His sword held high, he came
before them, and they offered
him the world, and he just
gave it away.
White House - Washington D.C. - USA - Earth
The death of Pope Adrian the Fifth had shocked the world. The Catholic leader, revered as a man of peace to so many, including those not of the faith had suffered a massive stroke while delivering his Easter Mass. A comparatively young man compared to so many others that had held the prestigious position, the death had been a true surprise.
Adrian V had reached out, during a time of war, his unique status as a global leader positioned him to reach out to either side of the war. Trying to fight for peace, leading the recent spate of negotiations designed to finally put an end to the bloody war that had torn Africa and South America apart.
Even General Chow had considered himself a friend of Adrian, the pope breaking all conventions to meet with the Chinese Party Chairman to plead for the lives of children caught in the war zones. His compassion, and true love of life had been infectious, and there were many that believed that alongside Lord Houghton the UN Secretary-General there might be an end to the needless bloodshed.
President MacDonald set the newspaper down upon the desk, a general hush in the Oval Office, his key advisors assembled while the Senate continued to debate and review the rest of his cabinet appointments. Two months into his first term the MacDonald administration was still in its infant stages, finding its feet after MacDonald had swept much of his predecessor's cabinet aside in favour of new blood. People that were open and receptive to the idea of peace.
"We're in the middle of war and do I have to remind you that we've lost contact with four of our outer colonies in the past nine days?" Secretary of Defence Morgan warned, still adjusting to his new role the former four star general hated wearing suits, he'd found the most uncomfortable and sever suit he could find and wore it as it were a uniform. A last minute compromise had seen Morgan worm his way into cabinet to replace Madeline, who, thankfully to all in the Pentagon, had finally been relegated to early retirement.
"I, of all people, know that we are," the President snapped at the man, he always disliked Morgan, but had adopted the advice of some ancient scholar that a leader should always keep at least one enemy as an advisor, someone to offset the yes men. If a staunch ally and a sworn enemy tell you the same thing, chances are it was the truth.
"The key gentlemen is to seize opportunities," Vice-President Markus Aquinas sat on one of the low couches, his long legs crossed, his suit jacket open, across from him sat the new Secretary of State Doctor Jonathon Morvanor, a sage man that had been confirmed quickly by the Senate after Markus had lobbied personally for the appointment.
"I agree Mister President," Morvanor, an educated and clever political analyst turned in his chair, "It was Pope Adrian's final wish that his funeral break with standard Catholic convention, a move designed to bring people together -- more aptly world leaders. The funeral is being held in Adrian's home in Czechoslovakia, the Church of All Saints Ossuary in Sedlec to be precise."
"The Catholic Church must not appreciate that," the President responded.
The Deputy Director of Intelligence for the CIA stirred his tea, the last man present in the room he watched and chose his moments, as usual, to dispense his formidable knowledge on the world. "Rome has been targeted by strategic bombing from our bases in the Middle East, Vatican City, although we try not to target it, suffered heavy damage last month when one of our high altitude bombers suffered a GPS malfunction and dropped its ordinance over the holy city. The Vatican is hardly ready to host any kind of state funeral or foreign dignitaries."
"I'd like to remind everyone again," Morgan folded his arms snarling at how easily his opinion was dismissed, "that Czechoslovakia is a hostile nation, a full member state with the European Union and sending the President of the United States to this function could be disastrous."
"We aren't talking about a simple tea party," Markus reminded, "the Pope, widely revered as one of the most influential men this centaury has died, it is our obligation to the members of the Christian base, the predominant religion in this country, to attend. To not do so could have far worse repercussions for us, especially given our recent track record. If we are to ever succeed at winning peace with Europe and focus on the growing Chinese threat..."
"Here we go again," Morgan sneered, "the Chinese are coming, the Chinese are coming. We've been strategically positioning our forces for a push to take Libya, and with the sustained bombing of Italy I can land troops inside of three months. And we all know that once we have a foothold in Europe we'll sweep it clean."
"That has been the same plan you had for seven years," Markus pointed out, "and so far it hasn't been successful. I believe you still have an issue with an errant little German girl kicking your ass at every turn."
Morgan took a threatening step forward, "careful, or I will..."
President MacDonald cleared his throat, "excuse me gentlemen, I'd like to remind you that this is the Oval Office, not a school yard."
