The Fleet (7 page)

He'd slept in
worse places, that was for damn sure. In dingy racks aboard ships
that barely managed to hang in orbit. Then there were the jail
cells. All of the damn jail cells. He'd always found it odd that
prisoners around him would mark their days spent on the cell walls.
Dalton never did. He just ate, slept and told the guards who
approached him with jobs to help speed up his release to go fuck
themselves.

If Dalton had
a dollar for every night he'd spent sleeping inside of a brown coat
– he'd be spending a pile of money on whiskey. That was for damn
sure.

He remembered
waking up to so many different faces. Women he knew, women he
hated. Some of them notches for the bedpost while others were
grounds to rip the bedpost off and throw it as far away as
possible. Blame the whiskey.

So no, Dalton
had no problem sleeping in a commander's chair. His ass on fine
leather in what could have doubled as an overstuffed recliner. As
for the crewmen around him, fuck 'em. How many of them had ran from
bloodthirsty vampires or fought against the Legion?

Looking around
the bridge, his guess was none. They had no idea what his eyes had
seen, nor would they. All the more reason to lean his chair back a
bit and soak in as much rest as possible. His old bones would thank
him later.

“Commander!”
one of the crewmen yelled, waking Dalton from his slumber nearly an
hour later. Both startling him and pissing the man in command
off.

“What?” he
grumbled.

“Phantom.”

Dalton
immediately jumped to his feet as if he'd never been asleep.
Shaking his brown duster a bit to make himself appear more
official.

“God of
War...” Craig's voice blasted. “God of War, please respond!”

The panic in
his voice was enough to let Dalton know something was gravely
wrong. Pushing him to grab a com and answer the message
himself.

“Phantom, this
is Commander James. We read you loud and clear.”

A moment
passed with nothing. Perhaps the shock of hearing from the
commander personally, or perhaps the distance between ships.

“Sir, we're in
trouble.” Craig admitted.

“Alright son,
calm down. Tell me exactly what's going on.” Dalton replied.

The rush of
Craig's voice seemed to alert the entire crew of the God of War's
bridge.

“We're on
fumes and have warships on our six!”

Warships?

“Say again?”
Dalton asked with confusion.

“Encountered
unknowns and had to haul ass back, sir, they're all over us. We
don't have the fuel to make it back. It's a miracle we've made it
this far.”

“Launch the
swordfish.” Dalton said. Turning to relay his orders to the
crew.

“How many
should I...”

“All of them!”
Dalton replied. “And get a tow shuttle to our people, now. Tell
them to move their asses about it!”

“Yes sir.” the
crewman replied.

Just as Dalton
overheard his orders being given to the pilot's deck, dozens of
strikes appeared on their radar system. Confirming Craig's
story.

“Look here,”
Dalton said, speaking into his com. “I want you to pull your
distress beacon and slam your throttle down as far as you can. Get
as close as you can. When the fuel's used up, shut the engine down.
Clear?”

“Shut the
engines down?” Craig asked with shakiness in his voice.

“Yes son, it's
the only chance you have. Get close enough for our guns to protect
you and a tow shuttle will be there as soon as possible.”

“Alright,”
Craig said. “Thank you, sir.”

“No son,”
Dalton replied. “Thank you for putting it out there for us. You
just get as far as you can and I'll take care of the rest. You
hear?”

“Yes sir.”

Dalton turned
quickly to ensure his crew was on it.

“Put our rail
guns on standby and tell them to avoid any distress beacon they
get. Otherwise, they'll answer to me.” Dalton demanded.

“Absolutely,
sir.”

“And have our
pilots pull their beacons now. Otherwise, they'll be shit stains in
the wind.”

It took only
moments for his order to be executed. Red distress beacons popping
up all over their grid system of radar. Normally used when a ship
was going down in a hard landing, Dalton had seen the need to
improvise.

“Who or what
do you think they are?” one of the crewmen asked. The entire group
aboard the ship's bridge gathered around the glowing table which
reflected heat signatures by radar.

