The preorder is available now from Amazon- You can order it here.
This book is a labor of love- and has been delayed by a pandemic, a baby and a war- but mostly by my obsession with doing it well rather than doing it fast.
Valkyrie: Attrition was initially written as the other half of Valkyrie Rebellion- to tell the story of MAJ Tony Harris as he leads a contingent of Marines on a daring attempt to force the Elai to the table to negotiate- but in war, nothing goes as planned.
Enjoy this snippet from Valkyrie: Attrition!
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Aboard the UEAN Stalwart
Insystem, Draconis 327
“Ten minutes to contact.” Soklov’s baritone rumble broke the silence in the compartment.
“Very good.” Kensington glanced at her personal display, then ordered, “Assume combat formation.”
“Aye, ma’am.” Soklov replied and turned to his console.
“Admiral, I’m getting an urgent message from the long range sensor data analytics cell.” Commander Destin reported, frowning at his console. “They’re reporting multiple nuclear detonations on the planet's surface.” He paused reading the message, then continued. “They are small, fifteen to twenty kilotons, and have all been detonated on or in the primary Marine Firebase.” His tone took on a sardonic note. “Intel assesses it as unlikely that these are defensive in nature due to the proximity to allied positions.”
“Trust intelligence to tell us the obvious,” Kensington quipped. “Thank you, Commander. Not much we can do about it now except to win this fight and get there to assist them.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Destin replied.
The silence held in the compartment, becoming almost unbearable. Kensington had had enough. “Did I ever tell you guys about the time Admiral Ozawa got drunk and tried to ride a mechanical bull?” She asked, mischievously.
There was a burst of nervous laughter, and Commander de la Cruz asked, “Not the perfect image of an officer, Fleet Admiral Ozawa, surely?”
“Oh yes. The very same.” Kensington checked her timer, watching it count down. “We were junior officers. I was a junior lieutenant and he was a lieutenant commander on the old Kaga.” Kensington laughed remembering. “We had just made port at Theta Indi A and the Japanese crew were going to take us Yanks out and show us ‘How real Japanese sailors party’.”
“And how do they party, Admiral?” Soklov asked, suppressing a smile.
“With lots of exuberant toasts and lots of sake.” The admiral shook her head. “So much sake.” She laughed at the memory, “Anyway, one thing led to another and the night kind of got out of control. It ended with about most of the air wing officers and a half dozen line officers at a western themed bar on the seedy side of the port.”
“What is a western themed bar?” Asked Commander Destin, curiously. “We don’t have them in the Belt.”
“It’s a bar themed like the American old west. Cowboys and Indians and loud rock music. Stuff like that.” Kensington paused, trying to think of how to describe it. “Except, it was a Japanese bar, so more like the American bars than actual American bars. Like…”
“I have been to them.” Soklov rumbled, “Exaggerated Americanness.”
“I see.” Destin replied politely. He clearly didn’t.
“Anyway, we got to this bar and we were already drunk when we got there and Commander Ishimura challenged then-Commander Ozawa that whoever fell off the mechanical bull first would buy the drinks for the night.” She looked at her staff, seeing them more relaxed now. “Well, Ozawa’s honor wouldn’t stand for that, so he stepped right up, climbed onto that bull and fell right off, he was so drunk.”
“Takes a real sailor to get that blasted.” de la Cruz observed.
“It does indeed,” The admiral agreed. “So we helped him back on, he grabs with one hand like the bull riders did, shouts this traditional Japanese battle cry, and the guy starts the machine.” Placing her hand over her heart, Kensington declared, “As god is my witness, I have never seen a naval officer fly that far in a gravity field.”
The staff burst out laughing, the tension broken. Soklov asked, “Did he buy drinks?”
“He sure did!” Kensington laughed, shaking her head at the memory. “Years later, when he was captain of the Junryo, I was assigned as the new commander of the air wing. I was sure he’d forgotten, but when he welcomed us aboard he shook my hand, looked me directly in the eye and asked me with a dead straight face if I’d been quote ‘to any good American places lately’ end quote. I almost died trying to keep a straight face.” The console chirped, and the admiral looked down. “Two minutes. Run your survival checklists.”