Morgan glowered as he took a step back, "yes Mister President," he inclined his head.
Markus simply smiled, "we have to send a representative. If not you, then I should go."
The Secretary of State nodded, "maybe if we both attended, citing ill health on the part of the President, that would send a message that we aren't attempting to snub the funeral, even though we technically are."
"Then we have a decision," President MacDonald surmised, "does that satisfy you Mister Morgan?"
Morgan nodded his head, "I simply have the welfare of the United States in mind."
* * *
The Admiral had purposefully sought to keep a low profile that day. It had been a relatively quiet one amidst a series of them spent in tense negotiations with colonial representatives. Days of endless arguing that made VonGrippen wonder how his father had ever managed to do it, to convince the prideful leaders of remote frontier worlds that they should work together. But after four days, he'd finally decided to take a day to himself, dodging the diplomats and the errant crewmember that frantically sought his approval on some small modification or another.
All VonGrippen wanted to do was enjoy a mug of coffee in his stateroom while he watched the latest intercepted news feed from Earth. Maybe even find time to work on a crossword puzzle, and just... relax.
But fate had decided that wasn't to be the case, as he settled into his leather chair and touched the controls for the holographic display on his desk there was a slight knock at the door.
Ben, wrapped in an oversized tunic that hung about his lean frame baggily, folded his arms tight about him, "permission to hide, sir," he asked with a slight smile, "I don't know what's worse, the leader of Tarkus complaining about the temperature, or the grand poomba of Cairo nagging about the food."
"Permission granted," VonGrippen replied, gesturing to one of the two low leather couches set into a depression in the floor just before the desk, "I was just about to load the news feed..."
Ben nodded gratefully, taking a seat and helping himself to the coffee carafe sitting in the middle of the coffee table, "I have a question for you Alex..." Ben looked up and waggled his mug, "how much of this stuff did you bring onboard the Shisak when we left Geldan, because... well... the ships galley has been out for nearly six months now, and the only person that seems to have any is you..."
VonGrippen smiled as he sipped from his mug, "a Highlord should never reveal his sources. Let's just say, I took the precaution of ensuring a plentiful supply onboard... and I ration myself."
"This has to be the best kept secret on the ship," Ben mused sighing blissfully as he sank into the sofa, his legs popping up on the coffee table, cradling the mug. Despite the weariness that the man seemed to wear constantly, he seemed relaxed as he sipped the coffee. "You know, you're going to have a mutiny on ship if the caffeine addicts suspect you've been hoarding."
"I'll secure them something from Cairo," VonGrippen murmured.
"Colonial coffee isn't Colombian," Ben sighed again, savouring his mug, shaking his head, "you have to tell me."
VonGrippen rolled his eyes, his beard twitching irritably, "all right, but I want your oath as an officer and a gentleman that this will never, and I repeat never, get out."
"Oh most definitely," Ben nodded solemnly, crossing his heart and folding his hand into a Scouts honour salute.
"Once we repaired the Excalibur's botanical labs I decided to cultivate my own," VonGrippen muttered.
Ben frowned, "botanical lab, I didn't know we had one... wait... wait a second," he shook his head, "you mean that lab down on deck four, the one with the biohazard seals and the pair of heavily armed Kaynin guarding it... that's a botanical lab?"
"You yourself agreed about how valuable real Colombian coffee is on ship. I harvested this about six months ago, and I have a second crop about four weeks from harvest." VonGrippen smiled slyly, "besides, it gives me a bit of peace and quiet away from this madhouse..."
He had unpacked the books he had brought with him aboard the Shisak months before. He settled into the leather chair behind the broad black glass desk, resting his hand against his forehead. His eyes looked past the reports and intelligence data that had been gathered from sympathetic colonies that had been willing to assist him, towards the photograph of his beloved wife, and the bouncing and bubbly two-year-old on her knee, looking every part his son. Stern and severe, yet he had her eyes, shining from beneath errant hair that refused to stay out of his eyes.
Jason Mark VonGrippen, from Lance's letters, had so much of his father's temperament. He was calm and patient, yet unlike his father, the boy was filled with the love and emotions that his mother had brought to him. Wilful, intelligent and inquisitive. He was already speaking, walking and eating solids. Every milestone VonGrippen had learned about through a letter, about a boy he had yet to lay his eyes upon.
