Helfort's War: Book 1
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
A Drop Into Hell
Friday, July 10, 2398, Universal Date (UD)
Thursday, July 16, 2398, UD
Friday, July 24, 2398, UD
Thursday, July 30, 2398, UD
Thursday, August 6, 2398, UD
Sunday, August 9, 2398, UD
Saturday, August 22, 2398, UD
Friday, August 28, 2398, UD
Sunday, August 30, 2398, UD
Sunday, August 30, 2398, UD
Monday, August 31, 2398, UD
Tuesday, September 1, 2398, UD
Sunday, September 6, 2398, UD
Sunday, September 6, 2398, UD
Sunday, September 6, 2398, UD
Friday, September 11, 2398, UD
Saturday, September 12, 2398, UD
Saturday, September 12, 2398, UD
Sunday, September 13, 2398, UD
Tuesday, September 15, 2398, UD
Thursday, September 17, 2398, UD
Friday, September 18, 2398, UD
Monday, September 21, 2398, UD
Thursday, September 24, 2398, UD
Friday, September 25, 2398, UD
Monday, September 28, 2398, UD
Tuesday, September 29, 2398, UD
Wednesday, September 30, 2398, UD
Thursday, October 1, 2398, UD
Thursday, October 1, 2398, UD
Friday, October 2, 2398, UD
Saturday, October 3, 2398, UD
Monday, October 5, 2398, UD
Tuesday, October 6, 2398, UD
Thursday, October 8, 2398, UD
Monday, October 12, 2398, UD
Friday, October 16, 2398, UD
Sunday, October 18, 2398, UD
Thursday, October 22, 2398, UD
Friday, October 23, 2398, UD
Sunday, October 25, 2398, UD
Friday, October 30, 2398, UD
Saturday, October 31, 2398, UD
Monday, November 2, 2398, UD
Tuesday, November 3, 2398, UD
Wednesday, November 4, 2398, UD
Wednesday, November 11, 2398, UD
Saturday, November 14, 2398, UD
Monday, November 16, 2398, UD
Thursday, November 19, 2398, UD
Thursday, November 19, 2398, UD
Thursday, November 19, 2398, UD
Thursday, November 19, 2398, UD
Thursday, November 19, 2398, UD
Thursday, November 19, 2398, UD
Thursday, November 19, 2398, UD
Thursday, November 19, 2398, UD
Thursday, November 19, 2398, UD
Thursday, November 19, 2398, UD
Monday, November 23, 2398, UD
Thursday, November 26, 2398, UD
Monday, December 7, 2398, UD
Monday, February 15, 2399, UD
Wednesday, February 24, 2399, UD
Saturday, April 3, 2399, UD
Monday, April 19, 2399, UD
Friday, April 23, 2399, UD
Read on for a sneak preview…
Copyright
For Vicki
Acknowledgments
To my wife Vicki, Tony and Barbara Horgan, Nick Horgan, Tara Wynne, Russ Galen, and Jim Minz and the team at Random House. My thanks to all of you for your encouragement, critical advice, and support.
A DROP INTO HELL
With a deep breath, Michael Helfort started Moaning Minnie on her way dirtside, firing the planetary heavy lander’s main engines at full power to wipe out enough of her orbital velocity to put her into a rapidly steepening parabolic fall to the ground. As Minnie fell, the rest of the assault lander stream fell around her, the landers cocooned in a huge cloud of active decoys, the attack blossoming out in all directions into a huge cloud that was too confused, too complex, and too fast moving for ground-based radar to distinguish high-value targets from decoys.
With Minnie’s height unwinding rapidly, Michael shut down the main engines and spun Minnie back, nose first, ready for reentry. He could see for himself the threat blossoming in front of them as long-range search radars appeared on the display.
But that didn’t matter too much.
An assault lander could do very little against long-range weapons systems except stay as far away from them as possible. It was up to the planetary assault vessel supporting the attack from orbit—in this case the Shrivaratnam—to provide volume defense for the entire assault lander stream.