The crew immediately went into the familiar motions of the pre-combat checklist. Tugging her uniform collar up around her neck and sealing it, Kensington then reached to the side of her command chair, feeling the survival helmet in its clips. She then checked her gloves and fist sized liquid oxygen tank on her belt. Satisfied, her emergency equipment was here it should be, she rolled her shoulders, took a deep breath, and locked her eyes on the display.
“Sixty seconds.” Sokolov reported impassively.
There was a chime from a console, then a split second later, Commander Destin shouted, “They’re changing formation and heading! Up six, port three seven!” He hesitated, then added in a quieter controlled voice. “They’re forming behind the dreadnought.”
“Thirty seconds.” Sokolov reported flatly. “They are using the Angston Maneuver against us, relying on the dreadnoughts armor to blow a hole in our formation.”
“No time to change formation now.” Kensington cinched her command chair seat belt tighter. “We’ll adjust after this pass.” She took a deep breath and blew it out slowly as the timer approached zero. There was a half second of silence, then an ear splitting noise, then blackness and the smell of burning plastic.
****
Aboard the UEAN Bravado
The deck stopped trembling and Captain Ripley Piaseki snapped, “Damage control, report.”
“Damage to the port side, frames thirty two, thirty three and thirty six. Scattered pressure and power losses. Personnel accountability underway.” The damage control officer reported, her eyes locked on her console.
“Captain, the Stalwart is falling out of formation.” The sensor watchstander reported. “She’s got heavy damage to the port side and her engine core power is fluctuating.” He hesitated, then added, “The enemy have vectored two destroyers and a heavy cruiser at her. Thirty minutes to engagement range.”
“The Shiva is signaling that Admiral Phillips has assumed command of the fleet. He is ordering all formations and functional ships to come around for another pass. The maneuvering package is being transmitted next.” The officer on the communications station called. Ripley noted with pride that the bridge crew was terse, but kept their voices under control.
“Captain! We’re getting a signal from the Stalwart! She’s sending a shuttle with high priority cargo. Captain Kayser is sending rendezvous coordinates now.”
Ripley and her executive officer traded a look, then the big Swede blinked in realization. “The Admiral,” He stated flatly.
Looking back at the display, Ripley frowned, running the intercept numbers in her head, then ordered, “Helm, slow to zero point three. Comms, signal the Shiva that we are slowing to pick up a high value shuttle from the Stalwart and will rejoin the fleet on the third pass.”
“We’re going to be alone out here.” Commander Knutson observed.
“We’ll be long gone before they can get to us.” Ripley replied. She stared at the display, then muttered under her breath, “I think.”
***
Aboard the UEAN Stalwart
The dim red emergency lights popped on, sending pools of murky red light through the smoke filled compartment.
Coughing, Laura Kensington croaked, “Report.”
“My console is dead, Admiral,” Captain Soklov reported. “I have nothing.”
“Mine too.” Destin replied from his position. “That means primary and auxiliary power is out in this section.”
Commander de la Cruz had a handset in her hand, the earpiece pressed to her ear. “Understood. We’ll be ready.” She hung up the handset. “The bridge says they're sending someone down to help us.”
Kensington shook her head angrily. “We can’t wait. We need to get comms reestablished.”
Suddenly the thick hatch to the flag bridge popped open. The passageway beyond was filled with the dancing beams of lights from helmets and battle armor.
The large figure of a power armored Marine clambered through the hatch. “Admiral. Captain Kayser has instructed us to get you to a shuttle.”
“Are we abandoning the Steadfast?” She asked, startled.
“No, ma’am. You’re transferring your flag.”
“That’s my call, not his.” Kensington replied angrily as the Marine moved into the compartment to assist her.
“Not this time. The captain needs you off the ship right now.” The Marine replied, handing her her survival helmet. “Time to go, ma’am. Helmet on.”
Unsnapping her seatbelt, Laura slid her gloves and survival helmet on, and sealed them as her staff did the same. She clambered through the small hatch and into the passageway, seeing that the emergency lights were on here as well and that the smoke was accumulating in the air. Two Marines in hulking power armor each took an arm and started hustling down the passageway, her feet barely touching the floor. She could hear the commotion of her officers being similarly hustled along behind her. There were alarms hooting and she could hear a muffled voice booming from the ship's public address system.