He pulled the silver pocket watch his father had left behind for him, flipping it open as he stared down upon it, the steady passage of time marked by the ticking second hand, marching inexorably towards the future.
He stood closing the watch and walking down from the raised desk, across the stateroom and out towards the back of the bridge. The CIC was lit by flickering images on the situation table as Lieutenant Worth and Octavius worked to plot the liberation of the Etruscan colony. Contacts with the Etruscan underground had shown there was a great deal of support for the liberation movement, and for House VonGrippen, despite the American Governor's attempted propaganda campaign.
Not that there was much the Governor could do to stop the House, there were no American fleet assets in the system, nor Orion vessels within jump range. The Excalibur could take up a high orbit and strike at American strategic assets while the colonists, aided by the Kaynin and Worth's soldiers, dealt with the local garrison.
VonGrippen was selective with his targets, attacking the support bases first, removing any possibility for the American's to launch a counter offensive, allowing the colonies themselves a chance at their own liberation, stepping in only where he was needed to render as much assistance as was necessary before moving on. Fast raids that were becoming his hallmark, his crew growing as his officers recruited from the colonies to fill out their ranks. Octavius watched diligently over the new recruits. His efforts to ensure House loyalty while discipline was instilled into the former farmers, fishermen or factory workers paid off. Excalibur sat at close to a thousand men and women, and even a few non-human transients who had volunteered for a chance to serve on the vessel.
Commander Havelock had an exceptionally bristly chief petty officer under him in the form of an Arboreal colloquially nick named 'Thistle' by the engineering crews. With a temper to match even Diaz's, their arguments had approached legend. Thistle offering to pick out her monkey fleas, while she in turn had offered a good recipe for brussel sprouts which, as she had pointed out, could easily be adapted to Thistle's children.
VonGrippen spotted Derek labouring over the Overlord computer that had been tied into the Excalibur's tactical systems, making it privy to the tactical distribution of the American forces. It granted the Americans a key tactical advantage over the Europeans, however it had also granted VonGrippen the information he needed to guarantee the colonial battles. He wasn't hesitant in his usage of the information it provided, he corroborated it, and acted upon what he had to, turning the American super weapon back upon them.
"You are pushing yourself too hard," VonGrippen murmured stopping on the second tier just behind the young man.
Derek glanced up from his work, "I'm trying to find the Overlord personality in the TAC-net, but he's being elusive."
VonGrippen nodded as he rested a hand upon the back of Derek's chair, staring across the console, and at the repeater displays, "TAC-net is connected to the FTL-Comms right?"
"It updates automatically every five minutes, but Overlord is linked to all of its field units and so predicts the actions of various units within those five minute windows to give an accurate picture of the battle field as it can. Every enemy unit on any sensor, optic, or radar scope equipped with a field unit is shown and displayed..."
"But you are saying that Overlord himself is hiding?" VonGrippen asked.
"Unlike the Excalibur's A.I. that is constrained to the ship's computer core, Overlord is everywhere in TAC-net, he is it, in a sense. So if he doesn't want to, he doesn't have to surface, he could bury his program across hundreds of computers light-years apart, even our own, if Excalibur let him. But she's a little territorial about her core."
"Organics are just as territorial about their own minds," Commander Durnham materialized on the tier below looking up at VonGrippen and Derek, "besides, Excalibur feels that to allow Overlord unlimited access to her core would pose a significant security risk, especially if our access to TAC-net were discovered."
"Thank you Commander," VonGrippen nodded, "I agree with that, the last thing we need is to show up on TAC-net. But I had a question for you, Derek, if A.I.'s are so useful, why hasn't there been more completed after the Icarus project?"
Derek looked up; "cost, plus the US military classified everything to do with A.I. technology almost as soon as the Icarus went missing. There was a fear that the A.I. might have been responsible for the disaster, and so more research had to be conducted before Overlord could be put into service. There were other attempts, but none with the kind of success of Excalibur or Overlord, besides there was a tendency towards... instability in many of the A.I.'s that were programmed."
"I assure you that neither I, nor Excalibur have such an instability," Commander Durnham looked unsettled.
"He's correct," Derek agreed, "probably the fact that Excalibur chose to pattern her interface off of an individual she came to know well rather than attempt to build a full personality of her own..."