“Command, Tac. Threat Red. Multiple battle management radar emitters. Stand by…Shrivaratnam reports multiple ABM missile launches.”
ABMs! Shit, Michael thought. Antiballistic missile systems were designed to take out missiles before atmospheric reentry, a role that made them extremely good at hacking big, fat, and relatively slow assault landers out of the sky. But there was nothing much Michael could do about them except worry and leave them to Shrivaratnam. ABMs were too big, too fast, and, with tacnuke warheads, much more than any lander’s thin skin of ceramsteel armor could withstand. As he commed his neuronics to display the overall command plot, he was happy to see that the ABMs, for which an undefended stream of assault landers was the easiest of easy meat, were having a hard time of it.
But a handful did slip through…
Friday, July 10, 2398, Universal Date (UD)
Federated Worlds Space Fleet College, Terranova Planet
Rear Admiral Jan Fielding, the flag officer commanding, Federated Worlds Space Fleet College, sat back in her chair and sighed heavily as she turned to the large picture window behind her desk.
“I don’t like this one little bit, Joseph,” she said, staring out at the broad expanse of parade ground across which squads of first-year cadets moved like small black robots, harassed and harangued every step of the way by other small black robots. But Fielding saw none of them, her face troubled and drawn.
The tall, solidly built man standing slightly to one side nodded as Fielding turned back to her desk. “Not many of us do, sir. But now that Admiral al-Rawahy has endorsed the official report of the board of inquiry, there’s nothing more to be done. But at least the matter was dealt with administratively rather than under military justice.”
“I know, I know. But Admiral al-Rawahy’s as concerned about this whole matter as we are.”
“I wouldn’t know, sir.” Bukenya’s voice was so deliberately diplomatic, the sharp-edged planes that made up his face so carefully arranged into an expressionless blue-black mask, that Fielding couldn’t help smiling.
“Yes, yes. Quite right, Joseph.” Fielding accepted the unspoken criticism. What admirals might or might not have said to each other was not something she should be talking about. “Okay, let’s get on with it.”
“Sir.” Turning, Bukenya moved to the door and pulled it open a little too sharply, Fielding thought. Let’s not make it any worse than it already is, she told herself.
“Senior Cadet Helfort? The admiral will see you now.”
“Sir!”
The young man, immaculate in razor-creased dress blacks, marched into the room and came rigidly to attention in front of the battered oak desk, a relic from Old Earth, it was said. Only a slight trembling of the fingertips and a thin sheen of sweat across the forehead betrayed his feelings. The admiral watched as Michael Helfort fought to slow his breathing before looking her square in the eye.
“Senior Cadet Helfort, sir.”
“At ease, Helfort.”
“Sir.”
For a moment Fielding found herself dragged back more years than she cared to think about. It had been a long time since she had last seen Helfort’s father, but the boy could have been he. Relativ
ely short by Fed standards, Michael Helfort had his father’s well-muscled, thickset build, the shoulders broad, the same untidy hair. A fraction too long, though, even for a senior cadet about to graduate, she noted. The eyes were his father’s, too, hazel in color and deeply set in a faced tanned to a dark brown. But most noticeable was the way he looked at her; he might have his father’s eyes, but he had his mother’s penetratingly direct gaze. She’d been a very fine officer, as Fielding recalled, and a loss to Space Fleet; some even said that Kerri Helfort had been the finest rear admiral Space Fleet had never had.
The admiral shook herself. This was no time for reminiscing, no time for worrying, though she didn’t like to think about what Helfort’s parents would say when they got the news. She turned her eyes back to the old-fashioned paper document that sat dead center on the otherwise empty desk. The single page of thick cream-colored paper, signed by Vice Admiral al-Rawahy and sealed with his massive red wax seal, heavy with the power and might of the Federated Worlds, mocked her concerns. Leaning forward slightly, she started to read, her voice flat and colorless.
“To Senior Cadet Michael Wallace Helfort, serial number FC021688J.
