Chapter 8
Taylor sat around a table of key officials just as he had done the day before, and more times than he wanted to count now. He wanted to sleep, or do anything but be where he was now, but it wouldn’t be allowed, not yet. He had to be debriefed and had to be there, according to Huber. He knew it was protocol.
But what the hell is protocol anymore?
“Colonel Taylor, are you with us?” asked a voice.
He looked up and around the room and couldn’t even tell where question had come from, as he’d gotten so close to a moment’s sleep.
“Yeah, I’m with you. What was the question again?”
“You described something called Juggernauts. Tell us more about them,” asked Dupont.
“They’re big, mean bastards. You don’t want to go anywhere near them. Our boys are having a hard time against them, and they were definitely the reason for such high casualties earlier today.”
He could see his straight talking and cursing was not something they were accustomed to at their table, but he wasn’t ready to apologise or change his manner.
“Okay,” said Huber, “Have we got a figure on our losses aboard the barge?”
Dupont was quick to answer.
“Current figures are four thousand three hundred and eight. Mostly civilians. At the moment, it is hard to tell the number of civilian and military losses. It will be several more hours until we have the exact stats.”
Huber shook his head. “As well as however many on the Goeben were actually friendlies. We could have well over five thousand dead. Five thousand!”
The room was still silent.
“Five thousand in the wars on Earth would be unsettling. Uncomfortable, undesirable, but now, it’s a tragedy. Ladies and Gentlemen, there are only so many of us left.”
Nobody said a word as Huber took in a deep breath and wiped his brow. Taylor could see his unease at being the leader of humanity as far as they knew it. It was more weight on anyone’s shoulders than he could ever imagine.
“Five thousand in a single day? We cannot survive at this rate. Things have to change.”
“But how can that happen while we do not have a system of government?” Bletchley asked.
He was one of the few civilian representatives at the table, and they all turned to him with a look of scorn.
“The fleet, these people, they need…” added Bletchley.
“They need to survive!” Huber interrupted loudly.
“And there is more to that than…” Bletchley began to scream.
Huber smashed his hand on the table. It was hard and loud enough that it silenced Bletchley.
“Bletchley, you might have understood the politics of running a government back on Earth, but you have no idea what it is to manage a fleet under such desperate conditions as we face today.”
Huber got up from his chair and paced around the room. He rubbed his chin and grumbled as he carried on pacing around them all. Taylor could see he was contemplating a painfully difficult decision, and everyone waited for him to make it. Finally, he got back to his place at the table and leaned over it.
“I have had enough of this bickering and arguing. I do not want to do what I have to, and never wished or hoped for it. We do not have a government, or any means of establishing an effective one at this stage. I am declaring this a military matter, and therefore the civilian authorities will adhere to military control for the safety of us all. As the ranking officer of this ship and the fleet, I am taking charge under martial rule until such time as the safety of this fleet allows a civilian government to be formed for the benefit of us all.”
“But we have already begun setting up a regime,” Bletchley stuttered.
Taylor could see in the man’s eyes that all he wanted was his slice of power and that made him feel sick, but he said nothing. He could see Huber had the situation well in hand.
“Continue to establish your government, and maybe it will be of use. But it will submit to my authority until such time as it is fit to rule, and we are in a position of safety which permits a civilian government to operate.”
“But…who knows when that could be?”
“Indeed, who knows? That is the very reason for making this decision, Mr Bletchley.”
“Deputy Prime Minister…”
“Mr Bletchley!” Huber balled, “You might have been something special on Earth, but now you are nothing more than a single man who is yet to prove himself or be deserving of any more respect than I have given you. If you hadn’t noticed, Earth is gone; at least for us. Whatever we do now is entirely new and built from the ground up. Our military leaders are decided for us because we are stuck in the jobs we have been doing throughout. As a representative of your government’s parliament, I would expect you to have a key role in establishing a government, but that must be earned. Have I made myself clear?”
“Yes,” he mumbled.
“Gentlemen, Ladies. We have had quite enough for now, but we have much to talk about. I propose a recess of two hours to reconvene at 1800 hours.”
Taylor was the first to get up. He had been eager to get out of the room from the moment he first stepped foot in it. He went out into the corridor but felt a hand on his shoulder forcing him to turn back. He turned and found Bletchley standing behind him.
“Colonel Taylor, I must ask your help. You have had a good relation with the people of the United Kingdom for some time. Will you hear me?”
“No,” Taylor said firmly.
