by P. R. Adams
“We have?”
“In technical papers, for years. In prototype, at least in the last decade. It’s a few concepts, really: signal pass-through, infrared masking and interpolation, data exploitation.”
“And what does that mean, please?”
“It means that for ships like the Clarion, which rely exclusively on signals to process what’s out there, fake data confuses targeting. Remember how you said you saw a blur when you looked through the mask’s optics, but the turret gun couldn’t get a lock-on?”
“Yes.”
“That’s because you were getting signals that relied on analog data and the gun’s targeting was counting on purely digital data.”
“Analog meaning my eyes?”
“Exactly.”
“My eyes aren’t going to be able to spot a ship moving at the acceleration and distance we’re talking about. We have to rely on detection systems for targeting.”
“Which is why a system like this becomes a problem for ships.”
“For all ships, though. It’s not a real advantage if both sides have the technology. It’s just a pain in the ass.”
“Right. Your odds of landing a hit with a weapon go from slim to astronomical. But there’s an upside.”
“There is?”
“Those systems use power. Lots of power.”
“Thank you, Chief.” Benson disconnected.
She thought back to the globe that now rested in her cabin aboard the Clarion and to what all the holographic images meant. Being in command required making tough choices. Even before entering the academy, she knew that. It meant ordering actions that would kill enemies—often, hundreds of humans at a time. It meant selecting people for hopeless missions.
And that’s what she had to do if her people were going to escape.
Benson connected to Lieutenant Durall.
He chuckled when he answered. “Congratulations, Commander!”
“Congratulations?”
“For…beating the odds.” His voice was like dry leaves crumpling underfoot.
“Oh. Yes.” Less than a fifty percent chance of survival. “The credit goes to you.”
“Yeah. But I’m beating the odds, too, right? Re—” He gasped. “Resuscitation.”
“Like I promised.”
“Right?”
“About that, Lieutenant.”
“You—” He groaned. “You aren’t backing off on that promise, are you now?”
Her throat constricted. “The Republic needs something from you.”
“Something more than I already gave it?”
“I’m afraid so.” She gave the pilot a moment to let that settle in. “Lieutenant?”
“What is it?”
“The Azoren cruiser. If we break off engagement, it will pick us off when we try to flee. No one lives.”
“So we blow it up.”
“We can’t. It’s going to win an engagement of attrition, and that’s what’s going on right now.”
“Then we leave a ship behind to keep it pin—”
“The only ship that could last a second against it alone is the Pandora, because of its stealth system, and it has no weapons.”
He made a wet, gurgling sound, like a strained swallow. “So what are you asking for?”
“The Azoren captain has followed the same basic pattern in evading our attacks. There’s no fear of our ships, and for good reason: We can’t lock on with their technology.”
“Can’t help you there, Commander.”
“But you can. You’ve got a shuttle full of explosives. It’s like a giant missile, enough to overwhelm a cruiser’s shields at close range. Accelerating like it is, even getting a small chunk of debris in its path will be devastating.”
“Debris meaning…me. Once I blow myself to pieces and take the shields down.”
There was no answer to that.
Durall laughed, but it was cut short by another wet gurgle. “Might be…academic, Commander. I don’t know that I’m going to be around much longer.”
“We can maneuver your shuttle remotely. I wanted you to know, though.”
“Wow. Thanks.”
Reyes frowned. She tapped the cockpit console display: They were coming into the battle zone. They were going to have to decelerate to stay clear of their own ships and to reduce the odds of the Azoren cruiser taking shots at them. Already, the chances of a stray blast hitting them had increased.
Durall sighed. “Fuck. I was so sure I’d done it.”
Beat the odds. Benson stared into the dark of space. “I’m sorry. I really am.”
“Blaze of glory, I guess.”
“You’ll be remembered, Lieutenant. I’ll pass your accomplishments on to—” She swallowed. “—Monica and Tonya.”
“That’s something, I guess.”
“They’ll have more than a posthumous medal.”
“Sure. You…um, you mind doing…the remote piloting? I think I’d…like to sort of just…”
“Get some rest, Lieutenant. You’ve done tremendous work.”
“Thanks. Lieutenant Durall out.”
Benson’s shuttle entered a slow deceleration that pushed the commander forward against her harness. She braced the command tablet against her lap and connected to the control systems of Pulsar S2. It took a minute to calculate the optimal intercept for the shuttle, another to pass along to the Pandora crew what it needed to do to hide the shuttle, then another to set the detonator to trigger at the optimal point.
They would have one chance.
When she was done, she accepted a connection from McLeod.
“Commander Benson. I understand one of your shuttles has entered the battle zone.”
“It has, Colonel.”
“Commander Scalise is incensed about this. She insists you’re interfering with her ability to command.”
“Please pass along my praise of her performance so far.”
The colonel chortled. “I think I’ll leave that to you, actually.”
