When the Guns Roar

by Eric Thomson

  “Must be nice reading up on the life and times of our favorite enemies. Any chance you could share those intelligence digests with your faithful starship captains?”

  Dunmoore gave him an astonished glance.

  “You mean Lena wasn’t distributing them? But I saw several in recent weeks.”

  “I’ll bet you were the only one, thanks to Admiral Petras bringing you in on his planning sessions. Lena’s the sort who figures keeping knowledge close-held increases her power over common mortals. Damn good thing she’s gone.”

  “I’ll disseminate everything I received since joining Luckner the moment I’m back in Iolanthe.”

  “Thank you. And did I mention how pleased I am you’re our new task force commander?”

  She gave him a fond smile.

  “Several times, Gregor.”

  **

  “How is Hawkwood?” Dunmoore asked the moment Kirti Midura’s hologram materialized at Iolanthe’s conference table.

  “The dry dock did a decent job, sir. We completed the non-essential repairs during our jump outward. She’s as good as she’ll be short of a full refit, except for the flag bridge. There was no time to start on it, but that can be remedied during the next few jumps.”

  “Don’t bother. I’m fine in Iolanthe.”

  “That’s what I figured, sir, which is why I put the flag bridge at the bottom of the priority list.”

  “Excellent.” Dunmoore turned to the virtual Idris Pohlman. “And Tamurlane? Did anything shake loose in transit?”

  “We’re good, Commodore. And ready for battle.”

  She gave him thumbs up.

  “Wonderful.”

  Once all of Luckner’s captains were in attendance — as holographic projections except for Ezekiel Holt, she said, “Good afternoon. The moment you’ve been waiting for has arrived. Now that we crossed into interstellar space, I can reveal our orders.”

  Tempted to let the anticipation build just a bit more, she looked around the table and saw eagerness on every face, except for Holt’s. He wore the sardonic smile she knew well while he waited for her to speak.

  “Task Force Luckner will conduct a raid on the Shrehari Empire’s home star system.”

  Audible gasps reached her ears.

  “Though we will attempt to cause havoc by targeting military installations and shipping within sight of Shrehari Prime while ensuring we can escape and return home, the mission’s purpose is primarily non-kinetic. Admiral Xi’s stated goal is pushing the enemy off balance, causing a loss of confidence in their military leadership, making them consider withdrawing front line units to strengthen core defenses, and most importantly from my point of view, striking a blow at the empire’s honor.”

  “In other words, trigger political instability by proving us weak, cowardly humans can reach out and tickle the imperial regent’s royal behind with impunity,” Holt said, a sly grin spreading across his face. “Contrary to everything their propaganda has been telling them since before the war.”

  Dunmoore nodded.

  “Just so. The shock of human warships appearing at the home system’s heliopause merely to show we can do so will be bad enough on its own. Bagging a few starships, maybe hitting a refueling station or even doing a quick in and out at Shrehari Prime’s hyperlimit would be even better from our viewpoint.”

  Holt’s grin broadened.

  “If we’re going to hit the capital’s hyperlimit, we might as well launch a recon drone at the Forbidden Quarter in Shredar with a message suggesting they request an armistice. It’ll prove even their precious emperor and his council are vulnerable.”

  Farren Vento chuckled with glee.

  “I do prefer our new flag captain to the old one.”

  Holt winked at him with his solitary eye.

  “We glory hounds need to stick together.”

  “Just to play the devil’s advocate, but won’t that goad them into making a retaliatory raid against Earth?” Commander Pohlman asked. “If they see us risking a task force on such a mission, they’ll surely not hesitate. Did Fleet HQ really think this through? Kinetic strikes from high orbit could devastate our homeworld.”

  A smile played on Dunmoore’s lips.

  “They did. Remember, the enemy has consistently underestimated us, which is why they attacked in the first place. We were, at least in the minds of their leaders, a soft target which would distract political opponents from the uneasy situation when the old emperor died before his heir reached the age of majority. They did not, and mostly still do not consider us courageous or warlike. It means the idea of our forces threatening their homeworld in what some might consider a hopelessly dangerous operation will not have crossed their minds.

