Free First Strike by Christopher Nuttall Page B

war. We will claw out our place in galactic society and prove to the predators out there that we are not to be trifled with.”
    He stood up. “I’ll be making a general broadcast to the fleet this evening,” he concluded. “Until then, study the operational plans and consider possible alternatives. We will reconvene tomorrow.”
    One by one, the holographic faces blinked out of existence, leaving Tobias alone with his thoughts – and his worries.
    There was one thing he hadn't told them. They all had orders to destroy the sealed orders once they’d confirmed them to their subordinates. What they didn't know was that the official orders would make it look as if Tobias had launched the attack on his own, without permission from higher authority. If the war went badly wrong, Tobias would be blamed, perhaps giving Earth some protection.
    It wasn't much, but it was all he had.
    And his own death was a small price for humanity remaining alive.
     
    * * *
     
    It seemed to be a rule that larger ships, with much more internal volume than their smaller cousins, had less room for junior officers, crewmen and Marines. Even   Wellington , over two kilometres long, crammed thousands of Marines into tightly-confined spaces. Some of the crew had even been forced to sleep on the hangar deck because additional technicians had been taken onboard before they’d left Earth. To Conrad, it all added up to trouble. There was little need to bring civilian techs onboard unless there was a truly desperate requirement for trained manpower.
    Regulations stated that each Marine had to spend at least two hours per day exercising in the ship’s gym and running laps through internal passageways. Like the rest of the ship, it was crammed with Marines, most performing press-ups on the deck or using muscle-building machines to give themselves a proper workout. Conrad was exchanging places with two other sergeants, allowing him to get in his own workout. No Federation Marine sergeant – or officer – could afford to skip his exercises, particularly in front of the men. Few would trust a sergeant who didn't lead by example, even if he was supposed to be supervising them at the time.
    He looked up as nine chimes rang through the ship’s intercom, calling them to attention. Throughout the gym, Marines stopped exercising and stood up, listening carefully.
    “This is Admiral Sampson,” a voice said. Conrad had met the Admiral once, back when he’d been stationed at Luna as part of the Naval HQ protection detachment. The Admiral sounded older than he remembered, picking his words carefully. “Ever since First Contact, ever since learning that the galaxy is filled with predators, we have known that we would one day have to fight for our freedom. What happened at Terra Nova taught us that nothing, but force would convince the Galactics to leave us in peace. Our time has run out. The Hegemony intends to claim our worlds and enslave the human race.”

    Conrad felt, more than heard, the rumble that passed through the massive compartment. Some of the Marines had relatives on Terra Nova, under the Hegemony’s jackboot. Others knew people who had family on the planet, or had watched in horror the reports filed by independent journalists who had been allowed to visit the occupied corridor. None of them would have tolerated the occupation any longer than strictly necessary.
    “There is only one option,” Sampson continued. “We must strike first, taking the offensive while we have the chance. Our target is Terra Nova, the world we claimed and settled before we were bullied into surrendering our people to alien oppression. We will liberate Terra Nova and teach the Hegemony that human slaves don’t come cheap.
    “It will be a hard war. I can offer no guarantees of victory, or even survival. But there comes a time when you have to stand up and fight, or submit to permanent slavery. Our fight – and our deaths – will buy every human a chance to breathe