by Blaze Ward
But she didn’t need to land colonies secretly and then defend them against linear assaults, like Buran had spent a lifetime doing to Fribourg. The colonies were just dots on the map.
She wanted his fleet destroyed. Battered down faster than he could rebuild, while Aquitaine and Fribourg built more things and tried craziness as an offensive strategy.
“All vessels, this is Keller, aboard Vanguard. I have the flag,” she said, bringing the fleet channel live. “Stand by to transit to Waypoint Falcon.”
Nothing here couldn’t be repaired in flight, or at most with a day or two back at base, with Junkyard Chihuahua’s engineers swarming over a ship.
But Denis was right.
She needed to be more careful.
The beast might finally be waking up to the threat.
Chapter XVI
Imperial Founding: 180/10/18. IFV Valiant, Forward Base Delta
It didn’t happen often anymore, so today, Tom Provst was willing to take note and allow himself a fleeting moment of pleasure, even if it was for all the wrong reasons. The man he had once been would have enjoyed it, so he made sure to remember that and emulate it, at least until he got used to this new person he was becoming.
IFV Valiant was in the van. Inappropriate as a tactical option, but he really didn’t give a shit. Two RAN Assault Carriers on his rear flanks, carrying zu Arlo and his Legion. Four of the Imperial versions of the Expeditionary Cruiser, seven Imperial Corvettes after Bedrov’s basic design. Five support vessels of various sizes, including a mobile dry-dock comparable to RAN Bulldog conceptually, plus one old troop transport carrying engineers and equipment.
No true carriers, but that was just a matter of waiting to see if the two new designs were worth the effort on this frontier.
Tom didn’t see Jessica mixing and matching across teams, but the capabilities were close enough to allow it.
Or to throw one massive avalanche of destruction at someone.
This probably wasn’t enough force to take on Samara’s defenders, because he would have upgraded the hell out of that place, had he been in command. Possibly Ninagirsu, based on recent scouting. Definitely Severnaya Zemlya.
“Imperial Squadron, this is Fleet Centurion Arott Whughy, aboard the station,” a voice came across the gap. “Welcome to Forward Base Delta.”
“Grand Admiral’s regards, Delta,” Tom replied gruffly. “We’ll anchor in two hours and then subject you to a wave of shuttlecraft as my commanders make station calls to pay their respects.”
“Understood, Valiant,” the man seemed to smile. “Looking forward to it. We’ll have the coffee on.”
Tom smiled as well. He hoped he smiled. It felt like it had been a long time since he had done that either, but Charlie d’Noir smiled back at him from across the command table with the projection showing all these ships about to join with the smaller force already here.
For the first time, Tom was finally sure that he wouldn’t take Em up on the offer to load the gun and walk away. It had been touch and go for a while.
No, that was a lie.
It had been a sure thing, until Gunter Tifft returned to the deck of Firehawk with a mission that only Tom Provst could handle.
He had lost himself in the work, and it had been good enough. In retribution, he had been reclaimed.
On the deck of Valiant, he had found purpose.
Maybe one of these days, he would even be able to go home and tell Karoline the truth about how close he had gotten to ending his life more than once. Revel in the love of his wife, and the support of Jakob and Mallory, both grown now and almost strangers, with their semi-famous father away for so long, during their important years.
The absences couldn’t be helped then. That was the nature of naval service. And it wasn’t going to change, anytime soon. But Karoline had known what kind of man he was when she married him, and what life they would have, carving out leaves carefully and sneaking odd weekends in when he could send her a message to meet him somewhere.
But that was his old life, one that was lost to him.
It had died when the bridge of the Firehawk was destroyed, killing Al Kistler and his whole bridge team, including the Crown Prince.
But he had survived. Managed to find a way forward. A place to be.
Princess Kasimira, Centurion Casey zu Wiegand as Emmerich had corrected him more than once, was Emperor now, and needed men like Admiral Provst to go out and kill things.
And Tom was rather looking forward to that.
Chapter XVII
Date of the Republic October 24, 402 IFV Vanguard, Forward Base Delta
Coming out of Jump two days ago, Jessica had known a moment of pure panic, followed by a glee that hadn’t left her since. IFV Valiant was here, with an entire second battle squadron, and more importantly, Vo zu Arlo.
Standing now, at the front of the biggest auditorium Arott had, she stared out at all the faces looking back, half of whom she knew, and half of whom were relative strangers.
And it was the greatest feeling in the world.
Tom Provst was in the front of the room, wearing a red day uniform that had originally been made famous by Emmerich zu Wachturm as The Red Admiral. Iskra Vlahovic and Arott Whughy as Fleet Centurions. A mass of Command Centurions and Captains, mingled awkwardly around the three Commanders, but still politely. Plus one Imperial General and his six Cohort Centurions.
All staring up at her, wearing her own five stripes as their commander. First Centurion.
“We approach the anniversary of what Aquitaine would call Second St. Legier, and Fribourg now refers to simply as The Bombardment, I’m given to understand,” she began in a solemn, memorial voice. “The Eldest has, no doubt, sent a message to all of his planets to prepare for us to descend on them like locusts that day.”
