Wakinyan grabbed for his sheathed knife and began fastening it to his right calf. “The same. It’s spreading faster than a comet. I guess it’s hard for anyone to imagine that Mars is really gone.”
Randall just stared at the knife on Wakinyan’s leg. “I take it we have another combat mission?” he inquired.
Wakinyan looked up with dispassionate eyes. “Yes, we do. Has the ship been re-armed?”
“Almost,” Randall replied. “We’re still taking on ordnance and supplies. Repairs seem to be unending though, but we’re doing the best we can.”
Wakinyan finished and then stood up. “Good. We try to complete all necessary repairs enroute. Let’s get up to the bridge.”
“Aye, Sir,” Randall acknowledged, filled with a foreboding feeling.
The two officers casually made their way to the bridge of the ship. Not a single word was uttered between the two, however. Randall just licked his lips nervously as he occasionally glanced at his friend as they walked together. By Wakinyan’s behavior, however, he knew the situation was really bad—and it frightened him.
As the two entered the bridge, Wakinyan paced to his command chair and then sat down. Carefully, the officer studied every face that turned to him. Jim’s assessment was right, all their faces bore the telltale signs of fear and uncertainty.
Wakinyan reflected on this for a short time. The information that Paladin conferred about the mission indicated that the crew Crazy Horse would be pushed to their limit. He realized that he needed to do something to boost their morale, or else they simply might give up. And so, his hand triggered a switch that turned on the ship’s PA system.
“To all crewmen of the Crazy Horse, marines, and civilian medical team personnel; this is Deputy Fleet Commander Richard Wakinyan speaking,” Richard addressed the ship’s compliment.
“As you have undoubtedly heard, Mars has been totally destroyed. It is apparent, our home world was bombarded with nuclear and plasma weapons that obliterated all life on it.”
Everyone began to stare at the ship’s speakers as if it was Wakinyan himself. They hungered for answers amidst the grief of loss of family and friends left behind. The shock over the death of Mars was more than most could handle and they reached out emotionally to Wakinyan to anchor them. Even Rhianna, whose her life had been spared due to a routine visit to the fleet’s medical ship, took time out from her clean-up duties and stopped to listen.
Wakinyan spoke on. “The Order has charged the Martian fleet with this horrendous crime, regardless of the fact that we have no such weapon’s capability. The reasons are quite obvious; they are willing to commit to anything—including mass murder to maintain their domination over every human being alive. And this time—we are their scapegoats.”
Richard paused momentarily to arrange his thoughts.
His voice then rose again. “So it is with all tyrants who abuse the lives of the people they are entrusted with by the perverse dictates that they, themselves, would never live by. And they feel justified in this by their own self-righteous elite morality, which sets them high above everyone else in their own minds.”
Wakinyan looked at the faces around him. “You and I, however, are made of quite different stuff. Our words are filled with our true beliefs and backed by the honesty of our actions. We take great pride in not only who we are—but overcoming the struggle it took to make us this way. We are men and women of character—principles—and courage! And because of that, we are duty-bound.”
“The Crazy Horse and the First Destroyer Squadron have a new mission. Over one hundred thousand human beings from an outer colony have helped us to achieve this day. Some of them now await us at Cramer’s World to escort them to Valamars—our new home. We will not fail them, because we have given them our pledge—our word of honor.”
“So, again we sail. We will do our jobs—and if necessary—whatever it takes to fulfill this pledge. But one day, we will return to Earth, and not just clear our names! We will punish all those who think life so cheap and valueless to commit such a terrible and criminal act! I promise you all, they will be paid in full measure for this!” Wakinyan’s words were filled the iron and steel of his soul. “They will be paid!”
“One final thing. Shortly, I will be getting a new ship. As this will happen within the next few weeks, Commander Paladin and I have promoted First Lieutenant James Randall to the rank of captain. When I leave, he will take command of the Crazy Horse. I hope you will serve him as well as you have served me. And as far as I am concerned, you are by far the best crew—of any ship—in any fleet. And I am so very proud of each and every one of you!”
