by David Weber
“Alpha translation in sixteen minutes, Sir,” Captain Shirley Shreeyash announced.
“Thank you, Captain,” Admiral Winslet Tamaguchi replied. Tamaguchi was known for his formality at the best of times, which the last several months hadn’t been, and he turned from his staff astrogator to his ops officer.
“Any last-minute concerns, Captain Levine?”
“No, Sir.” Captain Bradley Levine shook his head. “All units report full readiness.”
“Excellent.” Tamaguchi’s smile was wintry. “Hopefully this will be a simple matter of demonstrating our determination, but if it turns ugly, I want it settled quickly and with as little collateral damage—or casualties—as possible.”
“Yes, Sir,” Levine acknowledged, and watched Tamaguchi return his gaze to the master astrographic display, reflecting on what the admiral hadn’t said.
The latest intelligence from home suggested the Manties had found a way to spread the SLN still thinner by fomenting rebellions in the Protectorates. And while the Włocławek System wasn’t a protectorate—It hasn’t been one, at least, he thought—its location at one end of the Włocławek-Sarduchi warp bridge made it particularly valuable. A relatively wealthy, prosperous star system in a strategic location and possessing a natural resource in high demand on the luxury foods market was worth a half-dozen typical Verge systems. In the normal course of affairs, Frontier Security would be salivating at the internal crisis which gave them a chance to add Włocławek to the protectorate fold.
Unfortunately, affairs weren’t normal at the moment, and if the Manties were behind what was happening in Włocławek—and the system’s proximity to their new Talbott Quadrant would make installing a suitable puppet government of their own highly valuable to them, as well—it was likely they’d have arranged a naval presence to back their cat’s-paws’ efforts. There was no hard evidence that this was anything but a purely internal neobarb squabble, and it certainly sounded to Levine like one more bunch of neobarbs selling out their fellows for personal benefit. But no one had ever said that sort of situation couldn’t be manipulated by outsiders—OFS had proven that often enough, for God’s sake!—and Tamaguchi would’ve been more than human if he wasn’t worried about possible Manties in the underbrush. Particularly given how poorly things had turned out in every previous confrontation with them.
Except, of course, the ops officer thought sourly, for that idiot Byng’s first engagement. Leave it to one of Battle Fleet’s finest to screw the pooch for all the rest of us that frigging thoroughly. Pity no one else has managed to catch a handful of Manty destroyers in orbit with their wedges down! At least the Manties made sure he wouldn’t screw anyone else over!
And at least all of Tamaguchi’s battlecruisers carried the new Flight Two Cataphract, with almost twenty percent more powered range and marginally improved warheads. Levine had been amazed by the original Cataphract’s enormous range…which had made the discovery that Manticoran missiles’ out-ranged even the Cataphract an even more stunning blow. Fortunately, all available evidence suggested the Manties’ truly long-range birds were pod-launched, and they seemed to be really big bastards, too.
He would have been much happier if that evidence had been conclusive and not simply the best available. Unfortunately, the SLN had a dearth of combat reports from ships which had faced the Manticorans in combat, since none of those ships had returned to base to make the aforesaid reports. They did have Admiral Liam Pyun’s report from Zunker, though, and the survivors of the Saltash debacle seemed to back Pyun’s account, although no hard sensor data had been available to support their account of events. For that matter, the limited information from Spindle pointed in the same direction. And if Pyun’s report was accurate, the Manties had launched their “demonstration salvo” at thirty million kilometers. That was damned near twice the range even the Flight Two Cataphract could manage in a continuous burn, but the Cataphract was a two-stage weapon. They could delay separation of the second stage for as long as they liked, then send it into the attack at twice the accel reported out of the Manties’ weapons. They’d have to accept a lengthy ballistic segment, and targeting would suck at such vast ranges, but they could by God reach the bastards.
But only with Spatha-level laserheads, on the tube-launched birds, he reminded himself. Even with the throughput upgrade, that’s not a lot of punch against anything above cruisers or battlecruisers. If we run into one of those damned pod-laying wallers of theirs, we’re going to get hammered with one hell of a lot more damage per hit than they are. But against cruisers and destroyers, we should be able to go toe-to-toe if we have a big enough advantage in tubes.