  “Consequently, the Shrehari did not fortify the planet’s high orbitals or the orbitals of the other settled worlds in their native star system. Our superiors and political leaders, on the other hand, harbor no such delusions. A Shrehari raiding force would not make it past Earth’s hyperlimit if it even got that far. Besides, as I said, our job is showing the flag and proving we can threaten the very heart of the empire, not bombarding civilian targets and causing needless deaths which would call for brutal retaliation. This mission is psychological warfare at its finest.”

  Dunmoore suddenly noticed the smug expression on Pushkin’s face.

  “What?”

  “When you said we would imitate, at least in part, an operation from Earth’s second global conflict, I spent my downtime scanning the history of those years for anything notable that might parallel our situation.”

  She arched a questioning eyebrow.

  “And?”

  “I came across an operation carried out by the United States of America called the Doolittle Raid, targeting the capital of the Japanese Empire, circa 1942. They designed it as a psychological strike rather than a kinetic one, just like ours, to raise doubts about the Japanese military’s ability to defend their country.”

  “Congratulations, Gregor. That was indeed the mission I was thinking about when I first mentioned we had orders which could make Task Force Luckner more than just a minor footnote in history. But contrary to the Doolittle raiders, we will return home instead of ditching our ships on a friendly planet.” When everyone other than Pushkin and Holt gave her a strange look, she shrugged. “Check it out. If Gregor found the mission in Jan Sobieski’s database, you can find it in yours.”

  “Though excellent for the morale of the United States, later historians agree the raid’s effects on the Japanese empire’s psyche was less than anticipated,” Pushkin said.

  “True, but the Shrehari don’t think in the same way as we humans. They believe not only we’re an inferior species, but that the heart of their empire is invulnerable, something the Japanese knew wasn’t true for their home islands. Their commander-in-chief, an admiral by the name Yamamoto Isoroku even said, before the outbreak of hostilities, in the first six to twelve months of a war with the United States I will run wild and win victory upon victory. But if the war continues after that, I have no expectation of success.

  “Our foe, however, still believes in a final victory, even after years of stalemate and is therefore much more vulnerable to something which will cause him traumatic cognitive dissonance. And that cognitive dissonance will be signed, sealed, and delivered by Task Force Luckner.”

  — Twenty-Six —

  When the door to Dunmoore’s quarters opened at her command, Holt stuck his head in and held up the mahogany box containing the chess set she’d gifted him.

  “I thought you might enjoy a little distraction now that we’re on our way to give the boneheads a deadly case of existential angst.”

  She put her reader on the desk and smiled.

  “An excellent idea. Here or at my dining table?”

  “It would seem strange at the table. I don’t think we’ve ever played on anything other than your desk.”

  He opened the box, took out the chessmen, and flipped it over before placing e
ach piece on its respective square. While he did so, Dunmoore went to the sideboard and filled two mugs of coffee. She put both on the desk and retook her chair.

  “What were your impressions of the conference?” Dunmoore took a sip and watched Holt over the rim of the cup.

  He tilted his head to one side as if searching for the most appropriate response.

  “A tad zanier than the norm, I think. My fellow starship captains certainly seemed less inhibited now than under your predecessor when it comes to speaking their minds. No one is against the mission, but I figure they’re half thrilled at making history and half worried it might turn into a deadly clusterfuck so deep inside enemy space.”

  “What about you?”

  “We’ve pulled stunts the average frigate skipper can only dream about and never even scratched the old girl’s hull. Raiding the enemy’s home system is just another wild mission for the good Q-ship Iolanthe. One of many.”

  “So no worries?”

  “I’d be lying if I said no. She’s mine now, and that means I’ll be fretting the same way you did.” He nodded at the board. “If you want white, it’s yours.”

  “No. Black is fine. You still need every possible advantage.”

