CHAPTER 38: BRIGGS
F.W.S. Independence
Sol
The weight of war bore down heavily on the Admiral, an unyielding burden that seemed to grow heavier with each passing moment, pressing against his chest like a relentless vice. He had witnessed far too many of his brothers and sisters-in-arms fall to the merciless onslaught of vicious aliens, their lives snuffed out in an instant as if they had never existed. Each loss was personal; he had trained many of them, guided them through their early days in the fleet, and watched as they blossomed into capable officers, full of promise and potential. Admiral Briggs had enlisted in the military right out of high school, entering the prestigious Federation Naval Academy orbiting Jupiter at the tender age of seventeen, filled with youthful dreams and ambitions. Initially, his plans had been simple: serve a four-year term, and accumulate enough military credits for a full scholarship at Greater Mars University. Mars had always held a certain allure for him, its dusty red plains and sprawling canyons a stark contrast to the cold void of space he had known. Having lived aboard a mining barge, he had grown accustomed to zero gravity, and the 38% of Earth's gravitational pull felt less daunting than it might have for someone who had spent their life on the planet, but it was still a challenge he had to adapt to. The university on Ceres had lacked the programs he yearned for, and the dreams of studying Terraforming, that compelling idea of transforming desolate planets and moons into vibrant, Earth-like havens, had captivated him from a young age. The Martian spirit, with its insatiable longing for water and breathable oxygen, pulsed within him, but that dream had been extinguished long before he had drawn his first breath. The expeditions to Orion and Alpha Centauri had opened new frontiers for humanity, allowing for habitation beyond the confines of domes and subterranean shelters, igniting hopes of a grand future.
The navy had drawn him in, the allure of cosmic exploration overshadowing his earlier ambitions of terraforming. He was no longer that naive young boy with dreams of adventure; he had endured too many battles against the Republic, witnessing the loss of lives of those barely older than children, their futures snuffed out like candles in the dark. The devastating toll of the conflict on Orion, the heart-wrenching losses at Wolf 359, and now, once again, in Sol had chipped away at his soul, leaving scars that no amount of time could heal. This time, however, he resolved that it would be his final tour. It was time to retire after dedicating over 140 years to the Navy; he could no longer bear to witness the deaths of more young sailors, their laughter and dreams cut short by the cruelty of war. “That's right, this is our last adventure, Marvin,” he said softly, affectionately tapping the head of the bobblehead figure on his desk, prompting its head to bob up and down in a comical, yet oddly comforting manner. Marvin the Martian had been a cherished good luck charm for the Admiral since he received it as a parting gift from his great-grandmother, a sweet reminder of innocence amid chaos. It was not only his favorite cartoon character but also a treasured reminder of his beloved grandmother, whose laughter and wisdom still echoed in his memory. The figure was old and worn, a testament to the years they had spent together, yet it had never left the Admiral's side, a silent companion through the darkest of times.
Suddenly, Marvin seemed to jump, startled by the shrill sound of the door alarm blaring through the silence. The Admiral quickly dismissed the hallucination as a side effect of the numerous stimulants he had been receiving from sickbay, a consequence of the sleepless nights filled with worry and dread. He desperately craved real sleep, the kind that would allow him to escape the horrors of reality, even if only for a short time, to find solace in dreams untainted by bloodshed. “Enter,” he called out, his voice steady despite the turmoil within, the weight of his responsibilities pressing heavily on him.
“Sir.” Captain Smith entered the Admiral's office, her posture crisp and professional, offering a sharp salute that spoke to her dedication. “Permission to enter.”
“Captain, please come in. Would you like some wine?” Briggs gestured towards the bottle nestled in the wall cooler, a small indulgence amidst the chaos of their lives, a fleeting moment of normalcy.
“No, thank you, sir. I’m still on duty,” she replied, her tone firm and respectful, a reminder of the code they lived by.
“Alright then, how can I help you, Captain?” he asked, leaning back in his chair, ready to listen, his attention fully on her.
“Sir, permission to speak frankly?” she inquired, her expression serious, the weight of her words palpable in the air.
“Have a seat, Olivia. Feel free to speak as you wish. I value your input,” he said, motioning towards the couch that overlooked the vast viewport, where stars twinkled like distant hopes against the encroaching darkness.
“Sir, I’ve been out here a long time, but nowhere near as long as a war hero like you. I need to know, does it ever get any easier than this?” Her voice carried the weight of her experiences, a mixture of hope and despair that resonated in the quiet room.
Briggs's expression turned grave, the gravity of her question resonating deeply within him, echoing the unspoken fears that lay heavy in both their hearts. He recognized the same look of dread that mirrored his own feelings, a shared burden that bound them together. “I can’t say if it does. In my many years commanding young men and women, I have never witnessed death on the scale we have seen. This is a new war, one we have never faced before, and I fear it may redefine us.”
“Yeah.” She drifted off, her gaze lost in the view outside, watching as the last remnants of the asteroid belt sped past them, their fleet navigating safely above it, a testament to their resilience. The combined forces of the Sumerian Empire, Alpha Centauri, and Republic were scattered in formation, their drive cones visible as they expelled massive amounts of energy to counteract Newton's law of motion, slowing down to face the impending threat of death once more. “I never would have thought I would see this day, watching former enemies standing shoulder to shoulder.”
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“Neither did I. We’ve been exploring the stars for several millennia now; aliens should have encountered us long before this moment.”