Richard finally finished uttering words that came from the honestly of his heart, “God bless you all!”
For a moment all was silent on the bridge, but a few eyes sprouted slow tears while all crewmen bore a proud subdued grin. Then a few hands started clappingand then more, growing as it did. It seemed to reverberate throughout the ship as every crewman did the same. The spirit of the Crazy Horse was very much aliveand they readily showed it.
After the commotion had subsided and the crew prepared to get underway, Richard offered his hand to his friend, the newly appointed Captain James Randall. Jim quickly took it and shook it vigorously.
“Congratulations, Jim. It was long over due,” Wakinyan used his friend’s own words.
“Mr. Deputy Commander, do you know what you are?” Jim jokingly asked.
Richard smiled. “I’ve been called a lot worse.”
Randall returned his smile. “Is there any valuable advice you would like to share with me on this occasion?”
“Just two things: don’t let the bastards win—and have no regrets—for it will be a good day!” Richard conceded.
* * * * *
Ten minutes later, the Crazy Horse began moving away from the fleet under her own power and approached an area to where seven ships, the remnants of the First Destroyer Squadron, were waiting. The squadron, although under tow by some space tugboats, formed a classic “V” formation with the Nelson, under command of Captain Yuri Denko, in lead position.
The squadron moved steadily away from an orbiting harbor that was on the outer perimeter of the fleet. The metallic ball-like structure with huge octagon docking bays still held other ships that were being repaired or taking on supplies for their journey to Valamars. But it was not to be for the First Destroyer Squadron. Some crewmen aboard the squadron’s ships watched silently from their duty stations as the harbor faded in the distance. Their forlorn eyes were sunken in sadness. All were fully aware of the mission they were going on—and many wondered if it would be their last.
From the bridge of the Nelson, Denko eyed the Crazy Horse pulling ahead of the squadron some distance away. The captain’s face muscles were molded solidly in unhappiness and discontent.
“Fullback to Right Guard. Fullback to Right Guard. Do you copy, over?” Yuri transmitted.
“Right Guard to Fullback. We read you loud and clear. Is your squadron ready, Yuri?” Wakinyan inquired.
Yuri was quick to answer. “As ready as we’ll ever be, Commander. We only got Paladin’s orders about fifteen minutes ago. However, the maneuvering watch has been set and we’re preparing to get underway. I just hope we don’t bump into anything bigger than a solar patrol. We could have some real problems if we do.”
“Unfortunately, that is the risk we take, Captain.” Wakinyan replied honestly.
Wakinyan then addressed all ships of the squadron. “Deputy Commander Wakinyan to all ships of the First Destroyer Squadron, start your outboard engines when ready!”
“Acknowledged Right Guard,” the Nelson’s second officer, Lieutenant Wood, affirmed. “To all crewmen, prepare to start outboard engines and caste off!” the lieutenant broadcasted throughout the ship as did other captains and second officers within the squadron.
The crews of each ship stood by their maneuve
ring watch duty stations and looked for any dangerous situations both inside and outside each vessel that might imperil them while getting underway. Although a normal routine, it was at this time that most ships were vulnerable to individual carelessness within, or floating objects like space debris outside. From his or her vigil, every crewman was responsible to immediately halt the procedure if something potentially dangerous was spotted or detected.
“Helmsman, start all outboard engines,” the lieutenant added to steering crewman on his bridge.
“Starting outboard engines, aye,” the helmsman responded to the order.
All of the Nelson’s outboard engines then fired up into a low grumbling that at first created a noticeable vibration. But the vibration quickly settled into a quieter steady hum.
All outboard engines at nominal power, Sir,” the helmsman reported back. “The ship is underway at tow speed.”
“Helmsman, caste off all lines from the tugs and move us into our formational slot position,” Captain Denko chimed in.
“Aye, Sir,” the helmsman acknowledged and then broke each magnetic tow line.
