Gunship: The Fleet: Gunship, #12

By John M. Davis

Welcome to life in orbit. After a plague surges out of control, the infected begin to overrun humanity's cities one by one. Forcing those who survive to take orbit. Commander Dalton James has walked many paths. Most of them in search of whiskey.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Book Commander
• Release date: May 16, 2019
• ISBN: 9781540144379

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Table of Contents

PART ONE

Part Two

Part Three

About the Author

Part One

COMMANDER'S LOG:

The first log of many, I suspect, as life seems to have thrown a curve-ball right into my lap. Still, as commander of this fleet, I'm tasked with providing hope.

Seeing the pain in the eyes of my best friend has been indescribably hard. He is like a brother to me. Certainly the closest thing to family I've known since I was a child. So, as I look into the eyes of those around me within the fleet, I understand their loss.

The good news is that we've confirmed across the fleet that no infected made the exodus. The bad news, of course, is that we have no real idea of direction. We simply do not know what perils or wealth of resources await us beyond the line we consider uncharted space.

We've deployed probes in hopes of gaining a better understanding of what is out there in the black. They have relayed information back to us, but only the basics. We still have no idea if life exists out there. The only thing that is for certain is that we can't stand idly by forever. Our reserves of food, water and fuel will eventually run out.

We have literally become a race that is chained to the sky. Infected dead have overrun our homes below and left us with no other choice.

Some among the fleet think we need to revisit the planets throughout the Skyla System. Perhaps salvage more of what we need before setting sail into the stars beyond. Others believe that with time, the plague will end itself and we can return to our homes.

Not revisiting the planets below anytime soon seems to be the only thing Doctor Arness and I agree on. That uptight son of a bitch. I can already see that he plans to be a constant thorn in my side, though he will do so with a few teeth missing.

They say that assuming power changes a man. I don't know about that. I've changed, that's for sure, but I do not credit my new position of power for it. I credit loss.

As I look back on all of the memories gone by. The bars. The bar-fights. The jail time. The women I've bedded down. Well, to be frank, this list could go on for quite some time. Being an official entry and all, I'll cut to the chase.

The loss of so many who I've cared for along the way has changed me. Many of my good friends. My crew...hell, even my dog. They've all been taken from me, each one taking a piece of me with them to the grave.

The moment I held true love in my arms - I became a man. So I accept the challenge of leading these people to a new home. I'm ready.

I'll lead these people as the man they need me to be. The man that life has moulded me into with its tough lessons.

The whiskey though, I'm not giving that up. I've grown into a man, but I ain't dead.

-Commander Dalton James

HOLDING A FIRM FIST into the air, Lieutenant Gregory brought a halt to the entire group of eight strong. Colonial military, by the look of them. Combat blue patched with the silver seal of the colonies. It was standard gear for the military force that had once been so mighty – now reduced to a shell of its former self after narrowly escaping the plague of undead.

Easing down, the lieutenant grabbed a bit of mud into his battle-tested fingers, rubbing through its wet grit slowly. Doing everything he could to scout the area ahead.

Seconds later, a horde of undead sprang from the nearby tree line, approximately twenty of them charging at full-speed.

As the Colonial group began to fire silenced rifles into the pack of wild infected, the bodies of growling dead started dropping like panties on a poker night Friday. With their true deaths came screaming howls.

All but one. Its teeth were cut to a sheen and it sprinting wildly at the man in charge. No doubt the leader of the infected pack. The alpha male.

A single pistol shot would end the alpha's life. Snapping from a standard issue sidearm, though doing its deed in silence. The pistol was outfitted with a suppressor, adding a bit of elegance to the otherwise basic weapon.

Hitting the infected leader at point blank range, Lieutenant Gregory watched the bastard drop backwards like a stone, flailing uncontrollably for several moments on the rain-drenched ground. Finding its final resting place.

Scout up ahead. They seem to be thinning out. Could be a sign of Hunters in the area. the lieutenant said.

Sir, I don't understand the need to continue tracking the Hunters. We could just let them die down here with the infected. one of the soldiers remarked.

