First Command Read online

  First Command

  By J.S. Hawn

  Dear Readers,

  This is a new, revised and edited edition of First Command. Having published this book and received a wide variety of constructive feedback, I managed to secure an editor and have re-released the book. I hope you’ll enjoy this more grammatically correct edition. This was my first novel and I’ve learned from this experience. Moving forward, all of my works will be thoroughly edited. Please give me a read and leave me a review. Thank you all.

  Acknowledgements

  It’s true that when you finally finish a book you don't have one person to thank, you have a dozen. First, thank you to mom and dad for always being supportive of my writing hobby. Thank you to all my grandparents to whom this book is dedicated. Without your wisdom, I would be much less of a person. Thanks also to all three of my siblings who have always stood by me. Thank you to my darling wife for believing in me, and putting up with me. Also, special thanks to Alex, Alisar, and Amanda my triple AAA alpha readers. Finally, a special thank you to Amanda my talented cover artist. See more of Amanda's work at: http://amandacavazosweems.com. As always, thank you to anyone I missed among my friends and my family.

  Dedication

  Dedicated with love to

  Mom and Dad

  For your patience and guidance this wouldn't be possible without you.

  Dedicated with love to

  Pop and Mimi

  Always with love and affection, thank you for your wisdom and good humor.

  A Special Dedication to

  Chloe

  For being strong and wise enough to bring happiness and love to a writer's life, without you I’m a shadow of myself.

  Dedicated to

  The Siblings- Jake, Cami, and Laney

  I owe you guys everything.

  Dedicated In Loving Memory to

  Granddad and Grandbee

  Gone from this world, you're always with the angels and with us in our hearts.

  Honorable Mention

  Thanks Puddin and Rudy Tom-

  Two of the best dogs a boy could have

  (Rudy Tom would be most displeased if not mentioned by name)

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter I

  Chapter II

  Chapter III

  Chapter IV

  Chapter V

  Chapter VI

  Chapter VII

  Chapter VIII

  Chapter IX

  Chapter X

  Chapter XI

  Chapter XII

  Chapter XIII

  Chapter VI

  Epilogue

  Dramatis Persona

  Additional Information

  About the Author

  Prologue

  New Helsinki, Solarian Republic

  The Barrens, Outside New Oslo Landing

  January 20th 841 A.E. (2802) 15:00 Local time

  The creature was hideous; two inches long with bulging eyes, narrow wings, and a barbed rear appendage with which it could impale its hapless prey normally smaller insects and drain them of their fluids. When the barb was thrust into a larger creature, its venom was not enough to paralyze but burned like a hot poker for a few seconds then left the spot where the unfortunate victim had been stung numb for hours. Locals called the horrendous insectoid abominations- devil flies. Not for the first time Lance Corporal Robert Dubois, 1st Squad 2nd Platoon F Company 4th Battalion 3rd New Helsinki Brigade Solarian National Police Interior Troops, cursed his misfortune as he swatted yet another of the flying abominations from his forearm, but not before it could jam its barb home. The Barrens, as the locals called them, were a blasted insect infested jungle three days inland from the small port town of New Oslo less than a hundred miles east of the main Insurgent stronghold in the Southwest Highlands. It was called The Barrens because, despite being a rain forest, the soil was shit for farming and no tangible mineral resources had ever been found there. Personally Dubois, who had been a native of the shining city of New Lagos on Charlemagne in the Colonial Confederacy, was of the opinion the whole thing should be torched and turned into scorching desert. Dubois once again cursed that rotten cousin of his Pierre who had been something in the New Lagos underworld, at least until the Gendarmes had gotten wise to him. Dubois had scooted across the border and enlisted in the Solarian Interior Troops rather than join his cousin in a penal colony. Sure the Republic’s justice system was far harsher than the Confederacy’s, but a twenty-year stint in the Troops and Dubois would be a free man with Solarian Citizenship, a pension, and access to a host of veteran’s benefits, including small business loans. Dubois dreamed daily of settling on a Solarian client or colony world, or maybe the capital world herself, and opening an authentic Charlemagne Cafe. Solarians had public houses and bars in abundance, but one could not compete with the cultured experience of a Charlemagne Cafe.

