Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to or mentioned in this draft and am most certainly not making any profit off of it.
Chapter 8
The admiral was almost positive of who the traitor was. The advisor had been absent since the landing procedures began. Either the advisor was genuinely trusting Hawke to land the forces, or there was something that he wasn't telling everyone else. Well, he knew how to handle this. He knew what would bring the advisor out of hiding. Hawke had a very solid lead on Sturm's coastal defenses. However, the admiral could feel the winds of change blowing. And like any good Admiral, he followed the winds; he let them fill his sails. With a grin on his face, and a skip in his step he began to reorganize the assault. Time to undo days of grueling effort.
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Lash was entranced by the technological wonders that her mentor had created. She flipped from page to page letting it all sink in. After she had studied his designs enough, she decided to give it a try. She took a deep breath and cleared her mind.
"Okay, how hard can this be? I just think something up, and put it on the page. Like James said, if he can build a death ray, then I can come up with something."
She began to focus on something easy. But what was easy? She had never done this before. She didn't even know where to begin. Tanks. They're big, square, and slow. Working with this principle, she finally had an idea. She quickly began to draw it into the notebook. When she finished, she held it up to admire her work… and quickly set it back down and began erasing it. It looked like a three year old with a mild concussion had drawn it and stuck it on her grandmother's refrigerator. She needed something easier. A Battleship. They're just big boats with a whole lotta guns.
"Battleships are more than heavily armed boats. You have to calculate propulsion systems, armaments, water displacement and don't even get me started on the targeting systems." James said knowing that she had forgotten that they were even on the same ship. She shrieked and jumped up out of her seat when she heard his voice.
"Don't do that! I am trying to reinvent war machines as the world knows them! I need quite to work!" She then realized to whom she was speaking and went pale…paler than usual."I'm sorry sir. It won't ever happen again, I swear!"
"For a moment, you almost sounded like a scientist. Is that the future of mechanized warfare?" James said looking at her first botched design. He raised his eyebrows over the rim of his glasses, gesturing an interest in the item. "It does show potential. However, I would work out some of the issues you have with the pen before going large-scale. I am feeling a lot of pain in this drawing." James said mimicking the psychic detectives seen on T.V. He turned and smiled. "I just wanted check on your progress. I'll be going now."
"Wait."
"Yes?"
"How did you know what I was thinking?"
"Psychology. I could tell that you were trying to think of any easy subject to get started on. I calculated that the thing that would most likely come to mind would be a battleship. There were a few subliminal suggestions that would make you think of it. First, you are on one now. Second, the rocking motion of the waves reminds you of the battle I had commanded with this battleship earlier. And finally, you have been around them, so you feel that you know all about them" James smiled. "It was once said that more experts are born from thirty minute documentaries than are those who dedicate a lifetime of study."
"Could you teach me that little trick? I'd love to be able to read minds!"
"I wasn't reading your mind, but simply analyzing common human though patterns under similar circumstances. I found the one that best fit, and hoped that I was right. That is the price of psychological analyzation: you either guess right, and impress everyone or you guess wrong and make a complete fool of yourself."
"I see."
"Well, good luck with your designs."
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"Hawke please report to the command deck."
Hawke shook his head; either things were going horribly, or things were going well. He laughed at the thought of things going well with the admiral around. He left his quarters and headed for the command deck, passing the young student's room. He could overhear him explaining something about psychology to the little girl. The advisor seemed to be getting quite close with his little protégé. He finally made it to the ship's bridge, and was greeted with a very bad sight. All of the work that he had done for the past five days had gone down the tubes.
"What the hell happened here? I had asked you to keep an eye on the battle for only three hours!"
The admiral turned to face him and had a look of distress on his face.
"There were some enemy reinforcements that came in about thirty minutes ago. I wasn't expecting them, so they managed to get the drop on me."
The lord never said anything about reinforcements. I was to take control of the landing zone, push all the way up to the beach's fortress, and then hold my position in order to meet up with the lord's forces. Could he be changing his plans without telling me? Why wouldn't he tell me about reinforcements?
"What do you want to do?" the admiral said interrupting Hawke's thoughts.
"There is nothing else we can do but try to take the LZ back. Go get the TA; I'm going to need all the help I can get."
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Jess, Eagle and Javier had just gotten back to Green Earth Headquarters after an exhausting eight-hour plane ride. They deboarded and headed for their respective offices. Jess sat down at her desk and looked up at the picture on the wall to her left. What happened to you? Where did you go? What did you do? Where have you been hiding all these long years? She thought on how the AN would ever be able to pinpoint his location; she had heard about captains that searched their own ships for hours and never found him. He seemed to be proficient at disappearing when he wanted to. Then she thought about his log book. Commanders were required to keep record of all things that happened on duty. This was so that the records could be modified into training exercises for future recruits. However, many commanders used the logs to record personal diaries and journals just as she did. Maybe he kept personal information in his computer logbook. Since he was discharged, his personal office was in a practically abandoned part of the building. Because of this, it was essentially undisturbed. She doubted that GE would have wiped the computer clean because of the wealth of information it possessed; his logs should be intact.