Ephialtes (Ephialtes Trilogy Book 1) Read online

  EPHIALTES

  Gavin E Parker

  Ephialtes

  Version 1.0.6

  Published 2015 by parcom entertainment

  Copyright © 2015 by Gavin E Parker

  This book is copyright under the Berne convention. No reproduction without permission.

  All rights reserved.

  The right of Gavin E Parker to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with sections 77 and78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  Excerpt from The Iliad taken from A T Murray’s translation, public domain

  www.ephialtestrilogy.com

  [email protected]

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1: The War is Over

  CHAPTER 2: Kostovich

  CHAPTER 3: Welcome Home

  CHAPTER 4: Rumbles

  CHAPTER 5: A New Order

  CHAPTER 6: The Old Order

  CHAPTER 7: The Rumour

  CHAPTER 8: Recruitment

  CHAPTER 9: Moving Target

  CHAPTER 10: Countermove

  CHAPTER 11: Ship Building

  CHAPTER 12: Plebiscite

  CHAPTER 13: Election

  CHAPTER 14: The Garrison

  CHAPTER 15: Old Friends

  CHAPTER 16: Outrage

  CHAPTER 17: Aggressive Expansion

  CHAPTER 18: Robust Diplomacy

  CHAPTER 19: An Act of War

  CHAPTER 20: Target Practice

  CHAPTER 21: Name, Rank and Number

  CHAPTER 22: Buyout

  CHAPTER 23: The Enemy Within

  CHAPTER 24: Secession

  CHAPTER 25: Gainful Employment

  CHAPTER 26: The Countdown

  CHAPTER 27: Open Fire

  CHAPTER 28: Blast Radius

  CHAPTER 29: Checkmate

  CHAPTER 30: The Prodigal

  CHAPTER 31: Mission of Mercy

  CHAPTER 32: War and Peace

  CHAPTER 33: Hostile Inbound

  CHAPTER 34: Rescue

  CHAPTER 35: The Horizon

  CHAPTER 36: Assault

  Epilogue

  So suffered Ares, when Otus and mighty Ephialtes, the sons of Aloeus, bound him in cruel bonds, and in a brazen jar he lay bound for thirteen months; and then would Ares, insatiate of war, have perished, had not the stepmother of the sons of Aloeus, the beauteous Eëriboea, brought tidings unto Hermes; and he stole forth Ares, that was now sore distressed, for his grievous bonds were overpowering him.

  Homer, The Iliad Book V

  C H A P T E R 1

  The War is Over

  He smacked the oak surface twice with an open palm, the slap-slap cutting through the burbling speech around the table, reducing it to one or two voices which quickly trailed off to silence. “The president has been delayed for a second time, so I’m just going to kick things off here and get some of this out of the way so we can get right to it when he arrives in,” he half turned in his chair and a Secret Service man stepped forward, cupping his hand to his mouth as he leant in and whispered into the senator’s ear. The senator nodded ‘thank you’ and the Secret Service man stood back, scanning the perimeters of the room. The senator continued “. . . the latest we have on that is about three minutes.”

  The secretary of defence was seated a few places down the large cabinet table. She glanced up from her notes. “What is it this time?”

  The senator looked over. “They’ve had another teleconference on the apron at Love Field. Just straightening out some kinks. Don’t worry, this is happening.” The senator drew a line through something on the papers in front of him. He looked up over the glasses perched on the end of his nose and, glancing around the table, he cleared his throat. “The time is 15:04 on this January 22, 2241. I’ve been instructed by President Cortes to open this meeting and brief you all on the historic announcement the president will be making at five o’clock this evening.” A brief sound of whispered chatter skittered around the table. “Progress at Jakarta and Mumbai has been good, and what you’ve been hearing in the news reports is largely accurate. The president wants to make the formal announcement to you himself, but I can tell you the news is good.” There was another wave of chatter. For the first time the senator allowed himself a smile. “You can appreciate that this is privileged information and that,” he grinned, “for the rest of the afternoon, at least, we remain at war. So if any of you sons of bitches let this out we’ll have you for treason.” There was good natured laughter, the chatter now louder still and more excited.

  The senator spoke again. “One more thing.” He glanced down at the sheaf of papers before him on the desk. There was nothing for him to read there but he knew it would add some solemnity to what he was about to say. “It’s been a long and difficult road to get to this point. Some of our young men and women have made the ultimate sacrifice for their country, for our safety, and for the protection of all we hold dear. I think it would be appropriate for us to spend a few moments in silent reflection on the great sacrifice that has been made, and on those who made it. Would you please all stand.”

  Around the table cabinet members began to rise. The last sounds of shuffling feet faded and they stood in silence, heads bowed.

  Gerard White slipped into the room as the rest of the cabinet retook their seats. As he strode to his place near the head of the table he caught the senator’s eye. “One minute,” he mouthed, also making a ‘one’ hand gesture. As he slipped into his seat an aide quickly placed some documents in front of him, but he paid no attention. He was looking at the senator. “Well, Peter, it’s a great day, and a great achievement for the administration, especially your guys up on the hill.”

