* * * * *
Paladin had met Wakinyan many years ago during the Arris War. After the Arris defeat at the jump-gate, many of the remaining alien ships had tried to take cover in the rings of Jupiter and where they came across Wakinyan’s uncle’s freighter anchored by a small planetoid.
The Arris killed everyone aboard the ship by making several controlled breaches in the hull. Paladin speculated that their intention of sending a small party aboard and moving the old cargo vessel to a chosen location was only part of a trap. The Arris probably planned to overload the power plant of the old ship, turning the Soaring Eagle into an elaborate bomb while baiting the human warships with a false distress call from the old freighter. And it almost succeeded.
Some of the pursuing Earth and Martian ships, including Paladin’s cruiser, had altered course and headed directly for the ambush area. But the Arris, however, hadn’t counted on a lone survivor—Wakinyan—who took matters into his own hands.
Wakinyan entered the freighter after working outside on the ship’s damaged communication arrays and was still in his spacesuit when the Arris breached the ship’s hull. Making his way to the bridge, Wakinyan helplessly watched his uncle and some of the crew die from spacing before his very eyes. Paladin took several minutes and tried to imagine the trauma and anguish the young man suffered at being so powerless to stop it. But after this brief pause, the commander’s thoughts rambled on.
As the Arris came aboard, Wakinyan retrieved that old Bowie knife from his uncle’s cabin. They should have check to see if all aboard were dead, but they didn’t—a fatal mistake. For Wakinyan then killed the entire Arris boarding party one-by-one with that knife. He next fired-up the ship’s engines one last time in an act of anger, revenge, and honor, sending the freighter at full speed into the Arris warships. In a final act of glory, the Soaring Eagle took three Arris warships with her in a blinding flash of fury of nuclear fission.
The resulting explosion was horrific, but Wakinyan was still alive. Using a jetpack, the young man ejected out of and away from the doomed freighter after setting the controls. He quickly found shelter in a small crater on the nearby planetoid before the impact. Lashing himself inside, the floating boulder made a hasty shield for the brave young man.
Wakinyan had barely escaped with his own life, and although a civilian, he had been credited with saving countless human lives while helping to destroy some of the remaining remnants of the Arris Fleet. His actions had greatly impressed Paladin.
Paladin afterwards quickly recommended Wakinyan for immediate induction into the Martian Military Fleet Academy, and used every contact to make it happen. It was a very rewarding decision, Paladin reflected. Wakinyan proved his worth time after time. And although his record wasn’t exactly spotless, it was a faithful chronicle of the officer’s bravery, resourcefulness, and devotion to duty. Paladin knew there was no one else comparable within the fleet. Wakinyan was clearly the best choice.
* * * * *
Paladin jumped back into the present as a chime sounded and the hatch’s intercom reverberated with a familiar voice. “Captain Richard Wakinyan reporting as ordered, Sir. Permission to enter.”
The old fleet commander shut down the hologram and faced the hatchway. “Permission granted, Captain Wakinyan,” Paladin spoke back to the intercom.
The hatch slid open and Captain Wakinyan paced in. Once he was in, the hatch closed behind him as he marched to the commander’s desk. Finally stopping, Wakinyan offered a perky salute to his commanding officer as he stood at attention.
Paladin returned the salute.
“Please, sit down,” Paladin offered the chair in front of his desk with a hand.
Wakinyan quickly seated himself, but stiffly sat in a military manner.
“Captain, please relax,” Paladin said as he folded his hands. “You’re not a new recruit.”
“Aye, Sir,” Wakinyan said as he loosened up a bit and a slight grin formed on his lips.
Paladin momentarily studied his junior officer. Richard looked tired, but he was the type that refused to acknowledge his own body’s limitations. The fleet commander became prideful in this and then started.
