Traitor's Duty Read Free

me.”
     “You’re the one who called it.”
     He flashed her a glare and said, “Do you think for a single moment that I wanted to?”
     “No, but now you’ve started down this path, you’re going to have to walk it.”
     “What the hell does that mean?”
     “Exactly what I said. I’m with you all the way, but I don’t think that’s going to make it any easier. If it’s any consolation, I think most of the crew will be behind you on this one.”
     “That doesn’t make me feel any better. This shouldn’t even be a question for discussion.”
     “Then cancel the meeting, delete the records, and let things go as they will.”
     “I can’t do that.”
     “Then you’d better pull yourself together and get to work.”
     He looked up at her, then said, “One of these days it’ll be you in the hot seat.”
     “I’ve been there before, Danny. I didn’t like it.”
     “Sometimes it isn’t given to us to make the choice.” He pulled himself to his feet and reached for his jacket. “This isn’t exactly the part of the job I crave. Damn it, I’d rather be back out in Cabal space. At least then I knew who the damn enemy was.”
     “There’s still an enemy out there to fight.”
     “Yes, but after that, then we have the main event.” With a sigh, he made his way to the door, and said, “Come on, let’s go.”
     The two of them walked down the short corridor to the crew mess. None of the scout ships had any meeting rooms worthy of the name, not something that Marshall was too unhappy about in the normal course of events, but they’d had to scramble to accommodate the incoming personnel.
     “You really should transfer your flag, you know,” Caine said. “Wyvern’s a good ship, but she really isn’t built for fleet command.”
     “She’ll do.”
     “There are two battlecruisers floating out there, and Gilgamesh even has a…”
     Shaking his head, he interrupted, “Wyvern’s fine for the moment.”
     “Danny, you aren’t getting Alamo back. You’re too high-ranked for the command.” 
     “I know that, Deadeye,” he replied. “Don’t expect me to like it.”
     “Like it or not, you’re going to have to accept it.”
     “I’m getting there,” he said, pausing at the door. “Let’s get this over with.”
     He stepped into the mess, evidently the last one to arrive. Cunningham was standing over in the corner, there to speak for the scoutships, Cooper standing next to him with a puzzled expression, evidently wondering why he was here and his senior officers weren’t. Sitting at one of the tables were the auxiliary commanders, the garrulous Pilsudski and the icy Franklin, each attempting to avoid eye contact. His battlecruiser commanders, Rogers and Gorski, sa t at a different table, keeping their distance. Lounging over at the far end of the room was Lieutenant Dragomirov, the nearest thing left to a fleet CAG, still wearing his flight jacket.
     Marshall looked around the room, half-expecting to see the more familiar faces walk in. Quinn, Orlova, Race, Nelyubov, Rider, Dietz. The old Alamo hands he’d served with for years. Somehow, it seemed as if there was something missing, something big. Shaking his head, he gestured at the nearest table.
     “Gather round, everyone. I’m sorry for the conditions, but hopefully this won’t take too long. Let’s open with a quick status report. How are the battlecruisers?”
     Gorski looked at Rogers, then said, “Gilgamesh is ready for battle once again, sir. All combat damage repaired.” He almost tripped up on the ‘sir’, as though he was still unwilling to acknowledge Marshall as his superior. “We can do anything we need to do. Are we going after the Cabal task force?”
     “Thermopylae isn’t in as good shape,” Rogers said, reddening. “We’re still having trouble with our laser cannon, and our combat fabricators aren’t in a good way. We need another week.”
     “We