“From Vice Admiral Abdulla bin Issa al-Rawahy, director of Fleet training, Federated Worlds Space Fleet.”
Fielding paused. This was not right. Michael just stood there motionless, the sweat threatening to bead across his forehead.
Fielding forced herself to continue.
“Whereas the board of inquiry convened by my authority on Monday 15 June 2398 Universal Date, having reviewed all relevant evidence and having heard all persons with knowledge of the matter under inquiry, namely, the unsafe operation of Planetary Heavy Lander (Assault) Registration Number PHLA-789465 while under your command on Thursday 14 May 2398, Universal Date contrary to OPS-MAN-PHLA-2245, has completed its report.
“And, whereas the conclusion of the board of inquiry that you, Senior Cadet Michael W. Helfort, did act in a manner risking injury or death to crew, passengers, and ground-based civilians has been endorsed by me following my full and detailed review of the report of the board of inquiry, I hereby delegate the matter for administrative action by your military commander, Rear Admiral Jan Carlotta Fielding, Flag Officer commanding, Space Fleet College of the Federated Worlds.
“Signed and sealed this day, Friday 3 July 2398 Universal Date, by me, Abdulla bin Issa al-Rawahy, vice admiral, director of Fleet training, Federated Worlds Space Fleet.”
Fielding placed the document back on the desk, taking a moment to position it dead center before looking up directly into the eyes of the young man in front of her, eyes that, she was pleased to see, looked straight back at her unblinkingly.
“Senior Cadet Helfort. Do you understand what I have just said?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Are there any questions that you would like to ask at this stage?”
“No, sir.” Helfort stood unmoving, the sweat beading on his forehead threatening to run down into his eyes.
Fielding nodded. “Very well. In that case, I am required by Article 2349.7 of the Federated Worlds Code of Military Justice to ask you whether or not you accept the findings of the board of inquiry. If you do not, and it is your right not to, the report of the board of inquiry together with any comments by Vice Admiral al-Rawahy will be forwarded to the commander in chief, Federated Worlds Space Fleet, for further review. If you do accept the findings, it rests with me to determine the administrative action to be taken as a consequence of the report. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you require further time to consider your answer or to consult any natural person or any licensed AI-generated persona?”
“No, sir. I do not.”
“Very well. What is your decision?”
“Sir, I accept the findings of the board,” Helfort said stiffly.
Thank God, thought the admiral. She had watched Helfort through half-closed eyes as he’d struggled to make the right decision. You are your parents’ son, she thought, and you’ve made the right decision even if that painful fact may not be clear to you right now.
“Very well. Lieutenant Commander Bukenya will attest to your decision, a copy of which will be commed to you and to your personnel file.
“It now falls to me to prescribe what administrative action shall be taken as a consequence of the report of the board of inquiry.” She paused while Bukenya handed her a second thick cream-colored document, this one marked with her own red seal, smaller than al-Rawahy’s but still impressive. As it always did, it struck her how archaic a lump of red wax stamped onto a bit of paper really was even if it was DNA-coded and time-stamped to make the document unarguably genuine. But still, that was the way things were done in the Federated Worlds Space Fleet, as they always had been. Who was she to argue?
The admiral started to read in the same flat voice she had used before, utterly devoid of emotion. As she watched, Helfort stood ramrod straight with an impassive look on his face. He didn’t blink even when a bead of sweat rolled down his forehead and into his left eye. “First, the conclusion of the board of inquiry shall be noted in your personnel file for a period of five years unless extended by the administrative decision of a duly qualified authority.
“Second, you shall requalify as command pilot on the planetary heavy lander subject to your achieving an overall qualification score of not less than 98 percent.
“Third, all additional seniority due to you by virtue of your academic and professional performance while a cadet is void. Therefore, upon graduation, your seniority date as a junior lieutenant shall be 1 September 2398.”
For the first time Michael visibly flinched. Twelve months’ seniority, the product of three hard years of effort, gone. Just like that.
