Joe Devlin At the Enemy's Hand: Space Academy, #4

By James R. Thomas

In Book Four of the Space Academy Series, the Intergalactic Space Force seeks revenge after being attacked by a mysterious enemy. Have the Tourians joined forces with a new adversary to exact their own vengeance? Should the ISF strike back? Meanwhile, Joe struggles to fight off his wartime demons while preparing to embark upon a clandestine mission in search of his loved ones. With the power of the Black Medallion in his hands, this undertaking may lead to Joe's own demise—if its influence does not destroy him first. Come join Joe Devlin as he starts his journey, but hurry! Things will get rough fast with paranoia and treachery around every corner.

• Language: English
• Publisher: James R. Thomas Publishing
• Release date: Aug 19, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393249245

James R. Thomas

Author James R. Thomas takes young readers into the world of space travel, teaches them the importance of conservation, and tackles the topic of helping children cope when a parent is deployed in the military. Many of his stories were inspired by his military service and the challenges his own family faced with his deployments. The author also brings his love of science fiction to life and teaches children to be socially conscious about our planet. In his books, James addresses a variety of life issues for young readers. His goal is to help children build an awareness of the world around them and to empower them to reach for the stars. Through his character, Joe Devlin, children can explore space travel of the future in the intergalactic world of the Space Academy series. This series was inspired by the author’s deployment to Afghanistan, during which he had promised to write a story for his son, whom the character, Joe Devlin, was based upon. James’s conservation series teaches children the importance of keeping our planet healthy and safe while showing them that every single person, including the reader, can make an impact on the planet, good or bad. In addition, James has published two stand-alone books. One covers the importance of telling the truth and the other teaches children about allergies. To round out his versatility as an author, James tapped into his own life experiences and crafted a series to help younger children cope with the deployment of a loved one. James also has expanded internationally, with his books now published in French, Spanish, Portuguese, and Italian. To round out his versatility as an author, James tapped into his own life experiences as a United States Naval Commander, Naval Pilot, and prior Marine and crafted a series to help younger children cope with the deployment of a loved one. James is a graduate of the United States Naval Academy, with a Bachelor of Science in aerospace engineering, and he holds an advanced degree in business administration. He is married with a son and a daughter and resides in Chesapeake, Virginia. When he is not writing, he enjoys spending time with his family, playing guitar, and flying.

Book preview

1

WOUNDED

ISF Unity’s enormous superstructure glowed heavily against Bandor’s night, creating a halo effect when seen from space. Its brilliance made it impossible for Cadet Second Class Joe Devlin to distinguish any artificial light surrounding the towering blaze for a great distance. Joe had been flying classified training missions that experienced officers would have been jealous of, known only to the top brass.

One month had passed from what had become recognized as the Battle of the Destiny Space Station, and the center core of the Unity’s hull still burned as hot as if it had just crashed. Only smaller sections of the ship, which broke off during its fiery descent through the atmosphere, lay cool throughout the countryside. The scene of the wreckage deeply pained Joe; it was a graphic reminder of his government’s failed strategy against the Tourians, and a symbol of a new-unknown and a very formidable enemy.

Joe rolled his fighter slightly to the left as he rounded Bandor toward ISF Valiant, now guarding the operationally dead space station. The station lay in ruins in orbit above the moon, Crya, with the vessel’s two center vertical columns barely attached to its upper and lower rings. Maintenance ships and personnel were working around the clock to keep the station from further falling apart. Massive explosions during the fight had separated one of the two hangars from its moorings, setting it adrift to crash on the moon. The other hangar, along with the personnel habitation rings below it was peppered with blast holes of all sizes. A few were so large that you could see huge swaths of the moon directly through the station.

"Valiant, Adepto One inbound for Hangar Bay Three," radioed Joe.

Adepto One was his best friend Angel’s idea of a covert call sign for the enemy’s ship that they had captured before the battle. He wasn’t fond of its meaning—to acquire something, or in this case, capture it. Joe thought it was too obvious for an adversary that could be listening in on any communications; however, the Intergalactic Space Force, the ISF, agreed with his navigator Angel.

Joe slowly approached the Valiant from its stern aspect. It was one of the two remaining battle cruisers in the fleet, though combat scars strewn over its exterior surface, showed that the ship had been in a fight for its life. A large section of the hull’s outer compartments, once filled with weapons batteries, crew berthing, and other equipment, now lay open to the void of space. The ship may have been still functional, but barely by Fleet operational standards.

Joe personally believed it was a heap of junk, wrecked beyond repair, and now it was being patched together with salvaged scrap parts; some only slightly better than the previous ones. But it was the Fleet’s hope—and thus Joe’s . . . that the ship would be again made ready for the fight when called upon.

Joe waited patiently for Approach Control to align him with the final course for the hangar dock.

Standby, Ready Alert, responded Approach Control.