And then there were the two dozen pods of Flight Two Cataphract-Cs tractored to each of BatCruRon 720’s units. They carried the same laserhead as the Trebuchet capital ship missile, and any damned Manty that got hit by one of them was going to know he’d been nudged.
Bradley Levine smiled thinly as he turned back to his own displays, and steadfastly fought the sense that he was whistling in a graveyard.
* * *
“Alpha translation in five minutes, Sir.”
“Very well.”
Captain Ephron Vangelis acknowledged the report. “Anything more from Flag Bridge?”
“No, Sir.”
“Thank you.”
Vangelis hadn’t really expected to hear anything more. Admiral Tamaguchi had explained his intentions, and he wasn’t the sort to go back over something he’d already covered. Nor was he the sort to encourage warm, fuzzy relationships with his subordinates. Some flag officers had a close rapport with their flagships’ captains; as far as Vangelis could tell, Tamaguchi didn’t have a “close rapport” even with his wife. He did have a record as a tough, tenacious commander, however, and that made up for a lot.
So did the improved missiles in SLNS Triumphant’s magazines and the tweaks to her point defense software. Vangelis found it difficult to credit the missile velocities which had been reported, although he couldn’t quite decide whether that was because they seemed so ridiculous they couldn’t be true or because he so desperately wanted them not to be. If they were true, he was none too confident the software tweaks would be enough, although at least the computers weren’t likely to simply reject the solutions because they were so far outside the programmers’ assumptions.
According to a friend of his in Fleet Acquisitions, simulations at System Development had confirmed Keeley O’Cleary’s contention that the missile-defense systems aboard Sandra Crandall’s ships had done just that. And according to the same friend, Admiral Polydorou had carried out those simulations—under protest, since they were so “obviously unnecessary”—only at the direct orders of Fleet Admiral Kingsford when he replaced Rajampet Rajani as CNO.
Vangelis found it difficult to decide which of those reports were more depressing.
“Do you think the Manties are really behind this, Sir?” a quiet voice asked in his earbug, and he smiled thinly.
“I don’t know what to think, Lance,” he told his executive officer. At the moment, Captain Richardson was on the backup bridge at the far end of Triumphant’s core hull. “One thing I do know is that it’d make sense from their perspective. In a lot of ways, it’d just be an extension of their shutting down the warp bridges by seizing the wormholes, when you think about it.”
“I guess you’re right, Sir.” Vangelis heard Richardson exhale. “You know,” the XO went on after a moment, “I’m sort of torn between hoping it is the Manties and hoping it isn’t.”
“I imagine we’re all feeling a bit like that,” Vangelis agreed.
And even if it isn’t the Manties, Tamaguchi’s going to hammer these people flat, if that’s what it takes. Partly because Kingsford’s emphasizing how much we need every revenue source we can find, but even more importantly because Tamaguchi wants to send a message. If the Manties are behind this, he wants anybody who might think about throwing in with them to…reconsider his options. And even if the Ma
nties aren’t behind it, it’ll be proof Frontier Fleet’s still on the job, no matter what’s happened to Battle Fleet.
“Alpha translation in one minute, Sir.”
* * *
“I told you this was going to end badly, Tomasz,” Hieronim Mazur said coldly. “It turns out I was right.”
“I assume you mean your new masters are here?” Tomasz Szponder replied. “How does it feel to fit your own neck for their dog collar, Hieronim?”
“One hell of a lot better than you’re going to feel shortly!”
“I don’t suppose you’ve pointed out to them that the closest you have to an actual member of the government up there on Piłsudski is a single unelected aparatczyk?”
“He’s close enough,” Mazur said cynically. “Admiral Tamaguchi seems to think so, anyway.”
“I suppose any Solly knows a serviceable political whore when he sees one,” Szponder said, but he also felt an undeniable chill.
