WAR VESSEL OF THE AX’KOL

  GUNS OF THE FEDERATION BOOK 2

  ANTHONY JAMES

  CONTENTS

  Bastion Station

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Also by Anthony James

  © 2022 Anthony James

  All rights reserved

  The right of Anthony James to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed upon the subsequent purchaser

  Illustration © Tom Edwards

  TomEdwardsDesign.com

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  BASTION STATION

  For Captain Jed Grisham, the weeks following his return from Xaros passed slowly. He’d been ordered to the Bastion space station and quartered in one of the accommodation sections farthest from the command-and-control levels. Whether this was deliberate or not, Grisham didn’t know.

  Not long after his arrival here, the warship Marauder – a new gen Tibor class which had exceeded expectations during the mission to Xaros and which had suffered heavy damage during an engagement with a Kijol destroyer – had been taken elsewhere for repairs, since the bays within Bastion were already fully utilized on other tasks.

  So, Grisham had little to keep him occupied, other than listening out for rumours and watching the news channels. Those channels talked of nothing but war. This was unsurprising, since the Human Federation had recently shifted its economy onto a total war footing. Citizens throughout the Federation were understandably concerned at this sudden and seemingly unexpected escalation in the conflict with the Kijol.

  Being left to his own devices had left Grisham suspicious. Total war had resulted in a widespread cancelling of leave and increased patrols, not a chance for personnel to put up their feet.

  Nor was Grisham’s extended downtime a result of a warship shortage – he was aware of several recently constructed Tibor-class spaceships, both old and new gen, which had been brought into service and assigned to officers with little experience. Usually, Grisham’s missions came one after another, like rainstorms in a Loxor summer.

  As each day passed without him hearing from Admiral Russ Danner, Grisham became increasingly convinced that when the call finally came, it would be to inform him of a mission specially chosen to be as tough, unpleasant and shitty as possible, like the military was holding off until a real juicy one became available.

  All the while, the rumours became increasingly bleak. The Kijol were winning the war and even the tight control exerted by the military and the Senate over the information given out to the wider public wasn’t enough to stop the rising tide of pessimistic reports on the television.

  Then, six weeks after Grisham’s return from Xaros, the call came. When his pocket communicator bleeped, he opened it, read the short text message, closed the device, pushed it back into his pocket and rolled off his bed.

  Admiral Danner’s Office. Immediately.

  Grisham headed for the door, grabbing his spacesuit helmet on the way. His compact room contained few personal possessions – it didn’t pay to become attached to anything – and he doubted he’d be returning. Exiting into the blue-lit corridor outside, he headed for the airlifts.

  Soon, he was in one of the command-and-control areas of Bastion. The corridors were wide and crowded, and, when Grisham passed open doors, he saw worried-looking officers gesticulating and giving orders like they were going out of fashion. Every single person was in a hurry and it was sure sign that people in high places were shouting loudly for things to be done.

  Admiral Danner’s office was accessed from a corridor that was grey like all the other corridors. A pair of soldiers flanked the door, and this was the first time Grisham could recall the Admiral having any sort of armed protection while on the space station.

  “Go right in,” said the soldier on the left. “Admiral Danner is expecting you.”

  While the security monitor above the door scanned Grisham to confirm his identity, he looked surreptitiously at the two soldiers. The man who’d spoken had a mild face – the kind of face that wouldn’t stand out in a crowd. Grisham had seen the type before, and that type usually didn’t stand guard duty. To the right of the door, the other soldier had an air of confidence that only came from extensive experience. Again, not a man for standard guard duties.

  The security monitor finished its scans and the door slid aside. Entering a short corridor, Grisham waited for a second door to open. After a moment, it did do, allowing him to enter the office beyond.

  “Jed, take a seat,” said Admiral Danner, rising from behind his solid wood desk.

  “Admiral,” said Grisham in return.

  He dropped into the padded seat opposite Danner, looking around the office at the same time. The Admiral had once been a frontline officer and had evidently retained a liking for the utilitarian. Nothing in this room could be classed as decoration – the man didn’t even have a photograph on his desk. Even Danner himself resembled a cookie-cutter grizzled military officer, with his short, grey hair and piercing eyes.

  “You’re asking yourself why it’s taken so long,” said Danner.

  The desk was imposing and it seemed to Grisham like an old-world barrier designed to ensure visitors knew their place. Or maybe Danner had seen it in an antique store and taken a shine to it. Either way, the man had shitty taste in furniture.