Joe was caught off-guard by the warning. However, his heart began to pump blood hard, preparing his body for a fight. Adrenaline rushed through his veins; this had unfortunately become a familiar feeling for him in combat. He turned toward Angel in the navigator’s seat, only to find that he wasn’t there. Joe yelled over his shoulder, Angel, get back into your seat, we have an alert.

There was no answer.

He hollered louder, so Angel could hear him even from the lavatory—but still received no reply.

Joe shook his head in frustration; he needed to respond back to Control. Roger, Approach Control. State the reason for the alert?

No response was received.

Over the past month, Joe and Angel had become acquainted with the foreign ship’s controls, testing the vessel’s capabilities. For some reason, ISF only wanted them to fly the ship along with Commander Johnson, who rode with on select flights. Joe didn’t think this was normal as inexperienced cadets, especially with fleet pilots available, but he did not want to ruin a good deal, with unlimited flight time. No pilot would ever turn that down; at least not a sane one.

Joe checked the computer for Angel’s location; it only showed one life sign on board—Joe’s.

Stop messing around, shouted Joe to make sure his voice reached the back area of the cockpit. If Angel was fooling with him, he didn’t think it was funny. Though his friend did have the worst timing for jokes.

Valiant’s defensive guns started firing in all directions. Some shots barely missed Adepto, but Joe couldn’t tell what the cruiser was shooting at.

Valiant was alone.

ISF Hurakan, Valiant’s sister ship, had been deployed to an unidentified location to spread the fleet out, making it harder to destroy the ships if attacked. When the enemy had simultaneously struck the Bandor Space Station and the ISF base on the planet Raspur in the Tourian Void, it forced headquarters to redeploy its entire force back to protect the homeland. However, the rumor was rapidly spreading that Hurakan had actually been sent out to scout the Void for enemy forces, since no intelligence was available on whether or not they still remained.

Angel, stop fooling around and get up here. We’re under attack—by something—I think! Joe struggled to see what the cruiser was firing at. Nothing was making sense around him: no Angel, and no visible enemy.

Cannon fire filled the emptiness around Valiant, appearing to Joe to be coming out of thin air, piercing the cruiser’s shields. Explosions emanating from within the ship pressed outward, quickly disappearing into the airless void of space. The vessel started to break apart, helpless as its guns fell silent. Joe watched as the cruiser exploded, engulfing his ship in a fiery blast, his life and hundreds of others instantly extinguished.

***

Joe awoke in a flash from the dream, speaking with an outburst of a gibberish dialect, his heart thumping out of control. He looked around trying to make sense of his surroundings, confused for several seconds as to where he was, while his mind tried to catch up to his body’s defensive reactions. With his location finally anchored, he knew he was safe in his bed onboard Valiant—as safe as he could be for the moment. Joe’s heart slowed to a less hurtful beat, with each thump calmer than the previous one.

Joe, nightmares again? asked Angel. Time to see someone. It’s happening more lately.

Joe just looked at him. How could he answer a question that he was still trying to come to terms with, yet tell someone else about—even to his best friend? Deep down he knew, but he was still in denial of the root cause. Nevertheless, he quickly shook it off, attributing it to fatigue from operations the previous day. Everyone was pulling double duty to repair the damages from the attack. He just needed more time to adjust.

We have a mission briefing in forty minutes, replied Joe, hoping that would change the subject. Let’s get ready.

Okay, Joe—another time.

After Joe dressed, he stared into the mirror at himself while he waited for Angel to finish getting ready. Six feet two inches in height with broad shoulders, his light brown hair, blue eyes, narrow jaw, and slender legs helped frame his body. He had always looked similar in appearance to his father, but now his face muscles seemed just as tense from the stress he carried.

When Angel was finally ready, he exited the stateroom while Joe stayed, quickly lifting his pillow to retrieve an item underneath. When the door slid back open, he put the item behind his back, tightly wrapping it in one hand as Angel reentered the room.

I thought you were behind me?

I am, replied Joe, trying to make him feel he was overreacting. As soon as Angel turned, Joe quickly placed the magical medallion around his neck, sliding it under his flightsuit to conceal its presence. A sensation of power filled his body, washing his worries momentarily away.

They walked down the dimly lit corridor toward the hangar. Power to light the ship was at a premium with all the repairs going on. One man working on a ladder below an access panel awkwardly tried to stand at attention on one of the medal rungs when he saw the cadets’ approach. The whole ladder swayed as he attempted to salute.

That’s starting to get old. I’m only a cadet, said Joe. Plus, that was dangerous. He’s working off the ground . . . and to stop in the middle of it—crazy!

You’re a legend in everyone’s mind, replied Angel.

It’s for you too—goof! You’re the one who figured out the code to drop the hangar’s shield.

Maybe, but look at the way they stare at you. It’s the same respect given to an admiral, said Angel.