"I disagree there," VonGrippen said, glancing up at the bulkheads around him, "Excalibur has quite the personality of her own. Very well Derek, keep looking..."
"Admiral," Derek turned, "sir, I..."
VonGrippen paused, "yes?"
"Thank you, sir," Derek said genuinely, "most other bosses would have told me to get back to work and stop wasting my time chasing ghosts."
VonGrippen shrugged his shoulders, "you are working. You're doing what you do, which is keep our connection to Overlord operational and keeping Excalibur in top form." His fingers lingered a moment on the bulkhead, "And I can understand the... feelings of attachment that grow towards a ship, or a machine. Especially one as alive as an A.I. is." He nodded one final time and climbed back to the upper tier heading for his stateroom once again.
* * *
In the hall of Mental Contemplation General Chow listened idly to the reports from his generals. After long negotiations the Russians were finally throwing their support behind China. A hard fought and hard earned Sino-Russian Alliance that brought the valued and experienced Russian forces onto his side. Old wariness of the Russian President for anything that smelled of Communism had been allayed with promises of sharing Japan's wealth once it was annexed. For the dying Russian Federation, any promise of capital was a chance at hope. Seven years of depression and a second near total economic collapse had made even the resolve of the die-hard Russian President falter.
General Chow had already positioned key Russian officers through his military forces, and added a large number of Russian amphibious assault troops to his bases in Korea. Under the guise of a Sino-Russian joint military exercise, the troops would be deployed to begin their training for the inevitable assault on Japan.
The matter of the Russian Cabinet had irked Chow, the posturing and one-upmanship that had become the staple to Russian politics over the past couple of hundred years really sickened him. And he had taken steps to clear out the chaff, Russian Cabinet ministers considered undesirable by Chow had been dealt with silently and quickly, while the Russian President had been relegated to the role of puppet leader, locked within the Presidential Residence while control had been shifted to China.
Amusing how quickly Russia had fallen into line. The assimilation by the Chinese had been carefully kept from the general Russian public, as suddenly a rush of money had flooded into the Russian economy, China buying Russian equipment and resources in preparation. After years of depression, prosperity at the hands of the Chinese would soften the blow once they learned they had been relegated to a communist satellite state.
He petted Kaili's head, listening to her murmur her appreciation for his ministrations while he contemplated his invitation to attend the funeral of a friend. To call Adrian V anything other than a friend would have dishonoured the man's memory, he'd brought an understanding of Asian ways with him when he had visited China. Not trying to push a global agenda, but complimenting Chow for the support that China had done for the children of third world countries now provinces of the Sino-Russian Alliance. For someone, especially a westerner of such importance to come to him to say thank you on behalf of the children reached even Chow, and he had cultivated a grudging respect for the stubborn and at times very opinionated holy man who never seemed to push his beliefs on to other people, merely explored their own morality looking for common ground.
The world had lost a great peacemaker in Adrian V, and the leader of the Cardinal Council and his probable successor looked set to restore the traditional Papal role of religious strong arming.
"Why this church?" Chow mused, cutting through the reports of the army's readiness status, "why not Rome?"
"It was a place believed sacred to the elder," one of his intelligence officers supplied, "and given the Americans carpet bombing of the Vatican, the appropriate place for a funeral. By extension he asked that key world leaders attend with their top ministers."
Chow nodded sagely, "even in death he is hoping to attain peace, he hopes that once we are all gathered to share something as intimate as his funeral we may find some common ground upon which we can build."
"You should not go General," another advisor ventured, "we cannot guarantee your safety..."
"I guarantee my own safety." Chow responded standing, "I am not at war with any of them, I shall not cower here while they stand and mourn my friend."
* * *
The Excalibur flashed into the outer system, resplendent in the night as she slid like a hungry shark through the outer planets, ensuring that the patrol frigate's got a good look at the former UN vessel that had, after so long, come home. She displayed her new IFF loud and clear for everyone to hear, the transponder broadcasting the ships name and designation code, HMS Excalibur CVX-11. After a twelve hour cruise through the outer system, her weapon systems powered as she accelerated closing in upon Earth and an old enemy that stood in her path.
The bridge was cleared for action, crew rushing from station to station as reports flooded back into the CIC where VonGrippen, standing with his arms folded at the head of the situation table stared down upon the USS Colombia and its escort group.
