Beyond Mars Crimson Fleet
Nearby marines dropped their heads and became silent. All removed their helmets out of respect, while Major Franks covered his own face with an opened hand. The hardened soldier did not want anyone to see him cry as well.
* * * * *
Chapter 21: Decisions
“To all ships and crews—and to all the people of Valamars; this is Commander Richard Wakinyan speaking. As you all are probably already aware of—Commander Paladin is dead. He was murdered earlier today by Earth security forces—and traitors among us. Under orders from the Earth, their purpose was to disrupt the integrity of this fleet, while taking from us—our common dream of freedom. They, however, did not succeed!”
“Most of them have either been killed or captured. The few remaining are being vigorously sought and should be in custody within the hour. However, I must tell you that they were in contact with a fleet from Earth—and that fleet now approaches.”
“Life is filled with some bitter decisions—and I have just made a most difficult one. These traitors, before their capture, had sabotaged many of our civilian transport ships, which now cannot journey from this system under their own power. One answer would be to simply flee after transferring all their passengers and crews to our warships.”
“Although we could easily do this and escape—all our supplies and other vital resources are still here. And without them to sustain us, it would make it very easy for the Earthers to hunt us down. It would also add to our vulnerability by denying our warships the ability to act in self-defensive for fear of causing civilian casualties aboard. From this, I feel we have no other option—but to engage the enemy fleet in combat, bringing the full might of our military forces against them while carefully choosing our battleground.”
“I want to take this time to assure all of you that the Martian fleet is a most formidable fighting force, and that we stand every chance of winning. However, necessary precautions shall be taken to ensure the safety and lives of all non-combatants. I ask all of you to follow any directives or orders quickly and without question. This will help the military to maintain control and to safeguard all of our people.”
“As you listen to this, know that the hour of the impending battle draws near—within the next 48 hours. And although this might seem like our darkest hour—it is not! We will be ready to meet their aggression—and make them thoroughly regret it! And I firmly believe that with the help of Almighty God, and the bravery and skill of our military forces—we will prevail in the end! Wakinyan, out.”
* * * * *
As Wakinyan sat in Paladin’s office aboard the Mariner, he pondered the situation carefully, along with his previous words to the fleet. He realized that his surviving the skirmish at Magnus Sol was due mostly in part to a handful of deserters and some very good luck, of which the latter had just about run out.
Wakinyan told the new citizens of Valamars as much of the truth as he dared. He knew quite well that mass hysteria would result should any knowledge of the real intentions of the Crimson Fleet be discovered. And from this panic, not only was any chance of a military victory impossible to achieve, but all of their very lives were forfeited to an inevitable demise.
The Earth fleet was on its way to Valamars to kill every man, woman, and child: to exterminate the Martian race once and forever, and only he and his hopelessly outnumbered and obsolete battle fleet stood in their way. It was a responsibility of enormous proportions and the gravest of all dilemmas. From this, Wakinyan’s once carefree attitude melted away, replace by the solemnity of leadership and the lading of reality.
The unexpected burden fell upon Richard’s shoulders like a great boulder plummeting off a mountain. Striking him with a gigantic force, it thrust down an unbearable weight upon him in an attempt to crush his spirit with its heaviness, and break his will.
However, Richard’s inner strength was well forged into the steel of a great hammer that could smash any boulder of tribulation to pieces. And his resolve to fight screamed for one thing—vengeance!
Wakinyan hatefully spurned any thought of surrender to the nightmares of his worse doubts. In the past, fear had never controlled him, nor was he going to allow it to do so now. Fired by his own anger and imagination, he was not about to yield the system to the Earthers. Instead, the destruction and massacre they eagerly sought was to be brought back upon them.
A plan formed in his fertile and agile mind, but it needed to be passed before and accepted by his fleet officers. This was to be done shortly, but another important matter needed to be attended to first, one that was born from the communication logs of the late Captain Khalid.