As rehearsed and performed time after time, the eight Martian destroyers came carefully together moving away from the fleet and formed a conical configuration that clearly indicated their intentions of hyperspace travel. All power to the outboard engines was carefully scrutinized for fluctuations and re-adjusted to the margins dictated by standard operating procedures. The maneuver was accomplished flawlessly.
“Set all matrix jump points,” Wakinyan ordained the navigators of the destroyers to coordinate their hyperspace entry and exit points with the data being transmitted by the Crazy Horse. “Activate main drives and ready jump engines,” Wakinyan followed up with the next expected command.
Within two minutes, the main engines of all ships within the squadron came to life and stabilized. The vessels then reported back to the Crazy Horse that they were “good to go” and standing by.
“All ships advance to quarter speed,” was Wakinyan’s reply.
The main ion engines burned brightly on each destroyer and began propelling the warships forward at a faster pace. After advancing to quarter throttle, Lieutenant Wood noticed a pronounced frown on his captain’s face. Deviating momentarily from his duties, the officer approached his superior.
“Captain, is there something wrong?” the junior officer asked.
Yuri just sat in his command chair with a look of total disgust. “You’ve never been to Cramer’s World, have you?”
“No, Sir, I haven’t,” the young officer admitted.
“Well, other than being a forward supply base for Earth, the entire human population of the planet is nothing more than a bunch of genetic freaks,” Yuri explained. “They’re all mutants. Officially, it was due to a magnetic abnormality that radically changed the field of the planet, exposing them to high radiation levels penetrating through ozone layer—but I don’t believe that at all. I think it was the result of some virus or bacteria—and maybe it’s still communicable. That’s what we’re risking our lives for.”
Denko’s explanation astonished the lieutenant, which gave way to a sudden fear that their mutation was really caused by some communicable disease. It temporary engulfed the man. Both officers then turned and gazed at the Crazy Horse in front of them.
“Advanced to flank speed,” came the second to the final command from the Crazy Horse.
“Go to flank and prepare to jump into hyperspace,” Denko ordered.
The Martian destroyer squadron held their formation as they accelerated rapidly away. Every helmsman readied their magnetic drives and then waited for the concluding order of the procedure to be issued.
“Jump!” Wakinyan’s voice decreed over every receiver of the First Destroyer Squadron.
Within seconds, the small task force of Martian ships disappeared into the swirling energy fields of dimensional time, destination: Cramer’s World.
* * * * *
Chapter 13: Conspiracy
As the Crazy Horse and seven other Martian warships made their jump into hyperspace, Captain Winslow sat brooding in the Mariner’s command chair. An angry pout contorted his redden face, while thoughts of humiliation and betrayal by Paladin absorbed his mind. Wakinyan’s appointment to deputy fleet commander infuriated Winslow. He like many other officers disliked and avoided Wakinyan, who he saw as undisciplined and unfit to wear even captain’s bars. Furthermore, Winslow considered himself as not only the right choice, but deserving of the rank because he had earned it.
Winslow had served the old man with unquestionable loyalty for many years. He had even humbled himself before other officers and crewmen, never complaining even when his orders were openly counter-commanded, or whenever Paladin took demeaning tones to him. As far as Winslow was concerned, he had been cheated out of both rightfully commanding the Mariner and a promotion that he thought should have been his.
Seething in silence, Winslow continued to welter in his resentment and self-pity. He was so engrossed with his emotions that he did not hear the communication’s crewman call to him. The woman tried several times to catch his attention, but his mind was too preoccupied in his troubles.
“Captain, there’s an incoming communication from Captain Khalid aboard the Mir for you, Sir!” the woman announced again and again. But Winslow still sat unhearing.
“CAPTAIN!” she yelled out loudly.
He finally awoke from his stupor. “WHAT?” he questioned with restrained irritation.
“Incoming message, Sir, from Captain Khalid aboard the Mir.” she replied somewhat meekly.
“Put it on,” Winslow said annoyed.
“Sir, he said it’s personal,” the woman added.