He turned and walked away, but Bletchley ran after him and went past to block his path.
“Colonel, don’t you see what is going on here? Both of our countries were built on democracy, and we have both fought to defend it in our own way.”
Taylor shook his head.
“I didn’t fight for democracy. I fought for our survival.”
“But you would fight for it, wouldn’t you? Just as your founding fathers did? Admiral Huber is seizing control of the people of this fleet without any authority to do so. He is tearing up all that we built over the last few hundred years. He’s a tyrant, Colonel.”
Taylor carried on walking, but this time Bletchley put a hand on his chest and tried to stop him in his tracks with physical force.
“Colonel…please…”
Taylor took a hold of his wrist and twisted until he released his hand from the pain and then pushed him up against the bulkhead beside them.
“Listen to me, and you listen good, you hear? I don’t care for your politics. I don’t care for what party you support, where you are on the political spectrum, or if you agree or disagree with a single military decision. You work at the will of the Admiral, and I will not have you trying to undermine his command or authority. The next time I hear anything of the sort; I will consider it mutinous behaviour and treat you accordingly. Do you hear me?”
He kept a firm grip on the man’s wrist and squeezed a little tighter so that he squirmed.
“Yes, yes, okay!”
Taylor released his grip and carried on the way he had intended. Bletchley did not say another word as he left, but he knew he would be a problem in the future. Without even looking at his face, he could imagine the scorn and anger in the man’s face.
He isn’t one to forget, Taylor thought.
He headed right for his bunk. He knew if he didn't get sleep soon he would drop where he stood. When he reached their billets, he found Silva waiting for him at the entrance as he had before.
"Don't you ever sleep?" Taylor asked him.
"I get what I need."
It was clear Silva wanted or needed to talk to him, so he stopped and waited for him to continue.
"Sir, I have our casualty list."
Taylor nodded for him to continue.
"Sixty-four dead, twenty-one wounded."
Taylor shook his head. "That's about a quarter of our strength wiped out just like that, in a day?"
"Yes, Sir," replied Silva sombrely. Taylor tried to move on, but Silva placed a hand gently on his shoulder, causing him to stop.
"We can't carry on like this anymore," Silva added, "We take on the worst shit missions every time they come up, and pay a dear price for it, now more than ever. We keep this up, and there won't be anything left of the Regiment."
"So who would you have do the job we do?" he asked, "We have the greatest fighting force in the fleet and an amalgamation of some of the best soldiers and marines from around the World."
"Right now we do, but not if we carry on down this road."
"We're at war. We can't fight a war without losses, but neither can we continue onwards without replacing those losses."
Silva waited for him to continue, as if expecting some magical solution to their problem.
"It's time we did some recruiting and replenished the ranks."
"But how? Where do we get them from?"
"There are three million souls in this fleet. Some of them will be up to the task."
"People yes, but not elite fighting men and women."
"We can't be too fussy anymore. We can only do what we can with the resources we have. You leave it to me."
He carried on towards his bunk and simply jumped in, without even taking his boots off. He thought of those he had lost. He didn't even know who of his friends and comrades were dead yet. But he thought of how helpless he felt. There was nothing for him to do. No family to contact, no chance of a proper burial on home soil. He thought of recommending medals to both those who survived and posthumous ones, but it seemed so redundant.
"Colonel Taylor, Sir?"
He recognised Watkins who had fought beside him earlier that day. He lay flat on his bed and programmed an alarm on his watch as he replied.
"What is it, Private?"
"We're going to make it, aren't we, Sir?"
"In what way?"
"We're going to make it home, aren't we?"
It was a nice thought, and Taylor couldn't bear to disappoint him.
"Humanity was born to live on Earth, and someday we'll return," he finally replied.
It was a deliberately vague, if somewhat still hopeful answer, and he hoped it would be enough for Watkins, but no response came.
"You stick with me and keep doing what you're doing, and all will be fine."
With that, he shut his eyes and fell asleep in just a few seconds. Next thing he knew his alarm was buzzing. He’d had no dreams that he could remember, and it felt as if he'd only laid down two minutes ago. He sat up, but there wasn't quite enough headroom, so he had to slough. He groaned, as he had no choice but to get out and stand up. His body was aching and stiff, but he actually felt surprisingly well rested. Then he remembered he was due back in session with the leaders of the fleet.
Ah shit, not again!