* * * * *
As John Winslow approached Paladin’s former quarters, his pace had gradually slowed to somber steps. The man had dreaded this moment more than he had dreaded anything else in his life. The treachery he believed he had played a part in had not only lost him his right to command, but his military career—and possibly his life as well. However for the good of the fleet, he was not about to deny it. Justice was to be served even if it was the last thing he would do.
His feet continued onward and reluctantly broke the silent of the corridor. Knowing of Wakinyan’s “savage” reputation, and hatred of betrayal, the retribution, John thought, was likely to culminate in a swift and rightfully earned execution. John blinked momentarily to that mental image, but his honor drove him forward.
As Winslow finally came before the hatch to Paladin’s quarters, he stopped and hesitated. He stood frozen in self-defeat, but there was no turning back.
He pressed the button to announce his arrival. Then with a firm voice, Winslow implored entry. “Captain John Winslow requests mast with the Martian fleet Commander.
“Enter,” bided the voice over the intercom.
The hatchway then opened, and Captain John Winslow stepped in.
After the hatch closed, Winslow saluted and then stood rigidly at attention. Yet, he eyed Wakinyan, who sat leaning on the desk with hands folded. Wakinyan’s face was a mask of stone, etched in a sobriety and coldness that made John very uneasy.
“I was just about to send for you,” Richard confided.
“I thought I’d save you the trouble, Commander,” John spoke honestly. “I’ve turned the ship over to Lieutenant Evans and have placed myself under arrest.” Winslow then outstretched his right hand to Wakinyan, holding a data crystal. “I am resigning my commission, Sir. This letter summarizes everything.”
Richard looked at John’s opened hand and saw the crystal wafer it held. “I see,” Richard commented. “Would you mind first detailing your part in all this?”
John took a deep breath as he slowly lowered his outstretched arm back to his side. “Prior to leaving Apoapsis Three, Khalid had contacted me and wanted my support in replacing Commander Paladin. He implied something was about to happen, but didn’t say what or when.”
“And what was your response?”
“I didn’t exactly disagree, Sir,” Winslow admitted. “I was angry—over having been shun for promotion—and not really having a ship of my own to command. So I listened. He offered me the rank of deputy fleet commander if I did what he asked,” John briefly paused, “I said—I would think it over.” John cringed in pain over his confession as he thought back. “When Damon sent for Commander Paladin, I suspected that—this was the moment.”
“Go on,” Wakinyan prodded.
It was then that Winslow’s conscience sent a surge of overwhelming guilt that bared the torture of his soul. Winslow bit his lip, finding it hard to answer—but the guilt was unrelenting.
Tears suddenly erupted from John’s eyes and his voice began to quiver. “I should have stopped him—told him the truth! But I didn’t! I was afraid! So I sent him to his death!” John began to break down as he brought up a hand to cover his face of shame. “I killed him, Sir! I’m the one to blame!”
The man cried steadily for a minute before he could regain any
control. Wakinyan just watched—and pitied him.
As Winslow recomposed himself, the room became quiet for some time. Wakinyan saw the sincerity and anguish within the John’s heart, and the desire to make amends for his perceived misdeeds.
“That’s not the truth, Captain Winslow,” Wakinyan confronted. “You tried to stop Commander Paladin from leaving the bridge—even pleaded with him to have the so-called mutineers brought aboard instead. It sounds to me like you were genuinely concerned for his life.”
Wakinyan slowly stood up. “On top of that, you showed initiative and loyalty by bringing the Mariner and the First Destroyer Squadron around to face down the Mir. That alone not only aided our rescue attempt—but also defused a very dangerous situation. Probably one we never could have recovered from,” Wakinyan paused for a moment.
Richard continued as he leisurely slipped around the desk towards Winslow. “You tried to save his life—and the fleet. I don’t think that’s the actions of a traitor—but rather of a very good officer—who had a momentary lapse of judgment.”