The long-dreaded Frontier Fleet task group had made its alpha translation into Włocławek over forty minutes ago, and only thirteen light-minutes from the planet. There’d been plenty of time for its commander to contact the legal government in Lądowisko, and the fact that Mazur knew that commander’s name seemed to indicate he’d been talking to someone in Włocławek.
The fact that it wasn’t Tomasz Szponder or Szymon Ziomkowski indicated he had no intention of discussing his purpose here with the people actually on the planet.
Oh, he’ll “discuss” it with us…eventually, Szponder thought bitterly. When he hands down his surrender demands and tells us exactly what he’s going to do to us if we don’t cave in. I suppose the only question is how badly he’s willing to damage the golden goose to get the Sollies’ hands on its eggs.
He kept his upwelling despair out of his expression as he faced Mazur over the com, but it was hard, and deep inside he cursed the Star Empire of Manticore. No doubt they’d anticipated exactly what was about to happen—an additional diversion of the SLN’s strength, something to tie down a little more of the League’s combat power. And he’d fallen for it. He’d walked straight into it, and he’d taken his entire planet—his friends and family—right along with him.
He wondered how long they expected the ground fighting to take? How many days or weeks of delay they anticipated out of the torrents of blood his people would shed before they surrendered their weapons and their world?
“Well, Hieronim,” he said, “I imagine your new masters will be along to collect their property shortly. You might tell them they’ll need quite a few Marines to do it, though. Oh, and by the way, we’ve placed demolition charges in every SEOM installation on the planet.” He smiled thinly. “You might want to think about that, because we’ve done the same thing for all the rest of the łowcy trufli likely to swill at the Sollies’ trough with you. Your new friend Admiral Tamaguchi probably won’t thank you a lot for handing him a planet that needs to be completely rebuilt before it starts pouring any credits into OFS’ pockets.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” Mazur sneered. “And even if you would, those proles down there with you wouldn’t. They may be stupid, but they’re smart enough to realize they’d be blowing up their own livelihoods right along with it!”
“That’s the point you’ve never understood, Hieronim,” Szponder told him quietly. “It’s not ‘their’ livelihoods. It never has been, because of people like you. People who systematically make sure they’ll never have a chance to be more than the ‘proles’ you keep calling them. People who think all ‘proles’ care about is licking the hand of someone who treats them like cattle, not human beings who know their lives could be better. People who want to have a voice in how their world’s governed. Who want their children’s lives to be better than theirs—not snuffed out by some stupid fucking oligarcha who gets away with mass murder just because she’s your cousin. Those people you have so much contempt for are angry, and they understood the risks when they decided to support me, to support what the Ruch Odnowy Narodowej was always supposed to be. So, yes, they are ‘stupid’ enough to fight—and if the only way they can fight is to destroy everything you plan on taking away from them again, they’re ‘stupid’ enough to do that, too. You think about that over the next hour or so…not that it’s likely to do you much good now. Those Solly bastards won’t rebuild one damned thing for you, Hieronim. Your only value was to be the turnkey, to hand over an intact infrastructure, up and running and ready to start producing for its new owners. Only you’re not going to be able to, are you? When the dust settles, you won’t have a pot to piss in, and Sollies aren’t known for generosity to people who can’t follow through on what they promised to deliver.”
He smiled savagely and cut the connection.
* * *
“I believe I understand the situation, Mr. Miternowski,” Winslet Tamaguchi said.
The transmission delay was irritating, since his flagship and her consorts were still just over six light-minutes from Stacja Kosmiczna Józefa Piłsudskiego. But after a sixty-T-year Frontier Fleet career, Tamaguchi was as accustomed to that as he was to dealing with predictable, corruptible, contemptible neobarbs like the two staring out of his display while they awaited his last transmission. Of the two, he actually felt far less contempt for Tymoteusz Miternowski. At least he clearly grasped that he was a tool. His recognition of that had been apparent from the beginning. Mazur, on the other hand, seemed unaware of just how radically his comfortable little universe was about to change.
The stupid bastards always expect us to come in and fix things for them, give them back all their toys. But it doesn’t work that way, Mr. Mazur. And somehow I doubt your fellow citizens are going to be especially fond of you, starting tomorrow morning. Pity about that.