  “I have some ideas, sir,” said Grisham. “You have a mission for me?”

  “Let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves,” said Danner. “We have plenty to discuss.”

  “Maybe we could start by talking about how the investigation into the Church of Everlasting Serenity is coming along,” said Grisham. “Have we discovered how Ivey Metz came to be in possession of military comms hardware, as well as all the other crap she managed to lay her hands on?”

  “We are not here to talk about the investigation,” said Danner flatly.

  “Why not?” said Grisham. “The people at Xaros managed to communicate with a damned alien species that the HF has never encountered before.”

  “So you mentioned in your report.”

  Grisham understood at once what had happened, but he had to hear Danner confirm it. “There’s been a whitewash,” he said.

  Danner said nothing.

  “Someone in the Senate got their hands on the report and decided that it contained information that might be too damaging to reputations.”

  Still Danner didn’t speak.

  “Damnit, sir. I thought you were in the military, not the damn Senate.”

  Grisham knew he was pushing, but right now he didn’t care. His anger, which had been simmering since his return from Xaros, now threatened to boil over. People under his command had died on that mission and he deserved something other than silence.

  For a moment, it looked as if Danner would answer anger with anger. Then, he seemed to deflate and his shoulders sagged a couple of inches.

  “The investigation has been closed,” Danner said.

  “With what findings?” Grisham demanded.

  “With no findings you or I will ever officially hear about.”

  “The Senate is a cesspool full of shit!” said Grisham.

  “They aren’t all rotten, Jed,” said Danner quietly. “I can understand how your experience might colour your view, but there are some good people there. People who want the best for the Human Federation.”

  As quickly as it had come, Grisham’s fury left him. Anger wouldn’t do him any good, and he’d learned it was best to keep it under control. Not that it was always easy.

  “Corporal Valerio and Private Fleming died,” said Grisham calmly. “And when the time came to find out why, the military let them down.”

  A flicker passed across Danner’s face. “You might think it’s the hardest thing in the world piloting a warship against the Kijol,” he said. For a moment, it looked as if he might say something else on the matter. Instead, Danner shook his head. “The war is going badly for us, Jed.”

  Danner wasn’t a friend, but he was as much of an ally as Grisham had in high command. It was time to move on from Xaros.


  “How badly?”

  “First, tell me what you know of the Kijol. You can skip the part about them being alien bastards. I’ve heard that one before.”

  Grisham didn’t know where this was leading, but he played along with it anyway. “We’ve been fighting them for near-enough fifteen years,” he said. “We both want the same resources and neither side seems willing to share, hence we fight over whatever we find.”

  “That’s not entirely correct,” said Danner. “The Kijol fired first. The HF has always been willing to negotiate territorial boundaries.”

  “I thought that was one of those matter of perspective things, sir,” said Grisham, dryly parroting from one of the newspapers he’d recently read, in which every hand-wringing opinion piece seemed to be argued from the stance that humanity was automatically in the wrong about everything. Humans bad. Aliens good.

  “No,” said Danner, shaking his head firmly. “The HF never wanted this war and we’ve made that clear to the Kijol time and again.”

  “I know that, sir,” said Grisham.

  He counted himself as having a good understanding of the war and the reasons behind it, having fought in it for so long. However, as the years went by, those reasons seemed to matter progressively less, and now the people on the frontline were fighting because it was all they knew.

  Every so often, rumours would circulate about a coming peace, only for those rumours to be met with world-weary cynicism, and, sure enough, the fighting would continue for another year or two, before the grapevine would once more become laden with fruit.

  Like most others in the military, Grisham had always been of the opinion that with the political will, or an extra few percent on the military’s budget, the war could be concluded quickly – maybe not with an outright HF victory, but certainly with a favourable settlement.

  Recently, Grisham had learned that was not the case. The Kijol were suddenly on top, as if they hadn’t really been fighting too hard until recently, and, now they’d decided to push, the HF fleet was in danger of being wiped out.

  “We’ve come to believe that the Kijol empire is far more extensive than we originally thought,” said Danner. “We’ve always considered this a war between equals, and that’s part of the reason why there’s been little appetite for a greater investment in victory.”

  “We’ve allowed our citizens to think of this as an arm’s length conflict,” said Grisham. “A war in which a few people die, but with no real risk to the Human Federation.”

