Fleet Action (wc-3) William Forstchen (fox in socks read aloud .txt) 📖

truth." He hesitated. "I have to tell the truth, that you launched an attack after knowing that the initial cease fire had been agreed to. To do anything else would be dishonorable."

Tolwyn smiled.

"You're a good officer, son. I've always been proud of you; I know I always will be."

He extended his hand and Jason took it.

"Let's hope I'm wrong about this armistice, but I know I'm not."

CHAPTER TWO

Jason Bondarevsky winced from the glare of the lights. Damn, how he hated the press. He had endured "the treatment" before when he had brought Tarawa back to Earth for refitting after the raid to Kilrah. The press swarmed over the ship, poking cameras in his face, asking the same asinine questions over and over again, probing far too deeply into parts of the raid he simply wanted to forget. When one had finally hit him with a question about the death of Svetlana, asking how he felt while watching his girlfriend die, he had to be restrained from punching the reporter's lights out, a fleet PR officer, all smoothness and charm, separating the two.

The press madness flared up again when Jason was presented with the Medal of Honor and yet again when the absolutely ridiculous holo movie about his raid, First to Kilrah, came out. The film was a humiliating embarrassment, especially since the plot had little to do with the actual raid, spending most of its time focused on his doomed affair with Svetlana, with half a dozen steamy scenes padded in. It still made him boil that the holo spent precious little time on the hundreds of others who had fought, sacrificed, and died with him. He wanted to take the damn money the producer had given him and jam it down the lying scum's throat after seeing the film, which he had been promised would be shot as a straight forward documentary honoring those who had served. The only satisfaction he got out of the whole fiasco was in donating every dollar he earned from the film to a scholarship fund set up for children of the Marines and naval personnel lost in the raid.

And now he was stuck under the lights again, all because he had taken a wrong turn while looking for a bathroom. The same lousy reporter who was far too curious about Svetlana had seen him first and rushed over, the others moving like a herd of cattle when the word spread that "the guy they made the movie about," was present as a staff officer for the armistice conference.

"So whatya think of the war ending? It's Bondevsky, isn't it?" one of them shouted, aiming his holo recorder at Jason's face.

"That's Bondarevsky," Jason said quietly, remembering how his old captain O'Brian had always mispronounced the name.

"Yeah, sorry. So tell us what you think?"

"First of all, negotiations for an armistice do not mean that the war has ended. There's a big difference between an armistice and formal peace, he tried to explain patiently. "Other than that, no comment," and he tried to shoulder his way through the crush.

"Still hate the Kilrathi, is that it? Seems like you fleet officers don't want peace," a sweating beefy faced reporter shouted.

Jason looked back at the fat-faced reporter.

"I'm a captain in the fleet. I'm a professional, I try to do my job and leave the hating to others."

"Even though they killed your lover, that Marine, Susan wasn't it?"

He hesitated, wanting to turn and belt the reporter in the face, or better yet strap him into a tail gunner's seat and take him out for a mission to see what it was really like. Though he hated to do so, he turned away and continued down the corridor, shouldering his way through the crush.

"Military's gonna be out of work, that's what's got them pissed off," he heard a reporter sneering.

He turned, knowing he shouldn't, but he simply couldn't take it any longer. He put a finger into the man's face.

"What have you been doing the last couple of years?"

The man looked at him defiantly.

"Working for the holos."

"Where?"

"On Earth. United Broadcasting."

"While you've been sitting on your fat butt and grinning at the camera I've watched hundreds of thousands die. I've seen entire continents on fire from a thousand warhead bombardment, I've watched carriers bursting silently in space, a thousand men and women spilling out, their blood boiling in the vacuum. I've heard the screams of my comrades as their fighters burned, and they were trapped, unable to eject. I've lost more friends than you'll ever have, you belly crawling excuse for a worm. So don't you ever dare say to me, or anyone else, that we want a war. We know what the hell the price is while all you know is how to stuff your face and bloat your pride."

He turned and stalked off, hearing more than one reporter chuckle and give a word of support, but most of them looked at him with a superior disdain, as if he was an arrogant ignorant child who had just thrown a tantrum.

A Fleet public relations officer slipped in beside Jason, grabbed him by the arm and hustled him along.

"That wasn't very smart, sir," she whispered in his ear, while at the same time smiling to the press, and quickly moved him back down the corridor.

"Go to hell. I'm here as an aide to Admiral Tolwyn, but I'm not going to be insulted."

"Then stick to your job as an aide, things are bad enough as is with the damned press without you making it worse," she hissed in his ear.

Jason forced back an angry retort while the other officer seemed to instantly shift gears, smiling, holding up her hand to the press, repeating that they'd have a story soon enough and finally hustled Jason through a door.

"Next time you need to find a bathroom, sir," the officer said quietly, "for heavens sake, don't wander into the press area. Those bastards are like sharks looking for blood."

"Well, where the hell is the bathroom?"

The officer