“Captain, nothing in life is ever easy, especially in the military. Even with all the training, planning, and preparation, it’s only by the Grace of God does one really succeed. But such matters are never without their sacrifices. It’s taken us over thirty years to make it this far: the dream of being a free people once again. Yet, it could all unravel with a few poor decisions and a little bad luck,” Paladin spoke honestly.
Richard just sat and continued to listen. He wasn’t sure of what the commander was driving to, but it did not sound good.
“Earlier, I was questioned by another junior officer about leaving the rest of our people behind. Believe me, it was not an easy choice I made, but rather one out of necessity. I could not let the fear, hesitation, or motivation for self-gain of some dictate the fate of others. If given those same circumstances again, I would make the very same decision.”
Wakinyan recognized that Paladin would never make such an admission, unless the commander was about to ask—or order something well out of the ordinary. Richard found his mouth becoming parched as his heart began to race a little faster in anticipation of the punch line to this sermon.
Paladin proceeded with his thoughts. “As officers, we are expected to lead with lack of emotion, soundness of judgment, and totally without any favoritism. We ourselves are not supposed to be above the hard decisions made concerning the lives of others—and at times, must share their fate. This is in particular to the lives we are charged directly with.”
Paladin paused for a moment to gage his subordinate, but Wakinyan did not let his dismay show.
“Captain, in our business, we are all expendable. When I go, there will be someone to take my place—and he will need to have the strength and the vision to continue our people’s journey down the path of freedom and self-government, which is why I’ve asked you here,” Paladin went on.
“Sir, what are you trying to say?” Richard asked not knowing what to expect.
“During the battle over Mars, we lost several ships. The Viking was one of them. She perished with all hands—including Deputy Commander Noda.”
Wakinyan became somber. “I’m sorry to hear that, Sir.”
“He was a fine officer—and a good friend,” Paladin expressed with sadness. “But like me, he can be replaced!”
Richard’s face twisted in puzzlement. There seemed to be a strange fire in the old man’s eyes, one that Wakinyan had never seen before.
The Commander of the Martian fleet then pulled open a draw of his desk and reached in. He retrieved a small box and then stood up.
Paladin walked around to the front of his desk, next to where Richard sat, and stopped. “Captain Wakinyan, rise! Face me and stand at attention!” ordered Paladin with a no-nonsense look.
Without a thought, Richard rose and faced his superior.
Paladin removed the lid of the box and placed the opened container on his desk. The man then reached over to Wakinyan’s collar and removed the captain’s rank.
“Through the course of human conflict, the needs of a people were so profound that great opportunities availed themselves to the most unlikely of men and women. In response, these men and women rose to the challenge, and forever changed the course of history—along with their own destinies,” Paladin’s electronic voice spoke clearly.
Richard’s eyes peeked downward into the box and saw Paladin pick up two single stars of rank. The captain of the Crazy Horse was stunned.
“It is now your turn, Captain Wakinyan, or should I say—Deputy Fleet Commander Wakinyan?” Paladin’s face was determinedly fixed as he pinned the new rank onto Wakinyan’s collar.
“Sir, you can’t do this!” Richard objected uneasily.
Paladin sighed. “The Martian fleet is only about twenty years o
ld, Rich. We, for the most part, lack the politics of our Earth counter-parts. And although there are many fine command officers within the ranks, it is you that presents the best choice for the survival of our people.”
Paladin continued. “With any military organization, most officers rigidly hold on to tactics that they’ve been trained in. They absolutely refuse to consider anything else. As a result, this makes any of these tactics eventually painfully obvious—and potentially disastrous. You, on the other hand, have no problem with rendering the unorthodox. You make a solution to fit the problem. Most of all, as the fluidness of battle changes, so does your strategy.”
“You have proven many times in the past that you have the ability and the courage to do the impossible. As an example, you were the one to come up with that crazy scheme to attack that Earth base—and then volunteered to do it. If we had tried a direct assault, we might have suffered many more losses in lives and ships than we could afford. It all might have ended right there.”
Again Paladin paused.
