The Honour of the Knights (First Edition) (The Battle for the Solar System) Page 3

  Simon conceded to what his father was saying and, pushing protocol aside, he made the call. He then sat with Dean, attempting to get a little more information out of him whilst they waited for help to arrive. But Dean was done talking and less than twenty minutes later he was dead.

  * * *

  “Where exactly did you find him?” a representative of the Naval Investigation Services was asking the Dodds family. It was quite late in the morning and several men and women were carrying out final investigations of the perimeter of the family home. The ambulance that had been called had never arrived. Instead, a military medical transport had showed up, a number of heavily armed personnel accompanying the medical team into the house. In addition, a large area around the house and orchards had been sealed off, the workers arriving at the orchard being turned away.

  “He was lying there, face down on the ground,” Gregory said, pointing at the spot where they had found Dean. “How much longer is this going to take? You've been here for bloody hours. I've got pickers and harvesters waiting to get to work.”

  “I just need to ensure I have all the details down, Mr Dodds,” the rep said, tapping away at a hand held device with a stylus. “After you found him, what did you do next?”

  “For the love of God, are you deaf?” Simon's father glowered.

  “Dad, don't worry, I'll deal with this,” Simon said, seeing his father's last thread of patience about to snap. “Go and check that they're not destroying the house.” His mother and father departed and Simon turned back to the representative. “We brought him inside and called for an ambulance. The medical services told us it would be over half an hour before they could get to us, so we attempted to patch him up ourselves.”

  The man nodded. “According to your call records, you waited a good twenty-five minutes before placing the call to the nearest military hospital, regarding Lieutenant Commander Dean's condition. Why did you wait so long?” He kept the device in his hand held up. Simon suspected it was recording everything that was being said.

  “I considered that he may have been taking part in a classified mission and I needed to be sure I wouldn't be putting the operation or other participants at risk by drawing attention to his presence.” Simon stopped short of telling him about Dean's objection to the call for an ambulance or other medical assistance.

  The rep, however, seemed satisfied. “Okay, that's fine. I can appreciate that it was a difficult position you found yourself in, but you made the right decision. I believe you're currently in the service of the Confederation Stellar Navy yourself?”

  “That's right.”

  “Could you please state your full name and rank?”

  “Second Lieutenant Simon Dodds,” Simon said.

  The man tapped away at the digital assistant in his hand and waited for it to retrieve the information he was after. “Hmmmm. Says here that you've been a pilot for several years and that you are currently on suspension from active service; reinstatement not due for at least another six to seven weeks, pending the outcome of further hearings.” He tapped at the device and then whistled. “Court-martialed back at the beginning of December on two counts of involuntary manslaughter, as well as disobeying orders during...”

  “Yeah, yeah, we get the picture,” Simon interrupted.

  “So, that's all correct?”

  “Yes,” Simon said, trying not to glare.

  “May I ask where you've been and what you've been doing for the last four and a half months?”

  “I've been working here.”

  “Doing what, exactly?”

  Simon looked around, then back at the man in disdain. “What the hell do you think? I've been picking apples!”

  “Cool it, Lieutenant.” More tapping. “You've not been anywhere else? Not left the country or the planet?”

  “No.”

  “Fine,” the representative said. “Did Dean speak much before his death?”

  “Only to tell me that he had ejected from his Tactical Assault Fighter, though I never heard it come down. It's pretty quiet around here, so I'm sure it would have woken me up. He didn't manage to tell me how he got all those bullet wounds either.”

  “The TAF has been taken care of,” the man stated, eyes focused on the digital assistant.

  “Where did it come down?” Simon asked, looking around a little confused. He half expected to see a plume of smoke rising from somewhere in the distance. “Not in one of the orchards?” If the TAF had come down, then wouldn't there be some sign of its crash? And come to think of it, where was Dean's parachute?

  “No, don't worry. There's no need to be concerned about that. Like I said, it's been taken care of.” The man raised his eyes from his PDA. “You're sure he didn't say anything else?”

  Simon felt as though the man was trying to suggest that he might be trying to hide something. “No.”

  “Okay. Thank you for your co-operation, Lieutenant. You can let your family know that we will be departing shortly,” the man said before powering down the PDA and slipping it back into his jacket. He pressed a button on a device in his ear and spoke to confirm he was finished.

  Simon started off to re-join his mother and father, who were hovering by the porch and trying to see inside the house.

  “Excuse me, Lieutenant,” the NIS representative called out to him, before jogging over to join the three. “Just one thing before we go...”

  The three listened as he made one last point clear: no-one had come to the house that night and none of them had ever heard of a man by the name of Patrick Dean. Once they understood and agreed with what he was telling them, he then informed them, in rather pleasant tones, that they would have their couch replaced later that day, or early the next. Their living room had also been thoroughly cleaned, leaving no trace of the incident.