"We've been through this before," he remarked dryly, but they all knew that their roles had been reversed the second time. The Excalibur out gunned the Colombia easily and VonGrippen had a severe message to deliver to the communities on Earth. One that could only be accomplished with a lesson they would all understand.
Maguire stood at the far end of the situation table, his palms resting upon it shaking his head, "there has to be a peaceful resolution..."
"There may be one," VonGrippen replied, "would you care to try?" He gestured to the growler phone attached to the edge of the CIC table.
Maguire smiled his thanks faintly, VonGrippen wasn't a cold hearted butcher, he was prepared to negotiate and be reasonable, but he was also firm in his resolve, the US domination of space had to end, and he had the capacity to make it end.
Maguire picked up the phone as VonGrippen nodded across to Ben for him to open a channel. The overhead speakers in the CIC relaying the conversation for them all to hear.
"This is Commander Desmond Maguire, formerly of the USS Colombia," Maguire held his breath.
The speakers sputtered to life, "Commander Maguire, it's Brad, are you all right sir?"
"I have been treated well, I am a prisoner of war, however I've managed to convince the Commander of this ship to at least talk..."
"I'm sorry sir," Brad sounded truly apologetic, "but I have clear orders when it comes to unidentified vessels entering Earth space. I have to order them to stand down and prepare to be boarded..."
VonGrippen shook his head, "no."
"Admiral VonGrippen refuses," Maguire grew desperate, "Brad I know you have your orders, but you don't understand this ship is more advanced than anything we've had to deal with before, I know I've spent two years onboard it. You have to stand down..."
There was a quiet pause on the line, before Brad spoke again, "sir, you've been a prisoner of war for two years. For all I know you could have been coerced into making these statements, but in the end, sir, I have my orders."
VonGrippen motioned to gunnery control, the weapons techs under Octavius's guidance sighting in the powerful Zero-Point Bore on the American flagship. Maguire shaking his head again, closing his eyes.
"Brad, please..."
"I'm sorry sir, but I have to terminate this conversation," the speaker went dead as VonGrippen lifted his fingers.
"Stand by with main cannon," he commanded, his eyes locked on Maguire hesitating out of his friendship with the man, "is there any other option? Anything that may convince them of the danger they are in?"
Maguire curled his hand around the phone receiver and looked at VonGrippen, his hand literally over the trigger, and yet he too had paused. Giving Maguire one last chance to convince the Colombia to stand down, it was a mark of the friendship between the two men. And as officers, it was a true sign of the trust VonGrippen had extended to Maguire.
"A warning shot?" Maguire suggested.
"With our faulty power converter we may only get one shot with the cannon," VonGrippen warned, "I want engineering crews on standby to replace the burned out elements as quickly as they can..." He turned his head back to Maguire, "you should be thankful that I am good at cards. Because once our primary power systems go down I am going to have to bluff them."
"I am grateful for a lot more than that Alex," Maguire replied, "I can show your men how to disable the Colombia, maybe that will help spare a few lives..."
VonGrippen shook his head, coming around the CIC table, "you've been a part of my crew for two years now, and I trust your word. But I wouldn't be much of a friend if I asked you to betray your country. Colombia's biggest fault is that she is just one ship, she can't be in two places at the same time. I, on the other hand, can."
Maguire blinked his confusion, "what do you mean?"
"Helm set co-ordinates for outer Earth orbit and standby with the Jump drives," VonGrippen looked back at Maguire, "if I just jump past them keeping a line of sight jump we should be able to, with some precision, jump into orbit. Then Colombia will have to spend several hours catching up to us while I find a way to deal with the American defence platforms."
Maguire took a deep breath, a hand resting upon a set of line dividers, turning them slowly, "the orbital defence platforms are going to out gun you significantly, even with the full arsenal of the Excalibur being brought to bear it is still not going to be enough. I feel obligated, Admiral, to advise you to withdraw and reconsider this action."
VonGrippen smiled as he extended his hand, "the receiver Mister Maguire." He accepted it when it was handed to him, lifting it to his ear, "Commander, this is Admiral Alexander Richard VonGrippen, Highlord of House VonGrippen and master of this vessel. I am the same man who has liberated nine of your colonies over the past month. By my calculations, my impact upon your war effort has been somewhere in the trillion dollar mark and that figure continues to grow each day."