They walked through the door into Hanger Bay 3. Sparks fell from the ceiling as the repair crews fixed the support beams in the air dock. When the maintenance personnel saw them, they stood at attention, stopping their work. Joe could see Master Repair Specialist Dumar working on a shuttle. The last time he had seen him toiling in a hangar, Mandy had surprised Joe at work as he assisted Dumar on the space station, and Joe had agreed to meet her for dinner the next day. Previously, his detention had kept him from regularly dating her, and before they could meet up for dinner, she was captured.

Joe’s anguish made him reach down and tightly grasp the medallion through the flightsuit. It wasn’t until Angel started to look at him inquisitively that he realized what he was doing.

Is something wrong with your chest? probed Angel. He watched Joe flatten his hand against his torso, smoothing out the suit’s material flush with the medallion.

Joe quickly waved at Dumar to distract his friend, but he wondered if Angel knew that he hadn’t turned it into Command. Joe was torn between his loyalties to his friend over the ISF. He wanted to tell him about its true powers, but Angel would want him to turn it over, and Joe wasn’t sure what they would do with it. Besides, it was addicting—it gave him a god-like feeling.

Dumar’s hands were full, so he nodded a hello and then yelled at the crewmembers standing at attention to get back to work. He was the senior repairman in the hangar and shouldn’t have been doing any labor himself; however, he used the excuse of being undermanned since the attack to keep turning a wrench. He loved to work.

Remind me not to get on his bad side, said Angel.

Joe, in slight disagreement to the comment, turned partly toward his friend, looking out the side of his eyes. You can’t blame him if all his people always stop working every time when we walk through the hangar. They had no choice, since the passageway around the outside had not been repaired yet, still open to outer space. The repair crews had higher priorities, and the repairs to the weapons systems took precedence over their convenience.

Joe and Angel squeezed their bodies, one at a time, between Vipers. Vessels of the fighter and shuttle types were crammed into every free hangar space. With each bay designed to hold one squadron of Vipers with their supports ships and equipment—four bays on each cruiser, ISF’s redeployment of one of the two remaining squadrons from ISF Unity into the air docks, was causing the maintenance crews headaches as they tried to work on vessels that were almost literally piled on top of each other.

After Dumar ordered his workers back to work, the hangar returned to a frenzy of movements. Joe and Angel quickly worked their way to the far end, ducking below fighters and around maintenance equipment in their way. The briefing room was on the other side of the hangar, and they didn’t want to be late. Admiral Pearson was leading the brief and rumors had spread around the fleet about a pending mission of reprisal. The Bandorians were getting impatient, but Joe wasn’t sure that retaliation was the answer. Maybe when he was a new cadet, but not now—it didn’t feel right.

As they entered the passageway through the rear of the air dock, the briefing room on the right side slowly started to reveal its contents through a diagonal view of the door, with several officers carelessly blocking the sight within.

Angel quickly stepped through and into the chamber; however, Joe was frozen in place by his own apprehension. He took a deep breath, trying to settle his nerves from his earlier nightmare. He dreaded the thought that all the room’s eyes would be solely focused on him and Angel, two inexperienced cadets amongst the fleet crews. However—with reluctance—he followed Angel’s path.

2

DESTINY

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Joe and Angel squeezed against the wall, while trying not to bump into a group of senior officers standing in the room’s entrance. Still, even with the cadet’s closeness, none of the officers took even the slightest notice to them. They were out of place among the fleet officers, each with decades of service under their belt, and this made the boys feel small in comparison.

The briefing room was purposely lit with a blue luminance, throwing off only enough light to see one’s way, with the focus on the far wall. They descended a metal grated walkway, which dropped every few feet as it supported eight adjacent sub-level rows of seats. Two pilots followed the cadets into the row behind the front, finding their places in the middle next to them. A couple of navigators to their right were busy meticulously looking through mission data sheets. Ahead of them, the main display monitor anchored the room, spanning the entire front wall in height and width. Glass in appearance, it brimmed with electrical light connections that added to its glow.

Joe, isn’t that Dumar sitting in the front? asked Angel. Wasn’t he just behind us in the hangar?

Joe could see Dumar looking through his data pad, his lips mouthing unspoken words as he focused on some task. I think the question is, why is he up there next to Commander Johnson! But before he could continue his thought, he was abruptly interrupted.

Attention on deck, shouted Johnson, causing everyone in the room to instantly pop up with the awareness of the order. Admiral Pearson walked down the grey metal walkway, his flight boots clanging as the grates reverberated from contact with his heels. He held the pressure of the entire fleet on his shoulders, heavy and uncertain—looking for his guidance.

He was a man in his early fifties, grey-haired with heavyset wrinkles in his forehead, both of which were caused by the constant stress of command over the last decade. Easily over six foot three, he towered over