  * * *

  “Bloody pain in the arse,” Gregory grumbled as he and Simon tried to locate and organise any orchard workers who may have decided to return to work that afternoon, following the Navy's departure. Simon did not comment, the whole experience seeming a little surreal to him at this point. “Let's hope that it'll be another ten years before we see that lot again.”

  The CSN returned just two weeks later.

  II

  — An Unwelcome Visitor —

  Although the CSN's reappearance at the Dodds household was by no means discreet, the first Simon knew about it was due to the sound of his father cursing at the top of his voice and striding with great displeasure towards the Confederation transport craft that had landed close to the house. It had touched down in one of the orchards belonging to the family, damaging the valuable crop and sending his father into a rage.

  Simon had been sitting in the study at the time, pushing a pen around various pieces of paper. At the sound of his father's cursing he left the house, seeing the CSN representative that was making his way up the track; the man removing a white envelope from within his jacket. Simon's father strode past him, caring little for what he had to say and only about what was happening to his field.

  “Second Lieutenant Simon Dodds?” the man in full naval dress and sporting a pair of dark glasses asked, as Simon hurried after his father.

  “Yeah?” Simon answered, both men now following Gregory down the track in the direction of the transport.

  “This request came in from CSN HQ for you today. I should advise you that it is urgent.” Simon took the envelope from the man and removed the single piece of folded paper within. Though the letter was brief, the message was clear: it called for his immediate return to duty. His suspension was over, even though he had only served five months of the six he had been handed. Odd. Suspensions often ran far longer, whilst the Confederation Stellar Navy considered reinstatement of personnel. Stranger still was that the request had been made in the form of a personal letter. A video call was far more usual. The Navy's presence at the family home, to hand deliver said letter, further compounded the supposed urgent nature of the request.

  “
Do I have to leave right now?” Simon asked, lowering the letter.

  “No,” the man shook his head. “But I'd suggest you be prepared to do so early tomorrow morning.”

  “Was the request made on behalf of anyone in particular?” Simon said, turning the piece of paper over a few times.

  “I believe it was Commodore Parks,” the delegate said.

  Simon looked again at the letter, trying to extract some more information; trying to read what was not there. As he did so, he vaguely heard the messenger telling his father that the family business would be compensated for any untoward damage to his field.

  “A CSN inspector and maybe even a government inspector, if need be, will be dispatched to assess the possible damage.”

  “No, that's not good enough,” his father bellowed back at the dark glasses wearing man, who raised both hands in a defensive gesture. “That's an organic field! We don't use chemicals, or machinery to pick the produce. We do everything by hand! And you have gone and contaminated the entire region with your blatant disregard for the honest working man...”

  Workers handling various pieces of farming equipment and clutching baskets brimming with apples were looking from their employer to the naval delegate.

  “As I said sir, I am sorry for any damage that we may have caused...”

  “And yet you are still not shutting off those damn engines!” Gregory said in disbelief, throwing his hands up in the air. The shuttle's engines were burning the grass behind it and Simon could only guess at the long-term effects it might have on the crop.

  The Dodds family owned several orchards and were proud to be one of the few remaining large scale organic farms remaining in Ireland. Much of the produce was sold to be used in premium organic juices. Others worked their way into stores throughout western Europe. Though rather impressive, Simon had had enough of apples for the time being.

  * * *

  He spent much of the afternoon stuffing clothes into a bag in preparation for his departure early the next morning. His father's voice had drifted up the stairs to his room as he did so; the man expectant of not only a very large cheque from the CSN, but an even bigger apology.

  Gregory was still seething over the CSN's visit to his orchard when Simon joined his parents at the table for dinner. The true extent of the damage had become clear once they had departed and it wasn't good. He shot Simon a dark look as he settled into his chair, the young man quite aware that his father was holding him partly responsible for the events of the past couple of weeks.

  “You know they only want you to come back and sign something so they can get shot of you,” Gregory muttered.

  “I doubt that,” Simon said, taking a sip of orange juice.

  His father tutted. “Well, even if they don't you should give it up anyway; get yourself a proper job.”

  “You don't have to go, you know. You could just stay here,” his mother commented as she deposited three plates of chicken, rice and salad on the table.

  “Your mother's right,” his father muttered again, not giving Simon a chance to speak. “You should have just worked here instead of joining the Navy. You wouldn't have to worry about promotions, gruelling exercises, crap food or even chances of getting killed. You could be giving out the orders instead of receiving them. Other people would be doing the work. I've been there, Simon. It's not worth it.”

  Simon paused in the process of cutting into his chicken and set his knife and fork back down on the table. This again. “Dad, you were never in the Navy,” he said, rolling his eyes. It was the same thing his father had said to him the day he had told them of his plan to become a pilot in the CSN. He sometimes wished he had a brother or sister, if only to have someone on which to deflect unwanted attention.

  His father waved his glass of red wine dismissively, but said nothing.

  “And the request is urgent,” Simon reminded him, not touching his food until he could gain some sort of support for his decision.

  “You'll be back here in a few days,” his father said, sipping the wine and reaching for a small granary roll.

