Nam Rood paced, his left hand trailing along the glass steel wall of his office that overlooked the Etemenak, the enormous battle arena. He watched a team of third year students firing a battery of missile tests - the brilliant flares of white energy pattered across the ground. He smiled as they cheered, throwing their arms into the air in celebration of their success.
One of the students, a fat boy whose name Nam Rood struggled to remember, sat alone, apart from his team, a sour expression on his face. Nam Rood watched as the other students shot him the occasional sideways glance.
He had been High Commander of the Bavel for only two years, his appointment coming on the heels of his disgrace at the Battle of Hidatha. But he had noticed a strange pattern with the children here. Their tribal behaviors had become predictable. The fat boy would be dead before the end of the year, Nam Rood was certain of it. Such was the cost of war.
Most viewed his appointment to Bavel as an honor, a reward for his many years of loyal service to the Five, and the many victories wrought by his hand. But Nam Rood knew the bitter truth. He had failed. And worse yet, had withdrawn his forces, ordered a retreat, and abandoned the Hidatha System to the superior Azrael fleet.
He had not fully understood the point of the engagement; it was a resource light system, no potential for terraforming, and no valuable mineral resources. And yet the Five had insisted on a pitched Battle with the Azrael over what amounted to a piece of desert.
He was stripped of his command, lost his title of Sky Marshall, and sent to Bavel as a punishment, not a reward.
He pulled up the most recent communication from his contacts in Military Intelligence. Something wasn’t sitting right. There was too much movement, enemy forces coalescing, human fleets jumping from system to system. He’d been in enough wars to recognize the patterns that occurred shortly before an offensive. His contact, a former Lieutenant Commander and a woman who he trusted implicitly, had assured him that the Alliance wasn’t planning an attack. Which left only one option. The Azrael were on the warpath.
He pulled up real time updates on the Alliance fleet movements, and watched as supply ships were loaded and prepped for battle. A student of history, he had come to understand that preparation almost always decided the outcome of battles. Establishing resupply shipments, defensive positioning, environmental factors - it was in these details that battles were won. And a war, well, that’s nothing more than a series of battles. Win the battles, win the war. He had always lived by that philosophy.
But something about this felt different to him, and he found that troubling.
“The faculty will be arriving at your office shortly,” his A.I., Uni, informed him.
“Very good. Please have them wait outside until they have all arrived. Thank you, Uni.”
“On your orders, sir.”
He scanned the scarred arena, the Etemenak, its scorched stones and artificial trees creating natural environments for the students to play at war. He looked down on the students as they prepared a second battery of missile tests. The fat boy aside, most of them would survive their time at the Academy.
About half would go on to positions of importance within the military, eventually becoming ranking officers. The remainder would either fail to survive their first moments of real combat, or would lose their stomach for war once they got a taste of blood and steel. They would instead take what they’d learned here and thrive in the corporate sector. No matter what path they chose, they would be the power brokers of the future, building a world that, quite frankly, terrified Nam Rood.
“Sir, they have all arrived,” Uni said.
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He took a deep breath. “Very good, let them in.”
He kept his back to the door as the sixteen professors filed silently into his office. He could hear the metallic limp of Juda Rookshank, the grizzled, scarred survival teacher, one of five special appointments Nam Rood had insisted upon prior to accepting his post at Bavel.
The decision to replace five of the permanent faculty had not been a popular one, but Nam Rood had never particularly cared about his popularity.
He let them stew for a moment in silence, a tactic he had learned as a young commander. He felt it engendered the proper respect for authority. Finally he turned, his arms clasped behind his back.
“I’ve been analyzing the fleet data feeds,” he said, pacing for effect, still not looking directly at the teachers. “I’m troubled by what I see.”
He glanced out the window, his back again to the teachers. “Very troubled,” he added to himself. “I believe the Azrael are planning a major offensive against the Alliance fleets.”
He finally turned and addressed the faculty.
“As you know, the location of Bavel is one of our most closely guarded military secrets. Our facility is a high value target, and the Azrael have made several attempts to discover its coordinates and mount an assault.”
“Do you believe they have discovered our location?” Jar Breson asked as whispers rippled through the rest of the faculty.
“No, I do not,” Nam Rood replied. There was an audible sigh of relief as the teachers relaxed. Most of the faculty were only familiar with the implements and theory of war, not its practice, a fact that Nam Rood had attempted to correct with his controversial appointments.
“However, my instincts are screaming that something more than a major offensive is afoot. The Azrael fleet movements would indicate-“
“We’re sorry,” Shakkara interrupted him. “But how do you have access to Azrael fleet data?”
“I may no longer be Sky Marshall of the Alliance Forces, but I do still have friends.”
Shakkara shot his wife, Shakrura, a nervous glance, their head sacks inflating and deflating so rapidly, Nam Rood had to suppress the urge to smile at the odd display.
“Are we in any danger? Are we going to jump Bavel to a new location?” Shakrura asked, her voice trembling.
“I don’t believe that will be necessary,” Nam Rood replied. “I have no evidence that our security has been breached, or that our location has been compromised.”
“Thank the Five,” Shakrura said, visibly relieved.
“However, as a security precaution, we will be going dark for a time.”
There was an audible groan from the faculty.
“Quiet down!” Enos barked. The group fell into a heavy silence. Nam Rood nodded his head towards her in appreciation before continuing.
“This means no communication of any kind, in or out. Only my encrypted Military Intelligence com system will remain active. We cannot risk accidentally divulging our position during the lead up to the attack. Whatever it is the Azrael are planning, our job is to ensure the security of this facility and the survival of the students. Is that clear?”
The teachers all mumbled their assent.
“You will have one hour to put your personal affairs in order. I do not know how long we will remain dark, but I expect that whatever the Azrael have planned will happen soon.”
He paused, glancing over the familiar faces of the teachers. “Are there any questions?”
Jar Breson raised his hand.
“Please, no need to be so formal,” Nam Rood said.
“Would it be prudent to request additional forces be sent to shore up our defenses? With our current deployment we would not last long against an Azrael attack, were it to come.”
“I have already submitted a request for an additional detachment of Dragoons, but given the lack of real substantiated threat, I will be surprised if the request is honored. In particular if Sky Marshall Bellee is anticipating an attack on the Seven Systems, which from the fleet movements, it looks as though he is.”
Jar Breson nodded his head thoughtfully.
“Are there any other questions?” Nam Rood asked.
No one moved.
“Very good. You have one hour until your communications are cut. Thank you for your time.”
He turned his back to the teachers as they filed out. He heard the door slide shut.
“Sir, do you really think we’re at risk?” Enos asked. Nam Rood smiled before turning to her, unsurprised that she had lingered.
“I don’t know. And it’s the uncertainty that has me worried.”
She nodded her head. “It feels wrong to me too, sir.”
He chuckled. Of course she was accessing the same data he was via her own contacts within the intelligence community. She was a damn fine commander. Despite her temperamental nature and occasional cruelty, he was glad she was here with him.
He slid on his aglets and waved his fingers.
“I’d like to run through some theoretical scenarios with you,” he said, pulling up Bavel’s defensive schematics. She slid her aglets on as her display lit up with his data inputs. “I want to have contingency plans in place and ready to execute should we be faced with a direct attack by Azrael forces.”
Her fingers danced, and Nam Rood smiled. This was what he lived for. By the Five, how he missed it.