Ballad of Broken Glass: The Great War, #2

By K. MacCabe

Peace has reigned across the Galaxy for over two centuries, and no one can believe that such an accomplishment nears an end. However, as dreadnoughts muster in the capital of the Earth Empire, and threaten her home nation of the Coalition, Sophia Trotsky finds herself at the dawn of war. Armed with the belief that she can make a difference the young naval intelligence officer finds herself a front-line combatant–where history cannot be made by one person alone.

When the bombs and shells drag minutes into hours, what truly is important becomes the only source of light beneath the shadow of war.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shatterpoint
• Release date: Aug 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201766405

K. MacCabe

I am a nerd – have been that way since childhood. So far, there is no cure. Ever since I was a toddler, I have wanted to write stories, and bring a universe full of wonder and beauty to an audience. Sure, once I dreamed of being the next George RR Martin, but let’s be fair, my beard is nowhere near epic enough for that. Today I want to bring you guys some awesome stories, epic tales, and maybe even a romance or two. You never know.

Book preview

Chapter One

SOPHIA TROTSKY

Screens of blue and green flickered around her, as her fingers danced across the keyboard, a majestic, Olympic ballet of her thin, nimble digits. Though her skills were beyond reproach, she found herself tasked with the greatest of all tasks–sifting through non-essential data. She was genetically engineered at the cost of billions, perfected by her father’s intent. All for him to ensure she served the most menial job the military could offer: screening images for potential threats. Important? Sure. The best utilization of her mind and skills? Most certainly not.

The room was an assortment of dozens of white and blue uniforms indicative of menial laborers, huddled over their glowing holo-screens doing the same thing she was. Sophia was part of the great machine, a cog in the wheel. No, not even that. A COG was an important part of any machine, and she was less than that.

Sophia Trotsky, daughter of one of the richest thorium tycoons this side of the galactic core, was utterly unimportant. It burned. It was insulting. The military was to smooth over her rough edges, huh? Sure, maybe in her father’s dreams. Maybe he saw his beloved daughter coming back all well-behaved like army brats should be. How trite.

She wanted adventure. She wanted to be in the shock infantry where things happened. Pirates were dangerous, sometimes. Not to her, though. No, she was the best shot in her class. She set the bull’s eye record, the platforming record, and the situation record, and here she was, at military fucking intelligence because Daddy dearest had plans. Of course he did. There was always something bigger. You were always a pawn in his game. So here she was, in a place where nothing ever happened.

Great job, Dad, a waste of a billion Glim.

Her frustration weighed on her as a heavy compression in her chest as she looked down at the newest image. Some system called SOL, whatever that was. Some Earth Imperial supersystem where the Coalition kept surveillance in case the evil empire mobilized for an assault. Like they ever would. The Empire was sinking beneath its own weight, overpopulated, underfed, and overconfident.

She enhanced the image of the Phoboen fleet yards. There, huge metal behemoths sat at the dock, over a dozen of them. The legendary Mythic Class dreadnoughts. Massive constructs of ceramic and steel, capable of pounding a planet into dust in hours.

Something was off; she leaned in for a closer look. That was odd, and if she thought it so, then chances were high it was. Why would twelve ships ever dock together? She examined further. In long rows of a segmented whole, soldiers marched in rhythmic precision into the monstrous warships. They were boarding them in the thousands: an army. Anything from an assault to fleet maneuvers.

Her heart skipped a beat. Something was definitely off. She enhanced the image, and displayed a group of soldiers, clad in the Imperial dress blues, holding the Campbell flag. The royal family. That was not a pirate raid or a fleet maneuver. Royal attachments were only for royal weddings, diplomatic envoys - and assaults.

Trotsky to Command. Her fists clenched as she uttered her ‘number.’ She was like some sort of cow to them, numbered and all. Data Analyst Five D.

Command. Continue, came the reply.

Image of the SOL system shows a mass of capital class vessels boarding troops. Advise as urgent.

How many? What classification?

Twelve, Mythic Class. There is a Royal attaché onboard.

Understood, we have retrieved the file. Please continue your duty, Miss Trotsky, the officer replied, and the line went dead.

That was it?

A minor acknowledgement of what was clearly a military action. They wouldn’t dare recognize the hyper intelligent teenager in their ranks; that might make her special or something. But she was special. She was engineered to be superior.

