Eagle (Jacob Hull) (15 page)

Borgens eyed her calmly. “In this case, Admiral Yeseti, I am forced to disagree with you. Something must be done—and Admiral Hull is in the best position to do it. We would be better served by allowing at least one of us to provide the leadership the Navy requires, than we would be if we spent all our effort preventing each other from reaching it.”

Then Borgens turned back to Jacob, and a shrewd expression crossed his face. “Of course, I would expect our young High Admiral to earn the right to continue in that position. We will see how well he faces the test.”

Jacob inclined his head slightly. “And I welcome the opportunity to prove myself, Admiral Borgens.” Then he paused, though he wanted to jump and shout in triumph. He’d actually managed to gain a majority of the Board, but he knew it would not be enough to silence all his critics. He looked at Admiral Mirov and Yeseti, neither of whom seemed disposed to speak any further. “It would make a stronger appearance of unity if the Board spoke unanimously on this issue. Can I count on your support as well?”

Admiral Yeseti laughed, a shrill, bitter sound. “You already know what I think of you, Admiral Hull. You can burn in hell before I support you.” The officers who accompanied her to the table looked shocked at her words, and Meriweather tried to edge away instead of nodding in approval. Yeseti didn’t notice at all.

Admiral Mirov stared back without any hint of his feelings. “I believe I will still need to examine the matter more thoroughly before I make my decision.” He glanced
back at Captain Kenning, who stared at Jacob with open hate in his eyes. “I do not feel comfortable rushing to a conclusion when the implications are of such a grand scale.”

Jacob knew the words were only an excuse, a mere chance to delay giving a definite refusal, but he kept disappointment from his face. He should have known better than to expect anything like a solid commitment from Mirov.
“Very well. We can reconvene tomorrow and discuss the issue further.” Then he looked at Al-shira, who was beaming at him. “For now, however, we can consider the motion passed. Captain Al-shira will begin to draft the petition to the Lower Seats, and we can modify it if anyone changes their mind. Are there any further comments?”

Aside from a bitter curse from Yeseti, none of the others answered. Jacob let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Then I thank you both for your patience and your support. I’m sending you information on an operational plan for our efforts against the Odurans I’d like you to also consider. We can discuss that tomorrow as well.”

Admiral Yeseti was the first out the door, looking like she was ready to peel the bulkheads with her fingers. The majority of her staff followed with reluctant expressions, as if they knew a very unpleasant afternoon lay ahead of them. Admiral Mirov was next, walking at a stately pace with Captain Kenning trailing after him. Kenning gave Jacob a leering expression, confirming that if he couldn’t stop the motion entirely, he would at least help deny Jacob the support of his superior.

Borgens was next, giving Jacob a grudging nod as he passed him. A wry smile twisted his lips.
“To disagreement and cooperation, High Admiral?”

Jacob chuckled despite himself.
“Of course, Admiral Borgens.”

Admiral Siddiqui actually joined in the quiet laughter herself, before extending her hand. “You’ve taken a large step, Admiral Hull. I only hope you continue as you’ve started.”

“I will, Admiral Siddiqui.”

Siddiqui shook his hand and passed out of the room, her aides following her closely. When the only officers left in the room were Leon, Isaac, Al-shira and Meriweather, Jacob finally let a hint of the triumph he felt break through his more professional mask. He beamed at his friends. “Well I’ll be damned. We did it.”

Leon laughed, his expression victorious. “You did it, Jacob. Now we’ve got the momentum we need to prepare. I never thought Borgens would have been the one to come around.”

“Me either.” Jacob shrugged. “Still, whatever his reasons, we’ve got a chance now. We can’t waste it.” He looked over at Al-shira. “Can I trust you with the petition, Captain?”

Al-shira snorted. “As if I would let you choose anyone else. I’ll get to work on it right away.” She stood and walked over to him, grasping his shoulder for a moment as she passed. “Well done,
Admiral
. Keep up the good work.”

“As ordered.”
Jacob glanced over to where Meriweather was watching them, suddenly aware of her presence again. “Captain Meriweather, was there another concern you wanted to address?”

“No, Sir.” The Intelligence officer paused and looked down when her personal reader chirped. “Were you still planning on coming to the Intelligence section later? I have a briefing I believe is particularly important for you to hear in private.”

“I’ll be there, Captain.” Jacob returned Meriweather’s salute, and she left without further comment. Then he turned to Isaac, who was still staring at the door with a cold expression. “Captain Bellworth? Is there something wrong?”

“Kenning.”
Isaac’s voice was flat and hard. “He’s still a problem.”