  Holt made his opening move, then picked up his coffee mug.

  “Any idea of how HQ came up with this scheme? I didn’t think anyone, even in SOCOM, was bold enough to put such a proposal in front of Grand Admiral Shkadov, or Shkadov daring enough to obtain SecGen approval.” When he saw Dunmoore’s lips twitch, Holt’s single eye narrowed with suspicion. “What did you do?”

  “My patrol report included an additional and highly confidential Admiral Xi’s eyes only attachment. On top of suggesting Lena was better employed at a desk job, I also proposed we take the deep raid concept to its inevitable conclusion — harassing the imperial capital in a show of courage and strength which would affect enemy morale.”

  Holt shook his head.

  “And once more, it’s l’audace, encore de l’audace, toujours de l’audace et la Patrie sera sauvée! That’s you all right, Skipper. And kudos for getting Corto back where she belongs. Admiral Xi probably walked your proposal directly to the grand admiral’s office moments after he read it. This isn’t the type of mission that normally gets approved so quickly. Mind you, being daring didn’t do Georges Danton, who coined the expression, much good. He lost his head if I recall correctly.”

  “Quite literally. And if we fail, I might lose mine, but figuratively, though the boss was kind enough to let me decide what I considered success — within the general parameters he set.”

  They played on in silence for another fifteen minutes until Holt forced Dunmoore into accepting a draw. He sat up, satisfied, and nodded at the coffee mugs.

  “A refill.”

  “Sure. Another match?”

  “Of course.” As he wandered over to the sideboard, Holt asked, “How will you stay busy during the trip, now that you’re no longer running the Furious Faerie? Commodores in hyperspace are about as useful on a warship as a piano tuner.”

  She began resetting the board.

  “Stay out of your way. Read. Spend a few hours per day exercising. See if Tatiana’s hand-to-hand combat trainer will accept a private pupil.”

  Holt chuckled as he returned with full servings.

  “Why not ask our soldiers to run you through their boarding party drills as well? You might get fresh ideas after experiencing their techniques, tactics, and procedures first hand.”

  A thoughtful expression crossed her face as she accepted a mug.

  “I know you were joking, but it may not be a bad idea.”

  Holt raised his hand in a ritualistic manner.

  “I give you my blessing, but please avoid injuries. I might be on board with this mission, but I don’t possess your mystical ability to take crazy risks and come out smelling like a candidate for promotion.”

  “Keep playing chess as you’ve done lately, and I think you might catch up with me. Since you forced the draw, you play white again.” Once Holt made his opening move, she asked, “Not that it’s any of my business nowadays, but how did your department heads react when you read them my orders?”

  “Pretty much as you might expect. After a few moments of delighted incredulity at us taking the war to the imperial capital, Emma immediately began worrying about time, distance, and our fuel and consumable stocks, if I read the gleam in her eyes correctly. I saw her give Joelle a covert glance, indicating they would put their heads together the moment I was done and go through the inventory.”

  Dunmoore chuckled. “Sounds about right.”

  “Thorin kept that bloodthirsty grin of his pasted on while no doubt wondering whether we should have crammed a few more missile packs into our holds. Astrid got a dreamy look when she realized that as the flagship’s navigator, she’d be plotting the first-ever FTL trip to Shrehari Prime by a Commonwealth Navy unit.”

  “It’ll mean her name ends up in the history books.”

  “And I’m sure Tatiana was wondering whether there would be anything for her soldiers to do and make the Scandia Regiment proud, though she maintained her usual impassive expression. Only Renny seemed unimpressed, which was reassuring. Starship engineers who impress too easily scare me.”

  “How about Chief Guthren?”

  “Almost as inscrutable as Tatiana and Renny, but he clearly approves.” Holt moved a piece. “If you’re wondering about the crew’s reaction, don’t worry. Everyone is excited at the prospect of tweaking bonehead skull ridges within sight of their emperor’s palace. I’m sure we’ll find rude messages aimed at the Shrehari scribbled on the missiles sitting in our launchers. Our folks live for this sort of stuff.”