VonGrippen walked down the length of the CIC table and his eyes scanned across the holographic representation of the Colombia noting the modifications completed upon her after two years, "I wish to discuss terms with a representative of the United States Government. As you are aware my weapons ports are open and my armament significantly outclasses your own, consider very carefully any action you take against this ship. It may well be your last. You have an hour to make arrangements and inform me of your government's decision." VonGrippen set the growler back into its cradle and folded his arms, "as a measure of good will, Mister Maguire, I am going to return you with the delegation."
Maguire nodded a little sadly, excusing himself from the bridge to begin packing.
* * *
"A delegation to the colonial vessel?" President MacDonald stalked around his desk looking at Morgan, "you're advising we meet with the pirate who has been terrorizing our outer colonies?"
"Under the circumstances," the DDI sitting in his customary chair, teacup in hand spoke up, "considering the fact that the colonies in question heralded VonGrippen's arrival like a hero, and that he merely captured our garrison forces instead of executing them... I personally feel it may be in our interest to meet with the Admiral, to at least stave off a total disaster in our colonial assets."
MacDonald rubbed his temples, "that ship, that's Icarus, right?"
"It's been re-designated Excalibur, but yes sir, that was Icarus." The DDI set his cup down, "but the changes made to the ship have been extensive. I had a report FTL-ed from one of the first colonies to encounter her, that the vessel has considerably advanced weaponry in her arsenal. Given VonGrippen's confidence, I would say the Excalibur is a very real threat to Earth."
"He's just some backwater son-of-a-bitch," Morgan turned on the DDI, "he's not some god-like being who..."
The DDI lazily reached into his open folio, pulling out a thin book and tossing it across the Oval Office towards Morgan, "my son had that. Brought it home from school."
Morgan lifted the comic book, staring at the depiction of the warship Excalibur, with a noble, bearded figure with the VonGrippen Striking Falcon's on his shoulders, "the Highlord?" Morgan read off of the cover, flipping through it, "it's crap..."
MacDonald took the comic book from Morgan's hands and examined it, "I've seen this," he touched the insignia, "just recently..."
"You should," The DDI said calmly, "it is popping up everywhere, my sources tell me that a private press makes these, but it's growing popular with the youth on both sides of the Atlantic..."
"The Europeans have the same problem?" MacDonald read through the comic book, a gaudily coloured piece that seemed to romanticise 'VG' as some kind of modern day Robin Hood, liberating colonies from the greedy clutches of malevolent governments.
"Yes," the DDI replied, "a news feed about House VonGrippen got out of one of the colonies, and it caught someone's imagination. If you turn on the popular music stations," he gestured to the small television recessed into the wall, "you'll see what I mean."
The President gestured his assent and the DDI picked up the remote, surfing through the channels till he found what he was looking for, a fast, catchy song sung by the latest rock idol, the words were typically incoherent, but the message was clear. Under his leather jacket he wore a Striking Falcon tee shirt the words 'Fly Free' written under it.
"We should contain this," Morgan warned, "its enemy propaganda..."
"There is only one way to contain it," The DDI picked up his tea cup again, "that is to meet with Admiral VonGrippen and find out what he wants."
The phone rang, interrupting them, and MacDonald picked it up irritably, "what?" He paused a look of concern registering on his face as he listened, lowering the phone after a moment, "it appears that the Chinese have learned of VonGrippen's... request. And General Chow has demanded that his delegation accompany our own."
The DDI nodded, "I have warned you many times, never underestimate Chinese Intelligence. They are remarkably adept at learning secrets, especially badly kept military ones."
Morgan bristled at the jab, "we can't simply..." Morgan tossed the comic book down onto his desk and rubbed his face, "what do you suggest?"
The DDI thought a long moment, "we already have a delegation going to attend the Pope's funeral, simply extend the invitation to the 'Highlord VonGrippen' and a guarantee of safe passage through the Orbital Platforms under a flag of truce. That way General Chow will have his delegation there..."
"As will the Europeans," Morgan murmured.
"Perhaps," The DDI replied, "but a public forum may be better than a private one under these circumstances. We have to keep the Chinese quiet as long as we focus upon the Europeans, and we can't risk VonGrippen destroying our space assets or going after other colonies. This should give us some breathing room while we strategize."
MacDonald nodded looking from the comic book to the rock video, "do it."
