, so will we.” He paused, then asked, “Who did they send?”
“Bill Knox arrived five days ago.”
Nodding, Hunter said, “That’s good. I know him.”
“You knew him.”
“What?”
“He died this morning. Assassinated. We got both of the murderers, killed during the attack. Identified as Hyperborean nationals, but that doesn’t add up to me. I’m relatively sure they’re being framed, and again, I can guess who. That’s why I wanted to meet you in secret.”