"Understanding the purpose is not your job, executing my orders is."

Understood sir. the soldier replied, turning to order their scout ahead. All in hopes of tracking down the location of Hunters on what remained of Ronica. He didn't like it, none of them did, but orders were orders.

Lieutenant Gregory understood his soldier's reservation. He too wondered why they continued to track down a race that had caused them so much pain. It would be much easier to leave them be. But he was also the ideal soldier, executing his orders without question. Something he expected from the men as well.

Fucking rain. The lieutenant thought.

As Commander Dalton James sat quietly with a small glass of brown whiskey in one hand, his other hand flipping a single revolver bullet through its fingers; Dalton looked across the stars. Watching the lights of dozens of smaller ships enter and depart from his own. It had become his favorite place to sit while thinking. A thick, red chair of overstuffed plush. A small window directly in front of him which overlooked a bulk of the fleet, and, most importantly, he was conveniently located near the man-drink.

The God of War.

Not Dalton James, though he'd seen his fair share of war throughout the years, but the ship beneath his feet. It was massive. Designed for deep space travel and armed to the teeth, the ship was meant to house occupants for tens, maybe even hundreds of years.

In fact, the entire fleet was. Ships designed to process fuel from rock, along with their fleet's ability to operate on solar power. Another equipped to churn salvageable ice into drinkable water, as well as filter the fleet's existing supply. There were ships designated for government use, ships that were military grade and dozens of civilian ships, each with its own flavor and purpose.

Every ship within the fleet had its use, if only to provide large spaces for living quarters. These people had put any hope they had left into the ships they now called home. They had been evicted from their former homes by the undead. An infection of some type, though the fleet's scientists had yet to explain its mystery. They understood it quickly took the body of its host, but how the infection originally spawned remains unexplained.

You alright cowboy? Cambria asked, easing up behind the fleet's commander. Softly massaging his tense shoulders.

Her hands were a comfort to him. The touch of a woman he loved so dearly. More than most could ever begin to comprehend based on their idea of love. Cambria had been his everything – his one place of solitude in a universe that was on the brink of destruction.

I sure don't feel like a cowboy. I feel like some stiff behind a desk.

I'm sure you'll get used to things with time. she replied. Rubbing the tense feeling from his shoulders.

Maybe, he admitted. Maybe not. I'm like a wild animal baby, you can cage me up but it doesn't mean I won't long for the days of running lose again. he added with a grin.

The life of an officer was as fitting as the photos on Dalton's wall. Crooked with time and a bit of bedroom shagging. He'd always disliked authority in general, especially those in charge. Now he was in charge of humanity.

I think the fleet is waiting on your command. They trust your timing. Cambria said with a glowing smile of reassurance.

She was the epitome of beautiful and had always been so. Attracted to Dalton because of his heart, which overflowed with compassion. Though his rugged look didn't hurt things either. He had a way of covering up the good man inside, but she'd seen it early on.

Let's hope you're right, cause I have no intentions of leaving anytime soon, Dalton replied, continuing his stare out into the stars. We have no idea what's waiting out there for us. Maybe a fresh start on a string of planets ripe for the picking, he added. Or maybe something a lot worse than anything our history speaks of. I've signed off on a small fleet of ships that wishes to head into the black.

You're dividing the fleet? she asked.

Not a true division, he replied. I've signed off on six ships to depart for the black. Their captains and those aboard know the risk. They've accepted it. Their departure won't hurt us from a resource standpoint.

Yea but- she began.

If people want to cut ties and look for their own fresh start, who am I to stand in their way? Dalton replied. Still, I signed the order in private. I don't want word to get out throughout the fleet and cause panic. They'll leave out in just a few hours and none of our other ships will be the wiser. I've arranged it.

Walking to the front of Dalton for a moment, Cambria eased herself onto his lap. Straddling the smuggler turned commander and draping her arms around his neck.

I trust you, she remarked. I think it's good that you're letting people go their own way. I also think it was a good idea to keep it covert.

The