Free Heart of Steel: Book II of the Jonathan Pavel Series by J.S. Hawn

rose half out of his chair as he shouted, causing Jonathan to cringe not the least because the Admiral’s yelling caused a bolt of pain to shoot through his head.
    “DAMN YOUR IMPERTINENCE !!”
    The Admiral glowered at Jonathan for what seemed like a full ten minutes, and then resumed his seat the color draining from his face as the storm of his rage subsided.
    Shaking his head and lighting a new stogey, Hopper looked at Jonathan, “You know Pavel, I wouldn’t have had you pulled in if I wasn't irritated.  You’ve shown yourself to be very, very good at leading spacers into combat. You saved Valiant , and stopped the invasion of New Helsinki single handed, by most measures you are a goddamn hero, and I know you’re not a novice at these political games son, so why do you insist on playing with men who so far outclass you?”
    Jonathan did his best to straighten. “Sir, I was drunk, depressed, and out of options. There is no excuse sir, but if the Admiral thinks I was going to pass on the opportunity to support my friend during his proposal the Admiral is mistaken, sir.”
    Hopper looked at Jonathan, then briefly something resembling a smile ghosted across his lips.
    “You know lad there's a pool on whether you're the luckiest or unluckiest bastard in the fleet. Right now, I’d put money on both. You're going to be wasted at Kratos, but who knows? Wars rarely go as predicted. if there's going to be a war at all. At the end of Fury’s deployment, perhaps we'll find a way to put you back at the sharp end.”
    “Permission to speak freely sir?” Jonathan asked.
    “Go ahead,” Hopper replied.
    “Sir, I am gratified that you were working to see me restored to an active command, and I am truly sorry my actions screwed it up.”
    Hoppers mouth quirked and his eyes flashed before he replied.
    “Glad to hear I am appreciated. If you head up to command, your orders should be cut and waiting for you. Now get the hell out I’ve got a fleet to run, and Pavel...”
    Jonathan stopped and turned back.
    “The next time we speak it had better not involve any panny-anny political bullshit, now get.”
    Jonathan saluted and exited as quick as he could trying not to slam the door. He strode past the waiting senior officers who filed back into Hopper’s office and stalked up the stairs. His head pounded, his stomach roiled, and in his soul rage boiled and churned. He should have left well enough alone in retrospect, or at the very least he shouldn't have dared the old bastard to do his worst, but he did and he had. Jonathan knew he needed to head up to operations, but instead he turned and left the Admiralty and was confronted by a bright and clear day. Fresh air wafted and Solaria’s sun burned bright in the sky. For most, it would have been a relaxing sight, but suddenly Jonathan’s terraphobia flared. His brow grew sweaty and his heart raced. He managed to make it to the edge of the staircase before he puked into the bright greenery below.
    “Oy... you all right sir?” Jonathan turned to look at the Marine guard who had asked. He was  a lanky, straw haired lad. Despite the Premier’s Own surrounding the building in full combat kit, the Marine sentries were still in dress uniform.  The Solarian Marine Dress Uniform consisted of white trousers and white hat with a black jacket, and a thick red stripe running up either side of the trousers.  A third thick red line encircled the hat with the Marine corps sigil - a star cupped by a wreath and mounted by a Crag Dragon. In the dragon's mouth was a banner which read, ‘Fidus ad Ultima’ or loyal to the last. For some reason the sight of that young man eased Jonathan’s anger and cooled his anxiety.
    “I am fine son, thanks. Just a bit too much of a good night last night,” he said.
    “Oh aye sir, shall I call you a medic?” the lad asked.
    “No thanks private, um Dalbur.”
    “Sir.” The young man saluted and resumed his post allowing Jonathan to gather himself and