  After a pause the senator replied. “A great day indeed. We couldn’t have done it without you, Gerard. We’re all grateful.”

  White waved a hand. “Oh, come on now. Team effort. We’re all in this thing together, you know that.”

  The senator gave a stilted nod. “I guess so.”

  There was a sudden scrape of chairs and, instinctively following the others about them, White and the senator rose to their feet.

  President Cortes strode quickly to the head of the cabinet table flanked by two Secret Service agents, his assistant trailing a little behind. “Please, sit,” he gestured, grabbing the back of his chair and throwing a commanding glance about the room. “I want to thank you all for coming. I’m sorry I’m a little late, but I guess these things never run smoothly. Anyway, we’re all here now, so let’s get on with it.” As he stepped around the chair one of the Secret Service women pulled it out for him and he sat down. The assistant placed some papers in front of him and moved the pre-poured glass of water two centimetres closer, like she knew that was just where he needed it. He half-turned and nodded ‘thank you’, picking up the top sheet and quickly skimming down it before he started to speak.

  “I have come here this afternoon directly from Jakarta where, as you know, I have been personally overseeing the final stages of the USAN delegation’s negotiations with President Tsou, Prime Minister Takisawa and General Nkemjika. This third and last series of mediations has been the most difficult and delicate of all attempts at negotiation so far, particularly in light of the recent incidents in Reykjavik and Boston. There were many moments when hope faded, and it seemed we would walk away with nothing. But, through the great and tireless work of our negotiators, we did not walk away with nothing.”

  There was a murmur around the table, which the president rose his hand to quell.

  “Ladies, gentlemen, it is my proud duty to inform you that at 12:00pm today, 22 January 2241, I put my signature to the accords, along with President Tsou,
Prime Minister Takisawa and General Nkemjika, ending current hostilities as of 17:00hrs, Eastern Standard Time, this afternoon.”

  A cheer rolled around the table and the president allowed himself a smile. “At that time I will make a,” he paused to allow the noise to subside, “. . . at that time I will make a public address to the nation and the world, and the fourth world wide war will be at an end.” There was a second wave of cheering, stronger this time as at first a few then the entire cabinet rose to their feet, clapping and whooping. The president soaked it in, taking the hands offered to him and shaking them firmly, an automatic politician’s response.

  “Let’s hear it for the president!” The call came from halfway down the table and was met with a huge cheer. The president stood and raised two hands above his head, outstretched, a familiar gesture to anyone who had followed his campaigns. He angled his head down in faux humility and thrust his hands slightly forwards and upwards, the gesture answered by a surge of cheers. He held the pose for a few seconds, then dropped one arm to his side while the other waved to the far end of the table. He looked about the room, making individual eye contact with nods here and small gestures there, working the place like the true professional he was.

  The senator held out his hand. “Congratulations, Mr President.”

  “Thank you, Peter,” the president said, quickly shaking then moving on to the next proffered hand.

  Presently, Cortes gestured for the cabinet to be seated, and the hubbub died down. “The past few years have not been easy. On this day we can celebrate and, Lord knows, no one should deny us that. But there is still a great deal to do. We have lost so much; men and women, materiel and yes, a little bit of faith, too. We have now to regain our strength, rebuild our countries and redouble our efforts to make these United States and Nations once again into the great paragon of virtue and freedom that we know them to be.

  “I have to go now to prepare my address, thank you and God bless you all.” He walked down the room to the exit, pausing only once to shake an offered hand and laugh politely at the quip offered with it, then he was gone.

  White spoke. “‘Once again into the great paragon of freedom.’ So does that mean elections?”

  The senator shuffled in his seat and coughed. “This is rhetoric at this time but with the war over there can be no reason to continue with the suspension of elections. I think that’s clear.”

  “And that’s going to be in the address, tonight?”

  The senator frowned. “Gerard, today is a celebration. The war’s over, we won.”

  “What did we win? Last time I looked at a map, or at a balance sheet, we’ve won diddly-squat. The latest reports from the treasury show that -”

  The senator was holding up his hand. “Gerard, Gerard, what we’ve won, today, is peace with honour and that’s what’s going in the address tonight, Peace with Honour. We’ve had seven very difficult years of fighting, and six difficult months of negotiations, and now here we are, where we want to be, with the fighting over and a new dawn of rebuilding and prosperity around the corner. The suspension of elections is just one of many sacrifices we’ve had to make in order to achieve this goal. But the war’s over now,” he could barely believe he was saying the words, “and the suspension of elections is one of many issues we will come to address in the very near future.”

  White stared across the table at him, trying to read his face, which remained inscrutable. “But for now, elections remain suspended?”

  “For now. We’ll get to it. I happen to know that the president sees it as a level one priority. He hated to do it, you know. We had to persuade him.”

  White snorted. “Hated to do it? I hate it too. And I’m going to keep on at this until he makes it right.”

  “Gerard, you worry too much. This isn’t some tin-pot republic. This is the United States and Nations.”