The two men stared at each other for moment.
“John—everyone in this life makes mistakes,” Wakinyan’s voice grew softer. “I make them, you make them—Paladin made them. The trick is to do your best not to repeat them,” Richard consoled. “And regarding Paladin’s death, you didn’t kill him—Damon did!” Wakinyan snarl momentarily at visualizing Paladin’s murderer. “I also think that even if you had told the Commander everything, it would not have made one bit of difference. We’ll never know what their plans really were; it could have even involved somehow destroying this ship, which would have been disastrous! No, I don’t think you a traitor at all!”
“Sir, you’re very generous, but it doesn’t change what I think or feel. But I want you to know, if I could trade places with Commander Paladin—I would!” Winslow admitted, displaying both his guilt and grief.
Wakinyan momentarily placed a hand upon Winslow’s shoulder. “I think that’s quite evident, Captain.”
The room settled into silence once again.
“John, I knew most of your story before I stepped aboard this ship. I just wanted to hear your side of it before I made a final decision,” Richard revealed his prior insight.
“And that is, Sir?” Winslow awaited his expected and deserved punishment.
A faint smile ran across Wakinyan’s mouth, “Face me, Captain John Winslow.”
John first glanced suspiciously at Richard, but then gradually rotated his body around to face the man. He still, however, stood erect at attention.
Richard’s smile grew into a larger grin. “Captain Winslow, in lieu of your participation in the events that have just transpired—I hereby promote you to the rank of Deputy Fleet Commander, effective immediately!” Wakinyan then leaned over and removed Winslow’s captain bars from his collar and replaced each of them with the single star of rank.
Winslow was totally flabbergasted. His eyes widened while his mouth dropped open slightly to his astonishment.
“Perhaps, Paladin didn’t recognize your strengths and abilities—but I do!” Wakinyan then took the crystal from John’s hand and held it up before him. “This—never happened!” Richard pronounced with the finality of an order. He then threw the crystal containing the resignation letter into a disposal bin that disintegrated the object with a crackle.
“You’re too damn good an officer to have wallowing in a brig when you should be commanding the Mariner. And quite frankly, I need everyone I can get for this battle. Congratulations, Deputy Fleet Commander Winslow.”
Wakinyan held out his hand, and John instinctively took it.
“Thank you, Sir,” Winslow said reluctantly, but quickly shook Richard’s hand. Yet, he still dwelled on his remorse, and the clasp of John’s hand became as a vise. “I swear—I won’t let you—or the fleet down again—no matter what the cost!” Winslow vowed solemnly in an unbreakable stare.
“That’s what I want to hear, Deputy Fleet Commander,” Wakinyan spoke, delighting in Winslow renewed pride and honor.
The two men then released their grips.
“I now need to make a request of you,” Richard enlightened.
“Anything, Sir!” John responded with gratitude.
“Since the Crazy Horse is undergoing extensive repairs, I request your permission to hold a staff meeting of all our fleet’s captains and executive officers aboard the Mariner in about an hour from now. Do I have your permission to do so, Deputy Commander?” Richard asked respectfully.
“Absolutely, Sir! We can use one of the hanger bays.”
“Good. In the meantime, I’ve issued the necessary orders to bring our fleet up to a state of full readiness. I desperately need you to help me keep on top of it.”
“Can do, Sir!” John replied faithfully. “I’ll make it my absolute priority!”
“Thank you. I’ll see you at the meeting, John.” Richard said as he turned away to exit the room.
“Aye-aye, Sir,” Winslow affirmed as Wakinyan left.
After Wakinyan had vanished, Winslow slowly touched his collar where a star now was pinned. His fingers brushed the metal, feeling its cold hardness and pointed tips. It was something he did not believe or expect.
Although he had craved this rank, he now felt so ashamed of himself to wear it. But he was resolved to prove Wakinyan’s trust and belief in him.