He turned around and saw an officer approaching. He smiled for a moment, thinking it was Jones, but as he rubbed his eyes and began to focus properly, he could see it was Captain Morris and remembered Jones was no longer of this world.
"Well, that's a downer," he muttered.
Morris overheard him as he neared, "Nice to see you, too, Colonel."
"Forget about it. I was in another world."
"How was it? Think I can join you there?"
Taylor nodded in agreement. "If only."
"Has Silva given you the casualty list?"
Taylor nodded and grimaced at the thought of it.
"Most of them I never got an opportunity to know or even learn their names," replied Morris, "But you have my word, I will do my utmost to ensure respectful burials and a service fitting of their bravery."
"Thank you."
He carried on past Morris, heading for the door at a shambling pace of a man who did not want to go where he must.
"You're the right man, you know," Morris said.
Taylor turned around surprised. He did not understand.
"To be advising the leaders of the fleet. You're the right man for it."
"Why?" he asked out of curiosity.
"Because there are men and women with great leadership skills, but you bring more heart and soul to the table of any situation than they can hope to imagine."
"Stop kissing my ass, Captain," he said with a grin.
"I mean it. We got this far because of you, Colonel, and don't you forget it. Trust your gut. It has gotten us all as far in life as we have. Don't stop doing that now."
Taylor nodded in agreement and turned to leave. He still wasn't sure how much he believed Morris, but it brought a smile to his face and instantly made him feel better about the day. It wasn't long before once again he was stepping into the room of high-ranking officers and civilian officials. He was the last one to arrive. He knew he was late by a few minutes, but no one dared say a word. They looked at the dry bloodstains on his uniform that were both his own and the enemies, but again said nothing. Everyone waited for Huber to speak.
"Taylor, we were just discussing our agenda."
"For what exactly, Sir?"
"For the entire fleet. I am posing the question, what do we do now? We made it this far, and we seem to be safe for now. But what are our ambitions? What avenue do we want to pursue now?"
It was the big question none of them had an answer to, and Taylor was no exception, yet they all looked to him.
"I hate to say it, Colonel," Dupont added, "but it was you and your alien friend who got us out here, and we are all very grateful for that. You saved millions of lives. But you must have had some idea or intention for what we could do when we got this far?"
Taylor shrugged and shook his head.
"You see," Bletchley quickly joined in, "He's just a dumb soldier who jumped first and leaves us with the consequences!"
Nobody doubted Bletchley's assessment of the situation even though it made Huber shudder to hear him being quite so repulsive.
"Well?" Bletchley asked Taylor.
"Well what?"
"What have you got to say for yourself?"
"Well, I ain't no soldier, I'm a marine. And you ain't no Prime Minister, just an a*shole."
Huber laughed, and several joined in which belittled Bletchley to the level he slumped back in his chair.
"In all seriousness, Taylor. For whatever reason we have arrived here, now we have some big questions that need answering. We have to start working together. So, Taylor, I don't care what ideas you did or did not have, start thinking. Where do we go from here?"
The room looked to him for answers, as if he was their great big hope for an answer to all their prayers. It was a responsibility he never wanted. He took a deep breath and thought about it for a moment. He laid out all of the options in his head as though he were planning tactics on a battlefield, and finally he spoke.
"Seems to me we have just three options..."
All eyes were stuck on him, awaiting a miracle answer.
"Option one. We can try and find a way home. That would make coming out here pointless at this stage, and we'd be annihilated. Option two. We continue to operate as a fleet and stay on the move so that we are hard to track, and carry on living like we are right now. Finding resources to keep us active and alive will be tough, and we risk running out of gas in the middle of space somewhere and not being able to do a thing about it..."
He paused for some time.
"And option three?" Huber asked anxiously.
"We find a replacement Earth. A planet that can sustain life and we can rebuild on. Somewhere with the resources to keep us going."
Nobody said a word for a full minute while they considered that last possibility.
"Are those really the only options we have?"
Taylor nodded to the Admiral.
"Not that I am glad we have not come to a quick conclusion here, but I can't say I am eager to pursue any of them."
"No, Sir. I wasn't eager to fight an almost unbeatable enemy. I wasn't keen to go into space at all. And I certainly never wanted to leave Earth behind. We have to work with the hand we've been dealt."
"The hand you dealt us," added Bletchley.