“I don't know
and I don't give a damn,” Dalton replied. “If they're coming for a
fight, they've found the wrong dog right here. I'll turn these
sumbitches into worm chow.”

Normally his
words would have brought laughter, but not at this moment. Three
large ships now appearing on their radar, along with dozens of
small ships, from the look of things.

“That's it,”
Craig said. Admitting defeat as the phantom's engines began to
clang. A severe lack of fuel to blame. “We're done.”

“Are we within
range of the God of War?” Anna asked with desperation.

“I don't
know,” he replied, standing to his feet in the process. “But I
guess we'll find out soon enough.”

“What are you
doing?” she asked.

Craig had
taken the oxygen purification system from his suit and placed it on
the table. Walking into her direction.

He answered
her question with a kiss. Awkward at first, though Anna soon found
herself kissing back. No longer caring about the world, or, in this
case, worlds around them.

Almost like
fireworks tossing wildly, glowing yellow flashes zoomed past by the
hundreds. Lead zipping by and tearing into smaller ships which had
chased the phantom down.

“I love
you.”

“We're scoring
direct hits.” one of the crewman proudly announced.

“Don't get too
excited,” Dalton replied. “These are just the fleas we're hitting.
The real dogs are coming, looks like.”

“Showing two
unknown vessels. Completely different structure than we're used to,
and a single warship from the looks of it. A rather big one at
that.” a crewman said.

“Big don't
mean bad,” Dalton said, doing his best to keep the crew aboard the
God of War calm. “Just keep an eye on 'em and make sure our ship is
ready to bring the pain.”

“Yes sir.”

*

Adam had been
though seemingly everything in his lifetime. War. Love. Loss. But
nothing quite like what he was experiencing as he sat next to his
son on their military shuttle, safe and secure.

Nothing
matched it. Looking down onto a little boy who needed him. It had
been a long time since anyone truly needed him, which gave Adam
reason to believe that the next chapter in his life had
arrived.

There would
not be a day that passed when Adam didn't think of Sarah Blaine. He
knew it to be true. But he'd think of the woman he'd fallen in love
with long ago. Not the person...the thing she'd become.

Adam owed his
life to the brave men around him, but, more importantly, his son
was alive because of their ability to do a job. Something that made
him proud to wear the uniform.

As their
shuttle pulled from Radilia, Adam bid the moon farewell. He'd never
visit it again – a promise made to himself.

Of course,
he'd made the same promise after leaving Glimmeria during the first
war. Which didn't work out so well.

Adam smiled a
bit. Though he'd been through hell and back, Adam realized that
life was an unpredictable path filled with many hurdles. Some of
them tough enough to break a man's soul while others were just
tough enough to make a man appreciate things a little bit more.

Moments like
the one he shared with Avery, his son looking up to him with a grin
covering his face. Those were the moments he'd fought for and would
continue to fight for. They were the times that made life more than
just a routine.

Adam had
learned to appreciate even the smallest of things. It's what
awaited him after a life of hardship and loss.

*

“What is going
on?” Cambria asked as she rushed onto the bridge of their ship.

“We are about
to find out,” Dalton replied. “Just find a seat and strap down
tight. Just in case.”

Normally she
would have pressed him for answers. But his sobering demeanor and
the crew's frantic movements let her know that something big was
happening. Big enough to force her into a chair without argument.
Strapping in for whatever came their way next.

“Their
fighters seem to be pulling back.” a crewman said.

“Their big
three?” Dalton asked.

“Negative sir.
They're still coming in full-throttle.”

“Fuck it,”
Dalton said. “Let 'em come.”

The scene was
one of chaos as the three capital ships pushed forward. Each of
them quickly gaining ground on the God of War, which waited –
missiles locked to the teeth and plenty of ammunition standing by
for its massive rail guns.

“We've reached
the phantom.” a voice declared. Having been sent by the pilot of
the dispatched tow shuttle.