“Although commanding a ship never places an officer at the top of any popularity list, your crew trusts and respects you. You, in turn, make them proud of their ship and themselves. With you in command, your crew believes they can achieve anything, no matter what the odds—and isn’t that what leadership is all about?” the fleet commander finished.
Paladin then turned on his communicator. “Mister Winslow?” he called.
“Yes, Commander?” Winslow replied.
“Mister Winslow, have all commands been notified of Deputy Fleet Commander Wakinyan’s promotion?” quizzed Paladin.
“Aye, Sir. They have,” Winslow reported.
“Thank you, Mister Winslow.” Paladin then shut off his communicator. “Well, there it is, Lieutenant Commander Wakinyan. You’ll be getting a new ship shortly. In the meantime, you are now my 2IC, my Second-in-Command, and you better get use to it.”
But Richard was still doubtful. “Sir, commanding a ship is one thing, commanding the fleet is another. I also think that this will not sit too kindly with some of the more senior officers.”
“It doesn’t matter, the deed is done. You’re going to have to win their respect, Deputy Commander. Prove to them that you’re fit to lead—as well as to yourself.”
Paladin offered his hand to Richard. The two men then shook hands.
“Thank you, Sir. I’ll try to live up to your expectations,” Wakinyan said honestly.
Paladin smiled, “I think you will.” But a sudden change in his face muscles conveyed a poignant expression along with solid stare of dejection. “I also think you’ll curse me before this is all over with!” he stated with a certainty.
Richard became perplexed at such an outrageous and unexpected remark.
“To hold this rank, requires you to make decisions that will not only hurt the enemy—but also your own. And there will come a time when the situation will be absolutely so bleak that every eye will turn to you out of fear and desperation. In that moment, you’ll have to become like the steel of your ship—and make the hardest choices of your life. Because if you don’t, there will be no one is else to do it for you. And you will always be alone in this,” Paladin softly, but seriously spoke in his electronic voice. “You will always be alone.”
There was a long pause, as the words sunk deeply into Richard’s psyche with a solemn despondency, for he preferred being a free spirit with his own ship and not chained to the responsibility of the many lives that were encompassed within the entire fleet. It was the reason why he deliberately twice threw away his promotion as squadron leader. And the more he thought on it, the more he did not want this at all. The ramifications to just one misjudgment, just one miscalculation, were too great. And it not only had the potential of a disastrous outcome, but also literally determined who lived—and who died.
The old man recognized and understood this somber heaviness in Wakinyan’s eyes that he had just brought upon him, but the developing situation dictated Paladin’s resolution. He needed Wakinyan desperately. Yet, the old officer saw the younger man as akin to a son and very much regretted the pain he had just caused him.
However, it was time to move forward, and Paladin broke the silence between them. “And now, Deputy Commander Wakinyan, we have some other things to talk about, along with a new and imperative mission for you and your ship. There are things you now need to know. The danger to our fleet is not decreasing, but growing with each passing second—and I fear an inescapable conclusion.”
Wakinyan shook himself from his funk as he digested the words carefully. His apprehension then faded into the soul and fortitude of a hardened warrior who accepted any challenge. “Then let’s do something about it, Sir!” Richard became adamant in facing the threat.
The two officers then sat down and began a serious and candid discussion on the fate of the fleet.
* * * * *
Chapter 12: The First Causality of War
The familiar and beautiful face of Kiera Shaw, anchorwomen, filled the airwaves of the Earth’s Galactic News Service. She was the most respected in the broadcast industry along with having the largest following of all the commentators. For this reason, the lovely blonde was chosen to break the news of “Martians in rebellion” to the length and breathe of human interplanetary habitation. Through hyperspace satellite relays, her voice and image touched over a hundred distant and far-flung worlds with the Earth’s news—and propaganda.