“In about fifteen minutes, you’re going to detect an explosion. I’m sending Commander Scalise the coordinates now. When that explosion happens, the Azoren cruiser is going to be vulnerable—shields down, maybe some damage to the hull. It might be for a second; it might be for a minute. You must have all ships get a lock-on to the cruiser in that instant and fire.”
“Commander Scalise believes the proper approach is to have our weapons—”
“Colonel, as the officer in charge of this operation, I’m asking you to inform her of this requirement.”
“I see. She’s been resistant to challenges.”
“Present it to her as an opportunity to bring an end to this battle.”
“Uh-huh. Well. I don’t think that’s going to change her ways, but perhaps it’s time I reminded her that she’s subordinate to you.”
“Unless you want me to, sir.”
“No.” He blew out a deep, long breath. “No, this is just one of the duties I have to undertake in this role.”
“Thank you.”
“I hope you’re right, Commander. Because if you’re wrong and we somehow survive—”
“I know.”
Benson transmitted the targeting data and timing to Scalise and the rest of the ship captains, then sat back. Durall’s shuttle was still accelerating, carrying dozens of worthy heroes to obliteration instead of the promise of a chance at resuscitation. It felt like murder.
It felt like what Martinez must have experienced when he’d committed the Pandora to a suicide mission.
And it gnawed at her like nothing ever had before.
When Gadreau sent a connection request, she accepted, even though her cheeks felt like they were on fire and tears welled in her eyes. “Captain, thank you for—”
“What the hell is going on with Pulsar S2?”
“I think that’s, ‘What the hell, ma’am,’ Captain, but I applaud your concern.”
“I’ve got eight of my best Marines in that shuttle, m
en and women who are guaranteed to see resuscitation after years of proven performance!”
“Unfortunately, Captain, as you know, resuscitation is never guaranteed.”
“What are you doing, Commander?”
“What I have to do, Captain. Nothing more. Nothing less.” A voice in her head assured her this was true, but it sounded hollow and false.
Gadreau killed the connection. He would reach out to McLeod or maybe Patel next. Maybe threats would come in. Demands.
Orders.
She thought of shutting her communicator down, but that would be cowardly.
What was needed for now was accountability. She was murdering her own people.
She was taking command.
Her palms grew damp and her mouth dry.
Reyes pointed to the console. A giant heat blossom flared in the distance.
Pulsar S-2. The detonation. Durall.
“Commander?” Reyes tapped her helmet. “Lots of chatter. They’ve got sensor reads on that cruiser. Lock-on. Shields are down. It’s damaged.”
Data flowed in from the Clarion: The task force had registered numerous hits.
The cruiser was speeding away.
Benson bowed her head and allowed herself to cry.
Reyes cleared her throat. “Clear to board the Clarion, ma’am. We’re heading home.”
“Thank you.”
Benson put her helmet and facemask back on. “Wake me when we’re aboard, please, Ensign. I’m feeling very tired.”
“Of course, Commander. And, um, if it matters, thanks. For saving us.”
It was probably the only thanks that Benson would ever hear. She had battles ahead of her with Gadreau, with Patel, with Scalise, and who knew what other people and factions. But Benson would be ready for them. She wouldn’t back down or accept anyone trying to change the meaning of what had been done.
They were fighting in the shadow of truth now, and she was going to shine a light on everything, even if it destroyed her.
* * *
THE END
Acknowledgments
Shadow Play is the second chapter of The War in Shadow. The series explores a combination of space opera and military science fiction in a way that I hope will entertain readers of multiple genres.
The story is actually the first piece used to construct the opening arc. It was based on a very extensive plot I’d developed some years ago. The plot was as you see here—a rescue operation of a vital intelligent asset behind enemy lines. Because of the nature of wayward intelligence agents in War in Shadow, the particulars of the asset were changed. Once again, the story of people plunging everyone headlong into a war is the core.
Intelligence analysis isn’t just a discipline, it’s a charge that requires honesty and objectivity. I spent enough time around intelligence analysts during my career to realize that wasn’t necessarily something that was built in. When the system allows people to see what they want to see, people die. Lots of people.
If you enjoyed Shadow Play, I hope you’ll pick up the rest of the series. Also, please consider posting a review and letting friends know about the series. Word of mouth and reviews are pure gold.
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For updates on new releases and news on other series, please visit my website and sign up for my mailing list at:
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http://www.p-r-adams.com
About the Author
I was born and raised in Tampa, Florida. I joined the Air Force, and my career took me from coast to coast before depositing me in the St. Louis, Missouri area for several years. After a tour in Korea and a short return to the St. Louis area, I retired and moved to the greater Denver, Colorado metropolitan area.
I write speculative fiction, mostly science fiction and fantasy. My favorite writers over the years have been Robert E. Howard, Philip K. Dick, Roger Zelazny, and Michael Crichton.
Social Media:
www.p-r-adams.com
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