"Yes," Taylor replied, "The hand that kept you alive so that we could be here today to make this decision. I don't like it anymore than you do, but I'd do it again. We have to accept that we lost. We gave Erdogan everything we had to give, and he brushed us off like we were nothing. He isn't Karadag, and he isn't Demiran. He is an entirely different kind of bastard who is smarter, faster, stronger, and with a far greater force than we had ever seen. We lost. I lost. Does that make you feel any better?"
Taylor never thought he would hear the words come out of his mouth. Losing was a prospect as alien to him as his friend Jafar was.
"I went toe to toe with Erdogan, and he beat me as easily as he beat the armies of Earth. I would never wish to face him again, nor wish it on any man."
It was in this moment those around the table finally began to appreciate how dire their situation was. They had relied on Taylor for so long that his acceptance of defeat and assessment of their situation hit them hard.
"So three options?" Dupont asked, "One that sees us dead, one probably dead, and one with a new chance at life? Seems pretty simple to me."
Huber nodded.
"I wish it were that simple. Do you know how rare habitable planets are? We'd be lucky to find one in ten years of searching."
"Maybe," said Taylor, "or maybe our luck hasn't entirely run out. So we set our overall mission to find a planet we can live on. Up till then, we are living the only other option; option two. Maybe we get lucky, or maybe we at least get a few months or a few years of peace aboard these ships."
"How long can we last out here?" Bletchley asked.
"This exodus, as desperate as it was, had been well planned. We have refinery ships, factories, and processors. We can mine a few places along the way that won't be hard to find and go on for a few decades easily, providing the fleet remains intact, as we know it. The incident with the Goeben earlier cast major doubts on the security and longevity of this fleet. Those are doubts we must overcome."
Taylor didn't like having the responsibility placed on his shoulders one bit, but he knew he was only stating the obvious. It was the only course of action they could take.
"Okay, show of hands," said Huber, "Do we follow Colonel Taylor's plan, to search for a planet we can settle on? This is a mission that could take us many years, if it ever succeeds at all. But if we do it, and let every person in the fleet know it, at least they will have hope; that somewhere down the line we might rebuild our homes on some new version of Earth, as farfetched as that may be."
Every hand in the room went up within seconds. It was clear that nobody had a better idea.
"Okay, motion passed."
"Sir, if I may?" Taylor asked.
Huber agreed.
"What do we know about our surroundings? What scouting of the system has been done?"
Huber looked confused.
"You think I would send another ship out or break up the fleet, after what happened at that old gateway or whatever the hell the damn thing was? We cannot afford losses, and we do at least have safety in numbers. If I send out scouts, and they are ambushed, you know how quickly those alien vessels move. There is a good chance we could lose any number if they go it alone or in small numbers."
"And to be in unknown territory without information or advance warning of activity, it's suicide."
Huber nodded.
"A few weeks back I would have agreed with you, Colonel. But we don't live in that world any longer. This isn't some Marine expedition."
Taylor said nothing. He had no energy left in him to argue.
"No. We have a plan now, and we will implement it, but first things first. Let’s secure the damn fleet. I want sweeps of every vessel. Thorough sweeps. I don't care how long it takes; I want it done and done properly. I will not tolerate another repeat of the Goeben. I want Krys agent scanners operational and looking for spies within the fleet. Let's get this locked down, or none of us is safe."
That was at least something Taylor could agree on.
"Taylor, I am placing you in command of this purge. Yes, a purge. Purge the fleet of all alien presence."
"Except for one."
"Yes, except for one," he replied.
"On that note," added Bletchley, "You have an alien walking freely among the fleet when we have already discussed the dangers of such things. It has access to you and key officials, as well as the Washington, the Capitol ship of this fleet," he turned to Huber. "Will you allow this to go on, Admiral?"
Huber opened his mouth to speak, but a croaky and coarse voice growled at the door.
"No one lays a finger on Sergeant Jafar, and nobody questions his loyalty."
They turned to see that it was General White. He was supporting himself with a crutch. He had a dressing around his head and his other arm in a sling. He limped into the room, and it was clear that he was in agony. Only his raw determination kept him going forward.
"Glad to see you up on your feet, General," said Huber.
Taylor immediately got up and offered White his seat, which he gladly took.
"Didn't know you'd made it, Sir."
"There's fight in me yet, Taylor."
White got as comfortable as he could and then finally glared at Bletchley.
"You were saying?" he finally asked.
Bletchley grumbled and coughed to clear his throat. "I was merely posing the question that..."
He stopped on seeing the look White was giving him.
"Good," replied White, "I am glad that is resolved. Taylor?"