  White backed down, thumbing through his papers. The senator spoke now to the room, louder. “That’s it folks! War’s over, you can all go back to bed!” White stood up, gathered his papers and left, mixing in with the assorted cabinet members, aides and Secret Service personnel filing towards the door.

  The senator was deep in conversation with one of his advisers, who had slipped into a vacated seat to his right. The adviser was holding a paper on the table in front of the senator, moving his finger across some lines about a third of the way down the page. The senator was shaking his head. “No, no, they have to wait. And it can’t go out like that, have Spector re-draught it.”

  Farrell stood behind the senator and waited for an opening. The senator had seen him approach and was well aware of his presence but made him wait all the same, stretching out the conversation with the aide far longer than was strictly necessary. Eventually he turned and, as though taken by surprise said, “Farrell! You need a minute?” Farrell remained standing.

  “I do, actually, Senator.”

  The senator gestured. “Take a seat, I’ll be right with you.” Farrell and two assistants took up seats opposite the senator. The room had emptied now. Farrell waited while the senator scribbled notes on the papers in front of him, then handed them off to his aide. “See that he gets this right away,” he said, then turned to Farrell. “What can I do for you?”

  “It’s Mars, Senator.”

  “Mars?”

  “Yes, sir. We’ve been monitoring communications and modelling population growth and industrial production, and we think there is reasonable cause for concern.”

  “You do. Why?”

  “You’re aware of the Kasugai study, published last year?”

  “Should I be?”

  “Well, the study showed that, theoretically at least, Mars has been capable of total independence from Earth for the last eight years. That is to say, the population is now large enough, and production is big enough and varied enough, for Mars to maintain its current status, in terms of economy, population and production, without any,” he repeated for effect, “without any input from, or indeed trade with, Earth.”

  The senator eyed him quizzically. “That’s great, isn’t it? We’ve conquered another world, a historic feat.”

  “Well, Senator, it is a great achievement, I’ll grant you that much. But what if the Martians decide they’ve conquered another world?”

  “Decide . . .”

  “It’s like this, Senator. They don’t need us. Some of the younger Martians now are fourth, even fifth generation. Most of them have never been here, heck, most of them couldn’t afford to come here if they wanted to. They don’t feel any allegiance to us. Remember, the most vocal anti-war movement was based on Mars.”

  The senator brought his hand up to his chin and rubbed it thoughtfully. “And they’re talking about this, are they, the Martians?”

  “Well yes, sir, it seems they are. We’ve been monitoring coms across the planet and between planets and it does seem that this idea is out there. The war has alienated lots of people and the idea of Martian independence or a so-called Free Mars -”

  “Sheez!” the senator said, unable to help himself.

  “. . . the idea of a Free Mars has been gaining lots of ground.”

  The senator took his glasses off and began cleaning them, rubbing the glass with a carefully folded cloth. “So what do we need to do?” Farrell looked at him, momentarily lost for words.

  “Well, at the moment nothing. But we do need to be aware of it. I mean, that’s what we’re here for, to flag up these potential hot-spots before they become actual hot-spots. I don’t know what we could do now, practically. Resuming elections would help politically, but with the celebrations coming up -”

  “What celebrations?”

  “Sometime in the next few months the one hundred thousandth Martian will be born. It’s going to be a big whoop on Mars. It may serve to focus minds on just these issues we’re talking about. So with that in mind, maybe some counterprogramming might be of use? We could give it prominent recognition here. Have a big parade with an address
by the president, or something like that. Maybe we should have sent someone senior over there to lead the celebrations.”

  “Believe me, Farrell, if I could send the vice president to Mars I would.”

  “Well, I just think we should be thinking along those lines. Hearts and minds, you know. It’s probably nothing, but we should be keeping an eye on it.”

  The senator stood up and offered his hand. “Thanks for that, Farrell. Thanks for bringing that to our attention.” His face cracked into a smirk. “We’ve just got out of one war, we don’t want to be getting into another. Particularly one that’s a hundred and forty million miles away - we’d lose home advantage.” He winked.

  Farrell smiled. “I’m sure it won’t come to that, sir. Not if we keep on top of it.”

  The senator turned and left.

  Farrell and his two senior aides got back to his office at the Department of Foreign Affairs around 16:30. Farrell sat at his desk, quickly checking for any notifications on his secure terminal before kicking his chair back and swinging his feet up onto the desk. His silver hair made him look older than his forty-eight years, and his matinee-idol good looks, which he’d managed to kid himself had somehow been a detriment to his political career, were fading. “What time’s the address?” he asked the aides.

  “Five o’clock”.

  “Can we get it up on there?” He indicated the blank wall opposite his desk.

  “Sure.”

  “Okay, we’ll do that. And do we have champagne, anything like that?” The second aide was looking down at her mobile communication device. “I’m getting on to that now. You want the good stuff?”

  “Aw . . . middling? I do want the good stuff, but I’ll stick to what I can afford.”

  “Okay. Four magnums of the not-quite-best champagne, on their way.”