As he turned to leave, Winslow realized how very wrong he had been about the former captain of the Crazy Horse. Most Martian fleet officers still considered Wakinyan to be a “savage,” but in reality, Wakinyan was the most civilized man of them all.
Although the Lakota was a resourceful and fierce warrior when it came to combat, he still valued people and treated them with an uncommon fairness and respectful courtesy. This was something Winslow would never have gotten from his other “peers” who mainly based their decisions on military regulations and personal agenda.
As John thought more upon it as he stepped through the hatch, he was absolutely convinced of his enlightened opinion. It was there for all to see; Commander Richard Wakinyan was the best man for the job.
* * * * *
At the edge at the Valamars System, a repair shuttle lumbered away at a snail’s pace from a Martian military ship tender that it had been transported in. The elliptical shaped craft boasted several types of control arms on either side. The most prominent features, however, were the large three-prong cylindrical metallic members, which were used for gripping objects of various widths and depth.
Normally for space travel, these arms were side-locked and closed, while the ship sped away on its course. This allowed for greater maneuverability as well as safety. Yet, the shuttle was on an urgent mission that required the control arms to be fully extended and opened.
Furthermore, the vehicle’s speed was extremely slow by deliberate choice. It was prowling among the domain of asteroids, meteors, and comets for an illusive device that would serve as the bait in a Martian trap. This made the shuttle an easy target for any nearby objects hurling through space at terminal velocities.
Piloting the vehicle, Captain Benson’s hands sweated nervously on the control sticks he held. He was not use to flying a craft so slowly, where a rock moving at over a hundred miles a second could crash into the shuttle’s thin hull with little or no warning. For this, he hated being a trusted marine officer of such technical talents.
“We’re approaching the cipher scout’s reported insertion point. Do you have a fix on it?” Benson directed his question to the shuttle’s only other passenger, Engineer Abner Strephon.
Abner’s face was buried in the faint glow of a scanner. “No, it’s hard to detect because it’s made of a carbon composite resin studded with nanometer slit-pins. These design features were incorporated to bend light around the scout to make it visually transparent while defeating normal magnetic scanning. Also each device intermittently broadcasts into hype
rspace using different sets of frequencies that blend in with the cosmic background radiation.”
Benson grew curious. “How the hell do you expect to find it then?”
“I said it was hard—not impossible,” Strephon corrected. “The scout was designed to be invisible to sensors, but by using a combination of spectral analysis along with motion detection through gravitational lensing, we should be able to locate it if it hasn’t drifted too far.”
“Come again?” Benson was troubled by the explanation.
“They’re techniques that were once used to locate asteroids. By comparing subtle changes of background star patterns along with the density of their spectral radiation fields, we should be able to spot it. And a faint diamagnetic reading will verify that it is the scout.” Abner elaborated further.
“Wouldn’t it be easier to just drag space with a fishing net?” Benson joked back.
“Oh, I wouldn’t do that,” the engineer replied impassively.
“Why not?”
“Because it’s packed with enough high explosive to vaporize a star cruiser,” Abner answered in an uninterested tone, “and any type of interpolated tapering will detonate it as well.”
Benson just shook his head. “You know, just once I’d like to have death not as being a mission option.”
“That’s life in the military,” Abner chuckled, but then his tone grew serious. “Start to slow down, I think I’ve spotted it!”
The shuttle then began to reverse thrust as it came upon the nearly invisible cylinder. Under Abner’s guidance, Benson carefully aligned the shuttle to the floating device. As the cylinder spun and idly rotated in space, the shuttle’s control arms cautiously reached for it.
* * * * *
Tara Nargis leaned casually against a bulkhead of the Mariner, just outside the landing bay where the staff meeting was to be held. She, Martin Pearl, and other captains and executive officers from the small fleet from Cramer’s World were personally requested by Jerome Gris to be in attendance. Her mind was fixated in imagining what new contemptible task would be asked of them next.