  Only ten years left on his stint then it was onto easy street. First, of course, Dubois would have to survive this damnable jungle. Several days before some local trappers had reported insurgent activity in the Barrens, which was worrisome. New Helsinki had been under Solarian dominion for the better part of fifteen years and had endured insurgency the whole time by holdouts from the old regime.

  Over the last year, though, the insurgents had been getting bolder and better armed; home made explosives and obsolete Thaos Dominion weapons had given way to modern explosives and old Terran Union weapons. Somehow the bastards were gaining manpower too. F Company had been dispatched for reconnaissance in force into the Barrens, and for three days had endured nothing but mud, insects, and all manner of disgusting creatures. Only three more days of this and then they’d be back at camp and Dubois back in the arms of his New Helsinki girlfriend.

  As F Company made their way into a small clearing, Dubois, the point man, stepped on a well-concealed napalm mine, surplus of the now defunct Terran Federal Army. The mine was a daisy chain device one central trigger connected to eight warheads no bigger than a man’s fist buried in a circle roughly fifteen feet across. When tripped the canisters were launched three feet into the air before exploding into a ball of flame, spraying hell fire for ten yards in all directions. Napalm mines were terror weapons pure and simple, and soldiers’ unfortunate enough to be caught in their blast died in one of the worst ways possible. Six men, including poor Dubois, ran screaming into the brush their clothes and skin aflame, before bullets fired by their own comrades relieved them of their torment. The mine’s detonation was a signal for the thirty-odd Insurgents, most veterans of the now disbanded New Helsinkin Army, who laid hunkered in the thick brush on either side of the Solarian Company, to open fire.

  The Solarian Company realizing what was happening immediately reacted. Solarian Interior Troops were not true soldiers. They were something far less savory, paramilitaries whose training and doctrine was dedicated solely to the suppression of rebellion and sedition against the Republic. F Company had seen many a hard fought jungle action before and as such reacted as only veterans did. They fell back clustering around their commander’s position and taking refuge on a small knoll where trees were thick. Although they outnumbered their foe 3 to 1, they did not try to counter attack. A favored strategy of guerrilla warriors, since the bygone days when men fought wars on a single world, was to lure a formation into counter attacking then cut it to pieces as its men inevitably became strung out and isolated by the terrain. Instead of lunging wildly toward their foes, the Interior Troopers maintained a steady barrage of fire from their rifles, and light machine guns supported by grenades when a target of opportunity presented itself. The company CO following doctrine meanwhile, called in an airstrike. Twenty miles away, two Interior Troop ‘Piranha’ Gunships flying combat air patrol vectored
toward the company’s position. The Piranhas were dual blade drive VTOLS armed with missiles, chain guns, rockets, and dumb bombs - ugly machines of death and destruction, which could make any square mile of the forsaken jungle a barren desert. Less than two minutes after vectoring toward F Company, the Piranhas’ pilots sighted the orange smoke the Solarians had popped to mark their position. Their gunners made ready and the pilots dropped to five hundred feet for their attack run. This was exactly what the insurgents had been waiting for. Another group of rebel fighters lay five hundred yards from the main fighting. They had allowed the Solarian patrol to bypass them knowing the Solarian Air support would most likely come from the south the direction of the Solarian firebase. Six men armed with surface to air missiles still stamped with Terran Federal Army markings, rose from their hiding spots and fired just as the Piranhas dropped in altitude. By any standards of modern warfare, it was practically point blank range. The gunships’ onboard computer reacted faster than any human could. Missile defense lasers whined to life spitting concentrated burst of energy toward the approaching death, but it was too late. One gunship went down immediately bursting into flames and plunging straight into ground below. Its three man crew dead before they knew what had happened. The other gunship was luckier. Its pilot banked at the last minute, two of the missiles heading for it were vaporized by the gunships point defense lasers, and the third detonated less than ten feet behind the gunship as a laser touched off its warhead. The tail controls were damaged and the gunner shredded by shrapnel, and both the pilot and copilot were also wounded with shrapnel penetrating their backs. Some how the pilot managed to stay aloft and turn toward the firebase, he would make it if just.