Leon glanced at his fellow officer and shook his head. “Not as much of one as before. He might have Mirov’s ear, but he can’t stop the petition with just that.”

“He turned Mirov against Jacob by using rumors about a relationship with Naomi.” Isaac drew his lips back in a feral grin and Jacob suddenly had to fight a burst of utter rage. Al-shira, for her part, looked almost unnaturally unperturbed. “He might use similar tactics to sabotage you further. I need to deal with him before he does.”

“Isaac.” Jacob kept his voice even, and Isaac finally looked at him. “You need to stay away from this. Kenning is too dangerous, and you are too reckless. If you get caught now, it might convince Borgens
and
Siddiqui I’m out of control, because they’ll never assume I wasn’t involved.”

“Kenning doesn’t know what dangerous is.” Isaac relaxed slightly.
“Fine. I’ll let the snake go for now—but both him and his brother will get their just deserts. You can’t hold me back forever.”

Leon gave Jacob a helpless look, but Jacob kept his attention on Isaac. He met his friend’s stare for a few moments more, and then he nodded. “We’ll talk about this later. Right now I’m sure you have things to take care of.”

“Of course.” Isaac rose and saluted. Jacob returned the salute, and his friend gave him a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Until tomorrow, Admiral.”

After Isaac had gone, Leon sighed. “He’s not getting any better, Jacob. What are we going to do?”

“One thing at a time, Captain. I can only solve one thing at a time.” Yet as Jacob looked at the open hatch his friend had left by, he couldn’t shake the feeling he’d regret not pushing the issue with Isaac immediately. He sighed, and tried to shrug away the foreboding mood. There were troubles enough without digging up more among friends.

Chapter Fourteen

Jacob stepped out of the conference room and found Ashford waiting for him. Two more Marines were right next to him, and Jacob sighed.
“Another high security day, Colonel Ashford?”

Ashford nodded easily. “Yes indeed, Admiral. We wouldn’t want to expose you to any unnecessary danger—especially not with so many visitors to the ship.”

It was hard to restrain a sharp comment. “By visitors you mean the rest of the Admiralty Board.”

Ashford remained silent, and Jacob snorted.

“You realize how paranoid this makes me look, right?”

The Marine smirked.
“Just paranoid enough, sir. After you, sir.”

Given no real choice short of ordering the head of his bodyguard to disobey standard procedure and buzz off, Jacob had no choice but to accept the situation. He tried to ignore the fact Ashford seemed so ridiculously pleased with
himself, and set off for his meeting with Commander Meriweather with Ashford and both bodyguards in tow.

It was actually a fairly long walk. The interior of the
Eagle
had enough space for plenty of corridors and equipment, and the Intelligence field office was buried far within the depths of the ship. The general idea was that it wasn’t a good plan to have the fleet’s sensitive data close to the surface where it could be destroyed during battle. As they traveled, Jacob heard the Marines carrying on some muttered conversation behind him, apparently involving some sports team they had been following at Tiredel.

They’d nearly made it to the corridor where Meriweather’s nondescript office was located when Ashford reached out and laid a hand on Jacob’s shoulder.

Jacob looked back. The Marine was frowning. “Colonel, what is it?”

“Shh.” Ashford’s frown deepened. After a few more seconds, he tapped his helmet next to his ear. “I thought I heard something. Patel, get on the comm and contact Colonel Tippets.”

Jacob glared at Ashford impatiently. “Colonel, are you sure this is—” He cut off abruptly when Corporal Patel spoke up.

“Sir, I’m not getting anything but static on my comms.”

“Delaraza?” Ashford waited until the other corporal shook his head, and then reached a decision. “Admiral, you’re going to have to reschedule your meeting.”

Jacob raised both eyebrows. “Ashford, what are you—”

The Marine cut him off, his voice grim. “All three of our comms didn’t just fail at the same time. We’re being jammed. The only reason to jam someone is so they don’t call for help.” He looked back and forth down the corridors. “We’ll head back toward Central Countermeasures until we regain contact. Keep an eye out for—”

Another Marine stepped out into the corridor ahead of them. The man was wearing full body armor, which was a bit unusual—the
Eagle
wasn’t on active combat status, and with the exception of Jacob’s unit of bodyguards, most Marines would have chosen a more comfortable uniform while in port—but it wasn’t unheard of. Then Jacob heard Ashford suck in a sudden breath.

The next moment Jacob was hurled to the side, one of Ashford’s armored fists balled up in his uniform. He hit the deck hard enough his ears rang. In the same instant, the high roaring howl of railgun fire tore through the air. Jacob froze for a second as hollow-point rounds spattered all around him. A couple hit Ashford’s armor, and the Marine grunted like he’d been kicked.

