Wolfenheim Rising (Jack of Harts 5)

By Medron Pryde

Malcolm McDonnell grew up in a world before Contact, when we still thought we were alone in the universe. Then the Peloran brought medicines that nearly wiped out diseases, and extended the human lifespan into the centuries. They helped us study advanced technologies, and expand our colonies hundreds of lightyears from Earth. It was a golden age for mankind, but the Peloran were not the only ones to make Contact.

Four years after the first Shang attacks, Malcolm had used his contacts to make the Wolfenheim Project a reality. He had the funding he needed. He had the ships he needed. He had the people he needed. He was ready to take humanity’s message back to the stars.

No alien power would drive us from our destiny. We were coming for the stars. We were coming for them.

Then the people funding the Wolfenheim Project found out they were funding the Wolfenheim Project and demanded their money back. That was when things started getting interesting. Malcolm McDonnell was not the kind of person to give up when the going got rough, you see.

First Printing, October 2013
Second Revised Printing, August 2017

• Language: English
• Publisher: Medron Pryde
• Release date: Aug 29, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370249480

Medron Pryde

Hello, my name is Medron Pryde, and I am the creator of Jack of Harts.Jack of Harts is a place I hope you like. It’s a place where we did things right, where we built a world we would be happy for our children to grow up in. It’s not perfect. There is conflict. But by and large, we made the hard decisions, and we did what needed doing. We made a good world. I know today that stories tend to go much more dark than that, dystopian futures where we have destroyed our world or enslaved our populations. Places where even the Good Guys are more dirty and hairy than they are clean-shaven and happy. Jack of Harts is not like that. It’s not a world where somebody takes a step forward to fix something and gets knocked two steps back. I don’t like those worlds. I don’t want to spend a lot of time imagining them.Jack of Harts is based in many ways on what I grew up wanting. I was raised in a Christian home, told to do onto others as you’d have them do onto you. I watched Bonanza, where the Cartwrights helped anybody who came along needing it. On Superman, I watched the Big Blue Boy Scout (even if he was in black and white) fighting the Bad Guys each week for Truth, Justice, and the American Way. On Quantum Leap, a man lost in time always found a way to make the world he dropped into each week a little bit better. On Star Trek, a bunch of people I liked traveled through the stars to go places that no man had been to before...because it was there. In Battlestar Galactica, Buck Rogers, and Star Wars, the plucky outnumbered heroes came back swinging with a smile, a joke, and a hearty laugh, and they never gave up hope that they could find or build a better world to live in. These are the stories I grew up with. These are what I enjoy, and these live on in my optimism.In Jack of Harts, I try to capture that. The characters of Jack, Charles, and Aneerin, just to name a few, are all people who lived in a world before The War came. When that happened, they aren’t the people who crossed the border to hide from the draft, the people who gave up hope and found a bottle or a needle to hide behind. These are the people who stood up, walked into a recruiting office, and volunteered to defend their ways of life. They may cover it up by saying they’re just in it for the money, or because that person over there just needed taking care of. But don’t let that fool you. They are the best of us, a reflection of the true Big Damn Heroes who grab a rifle, a pistol, and a bulletproof vest (or maybe a fireproof suit) to protect our freedoms and our lives everyday.Jack of Harts is a place where I like to think these people would like what they see. It’s a place I enjoy going to when I write, with people I’d like to share a beer with. I’ll keep it that way. I hope it’s a place you’ll enjoy reading, and I hope you come back each day or maybe each week to read some more.So have a good one, and I hope to see you again.Medron Pryde

Book preview

Malcolm winced as the destroyer lurched, and three of her escort fighters simply disappeared, but the survivors stayed in formation and continued to fire at the incoming stream of missiles. She was an Austin-class destroyer, the best American destroyer ever built, and she would not go down easily. But she would go down if someone didn’t do something about it. Which made it a very good thing for her that someone was about to do something.

All fighters, attack pattern Alpha, Smith transmitted.

Malcolm glanced at Dawn and she nodded back. She was ready. He smiled as the grav generator powered up again, the main fusion drives fired at maximum power, and they effectively slammed on the brakes. Blue fusion torches filled space with kilometers-long blue beacons of light, broadcasting to everyone with eyes that they were coming.

But the Shang didn’t have time to do anything as the fighters closed into firing range. It was a perfectly executed high-speed attack coming out of complete darkness. Malcolm continued to chuckle as he imagined the Shang crewmen trying to come to terms with the idea that suddenly they were the ones in danger.

All fighters, fire for effect, Smith ordered in an iron tone.

Hello, boys, Malcolm said with a nasty chuckle as the fighters opened fire. "We’re ba-ack."