  The firefight lasted through the rest of the day until, with night falling, the insurgents gathered their fallen comrades’ weapons and slipped away into the gathering gloom.

  Haggerdam New Helsinki, Solarian Republic

  Governor's Residence, Blue Zone

  January 21st 841 A.E. (2802) 15:00 Local time

  Brigadier Wu Treos Commander of the Solarian Republic National Police Interior Stabilization and Support Mission New Helsinki was a man not known for his cool demeanor. The office chair crashing through his window onto the street three stories down was evidence to that. Fortunately for the inhabitants of the Blue Zone, the fortified compound from which Solarian governed its client state, the Brigadiers reputation had preceded him and the area under his office window had a permanent perimeter of bright orange cones and a sign which read ‘Danger Falling Debris’ thus far no one had been injured. The Brigadier’s brigade commanders huddling like Terran penguins against an Antarctic blizzard were in far more danger than any erstwhile pedestrian. It was rumored that what had finally gotten then Colonel Treos drummed out of the Army was an unfortunate incident where a subordinate had followed the office furniture out the window. Turning from the now shattered window through which the oppressively muggy Haggerdam air now streamed, Treos glared at the five assembled Colonels. Each was the commander of an Interior Troop Brigade in the Western region, which included Oslo Landing and the Western highlands. Colonel Shane McMurry, CO of the 5th stood a bit apart from his comrades not by choice.

  “Say it again Colonel!” Treos thundered.

  McMurry, a veteran of twenty years with the Interiors and ten in the Army, did his best to maintain his cool.

  “Nineteen men dead, twenty two wounded, two Piranhas destroyed, one out right, the other only good for spare parts. As far as we can ascertain the enemy suffered between ten and twenty casualties of their own.”

  Treos slumped as if defeated. He paced back to his desk and sat heavily in his chair.

  “Fifteen years. Fifteen buggering, ass fucking, goat humping years we’ve been fighting these bastards, and now in less than one year we’ve lost more men and equipment than we have in the entire fourteen years before put together. Treos looked at his still fearful subordinates who were not yet sure the storm of their CO’s rage had passed.

  “Gentleman I intend to inform the Governor that we need further assistance, that poncy little OMI shit was right. Someone’s feeding these insurgent bastards men and munitions. As you all know the Premier won't deploy Army divisions or send a Task Force because of the Treaty with the Dominion and our agreements with the Confederacy to keep this system demilitarized to a certain extent which means any help we get is going to come from the Buddha damned Navy. God help us all.”

  Chapter I

  Singking, Solaria, Solarian System, Solarian Republic

  River Front District, The Blue Moon

  January 25th 841 A.E. (2802 A.D.) 07:31 Local Time

  The bell tolled long and loud and clear. Jonathan Pavel opened his right eye half consciously peering through the nighttime gunk still clinging to the tips of his lashes. The constant rumble of the bells stirred him from the silky embrace of sleep back to the world of awake with its rhythmic ”DONG, DONG, DONG” He opened his left eye and glanced at his clock, as expected 7:31 Monday morning. Father Horatio, the resident priest of St. Mark's and destroyer of Jonathan's blissful slumber, was nothing if not punctual. Jonathan rolled on his back and listened to the bells toll.

  The Blue Moon was an old building four stories tall but only 20 feet wide at its widest, the narrow structure was built of wood and native stone like most of the Riverfront district. Once the historic center of trade, the Warren Estate was now the center of the Greater City of Sinking’s nightlife. Jonathan occupied the solitary fourth story room of The Blue Moon, a small 15 by 8 foot dwelling, with a tiny toilet adjoined to it, and no shower, and the entrance lying atop a treacherously narrow staircase. “Practically a ladder.” Jonathan thought every time he ascended. Jonathan’s double paned bedroom window, whose frame was hand carved with intricately patterns of woodlands and a great beast, was directly across from the Church of St. Mark, an ancient narrow structure built during the initial settlement of River Front some 400 years ago. The church was crammed between a bawdy house and a bar, and had been labeled an official historic landmark by the Solarian Republic Antiquates Preservation Commission some eight years earlier. Built of native stone and Terran Oak Wood beams cut from the first grove of Earth trees successfully nurtured along the banks of the Sertine River, the Church was so small it could only serve fifty parishioners at any given time and housed its sole clergyman in a solitary rectory apartment little bigger than Jonathan's room. The Church’s pride however was its four-story bell tower, which had been the tallest building on the Warren Estate for seventy-five years. The bell tower contained the first solid cast bronze bell made on the planet and had been commissioned by Allen Warren himself the founder of the Estate. Father Lawrence Horatio, who some in the District quietly joked should be up for a historic landmark designation himself, took great pleasure in dragging his seventy year old carcass from bed every morning and at 7:31 precisely engaging the electronic system, tolling the damnable bell for ten grueling minutes.