Corporal Joaquin Delaraza stepped forward, bringing his railgun rifle to bear on the Marine at the end of the corridor. He twisted a knob Jacob had never noticed before, steadied his aim, and squeezed the trigger with a fluid motion that was almost beautiful. Then the rifle fired, and instead of a spray of rounds, it sent a single shot screaming down the corridor. The Marine at the end of the corridor took the hit in his armored visor. Blood spattered the bulkhead behind him, and he toppled to the deck.

Dazed, Jacob struggled to make sense of everything, trying to get to his feet. Ashford shoved him down again. He yelled something and brought his own rifle up. Patel joined his fellow Marines, rifle up and ready, when a second armored soldier stepped out from behind the corner. Patel and Ashford both fired, and the enemy soldier was smashed backwards, hit in the right arm and left thigh.

“Get him out!” Ashford was yelling again. Jacob was yanked to his feet and shoved down the corridor, away from where the dead men lay. He stumbled, trying to regain his balance. Corporal Patel latched onto Jacob’s arm and dragged him down the corridor. The others followed, rifles still trained on the far end. They nearly made it before the next armored figure appeared.

The other soldier fired a half second before Delaraza, and the weapon she held wasn’t a railgun. A wave of superheated plasma washed down the corridor. The heat from the blast seared past Jacob and took Ashford in the arm. Then it swept out and to the right, cutting across Delaraza before it stopped. Both men crumpled, and the smell of burnt flesh and melted armor filled the air.

Down the corridor, the Marine had folded up around Delaraza’s last shot. She struggled to stand, but Patel put another round into her before she could fire again. This time, she didn’t get back up.

Jacob immediately went to where Ashford had been thrown. He tried to grab the Marine’s arm to drag him further down the corridor, but Patel yanked him to his feet again. “Sir, we need to move!”

The bodyguard’s words were punctuated by shouts echoing from further down the corridor. Patel shoved Delaraza’s rifle into Jacob’s arms and pushed him along the corridor toward Central Countermeasures. “Go! We need reinforcements.”

Reluctant to leave, Jacob ran. He had no chance in a firefight against armored Marines—even without armor, he wasn’t trained for a boarding action. Ashford rated his shooting just above what a blind man might accomplish. His best chance to help Ashford now was to bring in more soldiers and a medical team.

Behind him, he heard Patel open up fire as more enemies pursued them. Jacob heard someone return fire, and hollow-point rounds skipped off the bulkhead near him. He glanced back to see one more enemy Marine go down, but there were at least half a dozen of them now. Patel took multiple hits, but he was only staggered by the impacts. While his opponents adjusted their rifles to compensate for his armor, Patel went down on one knee and threw a small, oblong device along the deck.

Jacob turned away just as the grenade exploded. A Marine grenade was powerful enough to shatter fortified positions. In an open corridor, the enemy had no chance. The blast shook the deck under Jacob’s feet; he had a sudden flashback of the bombs exploding on the
Wolfhound
. Air heated by the blast rushed past him in a solid wall, and Jacob stumbled. He managed to keep going and turned the corner at a full sprint. He heard Patel scramble after him, his footsteps hitting like steel hammers on the deck. They turned the corner just as another burst of railgun fire roared behind them.

As Jacob ran, he touched his communication stub. His only reward was a burst of static. Patel paused mid-stride to fire off another shot at someone behind them. A scream of pain told Jacob his bodyguard had scored a hit, but not a kill. The sounds of railgun fire erupted again, as he almost reached the door to Central Countermeasures. Rounds sprayed around the corridor, kicking fragments away from the bulkheads, and Jacob cried out as one shot grazed his right arm.

Patel hit the door controls and stepped to one side. “Get through, Sir. I’ll try to—”

Just as the door slid open, Jacob heard a second burst of plasma fire. There was a flash of light, and a spear of blinding brilliance took Patel in the side. He fell back against the bulkhead and crumpled to the deck, his rifle clattering away. Jacob screamed a curse and fired back at the attackers, but his shot went wide. He saw one enemy Marine raise his rifle and threw himself through the door. A spray of rounds barely missed him, the rounds slapping the bulkhead like a lethal hail.

Before they could open fire again, Jacob reached out and dragged Patel back in after him. His pursuers shouted, and Jacob hit the controls. The hatch slid shut.

Central Countermeasures was built differently from Central Fire Control. The chamber was a multi-tiered stage for the technicians in charge of the
Eagle
’s defenses. At the center of the room, a projection unit would normally display a large wireframe image of the dreadnaught, one where any incoming missile fire or railgun shells could be seen clearly by the officers in charge of the defense turrets and ECM modules. Across the room, there was another hatch leading to corridors further in.