“Very well,” he replied letting his anger sub-side, “I’ll take in my quarters.” Winslow then turned to a lieutenant standing near another console, “Mister Evans, you have the command.
Winslow rose from the command chair and exited the bridge. His stride was slow, as he shuffled down several corridors before coming to his cabin. Finally entering his own personal domain, he commanded his computer on.
The machine’s voice was that of a woman of enticing qualities. Yet, it spoke directly as in a male manner, “You have two stored messages and one incoming call.”
“Answer call,” he ordered.
In an instant, the viewing monitor came on and displayed the smiling face of Captain Khalid. He was a man of dark tan complexion and just slightly older than Winslow. However, Khalid’s hair was total gray. Perhaps, it was brought on prematurely from years of playing at political complots within the Martian fleet.
“Good morning, John,” Khalid was bright and cheerful. “How is everything?”
“Omar, since when have you and me been on friendly terms?” Winslow challenged.
“I thought now might be a good time to make a fresh start,” Khalid explained. “After all, we have so many things to look forward to. Just think, we’re off to a new world, we don’t have to worry about the Earth ever again—and Wakinyan has been promoted to deputy fleet commander.”
Winslow’s eyes narrowed in hatred, which was picked-up immediately by Khalid. Omar was gleeful to Winslow’s reaction and knew the time was right.
“Something bothering you, John? You seem a little upset,” the captain of the Mir toyed.
Winslow, however, remained silent.
Khalid continued stoking John’s animosity, nevertheless. “You know, I’ve been a ship’s captain close to ten years now. I, myself, was in the running with Noda for that position. It is not so hard for me to imagine your feelings on Wakinyan’s promotion.”
“Get to the point!” Winslow’s annoyed disposition unveiled.
“We both know that the promotion should have gone to a more senior officer—like you or me. Wakinyan doesn’t know how to lead. He runs his ship like some virtual game, trying to rack up points on some invisible score board,” Khalid wen
t on. “But his recklessness will one day kill us all, unless….”
“Unless what?”
“Unless someone finds a way to depose Paladin’s decision of deputy fleet commander and installs a new one!”
But John became suspicious, “Omar, what is it you really want?”
Khalid was candid, “What I want is the fleet to have the proper leadership that it needs. I think it just might be time for a well and overdue change.”
“A change from what—Fleet Commander Paladin to Fleet Commander Khalid?” Winslow queried, guessing at the answer.
“That does have a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”
Winslow, however, was less than enthusiastic. “Does the word ‘mutiny’ also have a nice ring to it?”
“No, but ‘unfit for command’ does,” Omar countered. “Face facts, John! Paladin is an old man who lives in his library, trying to win modern space battles with tactics from ancient history. How ludicrous! And what has Paladin ever done for you? You’ve been a good officer, but do you think that Paladin appreciates that? If he did, he wouldn’t be running your ship or denying you your promotion!”
Winslow had to admit it was what he had been thinking. “I don’t know?” was all he could say in reply.
“Yes you do, or else you wouldn’t be listening to me now.”
“Maybe I agree with you,” John conceded, “So what? What can we do about it?”
“After we arrive at Valamars, an opportunity just may present itself. The two of us working together could resolve this situation most satisfactorily!”
“And what is it you want me to do—exactly?” Winslow demanded to know what he was getting involved in.
Khalid’s smile became very broad and toothy. He knew he had John hooked. “Don’t worry, at the right time you’ll be told. However, it shouldn’t amount to more than just a little show of—support.”
John felt uneasy about Omar’s scheme and lack of details. “I don’t know—but I’ll think about it.” Winslow surprised himself with his own willingness entertain such thoughts.
“Take your time,” Khalid was patient, “but remember this; things won’t change unless we do something ourselves. You’ll be nothing more than Paladin’s and Wakinyan’s lackey for the rest of your life,” Omar bluntly pointed out. “Having said that, I would make sure that all of my friends were amply rewarded for their efforts should the honor of fleet commander ever befall me—and your assistance would put you at the very top of that list!”