By

Medron Pryde

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Books

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Forge of War

Angel Flight

Angel Strike

Angel War

Wolfenheim Rising

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Short Stories

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The Gemini Affair

WOLFENHEIM RISING

A Jack of Harts Novella By

MEDRON PRYDE

Copyright © 2013-2017 by Medron Pryde

Smashwords Edition

Cover background designed by Stephen Huda under contract

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Printed in the United States of America

First Printing, October 2013

Second Printing, August 2017

jackofharts.com

facebook.com/jackofhartsonline

Dedication

I would like to dedicate this story to everyone who has served in the Armed Forces. It is thanks to all of you that we are here now, to enjoy this form of entertainment in the safety of our homes. I would especially like to thank every Marine aviator of Marine Fighter Attack Squadron 112. The Wolfpack in World War II, the Cowboys in recent decades. The Cowboys in this story are named in your honor.

I would also like to thank everybody who has helped me write this story, from those who brainstormed with me, proofread it for me, edited it, created art to bring it to life, or simply declined to roll your eyes when I nattered on about this story I was writing. Whether family or friend, whether I have met you in person or only over the Internet, your help and support is greatly appreciated.

Wolfenheim Rising

Table of Contents

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

VIII

IX

Author Afterward

Our mission was to launch a colony mission farther away than any previous colony. We called it the Wolfenheim Project. We had all the money we needed. We had enough ships to make the trip in security. We even managed to recruit the right colonists. We had all the support we needed. What could possibly go wrong? No, I didn’t ask that question. I wasn’t that stupid even then. But maybe I thought it a bit too loudly.

I

Malcolm McDonnell faced the mirror and old black eyes gazed back at him from the thirty-five-year-old face that hadn’t aged a day in the last century. It was the legacy of the Peloran Treatments, a life of extreme health and a greatly slowed aging process that extended their life spans into the centuries. Malcolm and a few thousand other people had stopped aging altogether, bodies frozen at whatever age they were until the day something finally managed to kill them dead. They’d gained more brothers and sisters in the years since, but the Ageless club was still the most exclusive club in the known galaxy.

He bent down from the mirror and cupped his hands in the warm, soapy water, bringing it up to splash his face. The water felt good and he splashed himself again, washing the morning grit from his eyes. When his eyes finally opened once more, water dripped off the short, black hair atop the angular, wet face in the mirror.

The black hair hadn’t always been there. A man experimented with any features that were easy to change when he lived fourteen decades, and some that weren’t. He’d sported every hair color he could imagine, several he hadn’t known existed, and had tried hairstyles from bald to waist-reaching lengths. He’d left his hair as close to natural as he’d seen it in decades this year. Cropped short from all angles, it left his large ears easily visible for all to see; but it was the strong nose that dominated the sight in the mirror.

He’d never felt the need to change either of them, even if he had the money to afford it. They were trademarks of the McDonnell family, a message to anyone in the know that here stood a person of worth. More importantly, he liked the face that looked back at him. That left him well ahead of the curve, as far as he was concerned.

Malcolm shook his head back and forth, spraying droplets of water throughout the very small bathroom. Then he left the room and scanned the quarters that weren’t much larger than the bathroom. A single bunk too small for his 193-centimeter frame was currently recessed into one wall, and he could easily see where two more bunks could slide out above it. The original cabin had been built to carry three Shang, making it almost large enough for one Malcolm McDonnell to turn around in without banging his elbows on something.

He never would have been able to stand in it, though. The Shang were the shortest humans in the known galaxy on average, rarely topping out at above a meter in height. They built their ships to that scale, which made boarding actions against them a complicated affair. But when the Peloran captured numerous Shang cruisers during the first Battles of Alpha Centauri, they’d parceled them out to the major Western Alliance member states and then used a few for their own purposes. The Peloran started by cutting out every other deck so normal humans could walk around with ease. That hadn’t done anything good for their structural integrity, but Malcolm doubted that would ever be an issue as long as the former warships never tried to return to their old life.

They were a space station now, a yard complex using the powerful Shang fabricators built deep into their cores to provide the Western Alliance with some of the most advanced weapons the Peloran could share. Or refitting warships and fighters that needed an upgrade to match their alien enemies. The thrumming of the powerful fabricators reverberated through his feet, telling the tale of the ceaseless work the station performed to keep The War effort going strong.

That constant demand made it all the more amazing he was here at all. He turned away from the small bunk, and stepped over to the small closet that had to have been retrofitted in after the change in ownership. He pulled a black suit out, nodded at it in approval, and began to slip into it, one limb at a time. Then he checked himself in the mirror again, straightened the suit and tie, and left his quarters with a smile on his face.

A redhead in the corridor turned to aim green eyes at him, her black dress shifting in time to the swift movement as she smiled at him. Hey, Mal.