She rolled her eyes. Fucking adults.  To them, she was a pencil pusher. A dozen other fools had to look over the picture to ensure it wasn’t a false alarm. That was no false alarm. A genetically engineered IQ of two hundred and thirty was not required to figure that out.

On to her next task for the day for her military overlords. May they grow fat on her labor.

She flicked to the next image. The thoughts weighed on her as she considered what she saw. The ships had a destination. They weren’t there for show. No anti-pirate operation would demand such force. Wasn’t there a royal wedding somewhere? Perhaps that would explain such a massing of forces? There had been talk of the Selmarks pulling on their chains too, and the Empire would respond quickly to that. Why no one had yet wiped those blue skins from the face of the Galaxy was a mystery to her. But a response from SOL? That was odd to say the least and rubbed her the wrong way. She was, again, just a cog in the giant wheel that turned ever onward.

It clearly didn’t matter what she thought. Some stuffy brass Colonel would make the last judgement call. Never mind the fact that the Coalition border worlds, like Kadesh, were uncomfortably close to the Imperial Capital; it was important for procedure to take precedent. That never went wrong before.

She finished her shift and filed out for her lunch, where a familiar calm, deep voice came from behind her.

Sophia!

She turned toward that relaxed and smiling face. His stark white skin and sunny eyes seemed to brighten the hallway. The boyish man had a fiery glow to him and enough energy to power a starship. He threw his arms wide expectantly, and Sophia fell into their embrace. Warmth filled her and drove the concerns of the day from her mind. She loved seeing Sam. He was a bright spot in anybody’s day. The hug enveloped her in that familiar safe chamber that only family ever provided.

Not that her father knew shit about that.

She said, Hey! How’s home? I hope you gave your father my best. Sam’s father had practically raised Sophia while her father was gallivanting around the galaxy making more money than a mortal had any right to.

Of course! He is so proud of you! Sam patted her head before they broke apart. I saw so many star systems today, so many beautiful places I want to visit! There was a planet with oceans that covered over sixty percent of the surface! I bet they have beaches. I always wanted to visit one with Dad. You know. Their conversation continued as they ambled down to the mess hall together, where they grabbed some chow and sat down.

But the entire time they ate, catching up with each other after his leave, the dreadnoughts hovered in the back of her mind. It wasn’t her problem after all, right? Someone higher up would notice the royal banner. Certainly, they would act. She didn’t have access to the massive archive of information the Coalition kept on its galactic rivals. That required someone important. There was nothing for Sophia to worry about as long as the station wasn’t on high alert. The Coalition would know if an attack was coming–there was more than one branch of espionage–surely a spy in the field or a hacked COM would have alerted someone to the possibility.

Except history was replete with stealth invasions by the Empire. In fact, it was something of a historical meme. Her heart skipped a beat: Operation Phantom. The first act of the Empire, before an assault, was to launch counterintelligence operations to ensure no one saw them coming. Therefore, because she had seen them, it meant that the Empire wasn’t after the Coalition.

Right? Sure.

Relief flooded her gut with a warming rush. As much as Sam’s nattering was a mild nuisance in her ear, she enjoyed his company. Sophia glanced out the massive window gazing down upon the cratered horizon of Ramsey. COM 5 was built into an enormous mountain on the largest moon of Kadesh and was the central hub of intelligence for the stellar cluster. Atop an orbital elevator sat the gigantic navy base. Huge battleships and cruisers sat in rows.

The sight of all those ships brought the dreadnoughts to mind again, and of course this was something they forbade her to talk about. So she didn’t stop Sam from running his mouth like a Red Space drive on overload. Not that she minded his chatter today. It had been weeks since she had been in his company, and to be in his presence again always made her feel welcome, as annoying as she knew he was.

And then I’ll dive in from the cliffs above and there will be a big splash! Sam made the gesture with his hands, accompanied by water sound effects. What about you, when you get your leave?

Sophia shrugged. She would go home and see her father. Oh, what joy. How wonderful it would be to see the man who ran an entire nation and then sent her off to the military to undo all his parenting errors. I don’t know.

We should plan leave together next time, get you out of the house. I could introduce you to some guys I think you’d like–or girls. Sam shrugged and sipped on his root beer.

Boyfriend? Another burden she would have had to carry around, like the military backpacks she hauled about boot camp. Maybe.