"Yes, Sir."
"You have your orders, and you are in command, remember! You can't do it all, or you'll end up looking like me."
"Impossible," he replied with a smile.
"Delegate, Colonel. It is your responsibility to ensure it is done, not to do it yourself. Delegate and then get some rest. That's an order, you hear?"
"Aye, aye, Sir."
They looked back to Huber for direction.
"Right now, this is about consolidation," he stated, "Repair any damage to the ships, and give care to the wounded. Clear all enemy presence, and get everything on the top line. You all know what you have to do."
Taylor got up to leave and noticed Admiral Huang heading quickly for the door. He raced to keep up with him.
"Admiral Huang, Sir?"
Huang turned to acknowledge him but did not stop so that the two carried on walking side by side.
"What can I do for you, Colonel?"
"Sir, I wanted to ask you something?"
"Go on."
"Would you have fired on the Washington or her support vessels? Would you really have fired on the fleet because of a dispute over command?"
"I am not sure that it matters anymore, Colonel, for that time has been and gone. What concern is it of yours?"
"I just want to know who I can rely on when the shit hits the fan. Because if you’re the kind of back stabber who would fire on his own people, then you're no better than the Krys agents who could turn on you at a moment's notice."
Huang suddenly stopped, and Taylor could see his was utterly shocked that anyone had dared speak to him in such a way.
"Are you questioning my loyalty?"
"Yes I am," Taylor replied sternly, "I've dealt with enough shit from enough people to know I need people at my back who I can rely on. I know I can rely on Admiral Huber and General White. Sometimes they can be sons of bitches, but that's okay. So are you the kind of officer who can be a son of a bitch or a real murdering bastard?"
Huang didn't know how to respond.
"Here's how it's gonna be. I'll respect your rank and command while you act in a manner deserving of it. The moment you turn on our people, and I do mean our people, by that I mean every person in this fleet, I will end you."
Taylor then carried onward and left Huang standing speechless in the corridor. As Taylor walked away, he heard Huber step up to the man and say, "You listen to Taylor. Many men haven't and paid the price."
Taylor didn't want to pick a fight. He only hoped his comments would be enough to keep Huang in line. The loss of his own people that day made him truly appreciate how valuable all their lives were, and how they could not afford to fight one another. He walked on down to the galley to get some much-needed food. As he entered, he could see Eli Parker sitting alone and deep in thought. So much so, she didn't even notice his presence.
He simply stood and watched her for a moment. Her shirt had a long line of stitches where she had recently repaired it. Her hair was tied back, and a cut on her forehead was covered over with a small dressing. Her knuckles were red from the chafing of her gloves, and yet he looked down to see her boots were polishing to a mirror finish. Every attention she had made to keep up her presentation, despite the raggedness it could not conceal. It brought a smile to his face that she tried so hard. But he wondered then if it was simply training kicking in or if she really cared.
Somebody paced up beside him and stopped shoulder to shoulder. He turned to see that it was Major Moye.
"You care about your people more than I was led to believe," he stated, "I judged you by your reputation."
"Really? And what is that?"
"Many things, and some that are true, but I was led to believe you threw away life for your own personal glory. I see now that is not the case."
He offered out his hand, and Taylor gladly accepted it.
"How are your people doing, Major?" he asked.
He shook his head. "Not good. I've got thirty-eight left of a Company. Maybe a few more will recover. Look at me, a Major in charge of a platoon."
"Been there, and it's not a happy place. We all paid a heavy price today, your people more than most. I won't lie. We aren't a lot better off ourselves. I would offer you a position within my Regiment, but the truth is, we need competent combat officers such as yourself. We need field officers."
"But with so little left to command?"
"It's time to replenish the ranks, Major. We've got three million people in this fleet. The vast majority are civilians. Many are needed for vital occupations, but a lot are not. It's time we started recruiting and getting some fresh blood into our ranks."
"And you think we can do it? You think we can train up a new generation? I have so many losses I need to replenish, that by the time I were through, I would not recognise my own Company. They would be greener than you can imagine."
"Not with us to guide them. We don't have a choice in the matter. Train up new fighters or simply run out. Come on, join me."
He went forward and took a seat before Parker. As she looked up and saw him, her face suddenly lit up as if all colour was restored to it. Within a second of sitting down, a plate of food was slid before him from Abbot who took a seat beside him and several others the other side. It was like a family sitting down for their meal just as it always had been, and that gave Taylor hope.