Hammerhead Resurrection Read online

  “Almost empty.” As she took the young man’s pulse, she said, “Horace, give me a fresh O2 bottle.”

  Horace attached a new mask to an emergency O2 cylinder and pushed it over to her. Jacqueline fitted the mask on the young man’s face and twisted the bottle full open. The young man’s free arm floated in a limp arc as she checked his pulse again.

  Stacy pushed off the wall with gentle expertise, sending herself in a slow flight to the second bag. She caught it as she passed. The mass of the bag slowed her. As the far wall approached, she extended a boot and stopped herself.

  Gripping the bag’s zipper, she pulled it downward. As the top of the survivor’s head became visible, the zipper stuck. The mop of thick, pale-blonde hair reminded her of Leif, whom she hadn’t seen in some time. As she fished the bunched fabric from the zipper track, she thought of how, over the years, Leif had grown distant from her, their lives diverging. After he’d met Sarah, they hardly spoke. She yanked on the zipper, but it wouldn’t come free. Taking her knife from her hip, she cut into the side of the bag’s fabric. When Leif had married she hadn’t gone to the wedding, and he’d called her sounding hurt, and she’d been a bit… not rude… but quiet. Not talkative. He must have assumed she wanted nothing to do with him, but her silence came from not wanting to acknowledge how she truly felt.

  Freeing the zipper, she pulled it down, exposing Leif’s face. For a moment, she thought she’d become delusional. When his eyes met hers, she saw grief in them. A chilling understanding overtook her. The last time she’d talked with Jeffrey he’d told her that Leif had been stationed with his wife. She hadn’t known where… only stationed with his wife.

  Only two survivors.

  “Sarah?” she said to him, and his chin pulled tight as he closed his eyes.

  “O.C.” she heard Marco say.

  “Give me a minute, Marco.”

  “I would, but you got a comm from Admiral Cantwell.”

  “What?” She looked toward the cockpit. “Admiral Cantwell’s retired.”

  “Apparently not anymore.”

  She turned back to Leif. “Are you hurt?”

  “What are the odds that it should be you?” He said with a wan smile.

  “Just dumb luck I guess.”

  In his hollow eyes, she saw the need to let what he’d been through be left alone.

  “Horace, evaluate this man.” She touched the side of Leif’s face. “I’ve got to take care of this. I’ll be close, okay?”

  He didn’t appear to care.

  Kicking off the wall, she floated to the communications console.

  “I’m at the console.”

  Marco said, “He wants a private channel.”

  Letting out a frustrated breath, she kicked off again, found her helmet, and pulled it on.

  “I’m ready.”

  “Aye O.C.,” Marco said, his voice now close in her ears as if he was sitting behind her, “I’m patching him through.”

  The connection clicked, and Sam Cantwell’s aged voice asked, “Commander?”

  “Yes sir, this is Commander Zack, Special Warfare.”

  “Do you have the survivors?”

  “Affirmative, sir. Two.”

  “Are identities confirmed?”

  In that moment, she understood; the old dogs of the war had been brought back, Cantwell from retirement and Holt from the wrecking yard. Cantwell was confirming if Holt’s son was dead or alive and Jeffrey was in the room with him.

  “We have two men, one yet unidentified. The other is confirmed to be Leif Holt.”

  “How is he?”

  “He appears to be uninjured, but that’s only my assessment. The medic has yet to finish her evaluation.”

  “Understood…”

  In the following silence Stacy was unsure what to say so remained silent.

  “Tell your team they’ve done well. Contact me immediately if any changes occur.”

  “Tell Jeffrey I’m sorry about Sarah.”

  “Understood. Thank you Commander.”

  The speakers clicked. Pulling her helmet off, she looked to the survivors being attended by X, Horace and Jacqueline. The unidentified man was still unconscious, but looking far healthier than the half-dead face they’d first found. Leif looked healthy, but in his eyes she saw darkness. When her father had been murdered, she went through hell privately. No matter how much Jeffrey had tried to help her, she’d never fully opened up about it. She saw the same closed-off grief in Leif’s eyes now.