  * * *

  In truth, his father was not being negative about Simon's ability, or intentions to continue his career within the Navy; he had just become used to having Simon around for the last few months. Simon had been in the Navy for close to ten years and his mother and father had missed seeing him grow into an adult.

  Or at least that's what his mother had told him as she stood at his bedroom door that night, after his father had turned in. At that time a small part of Simon did not want to leave, having become comfortable back at the orchard, with his family close by. But a bigger part of him was set in the decision to return. Even his father's attempt at emotional blackmail could not dissuade him from responding to the CSN's request. Though he could just as well have refused it and then terminated his service, he did not. He owed it to himself to put things right.

  * * *

  Simon made his goodbyes and left first thing the next morning, the transport waiting for him further down the road this time. He had been summoned not to another planet in Sol, but to another star system within the Confederacy known as Indigo.

  The interior of the transport was like that of a small private jet, if not quite as luxurious. A small screen, fixed to the left of his seat, displayed their planned route, overlaid across the galactic map he had seen so many time before. A great number of inhabited and uninhabited star systems were dotted all over the chart: the Confederacy, home of Earth, lay on the right-hand side, its systems grouped quite closely together; though there were a few stragglers here and there; the Mitikas Empire, on the left, comprised of a far greater number of systems, all snuggled together like fish that had been dragged up in a net; and then there were the Independent Worlds, running between the two huge nations like a gulf or a river, keeping them apart and acting like a buffer of sorts. Here and there throughout the declared independent space, star systems were marked as belonging to the Empire from where it had spidered out and captured some during the latter days of its expansion.

  His eyes lingered on a few of the systems that were labelled in a larger type than others: Sol and Alpha Centauri within the Confederacy; Alba, one of the more powerful and prosperous of the Independents; Krasst and Kethlan of the Empire, their lettering and stars rendered in red hues. For some reason, the colour looked a little ominous compared with the whites and blues. He turned his mind to other things.

  With the knowledge that the system he was travelling to was several hundred light years from Earth, Simon was confident that his reinstatement was assured. It was a long way to bring someone only to tell them that their service within the Navy was no longer required. And surely the only reason they were bringing him all the way out there was because they needed him back as soon as possible?

  But during the trip, Simon had found himself still arguing against his father's alternate explanation for his summons back to duty: what if he really was going to be discharged? Even though at the end of his hearing five months ago he had been handed a suspension due to “lack of evidence” - the testimonies of four eye witnesses, for some reason, did not count - he was still not one hundred percent sure. It was possible that the committee and top brass needed him to come all the way out there, so they could discharge him in the correct manner, being too busy to travel themselves.

  Simon had looked out at the stars whilst his transport craft had awaited clearance to jump from Sol to Indigo and thought back upon the events that had led him to where he was now.

  * * *

  It was whilst flying with his own wing, the White Knights, and under the command of Commodore Hawke, a man whom he had failed to see eye to eye with ever since the first time the two had met, that Simon had disobeyed a direct order, with disastrous consequences.

  On a tiny Confederation planet, little larger than Sol's own Pluto, a large separatist faction from an Independent World state had secreted themselves. Despite knowing the planet to be home to many pla
netary explorers and independent research groups, the Confederation had allowed them to do so, intending to strike and bring to an end their repeated acts of aggression once they were all together. When the time had come, the Confederation's armed forces had launched a large scale operation with the intention of simultaneously evacuating the explorers and eliminating the enemy. As night had fallen, landers had touched down and ground troops and vehicles had streamed out. Large drop ships broke the atmosphere and deployed fighter craft, Simon and the White Knights amongst them.

  Though it had started well, the operation ran into difficulty when reinforcement enemy fighters had arrived in the conflict zone without warning. Following their appearance, Hawke had ordered the air support to pull back. He was concerned that the additional aerial combat would have a detrimental effect on the success of the mission, endangering the ground teams as the risk of friendly fire to and from the surface increased.

  As the squadrons pulled back, Simon had witnessed two of his wingmates being brought down and, frustrated with the way things were going, had looped back around to try and prevent further losses. His efforts had resulted in his own fighter sustaining heavy damage and dropping from the sky. He had ditched not far from a rescue point. In the confusion - and with the desire to get back from the advancing enemy lines as quickly as possible - Simon had retrieved a weapon from a downed soldier and headed back towards the extraction zone.

  Along the way, he had been surprised by a group of men and women who had run into him. His own survival instinct had kicked in, causing him to open fire. It was only after blood had splattered the ground, soaking into the dark sand, colouring small rocks and pebbles, and covering the bodies of his victims and the hands of those that were trying to help them that he realised who he was shooting at.

  For the unlawful killings of Poppy Castro and Stefan Pitt, the blatant disregard for orders, and the loss of a Tactical Assault Fighter he could have flown home, the court-martial had suspended him from duty for six months. He had returned to Earth, tail between his legs, to stay out the time with his parents and get away from everything.