* * *
Special Flight 400 cruised across the Atlantic at thirty thousand feet under heavy escort for the newest flight of F-90 Aerospace fighters, the legendary VF-54 volunteer squadron 'Paladins'. Raked forward wings and advanced computerized aeronautics made the fighters the cutting edge of American fighter technology.
Matching pace with the aircraft that usually bore the singular designation of Air Force One whenever it bore the president.
The specially designed Boeing 900-Series had built upon the fine traditions of its predecessors, becoming a heavily armed and formidable strategic command centre from which, in an emergency, the President as the Command-in-Chief could maintain strategic control over any situation. A diplomatic ferry with its unmistakable blue and white fuselage and Presidential seal that hadn't made the journey across the Atlantic in more than seven years.
"I understand Mister President," Markus sat behind the President's desk in the small office aboard the plane nodding at the view screen across from him that tele-conferenced with the White House situation room, "am I authorized to make any kind of concessions to the Highlord?"
"We don't make deals with pirates," the President responded angrily, "no matter how popular they are. Find out his intentions and what he wants."
"I understand Mister President," Markus repeated as the screen went dark, glancing across to where Secretary Morvanor was sitting, "a wasted opportunity."
"Agreed," Morvanor said stirring sugar into a mug of coffee, "were I the President, I would be trying to find a way to cut a deal with the 'Highlord' and find a way to use his popularity and his technology..."
Markus held up a finger shaking his head, "you don't manipulate VonGrippen, not directly. A man like him, you have to earn his loyalty and use it to manipulate other people." He folded his hands, setting on his elbows as he rested on them thoughtfully, "he's a useful man, and he can beat us if he decides to attack."
"You sound certain of that fact," Morvanor responded quietly.
"He has everything he needs in that ship and inside his own head to deal a devastating defeat to the United States military. And frankly, the Chief's of Staff and Secretary of Defence Morgan have never fought a man like him." Markus pulled a file across his desk from a pile and slid it across to Morvanor, "courtesy of the Deputy Director of Intelligence, he's made a point of studying VonGrippen ever since the Phobos attack. And recently, his military successes over the colonies were nothing short of brilliant. Look at how he has positioned himself at Earth." Markus reached over to the computer and accessed Overlord, displaying the TAC-net data, showing the Excalibur poised over the Colombia's task force.
"It's an impressive ship," Morvanor conceded, "but he is outside of strike range of Earth."
"He possesses a jump drive," Markus gestured again, "he could engage them, leap down upon Earth, destroy one or two of the orbital stations before they knew what hit them and be free to persecute an orbital bombardment of this planet. All the while, knowing that it would take hours for the Colombia to respond. Clever, simple and effective, and of course because they have never seen such a strategy used, our generals aren't prepared for it."
"And you aren't going to alert them to the danger," Morvanor's eyes sparkled.
"And you smell opportunity," Markus countered.
"I sense a change," Morvanor folded his arms, "people who are sick of war for war's sake. People who have seen their politicians lie to them, tax them to death and then send their sons and daughters to far-flung places without rhyme or reason. And once the people start to realize there is a chance for change, and a real change, they tend to seize upon it." Morvanor flipped the page to show the Striking Falcon in the file, holding it up, "And they have their banner. The question is, will they follow it?"
"There needs to be a catalyst," Morvanor stated, cautious now, his tongue running across his lips, "hypothetically of course, because we are after all talking about a revolution."
"No," Markus shook his head, "we are merely discussing what might happen were we to stand by and do nothing. The catalyst, well I am sure that China has an idea of what to do there."
"More information from the DDI?"
"No," Markus replied, "call it a hunch."
* * *
VonGrippen marched down the steps into the hangar bay, pulling on the great coat that was a symbol of his position, tucking the peaked cap upon his head, pulling its visor low to shadow his eyes. He'd tucked an Orion slivergun into the holster strapped to his thigh, preferring the rapid firepower that it would offer to him if there was a crisis.
Lieutenant Worth had assembled his soldiers; arming a collection of Kaynin and human soldiers with pulse rifles, dress red berets on their heads and army combat fatigues appropriate for the cold chill of a Czechoslovakian spring. They were assembled at the rear ramp to EX-01, which was powering for flight. Commander Maguire in his American uniform off to one side standing uncomfortable watching as VonGrippen walked up to him.