  Chapter Nine

  As the launch vehicle finished its orbital burn and came into an intercept path with the U.S. Navy Space Station Elysium, acceleration let off, and Jeffrey went weightless, which came as a blissfully welcome and familiar sensation.

  Cantwell took out a buzzing handset and held it up to his ear.

  “This is Cantwell. Yes… Good… Connect me to the recovery team.” He waited in silence.

  Jeffrey watched him intently.

  “This is Admiral Sam Cantwell. I need to speak with your O.C.” He fell silent for a time before asking, “Commander?” A pause. “Do you have the survivors?”

  Jeffrey held his hope close. In his impatience, he shoved his thumbnail at some loose paint on his armrest.

  Cantwell asked, “Are identities confirmed?”

  Jeffrey laced his hands together, the fingers going white.

  “How is he?”

  Jeffrey did his best to hold back a rush of assumption.

  ‘He’. No mention of ‘she’. Sarah…

  Despite his attempt to keep his mind quiet, the truth shoved its way in. The woman he’d been so glad Leif had found was gone. Sarah had been wonderful—sincere, honest, beautiful, and intelligent. Everything a father would want for his son, and they’d been good together—really good.

  “Understood…” Cantwell said.

  Jeffrey thought how empty his heart had been after his own wife’s passing, how empty it still was.

  “Tell your team they’ve done well,” Cantwell said. “Contact me immediately if any changes occur.”

  Jeffrey watched Cantwell’s expression, but the old military man never let much show.

  “Understood. Thank you Commander.” Cantwell ended the call. He looked at Jeffrey and said simply, as a man used to loss in war will, “Leif’s fine, but Leif and another young man were the only survivors.”

  The relief Jeffrey felt at the survival of his son was overshadowed by the loss of Sarah.

  Giving a quick nod, he asked, to give himself something else to think about, “What’s next?”

  Cantwell let his tablet drift to Jeffrey. “We have an hour or so until we dock with Elysium. During that time, I have some files I want you to review.”

  “Files?”

  “Pilots. Once you’ve been over the files and the summaries, I’ll talk to you about what our next steps might be. I need you in a leadership role here Holt. I know you’d rather be blood and guts flying, but I need your experience. There are others who have ideas about how to deal with this situation, ideas I think you’ll share my opinion on.”

  “I assume that opinion involves foul language.”

  Another rare smile passed over Cantwell’s face. “The president and secretary of defense want to focus our fight with drones. Meanwhile the vice president,” he pointed his thumb over his shoulder where Samantha Delaney sat, “while still seeming to be doubtful this isn’t another conspiracy on our part, has been vocal that an accord to peace must be found.”

  “She’s in for an awakening.”

  Cantwell offered a matter-of-fact grunt in response.

  “…and drones won’t work.”

  “I had a feeling you’d take that position,” Cantwell said. “That’s why I needed you back. We’ll talk more on that point later.” He pointed at the tablet in Jeffrey’s hands. “Right now you need to review those files.”

  “To what end?” Jeffrey asked, already knowing the answer. In his gut, he felt a wicked thrill mixed with d
read. He was going to get to do what he was born to, what he’d been engineered to do. Most of the men and women whose files were in the tablet he held would be dead in six months. Maybe this time he’d be spared the pain of surviving them.

  “We need to resurrect the Hammerhead program Jeffrey, and I need you to head it.”

  “I’m just a pilot.”

  “No,” Cantwell said, anger tingeing his words, “get that humble-warrior bullshit out of your system. It’s time for you step up and lead.”

  “I’ve never seen myself as a leader.”

  “Which is exactly the kind of leader I need.”

  Shrugging the comment aside, Jeffrey looked at the first name on the tablet, a Lieutenant Sebastian Grimstad from Norway. He tapped the name and looked over the stats, service record, and psyche profile, which while impressive, did not give everything he needed to know. Not until he’d met and worked with the man, would he come to understand him.

  Chapter Ten

  Stacy had been in the U.S.S. Rhadamanthus’ sick bay checking on Adanna, who’d regained consciousness but could remember nothing from the mission. Stacy cut her from the team without making much of a scene. Adanna would be transferred to another Special Warfare unit when she’d been given medical clearance.