  “At least insofar as you know.”

  Holt shrugged.

  “I had a good sense for the mood in Iolanthe as the first officer. Even though I’m her skipper now, the chiefs and petty officers still keep me aware of what’s what. Just as they did with you. Besides, hitting the enemy’s home system epitomizes the Furious Faerie’s motto, and you know spacers. They delight in showing their ship’s fighting spirit.”

  “True.”

  They played on in silence until Holt moved his queen, sat back, eyes glued to the board and let out a low whistle.

  “I do believe you’re toast, Commodore.”

  She studied the chess pieces, frowning, then reached out with a gloved index finger to tip her king over on his side.

  “There. Your mystical abilities are growing apace. Soon, the apprentice will outmatch his sensei.”

  “Never. I scored a draw followed by a win tonight only because your mind isn’t fully on the game. Are you perhaps worried about the mission now that we’re underway and can’t change anything until the task force drops out of FTL to tack deep inside enemy space?”

  Dunmoore didn’t immediately reply.

  “Perhaps,” she finally said, looking up and into Holt’s eyes. “When it was just us — Iolanthe, I mean — heading into risky situations, at least I could directly influence our destiny. Now? I’m responsible for eight other starships and their crews, each under a captain who will act and react in his or her own way, no matter what I might have done in the same situation. I didn’t quite understand it in my gut until today, until the moment we went FTL on the first leg to Shrehari Prime, how little control a flag officer has over her formation’s destiny once she launches an operation. I have basically no role between now and when we reach the target area. And I don’t know how to deal with it.”

  A sad smile tugged at her lips. “When you said commodores in hyperspace have about as much use on a warship as a piano tuner, you couldn’t imagine how close you came to how I feel right now.”

  “I apologize for that, Skipper.”

  She waved his words away.

  “This is my problem, not yours. I don’t know how Petras dealt with it, and it’s too late for me to ask. At least formation commanders who run their battle groups from a s
tarbase can always bury themselves in administrative work and forget they can’t directly control starships that are light-years away.”

  “Perhaps he and Lena spent their waking hours playing war games, dissing uppity captains such as Iolanthe’s former commanding officer, and planning for a glorious future as the rising stars of SOCOM.”

  “Or perhaps they no longer remembered how busy they were as captains to notice how idle they became sitting in a flag bridge with not much work most of the time.”

  Holt raised both hands, palms facing outward.

  “Hey, if you want to share the burden of running Iolanthe with me, I’ll gladly give you the stuff I don’t enjoy. Then we can both be at least half busy.”

  “Sorry. That would confuse the crew. She’s yours, the annoying parts included. I’ll just find a way to adapt and overcome, as always. I’m sure the stress of making on the spot decisions once we’re at the heart of the enemy’s empire will more than compensate for my idleness during our passage.”

  “True. And I for one am glad you’ll be dealing with those decisions under fire and not me. Another match? I can’t let you retire for the night without a single victory. Your morale might not survive.”

  “My morale is doing fine, thank you very much. But yes, another match it is, though no more coffee.” She righted her king and placed him back in his proper opening position, along with the rest of the black chess pieces.

  “You can play white this time around.”

  “I don’t accept charity,” she growled. “Let alone pity. Sort yourself out, Captain. And don’t you dare make deliberate mistakes to throw the game. Not only will I notice but you’ll be stuck here playing until I’m satisfied my wits aren’t on vacation.”

  Holt grinned at her.

  “Perish the thought. You’ve never shown me pity. Why the hell should I show you any? After all, you consider chess a blood sport, and that means no mercy for the weak.” He bowed his head respectfully. “Sensei.”

  — Twenty-Seven —

  When the last of Brakal’s guests, one of two dozen among the Kraal lords he either trusted the most or absolutely needed on his side, took a seat at the expansive table in the manor’s formal dining room, Brakal inclined his head in greeting.