The screen above Sam’s head showed a news anchor, listing off the events of the day. Sam droned on about his dream vacation, once their military service was over. The one they’d go on as a family. Sophia didn’t really have a family. She had money. Apparently, that was supposed to do. However, Sam was one of the most precious people in the world, one of the few Sophia didn’t despise, but he, too, came with a myriad of flaws. One of which was he incessantly yammered. If she were being honest, Sam was the closest thing to family she had, so he could yammer all he liked. Her mind faded the sound of his voice to background noise as the holo-screen caught her attention. Sophia read a line of text that scrolled beneath the anchor.

Imperial trade deal fell through this morning. Corvus Campbell made a public plea for food and medical supplies, for the mismanaged Imperial social systems. The prince offered a high price. Director Ellen Cross holds a press conference. States ‘she will not trade with Imperial dogs. They stand in opposition to every freedom we hold dear. Let them starve.’ 

Of all the idiots who could have taken her father’s place, Ellen Cross, the anti-imperialist, had to win. No one liked the fascist regime led by Emperor Salazar Campbell. But human rights violations were one thing to call the Empire out on. Making them desperate was downright idiotic. Like poking a giant with a hot branding iron. The result would help nobody, and it could be catastrophic.

Then it clicked. The dreadnoughts.

The Empire must have suspected the trade deal to fail. They were desperate, and Director Cross had just lit the fuse.

The image flashed across her mind again. Twelve of the most powerful warships ever designed by human hands filling with soldiers. Sam’s voice became a rhythmic symphony to the beat of Sophia’s heart. She could almost see the massive ships above the station already. Their guns raining destruction all around her. They were coming, and the excuse was a war of mercy for a starving people.

Oh, by the Great Tree, she cursed.

I know, right? Sam clapped his hands together. Father was so proud!

Sam, I need to go see the Colonel. Sam’s dream would have to wait.

Why?

Sophia fled without answering. She raced down the cold, white, glossy corridors. However improper this was, she had figured out something Intelligence already should have known. The reason there was so little evidence was that the Empire was launching Phantom Protocol. It had to be. They were coming. Ellen Cross, the deranged idiot that beat her father in the last election, had driven the military superpower of the galaxy to desperate measures. The entire nation should be prepared. How did no one see this coming? She broke through the door of the Colonel’s office where three men sat, all of them looking up to pierce her with their gaze.

The Empire is coming, sir, she gasped. They are preparing to attack.

A stiff silence hung in the air as the three regarded her. Their faces were hard to read, but she knew what they said. Sure, it was inappropriate to barge in on a superior officer like this, but this was important. Too important to leave to her direct superiors, who couldn’t find their bottom without a map and a flashlight. The Empire would strike, and they had to listen.

Miss Trotsky. Colonel Bell put his pen down and stood up. Your concerns are noted, but if you will excuse us, we have important matters to discuss.

Her concerns meant no more to the Colonel than dirty laundry. Concerns about life as they knew it, coming to a screeching halt. Noted my ass, she thought.

You will do something, right? Sophia knew she should have kept silent, but they had to listen. How many lives would perish if she was right, and no one listened. It wasn’t Bell who had the genetically engineered brain. Statistically, he should listen to her.

Bell’s eyes narrowed, Dismissed, Trotsky.

No! This is too important! The trade deal has made them desperate...

I will let this pass, once, Lieutenant, on account of your father. Do not breach the chain of command again. Bell looked back down at his holo-display and waved Sophia away.

Sir, Sophia pleaded.

No, lieutenant. I have spies on the Glass Capital, I have spies in their military brass, I have surveillance of their entire fleet. They are not attacking. Now. Dismissed. He spoke the words through clenched teeth.

She saluted and stormed out. How could he be so stupid? They wouldn’t listen.

It was not like she could tell them she was the brightest of the bunch. She was father’s transgression in bio-genetic gene therapy. Not something she could exactly advertise. What else would those ships be doing? Her heart was beating fast; she had to monitor those ships. The implications landed on her like an anvil. War was coming to the Coalition. It felt like ice pumped through her heart. They wouldn’t listen to her no matter what, no matter how correct she was. She needed proof. Something that even the idiot ape brain of Colonel Bell’s couldn’t dismiss.

This was why people like her were forgotten in history. The big men at the top, with their arrogant superiority, were always slow to acknowledge the warning and the work of their intellectual superiors. It was a fact in history that the warriors remained in legends, and people like her became footnotes.

An hour later, her mind was still churning. The water poured down her body, cloaking the world in a mist of welcoming warmth. The hum of the station’s air compressors was drowned beneath the relieving rush of water as she tried to wash away the worry.