“Hello, I’m Kiera Shaw,” the lovely blonde again announced herself as she was seated at her familiar anchor desk. “As the news of the Martian rebellion spreads throughout Earth and all her colonies, the outrage over the unimaginable slaughter of innocent lives continues to grow.”
Suddenly behind the woman, a blue screen changed to a street scene with vehicles burning and a mob beating several people severely. The victims’ clothes were ripped and torn, exposing parts of their bodies that visually displayed nasty bruises and bloody wounds. However, police soon arrived, pouring out of their vehicles and forming a line of plastic body shields and clubs. The police fired several teargas canisters into the crowd and then charged in swinging their batons, but still they were unable to break up the frenzied crowd as the outraged rioters fought back with ferocity.
Kiera proceeded with her report. “In many cities, gangs of vigilantes seeking justice for the loss of loved ones on the doomed planet have attacked people and businesses with ties to the Martians. Police have been hard pressed in maintaining order, and have either placed Martian sympathizers into protective custody or detained them for questioning by the military.”
The camera then came in for a close-up of Kiera’s face. “The military has gone to full alert and is calling up all of its reserves. Rumors of covert alien assistance and traitors within the government abound. According to sources, there is sufficient proof that the Martians have not acted alone. However, to what extent is still largely—unknown,” she spoke with her media authority.
Kiera suddenly paused and looked at her teleprompter. “Wait! Chairman Quinton is holding an emergency press conference, now in progress! We’re going to switch directly to it, live!” she blurted out excitedly.
The camera view was quickly switched to the conference room with the unmistakable figure of Armon Quinton standing at a podium bearing the council seal. A large gathering of reporters stood before him shouting questions. However, he raised his hands in an appeal to silence them.
The face of Armon Quinton was filled anger and indignation. The man tensed his face muscles as he glanced around the room before speaking again to ensure that he would not be interrupted.
“Final communications of the massacre in progress were received by one of our main battle fleets enroute to Mars. The slaughter was deliberately planned, executed with cold-blooded calculation, and with total disregard for human life!” he spoke angrily. “There were no survivors! Mars itself was left a burning c
inder in space, lit by the fires of nuclear weapons!” Quinton emotionally explained.
Quinton then turned his head and nodded to some unseen person off stage. The camera view then switched to a current video of Mars. Burning fissures of lava ruptured the Martian surface, as its four massive volcanoes continued to erupt in fiery explosions, ash, and smoke.
With this image of a planet dying, Quinton delivered his speech with all the emotion his acting ability could muster. “This kind of treachery is beyond tolerance and understanding! People of Earth, I make you this pledge; the Martian murders shall be brought to justice! Every human hand is now turned against them—and there will be no place in this universe for them to hide!”
However, Quinton’s parting words and hand gestures came in the sharpest and most heightened emotions of all. “THIS MASSACRE WILL BE AVENGED!” he shouted with near hysteria while thumping his fist on his pulpit. “AND EVERY TRAITOR WHO HAS HELPED THEM WILL BE FOUND AND PUNISHED FOR THIS!”
As Mars burned, the video faded to blackness.
* * * * *
Lieutenant Randall finally was able to break away from his duties to greet Wakinyan who had been aboard the Crazy Horse for less than an hour. As Randall approached Wakinyan’s cabin, he found the hatch ominously opened. He peered through and saw Wakinyan putting on his moccasin boots again and carefully lacing them up.
Hesitantly, Randall entered.
“Congratulations, Rich. It was long overdue,” the lieutenant tried to sound upbeat.
Wakinyan, however, only looked up for a moment, but then went back to tying his boots. “Thanks, Jim,” Richard’s face was distraught while his voice spoke in a soft monotone. “It seems a little quiet throughout the ship. I assume the crew has seen the broadcast?”
Randall pouted, “They have—and they’re shocked. I also think a little scared too,” the man admitted. “I had all viewers switched off and put everyone to work. I thought it was the best thing to do. I didn’t want them thinking about it. What about the rest of the fleet?”