  Though the noise certainly was jolting at first, Jonathan's career required early rising as well as punctuality so he didn’t mind the bell too much and in fact rather admired Father Horatio’s dedication to duty something Jonathan could relate to. Of course it wasn’t enough to get him to attend service at St. Mark’s because Father Horatio was a notorious dullard at the pulpit.

  There was a firm knock on the door followed by “Jonathan dearie, breakfast.”

  Jonathan rolled from bed grabbing his towel and bathrobe “Coming Madam Dufrey”

  Madam Dufrey Jonathan’s landlady and proprietor of the Blue Moon was a sweet old lady nearer to 70 than 80 with a kindly disposition and a keen eye for opportunities. She was also the Ward Captain for United Hospitality Workers Local 189, and had a reputation as somewhat of a tough old bird. Wrapping himself in his robe, Jonathan trundled downstairs to the shower he shared with his three neighbors who lived on the floor below. Agatha was already waiting outside the door, indicating either Sumi or Albert was currently occupying the show
er.

  Agatha glanced over at him and flashed him a delightful yet sleepy smile. She was a blonde, blue-eyed girl, in her mid twenties who shared Jonathan’s love of chess. Jonathan and Agatha had a regular Sunday morning game, after she returned from service at New Temple of Zion Everlasting. The water shut off and Albert, emerged, drying his hair while neglecting to cover any other part of his anatomy.

  “Well good morning sailor,” Albert said with a wink.

  Jonathan just shook his head and rolled his eyes. Despite Jonathan having resided in the Blue Moon for more than two years, and providing ample evidence he was neither gay, nor bisexual, nor pansexual, nor remotely curious, Albert had refused to give up his pursuit, though at this point Albert was mostly just trying to ruffle Jonathan's feathers.

  Acknowledging Jonathan’s lack of response, and refusal to so much as glance below his neckline, Albert strode back to his room, his towel draped over his shoulder putting all he had into his stride. Agatha jerked her head toward the bathroom door in-between giggles. Jonathan nodded his thanks as he walked in and closed the door, when he wasn’t the first to the shower on weekdays his neighbors would let him go ahead of them. After all, he had to commute to work across town while they all worked out of their rooms. Jonathan felt a small thrill as the warm water splashed over him. The shower room was a luxury in itself; it contained the shower, which was large enough for four people and had 180 degree massaging jets with 17 settings, but also a tub large enough to sit six comfortably. The room had been designed to be the fourth bedroom on the floor, but Madame Dufrey had turned it into a luxury bath suite, for the clients who preferred that sort of thing. Jonathan loved hot showers more than just about anything else. He’d grown up the son of a spacer on a cargo tramp vessel plying the outbound trade lanes. There were no showers on tramp freighters, and no baths. You cleaned yourself with vibe showers- a small booth that shot out a series of sound waves to loosen the gunk and grime from your skin. They said it was better than the old fashioned way, but it sure didn’t feel as good. Unfortunately, the requirement of being in the office by 9am meant Jonathan had less than ten minutes to indulge himself, and considering that Agatha was still waiting outside Jonathan wanted to be timely. Drying himself, Jonathan put his robe on and smiled at Agatha as he headed back upstairs to change. She returned the smile readily, and with a wink slipped into the shower. Jonathan shook his head in wry amusement as he climbed the stairs.