  Disconnecting her mag-boots from the deck, Stacy floated up the steep staircase-like ladder. As she locked her boots to the next deck and walked on, she felt dizzy and angry. Despite the convenience of the boots, who’s carbon fiber calf supports allowed her to walk fairly naturally, the weightlessness still made her feel out of sorts. Her anger, of course, was directed at Adanna and Horace. Their reckless selfishness had fractured her team. Between the two, Adanna had to go. Their current situation required a healthy team now, and Adanna needed time to heal. Her injury had simplified the decision, but still it burned in Stacy’s mind. Adanna had offered a strangely easy apology when Stacy told her she was out. Stacy kept her anger to herself as venting it on Adanna would have served no purpose. She’d save it for Horace.

  With no personnel nearby to collide into, she released her boots and, pulling on the railing, glided down the empty corridor. She understood she should enjoy the easy movements as long as she could. Soon the Rhadamanthus would be under acceleration, and Stacy would find herself under heavy G’s wherever she went. Orders had come in: all destroyers would gather at the outer edge of the asteroid belt. Stacy had heard several countries were committing ships. Jeffrey’s stories of the aliens from fifty years before caused her to worry about the tactics the higher command would commit the destroyers to. According to Jeffrey, all large-scale engagements with alien destroyers had ended badly. Allied advances in the war had come solely through close-in fighting, which negated the aliens’ more powerful weapons. The only close-in battles won had been fought by the Hammerheads.

  Coming through a hatch, she found the sleeping decks busier with personnel, so she locked her boots down and, walking past her own cabin hatch, moved five hatches further down, coming to C-01-154. She knocked quietly enough that if the occupant was sleeping he would be able to remain asleep. A muffled reply came from the inside.

  Pushing on the handle, which moved easily on freshly greased surfaces, she shoved the reinforced hatch inward. As she stepped into the dim interior, a switch clicked. LED lights over the bunk came on, glowing across Leif, who lay in a white T-shirt, his rack’s sleeping sack zipped to his chest and zero-G straps over his thighs and chest. He had dark swaths under his eyes, the look of someone who wanted sleep but couldn’t find it.

  “How are you?” She asked him.

  “Fine,” he said, shrugging. He rubbed the palm of his hand with his fingers.

  Stacy moved to the corner of the small quarters, near his feet. “I’m sorry Leif, sorry you lost her.”

  Leif kept his attention on his hands.

  Stacy said, “I want you to know you can talk to me. I’ve been there. With my father.”

  Leif nodded as his face tightened, but he let out a deep breath, and his expression returned to blankness. Despite his defenses though, tears welled and filled his eyes in the weightlessness. He shoved them away with the back of his wrist. Stacy found it strange to see someone cry like that, no reaction of the face, only tears. After a moment, he said in a quiet voice, “I need to tell you something.”

  When he remained silent, she said, “I’m listening Leif.”

  He sighed again, “I need to tell someone anyway.”

  “You know you can talk to me, your dad too if—“

  “No,” Leif’s voice became angry. “Promise me what I’m about to tell you will never be repeated to him. Understood?”

  Stacy nodded but felt unsure of the bargain.

  “I’m serious about this.”

  “Okay. It’ll stay between you and me.” She touched his blanket-draped knee. “You can trust me okay?”

  A resigned expression tinted with relief came to his face.

  “The morning she died, yesterday morning… God how could it have been only twenty-four hours ago? That morning she told me that she was…” He fell silent again, and fresh tears formed. He shoved them away and drew an unsteady breath. “…pregnant.”

  Not a lot could shock Stacy. She’d been through tough times and had the thick skin to show for it. Now, though, she found herself having to brace herself to avoid physically showing the impact of what he’d said. He would carry the scars of a lost wife forever, but to lose their child as well… Stacy could think of no words to face such a thing, so she sat in silence, her hand still on his knee.

  “You can’t tell my dad,” he said, his voice falling to a whisper. “He’s lost too much. To lose a grandchild…”

  Leif’s selflessness, protecting his father even through his own grief, caused tears to well in Stacy’s eyes also. She bit her tongue to quell them.

  After a long pause, she let out a small, heartless laugh, and said, “It’s unfortunate life has to come with so much scar tissue.”