“Are they
alright?” Dalton asked. Leaning forward a bit to speak into his com
system.

“Yea,” the
pilot replied. As he watched Craig and Anna for a moment through
their craft's windshield – kissing passionately, the pilot grinned
with relief. “Yea, I'd say they are.”

“Good,” Dalton
said. “Grab hold of them and high-tail it home. We are about to
deal with this.”

“Copy.”

The shuttle
wasn't much different than the standard Glimmerian design. Though a
couple of differences set it apart. First, it had four massive
engines to burn, rather than the standard two. The tow shuttle
contained no weaponry, using the cargo room for extra fuel
instead.

Its second
unique feature was a very large plate magnet on its bottom side.
Perfectly round and nearly fifteen feet in diameter, the magnet
bolted directly to the shuttle's frame and allowed it to carry much
larger ships. Much like a tugboat.

Both Craig and
Anna heard the clank of magnet to metal as the shuttle latched onto
their rooftop. Still, they didn't care. Extreme circumstances
during battle can bring out the truth in those involved.

As the shuttle
tugged the phantom forward, moving at nearly half-speed back to the
God of War, several swordfish fighters skirted past. Escorted by
gunfire from the massive ship's rail guns. Not meant to end the
oncoming three ships, but to slow them down a bit until the heroes
could return home.

“Now sir?” a
crewman asked.

“Now we wait.”
Dalton replied.

Now we
wait.

*

“We're being
waved off by the God of War.” the shuttle's pilot said.

“Waved off?”
Adam asked, standing to approach the front of their military
craft.

“Yes sir,” the
pilot replied. “Something is going on, I'm still trying to figure
out what. A lot of chatter. All of it military.”

As he finished
his statement, the pilot pressed a button which broadcast the radio
traffic aloud. Each of the soldiers, including Adam, listening
closely.

“We're being
redirected to these coordinates.” the pilot said, handing Adam a
small slip of paper.

“What?”

“I've tried to
contact them to find out why, but I've gotten no response. My guess
is they have too much radio traffic going right now.”

Adam had
intended to ask for more. Maybe find out if any other information
was exchanged. Then he heard two words crackle across the com
system that put him at full-attention.

Second
Glimmeria.

“This is
Lieutenant Adam Michaels,” he said, grabbing the com from his
pilot's grip. “Say again with your Second Glimmeria traffic?”

“Lieutenant,”
a voice replied as others were talking loudly in the background of
the transmission. “The God of War has instructed all inbound
traffic to join the remainder of the fleet at coordinates
seven-alpha...”

“I have the
coordinates. I need to know why?” Adam demanded to know.

“No further
information is available at this time, Lieutenant. It's a
precautionary measure.”

With that
statement, the transmission ended and chatter continued to light up
the com system. Pilots speaking with those crewmen aboard the God
of War who relayed the message.

“What should
we do sir?” the pilot asked.

“Go to the
coordinates,” Adam replied. “Team, be locked and loaded. Prepare
for anything. I literally have no idea what we're flying into.”

“Yes sir.”

*

“Sir, they
should be close enough.” a crewman announced as so many others
looked on. Dozens of soldiers and staff waiting in silence as their
commander plotted his next move.

“Unidentified
vessels, this is Commander Dalton James. Please identify yourselves
and your intentions.”

Sitting back
in his chair a bit, Dalton held the com firmly and awaited a
response. Though none come. The entire staff of the God of War's
bridge could now see the large ships at a distance. Massive – each
of them looking very odd in design.

“These fuckers
think I'm messing around,” Dalton announced, bringing his com back
to the ready. “Again, this is Commander Dalton James. You are
instructed to identify yourselves and your intentions, otherwise
you run the risk of being shot down.”

He was only a
single ship against three, but didn't plan to blink. Dalton had no
idea what was aboard the ships in front of him, but did know that
his God of War was slammed packed with the firepower he needed to
bring hurt to an enemy.

“I'm getting
something commander,” a crewman said. “Patching it through
now.”