Solfleet: The Call of Duty Read Online Free Page B

speeches of my own. I would, however, just like to thank
President Shakhar, Admiral Chaffee for his extremely kind words, the Joint
Chiefs for their participation, and all of you for taking the time to be here
this morning. Your support means more to me than you can possibly know. Thank
you.”
    He stepped
aside to the audience’s renewed applause, and as General Jóhannsdótir returned
to her seat, Command Chief Master Sergeant Watson reappeared from backstage and
replaced her at the podium. “This concludes this morning’s ceremony,” he
announced. “Please stand for the departure of the honored member and the Joint
Chiefs of Staff.”
    Like
hundreds of mindless robots, the audience rose to its feet one more time.
Hansen led the way as the official party marched off stage.
    “On behalf
of Admiral Chaffee and the Joint Chiefs, I also would like to thank you all for
attending,” Watson announced, bringing the gathering to its official close. “Dismissed.”
    Hansen hung
around backstage for a while and politely accepted congratulations from the
other three Chiefs of Staff, his friends, those of his associates who had been
available to attend, and anyone else who took the time to make their way back
there, all the while looking for his daughter and waiting for her to find him.
Then, when he finally decided that she wasn’t going to show and that no one
else intended to come his way, he started gradually making his way toward the
nearest exit. Admiral Chaffee stopped him long enough to hand him a bag full of
enough new rank bars and pins to outfit the rest of his uniforms, and a few
more people offered their congratulations as he happened to cross paths with
them, but it didn’t take him very long to break free of the masses and head for
his quarters.
    The
Distinguished Service Cross with Valor device, he reflected as he strolled
through the wide earth tone corridors. He’d certainly never expected to be
awarded another one of those. Of course, were it not for Admiral Chaffee going
to bat for him, he probably wouldn’t have been. For that matter, were it not
for the fact that his longtime friend Mirriazu Shakhar happened to be the president,
he’d probably still be on the outside of the admiralty looking in. Even after
so many years, O’Shea still held a huge grudge against him. The son-of-a-bitch
probably wasn’t even sick. He probably just couldn’t stomach the thought of not
only having to pin a medal to his old rival’s chest, but also having to promote
him on top of it.
    Of course,
Hansen went on to reflect as he had so many times before, he was damn lucky to still
be in the fleet at all at this point, and he knew it. Liz, too, for that matter.
The threat of exposure had been hanging over their heads for six long years now,
and he’d worried about it damn near every day. He’d worried that the truth
might finally come out, and that both of their careers might suddenly come to
an abrupt and shameful halt. And yet at the same time, more than once, he’d
almost wished for it. At least then the knowledge of what they had done—of what he had done—would have stopped feeding the fear that still haunted his
every waking hour. He’d have been freed from his chains. He’d have taken
whatever he had coming to him, and he’d have moved on.
    But so far
that hadn’t happened. Might he actually make it to retirement, he wondered? He
was already eligible, but he was not yet ready.
    As a
flag-grade officer, he’d been assigned family quarters fairly close to the bulk
of the fleet’s offices and other non-industrial facilities, so it only took him
a few minutes to walk home. He raised his right hand toward the security panel
as he approached the door, but instead of waiting for him to log in as a locked
door should, it slid aside, disappearing into the bulkhead, and released the
ear-splitting clamor of screaming engines and screeching tires, blaring sirens,
and blazing guns into the corridor. He sighed and shook