It was possible that she was wrong. She had to be. Maybe Bell was right. He had a spy network that stretched all the way to the Scutum-Centaurus arm. She had to trust in her command structure, just as they taught her. Perfect or not, experience counted for something. At least she hoped so.

The droplets of water bounced off the ground, rising to chest height before crashing back to the floor. Ramsey, the moon they lived on, had about half a G, making it the densest moon in several parsecs. It also meant gravity tugged lighter, which led to fascinating displays of physics.

Golden Blood! The voice was shrill and cut the air like a serrated blade.

Sophia clenched her fist at the blue-skinned bitch’s voice from behind her. Now she had the lovely honor of dealing with this Geksheeshan darling. A constant pain in the ass. Visiting defeat upon an enemy was simple: ignore them.

Unless they wouldn’t let you.

Hey, I’m talking to you, thin skin, the voice cut again.

Two racial slurs in a row, how lovely. What, Zhou?

The base only has so much water. You gonna hog it all?

I just got in. She had lost track of time, but the blue skin could wait her turn.

Yeah, and I’m on duty in twenty.

Oh? A guilt trip? How original. Perhaps Zhou could work on her own time management skills. Sophia sighed and turned off the water. Was it necessary to bunk next to the infantry? It was a constant reminder of what she didn’t get to do. And even worse - they thought they had the toughest jobs on the station. Standing by in case the unthinkable happened. Either way, the military seemed to think this was ideal, bunking infantry side-by-side with intel.

Fine, I’m out. Sophia pulled the curtain aside.

Zhou stood there, stripped down to almost nothing. Beneath her skin were twisting lines of developed muscle, built for the kill. Her lips curled as she clicked her tongue. Echolocation was a Geksheeshan’s primary means of sight. Meaning the towel Sophia was wearing did little to obfuscate Zhou’s piercing gaze. The violation of the Geksheeshan’s glare stripped her of her dignity.

Never going to make infantry with muscles like that, Golden Blood, Zhou said. I could help you. Maybe some one-on-one training.

So you can torture me? Sophia snickered. I’ll pass.

Maybe it was Geksheeshan physiology, or maybe it was real, but Sophia swore Zhou looked disappointed. The Geks were misandrist by nature and had a poor opinion of humanity. If she were being honest with herself, Sophia didn’t have a particularly high opinion of them either. How the Coalition had functioned with a minority like the Geks was anyone’s guess.

Whatever, Trotsky. Her silence had lasted but a beat.

Sophia gathered her things and slipped into the lockers before the crazy soldier could toy with her further. She put on her off-duty uniform. It was a simple set of white shirt and black skirt with three golden cuff links to convey her rank.

When she stepped back into the hallway, full of people marching past with purpose, the world seemed to slow. The moments of the day danced inside her mind. The massive warships prepping for an invasion, Director Cross pushing an anti-Imperial agenda, and her lack of protocol as she burst into the Colonel’s office.

Something was coming. The Empire had a prolonged history of stealth assaults and anti-espionage expertise. Her command structure may very well find themselves victims of insidious Imperial tactics.

She had to find out if she was right and stop the Empire if she could. That picture and those ships were the key to understanding what she’d seen, and more importantly, proving she was right to the station commander.

Chapter Two

CORVUS CAMPBELL

Corvus said goodbye to mother earth almost forty-eight hours ago. Salazar was explicit in his orders–the war had already begun. The Coalition had struck the first blow, even if it was only a political one. There was no arguing that point. The Empire was prepared. They were always prepared.

For several thousand years the Empire had stood as a testament to humanity’s might, and now Corvus intended to uphold that might. It was not royalty’s place to feast while their populace starved, especially for Corvus. It was the way of things. A whore’s blood ran in his veins alongside the purity of royalty. That earned him influence, not wealth.

Now he set out to prove himself in an assault on an unsuspecting target. How brave. Truly a heroic task. But he would do it for his family. Anything for them.

A loud, shrill whine cried out behind him. His eyes flashed open, and he turned around. Over his large mahogany desk floated a green, oscillating orb. He swiped it down, and it burst into the image of a beautiful woman, whose black hair swirled around her fair face, framing her brilliant blue eyes. She smiled and it was infectious. It always was, and a smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

Abigail, he whispered.