A growl emerged from the crowd at those words, as she had expected.
“But I have spoken with General zu Arlo and Admiral Provst,” Jessica continued. “And we will mark that day in transit instead, quietly mourning our friends and family lost. I want to give you all time to grieve properly, so that you approach the next phase of action in a state of calm determination, rather than turbulent emotions.”
She paused, scanning the room and marking reactions. Understanding and working a crowd like this had always been one of her greatest gifts. Had she wanted to be a politician, she knew she would have been exceptional. But even the little she played as the role of Queen of the Pirates was too much, most of the time.
“I have told folks from the Republic that our purpose here was to aid Fribourg, not because they were incapable, but because their rage would be too great and they would not know when to halt the destruction and withdraw,” she said now. “Whereas we could use it in a controlled manner.”
Tom Provst nodded at her, grim as death, and just as implacable, from the letter Em had sent separately. He had earned his right to command these men, but they had, in turn, proven to Provst and the Grand Admiral that they deserved this station and weren’t glory hounds or vengeful angels.
Neither would do her any good here.
The other Imperial Captains seemed to understand that, and nodded as she met their eyes.
“And now we have doubled our force, plus brought forth an army capable of wreaking destruction on the surface of a planet in ways more personal than orbital bombardment,” Jessica continued. “We will not stay put long. Task Force Jež has just returned from a destructive raid on Nents. I would return there to utterly finish the job, but having Task Force Provst added, after we already now have Task Force Vlahovic, means that we can consider a bigger target. I’m sure spies at Osynth B’Udan have dutifully reported this to the Director at Samara, who will send a message on. They think they will be prepared. We will show them otherwise.”
She paused. Smiled at people. Watched them smile back.
This wasn’t as big as the fleet that attacked St. Legier, but she wasn’t going after a place like Winterhome. Or a nowhere li
ke Nents.
Yes. Let them just try to anticipate this.
Chapter XVIII
Imperial Founding: 180/10/25. Imperial Palace, Mejico, St. Legier
Her life was always a mass of meetings and public events with little time for herself. Being seen, for the most part, just reminding people that she was there, and in charge. Casey zu Wiegand. Emperor Karl VIII. This morning, however, she had carved out a block of time for a special, private meeting. At least as private as her life got. No attendants. Not even Anna-Katherine.
Moirrey was with Casey today, but she was sitting across the table, next to Yan Bedrov and Ainsley Barret. Torsten and Emmerich were on either end, leaving Casey this entire length of the table to defend herself. Most days, that felt like an impossible task, but today she was prepared.
They were in the meeting room that Torsten used when he was in Mejico. Soft blue walls he had picked out. An ancient conference table, probably in need of another refinishing, where they would strip all the character out of its dark wood and stains. Mostly matching dinner-table chairs, solid, but lacking arms.
A new Imperial Palace was well on its way to being habitable in Strasbourg, but she wouldn’t move in there until it was closer to completion. The government could work there in rougher conditions, still only fifteen minutes away by fast flyer.
Casey still hadn’t decided if she should hold her coronation there, once the new, impressive cathedral across the new Imperial Square was complete. Or as complete as acceptable. Some of the stonework might take a generation, as masons from various worlds each hand-carved a gargoyle to guard patiently from a roof.
Another way to bind people more fully to a throne that many had only felt vague connections to before.
Anna-Katherine had withdrawn once everyone was settled with tea or coffee. The guardsmen that usually stood in the corners with their faceshields down into anonymity and silence, had withdrawn as well. The meeting could come to order, but she enjoyed the silence for just a moment longer.
Casey took a sip of her tea and considered the stack of papers that she had consumed. Her forte was art and music, but she was also a Centurion By Order of the Republic Senate, and a lot of math and engineering had come with that task. Most of that sort of thing still went over her head, but Em had said that he felt the same way, and half of the consultants Torsten had brought in to read the report had agreed.
Lady Moirrey of Ramsey, the Evil Engineering Gnome so beloved of Jessica and First Expeditionary Fleet, had gone so far beyond herself that there weren’t even maps to describe the destination, except where a pirate named Bedrov, with some secret assistance from an ancient warrior named EASC Carthage, had plotted the journey.
Yan Bedrov, ex-pirate and naval revolutionary who served her only so much as contract language could be stretched on her part, which wasn’t far, considering that Jessica’s brother had written those contracts. Bedrov & Keller, Registered. Dangerous legal team.
Ainsley Barret. Republic of Aquitaine Navy, retired. Ex-Scout pilot some still referred to as da Vinci, even though she had made it abundantly clear that she was done flying professionally. Who had also made it clear that she would command, because the chances were better than zero that the vessel itself might not return, and she would rather die in battle with Bedrov than outlive him.
Casey only hoped that she could find someone like that. Or rather, that he would decide to return to her.
One could always dream.
Casey rested a hand possessively on the thick report, aware that everyone around her was on pins and needles, awaiting her decision. She turned to Emmerich, the uncle who was technically only a distant cousin, but who had been of an age with her father and raised with the Emperor like a younger brother. She still caught herself, wanting to address him that way, as the two men could have been twins, save for Em’s hair was fully gray now, and Father’s would have only been halfway.