Fielding placed the document on the desk. “An attested digital copy of Admiral al-Rawahy’s endorsement and my administrative actions will be commed to your file. These hard copies are for your own personal records.” Fielding pushed the two papers to the front of the desk.
Michael just stared at them. “Sir.”
“Well, pick them up, Helfort; they won’t bite.”
“Sir.”
With all the reluctance of a man about to pick up a red-hot poker, Helfort reached forward to take the documents from the desk. Somehow Fielding knew that Helfort would never look at them again.
“Unless there is anything else in relation to this matter that you wish to raise at this time, you are dismissed.”
“No, sir. Nothing.” Helfort came to attention, turned, and was gone almost before Fielding and Bukenya realized it.
As the door closed, Bukenya looked at the admiral. “He will see that as very harsh, especially the loss of seniority. That’ll put him behind some real, uh”—Bukenya paused—“some real underachievers.”
The admiral smiled briefly at Bukenya’s understatement. He should have said “jerks” because that was what some of her students were despite the best efforts of the college staff to turn them into half-decent Fleet officers. “He will. And that’s why I want you to talk to him. His new skipper is a good man. And I just happen to know they are in for some interesting work. So tell him to hang in and let him know that I will be talking to Ribot on his behalf. Despite what the board of inquiry says, he’s a very good officer, an outstanding officer, in fact, and we do not want to lose him. But for God’s sake tell him to say nothing about what you talk about.”
Bukenya half smiled. “Deniability, sir?”
“Damn right. Now go to it; I’ve got things to do. One of which is putting a vidmail together telling his parents what I’ve had to do to their son.”
As Bukenya left, the admiral leaned back in her chair as she commed her flag lieutenant.
“John, can you contact Admiral al-Rawahy’s secretary and tell him that I would like to speak to the admiral, please.”
Michael’s stomach churned with the absolute, total wrongness of it all. He half walked, half ran down the s
tairs from the admiral’s office. Two first-year cadets were firmly shoved aside as he pounded down to the ground floor and out into the hot Terranovan sun. His neuronics chimed softly to tell him that the team was waiting for him in the senior cadets’ mess. Bugger them; they could all wait. Head down, he charged on, unseeing.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Senior Cadet Helfort, or should I say Mister Helfort, late of the Federated Worlds Space Fleet.”
Michael stopped dead in his tracks. He didn’t need to turn around to see who had spoken. The anger roared in his head. Uncaring, he turned to face the small group that stood casually against the wall of the admin building. Bastards, he thought. They’ve been waiting for me to come out. Without thinking, his fists balled and he closed in. “You fucking bastard, d’Castreaux. I’m going to kill you for this.”
D’Castreaux paused for a few long moments and smiled. “I think Mister Helfort is upset. What do you think, Jasmina?”
Senior Cadet Jasmina Karayan smiled back. “I think his dad’s going to kill him. Don’t you?”
At that point Michael snapped, starting toward d’Castreaux, hands coming up to wring the life out of the sneering scumbag who stood in front of him.
“Helfort!” Bukenya’s voice was like a steel wire whipped across the back of Michael’s neck. He stopped, hands only centimeters from d’Castreaux’s throat. Instantly, the anger was gone, replaced by an ice-cold certainty.
“Another day, d’Castreaux,” Michael hissed. “Depend on it.” Michael turned to face Bukenya, coming rigidly to attention.
“Sir.”
Bukenya pointedly ignored him. “You four. Do you have business in administration?”
“No, sir,” the four chorused like four submissive but still triumphant sheep.
“Right. Present in an inappropriate area without reasonable grounds. Fifty demerits each. Now get out of my sight.”
The four snapped to attention, saluted, turned, and marched smartly away. But every step told Bukenya that they thought fifty demerits was a very cheap price to pay for the pleasure of seeing Helfort fresh from his place of execution.
Pausing only to comm the demerits into the cadet’s files, Bukenya stood in front of Michael. “You are a bloody young fool, Helfort. My office, now.”