  He nodded. They sat in silence for some time before he pushed her hand aside and said, “Thanks for checking on me.”

  “I’m here for you Leif.”

  Leif released his straps, unzipped the sleeping sack, and floated free of the bed. As he put on his mag-boots, locking them to the deck, his shoulders trembled slightly. Stacy wasn’t sure if he was crying or not, but she let him have his time. After a moment, he wiped his eyes with his sleeve.

  Standing, he asked, “You hungry?”

  She’d eaten thirty minutes before she’d cut Adanna. “Yeah, I’ll eat with you.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Jeffrey stood, or rather had the electromagnetic plates in his duty boots locked to the floor, as he surveyed the U.S.S. Lacedaemon’s bridge in awe at how much Navy destroyers had advanced in fifty years. In his time the destroyers’ bridges had been low steel-lined spaces with narrow windows… hard to see the stars. Here on the Lacedaemon, a lattice of carbon-wrapped titanium fitted with glass panels arced over the bridge. The structure seemed impossibly gossamer for the purposes of a warship. That latticed ceiling was, in fact, the nose of the huge destroyer, as the Lacedaemon’s decks had been set perpendicular to its length, like the slices in a loaf of bread. When the main thrusters fired, the acceleration would create an artificial gravity as the floor panels pushed into the occupants’ feet, rather than slamming everyone into the rear wall.

  In the center of the broad space lay a shin-high disk with the appearance of mirrored, black obsidian—a Nav-Con imager ten feet across. A three-dimensional hologram of the fleet hovered above it. The ships at the edges of the disk were cut off in a sharp curve where the disk ended.

  Walking to it, Jeffrey looked over the nearest ships. With finely detailed 3D resolution, each small ship appeared to be solid metal. The Nav-Con’s of his day had shown ships in wire-frame outlines.

  Behind him, Cantwell said, “The light transference and resolution has been greatly improved,”

  “Incredible.”r />
  Cantwell moved to the Nav-Con’s oval control panel. As he slid his fingers across its surface, the ships rushed closer, growing until only the Lacedaemon remained, hovering nose to thrusters over the entirety of the disk.

  “The system uses drone cameras and solar positioning systems to monitor fleet status. These images are real-time. Critical for understanding positioning, battle damage, and so on.”

  Jeffrey sank his finger into the seemingly solid side of the ship.

  With a sweep of his hand, Cantwell turned the image of the Lacedaemon until it’s latticed nose, which reminded Jeffrey of a Victorian glass house, hovered before him. Leaning in, Jeffrey saw himself looking over the small disk in the center of the bridge where a small Lacedaemon floated.

  Jeffrey looked to Cantwell. “A lot has changed.”

  “Not all for the better,” Cantwell said pointing to the lattice. “It’s a beautiful view but bad for war.”

  “There’s no armor to it.”

  “None. That’s what happens when lack of experience meets the desire for warships to look and feel fancy.”

  Cantwell swept his fingers across the control panel. The Lacedaemon slid away. The surface of Europa took its place, a curved arc blanketing the surface of the Nav-Con. The three destroyers, the size of pocket knives, continued to cut a three-clawed canyon into its surface.

  Jeffrey hadn’t seen one in fifty years, but he knew every detail from memory.

  He said through his teeth, “Sthenos...”

  “Yes,” Cantwell said. “Some suggest that if we don’t engage, they’ll leave when they’re done mining ice.”

  “These the same folks who said the war never happened?” Jeffrey asked, already knowing the answer. “They’re not ice miners.”

  A woman’s voice, efficient and direct, came from Jeffrey’s right, “If you disagree, what is your assessment?”

  Jeffrey turned and found himself facing Vice President Samantha Delaney, standing with her two Marine guards and the bald man wearing small, wire-framed glasses from the launch shuttle. She seemed to have adapted easily to the weightlessness and magnetic boots. Standing face-to-face with her, what struck him about her most was her height. Her blond hair caught the shine of the bridge lights as she gave Jeffrey a practice-perfect smile. Her beauty, which was much more intense in person, made Jeffrey feel defensive. Her gunmetal gray pant-suit opalesced as she held out her hand to him.