“Project Butterfly,” she said simply to him. “Can we ever stuff that genie back into the bottle?”
She appreciated the way his face turned sour and grim before he spoke.
“No, Your Majesty, we cannot,” he agreed. “We can hide or destroy all the copies of the design documents we can find. We can destroy all prototypes and wrap severe criminal sentences around leaks, but the task has been done, so someone else will eventually find a way to replicate it.”
“Moirrey?” Casey turned to her next. “How long until someone else could do it?”
She appreciated when Moirrey sounded like herself, and not an Imperial Matron, or scientist.
“Dunno,” Moirrey shrugged. “T’were stroke o’weirdness on m’part, first first. Will be pretty okay fer nuther to thinks up, but th’wirin’ were all Yan. Dinna ken twere doables, when I scopeded it, first times.”
“Yan?” she turned to him next. She couldn’t remember ever calling him anything but Sri Bedrov before now, on the few occasions they had spoken more than passing greetings. But the galaxy had changed. “How soon?”
“You would need Carthage’s help, ma’am,” he replied slowly, reminding her that the only person he ever called Your Majesty was Jessica. “I’m damned good at what I do, but I could only get this system about halfway. That bartender has an excellent grasp of physics and taught me some new things nobody else knows. Eventually, I would like to share some of those bits with others, just because he sees us as monkeys banging rocks together, but would like to do his part to help save mankind.”
“Why?” Casey felt her voice turn sharp and cold. “Why is that creature trying to save us? How many trillions of people did he kill?”
“Almost all of them,” Bedrov growled back. “Between him and Kinnison. Then he spent three thousand years afterwards thinking about the nature of evil, death, and forgiveness. I personally hope that the Creator does love us, and that he got to see Robbie again, on the other side. Just like it would be nice for him to greet me when it’s my turn. I appreciate that I’m violating damned near every law you have, but I don’t really fucking care. This is a lesser evil situation, and he is more than willing to help me kill a god. If you have a problem with that, tell me now and I’ll go home.”
Casey bit her tongue rather than rise to the bait. Bedrov wouldn’t ever do more than tip his cap to her. Barret as well. Neither were Imperial citizens, but were instead possessed of a greater mission. And were willing to mask the being who was helping them.
Casey nodded to Bedrov and turned to the last conspirator.
“Why have you demanded to be put in command of the mission, Ainsley?” Casey asked.
“Because I know it better than anyone not seated at this table, Centurion,” the woman fired back sharply, putting them on a different playing field. Not an Imperial one, but a Republic pitch.
The Republic method of warring, where the first commander on the scene handled things, even when a higher ranking officer arrived, until they could hand off without risk. It made them better sailors and soldiers, to be able to respond organically, rather than hierarchically.
Thus Aquitaine was able to stave off the much-larger Fribourg Empire for so long. And eventually stop them cold, with the help of people like Jessica Keller. And this woman.
Command Centurion Ainsley Barret, retired. da Vinci. Just as stubborn and capable as Yan or Moirrey. Or Jessica.
Casey turned to Em again.
“Commander Tifft would be the optimal solution for a second-in-command?” she asked. “Is his self-confidence up to the task of living the rest of his life as a hero? And does this permanently blow his cover as a spy?”
Oh, yes, she knew who Gunter Tifft was. Had met the young man several times, in meetings where he served as aide d’camp to either Em or Hendrik. Stubborn, quiet, and capable.
But he would never have another private moment in his life. Likely, she would need to make him a noble as a reward. Duke of someplace quiet but loyal, or Landgraf of a wealthy continent. Perhaps Burggraf of a major city, depending on his personality
. That would be a question for Torsten, outside this meeting. Tifft was as silent and unobtrusive as any human she had ever known. A good spy.
Em’s face warmed up some as he considered.
“I believe Gunter would be able to handle the adulation without letting it go to his head,” Em said. “I can make a list of eligible women to consider introducing him to. It’s probably time he stepped out of the shadows anyway and got married. Afterwards, he can continue to serve the Fleet, even without being Hendrik’s lethal hand, once the whole story comes out.”
“And the rest?” she pressed.
“They will all be heroes of the Empire, and rewarded accordingly,” Em said, turning to the other three with a note of seriousness. “Even if it is posthumous.”
“Not planning to dance that badly, zu Wachturm,” Bedrov growled. “I do have one other person I would like your permission to introduce to the conspiracy.”
“Who?” Casey asked, letting her mind roam across people who might need to be involved.
“Pops is here,” Yan replied with a smile like a shark spotting a wounded seal. “I just got a message this morning that Galen Estevan arrived in system with a mixed squadron of warships from Corynthe and Lincolnshire. Pops Nakamura accompanied him.”
“In that case, you have two names,” Em spoke up, digging into his own papers. “Nakamura listed an assistant or a Plus One in his paperwork. Here we go. Summer Ulfsson, citizenship unmarked.”
“Pops has a girlfriend?” Bedrov was apparently amazed.
Casey didn’t know anything about the man except stories from Yan and Jessica, which made him larger than life. Still, good for him.