"I think this is a mistake," Maguire said firmly.
"Is that your assessment as a US soldier or as my friend?" VonGrippen inquired pulling the American service pistol from his pocket and returning it to Maguire. "You're not a prisoner anymore," he explained at the surprised look Maguire shot him, "and, unless you have developed suicidal tendencies, you aren't about to use it in the dropship, especially not when I am travelling under a flag of truce from your government." He motioned to Lieutenant Worth, "we should get under way."
Dominic nodded his head, bellowing orders for his men to begin boarding the dropship clamping up the ramp as VonGrippen turned a final time to Ben.
Ben stood back a little, looking pale. Doctor Sevano assured him that it was nothing to prevent Ben from remaining in command for a few days, but that didn't stop VonGrippen from being concerned for his friend. He stepped aside, adjusting the cap on his head and running a finger down his full beard, "this will be over soon, a couple of months and you'll be home."
Ben smiled faintly, a gesture that reminded VonGrippen of the first time they had met, "I know, I'll see you in a couple of days, Excalibur will be well looked after."
VonGrippen glanced about him at the ship about him, "even down here you can feel her," he said quietly a tinge of awe in his voice as he did so, reverence for the vessel, "she'll keep you safe till I get back."
Ben nodded, "remember the gun," he said calmly, "surrender your weapon to no one. You will need it."
"Trouble?" VonGrippen asked, leaning in a little.
"There is no doubt about it," Ben said, sounding sad, "the you that is now, will not be the you that returns from this... But that is the nature of life; we are all changed by the events in our lives aren't we? Just remember the gun."
VonGrippen saluted, turned and marched up the ramp, finding his seat in the cockpit and strapping himself in as the dropship taxied its way to the starboard plane elevator that would take them to the flight deck above. Thinking about the vague warning Ben had delivered to him, and wondering what was ahead.
* * *
Almost a half mile beneath the Pacific the Chinese nuclear powered attack submarine Xia cruised at a steady twenty knots. Almost silent on its drives, the vessel had been built to blend seamlessly into the dark and murky depths of the ocean. Armed with a combination of modified Russian SKVAL torpedoes capable of over two hundred knots and packing a considerable punch, as well as the Novator M-54E three-stage anti-ship cruise missiles, the Xia was a lethal and silent assassin.
Her Captain had received clear orders to shadow the combined Sino-Russian amphibious operation going on above the surface, mock battle drills designed to prepare the forces for the inevitable invasion of Japan. And he monitored performance while he ran complicated missile drills, his nuclear armament would be the first stage in a tactical strike against Far-Eastern Command, the United States feeble attempt to retain control of the pacific.
He had retired for the night when an alarm went up aboard the ship. Trained for almost anything, his crew performed admirably as they rushed to their battle stations through the cramped corridors of the boat, looking for whatever had caused the alarm. The engineer roused from his sleep had looked across the boards, unable to explain beyond that it had been a collision alarm.
That had been the start of the chaos that erupted when a second and a third collision alarm resounded, the crew looking to the Captain for instructions as he reviewed boards searching for any reason why the alarms would be going off. The forward hatch was showing a temperature change, followed by two others, as the tell tale of cutting torches began to burn through the hull. The Captain responded, issuing orders for weapons to be issued as crew rushed to cover the hatches with assault rifles.
A young lieutenant had been ordered to cover the forward hatch, watching nervously as the section of hull collapsed inwards, and a lone figure dropped through, a pale humanoid, his features were definitely American, and yet lacked any kind of expression as he straightened up, unarmed except for a black wetsuit. The Lieutenant gestured to his men to start firing, and in an eruption of gunfire they mowed down the intruder.
Only to watch him stand again, advancing steadily as the second hail of bullets sliced through him, his wounds healing as he walked, staggering with each new impact as he advanced. And back behind him, troops in body armour and faceless black helms dropped to the deck, using DT-09's began to lay down cover fire.
Advancing through the other two holes in the hull similar units rushed forward to secure objectives before the Chinese Captain could order the scuttling of the ship he was about to loose. The strange alien creatures securing the ship with out words, butchering the Chinese crew ruthlessly while the wet-suited leaders moved with precision into the Command Centre, retrieving the nuclear launch keys and altering the Xia's course away from the exercise area.