“Well, yes, that.” She rose and walked towards the expansive viewport, her silhouette framed against the backdrop of the cosmos, the beauty of the stars offering a stark contrast to the darkness they faced. “I meant the Republic and Federation flying side by side, not shooting at each other. There’s been too much death; it’s nice to see at least one aspect has been put to rest, even if just for now.”
Briggs sighed, joining his second-in-command by the floor-to-ceiling viewport, the weight of their shared history palpable between them. “Yeah, you’re right. I never thought it would be possible, either. I prayed many times for this moment. A time to love, and a time to hate. A time for war, and a time for peace.”
“That’s oddly fitting and beautiful. Where did you hear that?” she asked, her curiosity piqued, the conversation shifting like the stars above them.
“Ecclesiastes 3:8,” he replied, his voice tinged with a hint of reverence, the words a balm for the troubled spirit.
“Do you have any more? I could use some comfort right about now,” she said, a note of vulnerability creeping into her voice, a plea for solace amid the chaos.
“He will judge between the nations and will settle disputes for many peoples. They will beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks. Nation shall not take up sword against nation, nor will they train for war anymore,” he recited, the words flowing from him like a soothing melody, wrapping around them like a protective embrace.
“Disturbed, Prayer,” she said, a flicker of recognition lighting up her features, a moment of connection amidst the gravity of their situation.
The Admiral glanced at her, momentarily confused. “Say what now?”
She chuckled softly, the sound a brief respite from their grim reality. “Sorry, it’s an ancient Earth song. I heard one of our machinist mates blasting it over the music feeds while working on the ship. They said it was a band called Disturbed, something about old classic hard rock.”
Briggs smiled the brief moment of levity a refreshing reprieve from the grim reality surrounding them, a reminder of the laughter that once filled the halls of the fleet. “Ah, popular culture can spread the word of the Lord in many ways. That’s actually Isaiah 2:4, one of my favorite verses.”
“I can see why; it’s beautiful. But if I may ask, why did you learn war if you love that verse so much?” Her question hung in the air, a challenge wrapped in curiosity, probing the depths of his convictions.
Briggs turned his gaze back to the vast expanse outside, the stars twinkling in the darkness like distant memories. “Because, unfortunately, we have lost faith. The word of the Lord has been forgotten by many, and war wages within ourselves. I may not like it, but I am very talented in defending our way of life. If I have to spend eternity in hell for learning war, I will find peace in knowing I helped save the lives of countless millions by defending them.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Me too. I would rather burn in hell than let the innocent suffer and die knowing I could have done something to prevent it,” she replied, her conviction palpable, a fire igniting in her eyes.
Briggs smiled at her, proud of the wisdom she was gaining, the strength she was finding. “Exactly.”
They stood together in silence, watching the final asteroid zip past, fading into the serene starry backdrop, their thoughts echoing in the stillness. The fleet had now entered the inner system, the tension palpable in the air, a storm brewing on the horizon. Their silence was abruptly shattered by the comm unit buzzing urgently, demanding their immediate attention, the tone sharp and insistent. “What is it?” Captain Smith answered the call, her voice steady despite the rising dread.
“Ma’am, you and the Admiral need to see this.” The watch officer’s voice trembled, his effort to maintain military composure admirable but ultimately futile, the crack of fear slipping through. Both Smith and Briggs noted the strain in his voice and chose to overlook the breach of protocol; after everything they had witnessed, it was nearly impossible to remain entirely calm.
“On our way,” Briggs responded, urgency creeping into his tone, a chill settling in his gut as he sensed the gravity of the situation.
The Fleet Admiral's office was situated on the same deck as the Command Information Center, buried deep within the heart of the megalithic superstructure. The walk was short, but each step felt like an eternity, the weight of what lay ahead pressing down on them like a heavy fog. As they entered, the center of the room displayed sensor readouts and a magnified optical image of a battle that had unfolded just moments ago, a nightmare made real. Earth and Luna were being ravaged by orbital bombardment, the devastation unfolding like a cruel tapestry of destruction. Not a single dry eye remained in the room; silence enveloped them like a shroud as they bore witness to the harrowing carnage, the reality of their mission crashing down around them. Luna had already suffered the brunt of the devastation; Armstrong City was nearly erased from existence, reduced to a smoldering ruin, a hollow shell of what it once was. Collins County remained under siege, energy blasts striking the massive compounds and structures, melting everything in their wake, the screams of the innocent echoing in their minds. Eagle Landing, the historic site of humanity's first moon landing, now lay as a molten crater, a stark reminder of the past, a symbol of hope turned to ash.
As for Earth, the onslaught had only just begun, a dark tide rolling in with merciless intent. The Alliance fleet had yet to encircle the planet, managing only to strike one hemisphere, but Paris had already been obliterated, its streets silent, its beauty lost to the flames. Egypt, Germany, and Great Britain were in the crosshairs, the attacks were less focused on total destruction and more on attrition, a calculated strategy of despair. Briggs's thoughts were confirmed when landing craft began to embark from the capital ships, their grim goal clear: to subjugate the planet, to bring it to its knees. Earth was under invasion, the weight of their duty settling heavily on their shoulders. In a swift motion, the Admiral folded the paper detailing his desire to resign, a dream now abandoned, and tucked it into his front pocket. “Not today, Marvin. We are needed now more than ever. Not today,” he thought to himself, steeling his resolve, determination hardening his heart. He then activated the comm unit to address the fleet, his voice echoing with authority and conviction. “Finally, be strong in the Lord and in the strength of his might. Put on the whole armor of God, that you may be able to stand against the schemes of the devil.”