It was also completely empty, the projector deactivated. Even the most cautious commander wasn’t going to keep defense crews active when a ship was in port. Jacob had authorized their leave just the day before, which meant no one was here to help him. The hatch on the other side was inviting, but it was hopelessly far away for a man dragging a fully armored Marine. He looked over the vacant workstations again, searching for some place to hide—or better yet, a spot to launch an ambush. His breath came harsh and desperate as he pulled Patel over to one of the empty consoles for cover. Jacob crouched down beside the fallen bodyguard and heard shouts on the other side of the hatch get louder. The barrier wasn’t going to last for long.

An alarm shrieked to life. It wasn’t the full combat alarm; instead it sounded like an intrusion alert. His comm stub was still blaring static, so he knew his situation hadn’t reached the rest of the ship. Perhaps the explosions and gunfire had been reported, but he doubted reinforcements were anywhere nearby. He had to delay the enemy or else by the time the Marines reached him, he’d be…

The hatch hissed open, and Jacob froze. A Marine stepped through, grenade in hand. He had obviously expected to find Jacob further into the room, perhaps hiding behind cover on the other side. Before the enemy could realize his mistake, Jacob brought the rifle up and fired. His aim was poor but he still managed to put a round through the attacker’s shoulder. The Marine slammed backward against the edge of the hatch. As he slid down, another traitor came around the corner, her plasma weapon up and ready to fire.

The sight prodded Jacob into motion, and he did the one thing he was sure the attackers wouldn’t be ready for—he charged, screaming. For good measure, he twisted the dial to fire lower velocity shots and unleashed a barrage of rounds in a haphazard spray.

Acting on reflex, the armored Marine ducked back around the corner. Jacob took the opportunity to retreat, backpedaling away from the hatch as he kept up a steady fire. He heard some cursing over the sound of his railgun’s steady rhythm and the impacts of the hollow point rounds on the bulkheads. Then the Marine came back around the corner, shrugging off the futile blows of the hollow point rounds on her armor, and deliberately brought her carbine to bear on Jacob.

Jacob saw his death in that motion, because there was no chance the Marine would miss. He took another step backward, knowing it would be his last—and then the world jerked as his foot landed on something that rolled. There was a flash of light and heat streamed past his field of vision, and then he sprawled on the deck, his railgun clattering away from his hand.

He heard the attacker curse, and Jacob rolled to the side when another shot seared the deck where he had been lying a moment before. Grasping for another weapon, his hand caught hold of the thing that had tripped him up, and he stared at it for a heartbeat before he recognized it—the grenade the first Marine had been holding before Jacob brought him down. Before the Marine at the doorway could fire a third time, Jacob armed the grenade and hurled it. Maybe it would give him enough time to run.

The attacker saw the grenade coming and jerked back reflexively. Her motion sent a bolt of plasma burning through the roof of the chamber instead of Jacob’s chest. Jacob saw the grenade miss the guard cleanly, falling out beyond her and into the corridor outside. He had a heartbeat to curse his aim.

Then the grenade exploded, still in midair, and as with horseshoes, close was good enough.

Jacob threw his hands up at the flash, and then the shockwave slammed into him. A roar like a physical blow deadened his ears, and the force of the blast kicked Jacob up off the deck and then tumbled him back along the edge of the chamber like a rag doll.

It was some time before Jacob could focus again. He lay on his back, blood trickling down the side of his face. Levering himself up on his elbows, he saw the Marine who had been about to kill him lying face down on the deck, the back of her armor a smoldering ruin. Pain lanced through Jacob’s chest when he sucked in a breath, and he forced himself to a sitting position with a groan. His ears still rang with the sound of the grenade, and he wondered, dazedly, what kind of payload the Marine had been carrying around in such a small package.

Patel was nearby, but he wasn’t moving. Jacob staggered to his feet, and he made it over to the fallen bodyguard. Grabbing him by the collar of his body armor, Jacob began to drag Patel away from the smoldering wreckage. No matter who was left there, he doubted they would be friendly, and he wanted nothing more to do with them. Maybe he could reach the exit on the opposite side before more caught up to them.

He nearly made it all the way around the circular chamber when he saw someone stagger out of the ragged hole that had once been the hatch. It was a Marine sergeant whose armor had been ripped and torn by the force of the blast. She carried a rifle in her hands, and she scanned the room in something of a daze before she saw him. He met her eyes, and saw a flash of recognition—and then hatred.