“NOW HEAR THIS. HAZMAT BLACK DECK EIGHTEEN AND NINETEEN, SECTION FOUR THROUGH EIGHT. REPEAT, HAZMAT BLACK. RADCON TEAMS TO DECK EIGHTEEN IMMEDIATELY. REPORT ANY AMBIENT RADIATION RISES TO YOUR LOCAL DAMAGE CONTROL TEAM LEADER.”
Flashes of once pristine corridors twisted and torn by the immense forces of the enemy weapons could be seen as she was hurried along through the ship. Here and there, helmeted and suited sailors could be seen moving rapidly, their faces grim and focused. There was a sudden shaking, a moment of queasiness as the artificial gravity fluctuated, then returned.
“DAMAGE CONTROL VAC TEAM THREE TO THE FORWARD DCON LOCKER SIX IMMEDIATELY. FIRE SUPPRESSION TEAMS TO DECK EIGHTEEN IMMEDIATELY.”
The small group rounded a corner and Laura could see the round door of an emergency escape shuttle standing open. Two enlisted crewmen stood outside the hatch, shouting for them to hurry.
One of them, a senior chief, cupped his hands and yelled, “SIXTY SECONDS! MOVE IT, MARINES!” The other was pointing towards a second hatch. “Half here, half there! Move!”
Reaching the hatch, the admiral was propelled unceremoniously into the shuttle and found herself shoved all the way forward, ending up in the empty co-pilot's seat, as her staff piled in behind her. The pilot, an ensign who looked all of twenty three years old, turned and shouted at the enlisted man at the hatch. “Get your ass in, Chief! We gotta go!”
The man yelled back, “Wait! The captain says he’s got more coming.”
“We’re at capacity! We can’t wait if we want to make the rendezvous!”
In the passageway, three more sailors appeared. Two were young; junior enlisted sailors shepherded by a stocky petty officer. Each of the junior sailors was carrying a briefcase sized object. One of them, a wide eyed blonde woman, barely out of her teens, clambered in and sat in the last seat, clinging tightly to the object in her hands. Her face was white. The other two figures flashed past the hatch, clearly heading for the other escape shuttle.
The ensign yelled, “That’s the chief’s seat! She can’t stay!”
Leaning in the hatch, the chief made a fast count of the passengers, then called to the pilot. “This is directly from the captain.” The young woman looked at the senior enlisted sailor for a moment, her eyes wide.
“You’ll be fine, ma’am.” He jerked his head at Kensington. “Get the admiral off.” He stepped back and slapped the hatch seal controls and the rear doors snapped shut. Only his face was visible through the tiny porthole, then that too vanished.
The pilot’s eyes narrowed and her lips tightened. She nodded once and flipped her VR visor down. “Strap in people. We’re going for minimum safe distance.” She reached for the console, snapped two switches, then slammed her hand on a large red button on the console. There was a sudden push against Kensington’s back as the ejection rockets fired, making it hard to breathe with the force of acceleration. After a few seconds, there was a loud crash from outside of the hull and the shuttle began to tumble wildly. Through the front windows, Laura could see the blackness of space, then a snapshot of the Stalwart, ugly black scars on the once pristine sides of her hull, and plumes of white fog spewing out as atmosphere vented into space. The stabilizer rockets fired, jerking the shuttle into another tumble, this time slower. The wounded starship was again visible, but this time there was something else behind it- a bulky, sharklike shape with red sparkles on its nose, and bright pinpoints of light growing rapidly larger. The anti missile laser turrets on the Stalwart began to sparkle defiantly with a ruby light as the lasers engaged the incoming warheads. The shuttle rolled and jerked as it tumbled through space, jerking Laura’s eyes from the dying warship.
Unconsciously, Laura reached for the controls, decades of experience as a space fighter pilot kicking in, then stopped herself. She toggled her intercom, “Pilot, do you need assistance?”
Panting, the young officer replied, “I think…” The rockets fired again, and the tumbling slowed again. “I think…yes.” She blew out a shaky breath. “Yes. We’re ok.” She rapidly tapped the controls, then put her hands back on the stick. “I think there’s a propellant leak on the port side. It destabilizes when we accelerate, so I have to manually correct as we speed up.” She had her eyes locked on the instruments. “Can you run comms?” The shuttle shook and wobbled as the pilot corrected.
