Fire When Ready: A Military Thriller (War of the Submarine Book 3) by R.G. Roberts

Author:R.G. Roberts [Roberts, R.G.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: R.G. Roberts
Published: 2023-09-25T16:00:00+00:00

Some said war saved the newspaper business.

Others, more charitably, pointed out that most newspapers—chief among them the Washington Post—had done a good job of reinventing themselves for the digital age. Between interactive content and embracing the twenty-four-hour news cycle, the Post was a frontrunner in the news business once more, particularly since their journalism and in-depth reporting remained unparalleled.

“This is a ridiculous tip, boss.”

Mark Easley sat back in his chair at the corner cubicle he’d fought for and arched an eyebrow at Dottie O’Brian. His editor, however, didn’t twitch one perfectly manicured muscle.

Dottie was always the picture of a well-put-together manager. She had to be. Mark, on the other hand, could afford to wear jeans, untucked shirts, and scuffed shoes. He shaved his dark stubble regularly, only because he hated the way it felt, but he was two weeks into an ill-advised mustache he was too proud to shave off after growing it on a dare. His sister said it framed his gray eyes well, but Mark was pretty sure that was a lie.

He stuck the end of a pen in his mouth as Dottie looked down at him. Mark contemplated putting his feet up on the desk but decided that might be a little rude. Dottie was on her way up. Making an enemy of her was just dumb.

“Define ridiculous,” she said.

“First off, I’m not a science guy.” He held up his hands before she could interrupt. “I’m a special interest columnist—I like meaty people issues, sometimes interspersed with military idiocy. That means this is so far outside my swim lane that I can’t even see the pool. Second, even a liberal-arts-loving guy like me knows that fusion is some whacko scientist’s wet dream, not reality.”

“You’re an investigative journalist.” Dottie crossed her arms. “I’m asking you to investigate.”

“I’m the wrong guy. I’d have to spend two weeks teaching myself the subject—or finding some non-existent expert to teach me—before I could write something every Tom, Dick, and Sherry could understand. Give it to Hank.”

Hank Carson twisted in his seat from the cubicle across the aisle. He was a heavyset, dark-skinned man with laughing eyes and glasses as thick as Mark’s fingers. He was also the best poker player Mark knew. “What’d I do to you, Mark?”

“You’d a science and technology nerd. Dottie’s got a scoop with your name all over it.”

“I was trying to give this to you, Mark.”

Mark waved a hand. “My mantlepiece is full enough. Give it to Hank. He can probably make it understandable, assuming this tip isn’t absolute crap.”

“It’s from someone—well, I can’t say who. But they’re reliable.” Dottie shifted on her three-inch heels to peer at Hank. “Do you know anything about nuclear fusion?”

“Some, sure. Enough to talk at parties, anyway.”

“Way better than me!” Mark laughed.

“All right, fine. Hank, please come with me. Mark…go write something about human tragedy, will you?”

Dottie turned on those expensive heels and led Hank into a conference room, ignoring Mark—which was just what he preferred his editors doing, anyway.

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