I wanted to catch you before you jumped. She reached out to him and he made to grasp her hand, but their hands swept through each other with a shimmer, the distance between them ever growing as his ship pushed itself through the depths of dark space.

You did. We jump in eight minutes, he replied. Have the rations arrived?

Her arms lacked the girth of a healthy individual, thinned through starvation. Time for the Empire was running out.

Yes. She turned around. Connor!

A small child appeared in a flickering ball of green light. He had Corvus’ black eyes and his mother’s nose.

Hey there, big guy.

You’re coming home soon, right, Dad? The sadness on his son’s face caught Corvus by surprise. It hurt deep, like an icy fire consuming him.

To leave his son behind was the worst travesty. It ate at his mind like a black hole consumed stars. He had a job to do, a simple job. He would do it and come home to the bright eyes and laughing heart of his child. For him, for his future, and for his mother, Corvus would unleash hell among the stars. There was no end to a father’s love, or how far he would go to ensure his family had a future.

I’ve only just left, silly. He forced a smile onto his face. I have a colossal task ahead of me, and I will see it done. Then I’ll come home.

Be careful, Corvus. His wife’s gaze leveled with his. Whatever you are doing out there, whatever god-awful thing your father is forcing upon you, it’s not in your best interest. You’re just a tool to him.

Everyone is a tool to Father, Corvus corrected. It makes him a good Emperor.

And a negligent father.

That too. He nodded. But you will not starve, and that is more important to me, even more than my life. I will complete his task, and if the fates allow, then I shall return.

I love you, she whispered.

I love you both. Their time ran out, and the signal closed.

He missed them already. He offered a prayer to the endless universe that it might conspire to bring him home one day. He stood, straightened his uniform, and attached his sword. They would jump, fly through dimensional space, and attack. A fleet of a hundred ships with one inescapable goal, to take what they did not have through force. When negotiations failed, there was only ever one recourse.

War.

Chapter Three

SOPHIA

The heavy metal door swung towards her, groaning on its hinges. The thing was so insanely thick that not only would it stop most bullets, but it could also act as the outer hull of a destroyer. Talk about paranoia. Behind the massive monstrosity lay a line of bunks on either side, inset into the heavy metal walls of the base. No windows, no pictures, nothing but stale, hard metal to oppress the soul. That such tiny, cramped accommodations existed at all was unconscionable. That she was to live in them was worse. This was the officers’ bunks, too. Her childhood playroom was larger than the entire bunk space. How anyone could function under such slum-like conditions was a mystery.

Perhaps her father wanted her to learn some all-inclusive life skill. Like she wouldn’t be able to buy her way out of any shit storm she found herself in. She swallowed her bitterness, and clambered into her narrow bay, pulling her data console from the roof above her bunk and flicking it on.

For a moment, she hesitated on opening the datapad. She had access to all the data she needed to check on her findings. The Empire had used Operation Phantom at least three times throughout history. Their war with the Convention, just two centuries ago, began that way. They defeated the Geksheeshans almost a thousand years before that, using a similar tactic. Then Nina Campbell had used it on the Lekthermans in the early 33rd century Gregorian.

Despite history being a fair base for Sophia’s argument, she had to make Command listen to her, because apparently while they trapped her in tiny quarters, her superiors were twiddling their thumbs in utter incompetence. It was sickening. Those who failed to learn from history were doomed to repeat it, or whatever. Bell couldn’t see the blatantly obvious. They should listen to her, even if all life was equal. The doctors designed her to be perfect; she was never wrong. Well, statistically, she was far less likely to be wrong than right. If that was the caliber of a Coalition Colonel, she needed a promotion.

Her finger hit the control, and she brought up the images. The satellite data had updated. She pulled up the Phoboen shipyards. Nothing. The ships were missing. What? She flipped through the catalogue of images from earlier in the day: nothing. The image she had sent to command had been deleted. Who would have done that? Her heart froze solid, and a pit opened in her stomach where her own terror flowed in like a river into a lake.

Quickly she accessed the main library and downloaded the newest batch of photos for observation. SOL system: Phobos. Nothing. The dry docks were hanging in space, empty. Mars’ green and blue surface shimmering back at her, mockingly.

How could they just vanish? The images updated every twelve hours. Her hands danced across the controls. Every model of the Sol system flickered to life. She went through all the images, examined every satellite. Nothing. Had she imagined them? Or...

A chill filled the air around her and coursed in her blood. How much time would they have if