“You bet your ass I can.” Kensington replied and reached for the radio. “Who are we being picked up by?”
“Bravado, I think.” The ensign replied, her voice now steadier.
The admiral keyed the microphone, and seeing the shuttle's call sign on the console in front of her, spoke calmly. “Fortuna, this is Stalwart escape shuttle two seven, requesting immediate pickup on the pinged bearing.”
The response from the Bravado’s communications watchstander came immediately, “Stalwart Two Seven, Fortuna. Maintain course and accelerate to point three five if possible. You are pre-cleared for emergency docking in bay four.”
“Understood, Fortuna. Be advised that there is a second shuttle behind us that will also need priority clearance.” Laura reached out to activate the short range sensors and scowled when the display flickered and died.
“We’ve got them as well, Two Seven. Seven minutes to dock.”
Kensington acknowledged and looked at the pilot. “What’s your name?”
“May.” The woman replied, her voice still slightly shaky. “I’m May Waters.”
“That’s a lovely name. I’m Laura.” The admiral reached over and patted the woman’s arm through the thick survival suit she wore. “You’re doing a great job, May.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” The woman risked a glance at the Admiral. “I can’t believe I’ve got an admiral as a co-pilot.” She laughed, the tension in her voice clear.
“This might come as a surprise to you, May, but I was once a young ensign assigned as a shuttle pilot.” Kensington laughed, also feeling the tension. “But I never had to evacuate a ship like that.” She looked at the young woman. “That was some damn fine flying.”
The pilot was silent for a moment, then asked, “Is the Stalwart…”
“I don’t know.” The admiral looked at her console. “My console is dead.”
“Well.” The woman’s jaw set determinedly. “Captain Kayser is a hard man to kill. They’re going to be fine. They have to be.” The pilot's console chirped. “Ok. We’re on approach.”
The next few minutes were silent as the young pilot accelerated as hard as the damaged shuttle would allow and slowly matched speeds with the massive warship, slowing as quickly as it could. The massive bulk of the warship appeared in the blackness of space ahead of them, rapidly turning into what looked like a vast, metal wall. Ahead was an open shuttle bay, the yellow docking lights flashing. The ensign deftly approached the bay and tapped the controls, matching speeds with the warship, then deftly rolled the battered shuttle into the bay. It gently touched down with a slight bump. There was a tremble and a banging transmitted through the hull as the massive bay doors flew closed, a moment of queasiness as the Bravado’s gravity field took hold, then the shuttle was silent.
Ensign Waters ran through the shutdown sequence, then slumped in the pilot's seat, shuddering, making a noise that was half laughing, half sobbing.
Unstrapping herself, Laura patted her on the shoulder. “You did great, May. You go sit down and come find me when this is all over.” The ensign nodded wordlessly.
The rear doors of the shuttle popped open and several suited sailors with visors open stood there. “Admiral Kensington?” One of them called.
“Here!” Kensington clambered out of her seat and headed towards the hatch.
The sailor saw her, nodded and toggled his comm unit. “Inform the captain that Backblast is aboard.” Laura looked up at the use of her old callsign, surprised that people remembered it. She worked her way to the rear hatch.
Pausing at the exit, Kensington spoke to the young sailor who had been pushed onto the shuttle at the last moment. “What did Captain Kayser want on board so badly?”
The young woman uncovered the box in her lap, and Laura could see it was a reinforced carrying case, made of hard material, with a bright silver plate with writing on the outside. “It’s the ship's logs, ma’am.”
“What does that say?” The admiral pointed at the plate.
“It’s the Stalwart’s motto. ‘Hold Fast’.” The young woman replied, looking at the officer with wide eyes. “The captain has it everywhere. He says it’s important.”
With a half smile, the admiral nodded. “That it is, sailor.” She patted the young woman on the shoulder. “Get those logs to the Bravado’s crew.”
“I will, ma’am.”
Climbing out of the shuttle, Kensington motioned to the sailors, “Bridge.” She ordered, and followed the sailors at a fast walk into the depths of the warship.
OCTOBER 21st!