The truth was that Winslet Tamaguchi had far more disdain for Verge oligarchs than for the proles they exploited. The proles might be uneducated, and they might be unsophisticated, but they were seldom stupid enough to barter away their worlds for personal gain.
And, as his mother had always told him, ignorance could be fixed; stupid was forever.
“My ships should enter Włocławek orbit in approximately two hours and ten minutes,” he continued. “At that time, I believe it would probably be appropriate for you to join me in a com conference with Mr. Szponder and his hooligans.” His smile was frosty. “I don’t want any misunderstandings from his end before I begin active operations to restore the legitimate government. At that time—”
“Excuse me, Admiral.”
Tamaguchi hit the pause button that brought up Triumphant’s wallpaper and looked away from the com pickup with a scowl.
“What?” he snapped.
“I apologize for interrupting you, Sir,” Vice Admiral Lorne Yountz said, and Tamaguchi’s scowl segued into a frown as his chief of staff’s expression registered.
“What is it, Lorne?” he asked in a rather calmer tone.
“Tracking’s just picked up a group hyper footprint. CIC makes it thirteen point sources. They’re almost directly astern of us at six-point-eight light-minutes.”
* * *
Well, Scotty Tremaine told himself as he studied CIC’s master plot, at least Włocławek’s not going to be as boring as Golem was.
His lips twitched as he remembered his earlier thought about the positive aspects of boredom.
Alistair McKeon and the rest of his task group had been in Włocławek space for just over three minutes, although he’d been in no hurry to move in-system the instant he arrived. Even now, he was pulling only eighty-three percent of his slowest unit’s maximum accel—there was no point showing the Sollies any speed advantages they didn’t already know about—and TG 10.2.9’s velocity was up to only 1,500 KPS while the Ghost Rider drones sped ahead of them at 10,000 gravities. He wanted those birds up forward to give him as close a look as possible at what CIC was calling eight battlecruisers and eight destroyers, 104,808,572 kilometers ahead of them, headed for the planet of Włocławek at
27,948 KPS and accelerating at 3.83 KPS². The Solarians had been decelerating, clearly headed for a zero-zero with the planet. They’d changed their minds, however, within less than ninety seconds of detecting his own arrival, and he allowed himself a moment of respect for the prompt decisiveness of that Solly commander.
That has to be a Frontier Fleet admiral, he thought. God knows nobody’s seen a Battle Fleet flag officer smart enough to run from a force so much lighter than his! That’s a major step up from Byng and Crandall, even if all he’s doing—for now—is taking out an insurance policy and buying a little more time to think. In fact, I’m surprised even a Frontier Fleet CO’s willing to do that.
Now, how do I convince him to stop being smart?
* * *
“Tracking’s confident of its IDs now, Admiral,” Captain Levine said. Tamaguchi only looked at him and curled the fingers of his right hand in a “tell me more” motion, and Levine glanced down at his memo board.
“We’ve got one of those big-assed heavy cruisers or cut-down battlecruisers of theirs, Sir. Five more look like light cruisers, from their tonnage. They might be destroyers—or what the Manties’re calling ‘destroyers,’ anyway, based on the scrubbed tac recordings of New Tuscany they sent with their ‘protest note’—but they’re all at least a hundred and forty k-tons. There are also four ships that’re definitely destroyers. Judging from Jayne’s, I’d estimate they’re Culverin-class ships.”
He grimaced, and Tamaguchi smiled sourly, well aware of how…frustrating Levine found it to be forced to depend on Jayne’s instead of the hard, reliable data ONI was supposed to provide to its tactical officers.
“In addition, there’s what looks like a freighter—fairly small, two or three million tons, max, but it must have a milspec compensator to pull that accel, so it’s probably a purpose-built collier—and what looks like a pair of them dispatch boats.”
“I see. And that acceleration rate’s confirmed?”
“Yes, Sir. They started in-system at a fairly low accel, but they kicked it up to five-point-seven KPS squared about four minutes ago.”