Waiting for me, I see, Malcolm said and chuckled at the cybernetic intelligence. So it was a black dress day today. The improved eyesight that came with his particular reaction to the Peloran Treatments picked out the way the particles in the air caught on her dress and exposed skin in a way that no hologram could mimic. Her true robotic avatar stood before him, and he heartily approved of the vision before him. I guess that means you have plans for me?

Dawn laughed. Oh, I always have plans for you, she whispered and nodded down the hallway.

That sounds either vaguely ominous or vaguely promising, Malcolm said, his tone carrying a slight amount of amusement.

Dawn actually snorted as she began walking down the corridor. Nothing ominous about it. I just always have plans.

He followed her swiftly, not wanting to be left behind in the rabbit warren of corridors that snaked through the former warship. Are you going to tell me those plans?

Nope. Her face when she turned to gaze down another corridor looked like it was carved out of pure innocence.

Well…par for the course then, Malcolm said with a snort.

They’d first met five years ago, shortly after Charles brought him into the project. It hadn’t been the Wolfenheim Project back then. That name was one of the changes Malcolm had thrown at Charles over the years. And Dawn had been one of the first changes that Charles threw at him. He’d never seen her coming. Years later, she still kept him guessing every day.

Penny for your thoughts? Dawn asked with a raised eyebrow before leading him down another corridor.

Malcolm snorted and shook his head. Let me make some change for you, he said with a smirk. Wouldn’t want you to feel cheated.

Dawn laughed, throwing her head back in true amusement. I think I can afford it.

Malcolm nodded, considering her carefully. The first cybernetic intelligence had been created over two thousand years ago by a Peloran who simply wanted someone to talk to, someone to keep a long and lonely life at bay. Now Dawn was right here, leading him through the corridors of a station built out of the hulks of shattered Shang cruisers, just wanting to talk to him. Once again, he wondered how his life had become so complicated.

Why did you choose to work with me? The words came out before he could think twice about the question.

Dawn just looked back at him with a smile. That question again? You must have woken up on the wrong side of the bunk today.

Malcolm shook his head and forced a snort out. "There’s no right side of a Shang bunk, he spat out with more vehemence than he meant to. Bloody midgets."

Now, now, Dawn corrected him with an amused look. Don’t be rude. Isn’t the proper phrase ‘vertically challenged’ or something like that?

Malcolm sniffed and continued to follow her, but the question still burned in his mind. Untold thousands of her brothers and sisters fought aboard warships and fighters throughout human space against the Shang and their allies at this moment. And Dawn was here, helping him pull together the resources he needed to launch a new colonization mission. He wished he knew why she and so many of her siblings had come here to do that.

I’m here because my sister asked me to help you, she finally said, explaining in the same patient voice with which she always answered that question. This really is an important project you know. For all of us, she added with a smooth smile and turned to step through the hatch opening beside her.

Malcolm followed her through and stopped as he recognized an observation blister looking out over the central yard complex the ring of former warships surrounded.

Normandy rested inside the yard girders, her clean lines and smooth hull gleaming in the sunslight of the Alpha Centauri trinary star system. She was one of the old Republic-class light carriers, nearly four hundred meters of double-hulled, classic first-generation gravtech beauty. She looked like two old pre-Contact rocket engines, attached to a long cylindrical hull. The rocket engines were actually her fighter bays, each one designed to carry thirty-two of the old Blackhawk fighters that had been state of the art when the Republics sailed on their maiden cruises. The four true fusion engines that had made her one of the fastest ships of her day were anchored to the aft engine section of the main hull.

She really is a beautiful ship, Dawn whispered, a fond note in her voice towards the ship that would be their ride out of this war zone very soon.

They just don’t make them like they used to, Malcolm agreed fervently.

Even with parts of her hull peeled off by the yard mechs, she was beautiful. Malcolm missed the ships like her, the ones that proclaimed to everyone that they were sexy, sleek, aerodynamic forces of nature designed to look good as they did their dirty work protecting humanity. Or at least the Western Alliance. Well, maybe the United States of America. Or if he was being particularly pessimistic, maybe the Republic of California had intended to keep her. Whatever the mindset of her original builders, she was a good ship, if old, and the stream of Peloran technological upgrades had already made her a great ship. She’d proven that two years ago when she flew into battle between two Los Angeles-class heavy cruisers, but she’d taken heavy damage just like the rest of the scratch-built squadron that had driven the Shang off that time.

How much longer do you think she’ll be? Malcolm asked with a nod towards Normandy.

Dawn smiled at the ship. They finished putting the new engines in last night. So two, maybe three days to finish installing the new targeting systems and reattach her hull plating. Then we’ll need to perform another shakedown cruise to find out what the yard mechs missed, she added with a grimace.

Malcolm nodded in agreement. No yard, even a fully automated Peloran yard, could ever get everything right the first time. Some components just failed through no