  “The Senate has been trying to strike a balance, Jed. Between keeping citizens of the HF happy with rising standards of living and a growing economy, and holding the Kijol at bay with minimum disruption to everyday life.”

  “And now the balance is lost, those years of half-measures are coming to bite us on the ass,” said Grisham. “So what new intel do we have on the Kijol?”

  The look on Danner’s face told Grisham at once that he wasn’t going to like the coming conversation. He sat back and prepared for the worst.

  ONE

  “You’ve seen the new Kijol warships, Jed,” said Danner. “And you’ll remember a conversation we had where I told you it’s as if our enemy have leapt twenty years ahead of us.”

  “I remember,” said Grisham.

  Danner leaned forward, his gaze intense. “In the few weeks since you’ve been here at Bastion, we’ve seen more examples of Kijol technology. In that time, we have lost dozens of warships. Despite our shift to total war, our fleet is stretched. Badly stretched.”

  “Will the increased construction make up for our losses?” asked Grisham.

  “Perhaps in time. However, it’s looking increasingly like time is a luxury we do not have. Building a fleet requires extensive resources. Resources need to be extracted using specialised machinery and processed at dedicated facilities. When those facilities are running at maximum capacity, new ones need to be built. Transportation requires cargo vessels, and we are currently twenty short of what we need. Construction of additional vessels will occupy the shipyards which are meant to be building warships for our fleet.” While he talked, Danner became increasingly animated as his frustration spilled out. “And warship construction is a job for skilled teams. Every element is linked – it isn’t simply a matter of increasing the military’s budget and buying our way to victory. We’re acting two years too late.”

  Sitting back again, Danner clenched his fists and thudded them onto the desktop. For the first time in a long time, he looked like a fighter again, rather than a military politician.

  “Are you telling me the war is lost, whatever happens?”

  “That’s not what I’m saying at all, Jed.” Danner stared across the desk, his expression inscrutable.

  Grisham felt as though he were fumbling through the dark, and a precipice was nearby, waiting for him to tumble over if he took a wrong step. “You said the Kijol empire is more extensive than we first thought.”

  Danner nodded. “A combination of intel and analysis leads us to believe the Kijol have recalled these more advanced warships from a different part of their empire.”

  “We’ve been a thorn in their side too long?”

  “That’s the obvious conclusion. For whatever reason, the Kijol want to end their war with humanity and they want to do it soon.”

  “Couldn’t they just, you know, negotiate a peaceful settlement?” asked Grisham.

  “We’ll get to that,” said Danner. “For the moment, think about what I told you.”

  Grisham thought and came to a rapid conclusion. “If the Kijol have more advanced warships in their fleet, it means they’ve been stationed elsewhere – at a place where the enemy face a greater threat than the one posed by the Human Federation.”

  “Not just stationed, Jed. We’ve run into some of their new gen vessels which have combat scarring that wasn’t caused by our own fleet.”

  “The Kijol are fighting on more than one front?” Grisham didn’t know if he was surprised or not.

  “They could be engaged in a dozen wars for all we know,” said Danner. “But military intelligence is convinced – as is every officer in high command – that the Kijol are involved in at least one other war, and, furthermore, that we’re no more than a distraction.”

  “Damn. It’s a big universe,” said Grisham.

  “I think we’re about to get a shock when we realise what that means for us,” said Danner. “We could be surrounded by a dozen warlike species, all of whom are technologically more advanced than we are.”

  Grisham didn’t want that. While space exploration had lost some of its romance, the people of the HF were still fascinated by the stars and by the possibilities. Losing that sense of awe would be a collective blow to humanity.

  “If the Kijol have recalled some of their warships, does that mean they’ve defeated whatever other species they were fighting?”

  “We don’t know beyond guesswork,” said Danner.

  “Someone must have come up with a list of possibilities,” said Grisham.

  “They have,” said Danner. “But you’d be wrong to think that the top one on the list is that the Kijol have emerged victorious elsewhere.”

  “Then what?” asked Grisham, suspecting he was about to receive a shock.

  “The Kijol have demanded our immediate surrender,” said Danner.

  It took Grisham a moment to fit the pieces together. “And if we surrender, the Kijol might make it a condition that we assist them in a war they’re fighting elsewhere?”

  Danner raised a hand. “All of this is speculation, but that is indeed what a number of our analysts believe.”

  “What about the Senate? What do they believe?”