When the Guns Roar

by Eric Thomson

  “Point taken. Perhaps I should get out of everyone’s way and pretend I’m not here.” She stood, yawning.

  Something in her tone caught his attention.

  “Post-battle blues taking hold?”

  “Yes. I was probably tenser than usual, what with spending most of my time as a spectator while the operation I planned unfolded before my eyes. It makes for a harder adrenaline crash. Teaching Jokkainen a few words in Shrehari just delayed the inevitable.”

  Pushkin winked at her.

  “Then we definitely don’t want you moping around the ship as if you’re Banquo’s ghost at the banquet while we’re celebrating a victory.”

  “Ooh... A reference to the Scottish play. Are you expanding your literary horizons?”

  “Hardly. It’s just an expression I picked up somewhere.”

  “Read Macbeth when you find an hour to spare. Shakespeare’s works are a wonderful source of quotes for every occasion. Maybe instead of talking about Nelson last evening, I should have whipped out the St Crispin’s Day Speech from his Henry V. Do you know it?” When Pushkin shook his head, she said, “I’m too tired to remember every line right now, but if you’re curious, it’ll be in the ship’s database. See you in a few hours.”

  “Enjoy your rest.”

  After she left him to his thoughts, Pushkin called up the play in question and searched until he found the king’s speech. One part, in particular, struck him.

  Crispin Crispian shall ne’er go by,

  From this day to the ending of the world,

  But we in it shall be remembered;

  We few, we happy few, we band of brothers.

  Pushkin smiled at his faint reflection in the display. We happy few, indeed, he thought. A shame today wasn’t October 25th, the day of St Crispin’s feast. But that would have been too much of a coincidence.

  **

  “What’s the word, Zeke?”

  Dunmoore asked the moment Holt’s face stabilized on her quarters’ main display. Group Hoqa had shown up at the rendezvous point twenty minutes after Group Miqa.

  “No fuel for the boneheads. A clean sweep, including two Ptars and one armed transport which was sipping pure antimatter when we unleashed a storm of nuclear-tipped warheads on them. They fought back, I’ll give them that. Hawkwood’s replacement shield generators screamed a little. Her chief engineer figures hastily built wartime units with poor quality control. But Hoqa won’t be feeding any starships until they put replacements into orbit. Fennec shot off her drones at Shrehari Minor, as per plan. One thing you should know. Fennec picked up four dozen Shrehari warships breaking out of orbit from both Shrehari Prime and Minor shortly before we went FTL. I’d call that a revenge posse.”

  “And they’ll have figured out your and possibly my vector to the heliopause, which makes it an easy triangulation. I think it’s safe to assume they’ll arrive shortly. By the way, we also made a clean sweep. You can ask Gregor for a copy of his log if you want.”

  “Since the enemy’s on his way, will you stay in Jan Sobieski?”

  “No choice. You need thirty minutes to cycle drives and sending a shuttle to fetch me will take forty. I’d rather not find myself on the wrong end of a stern chase with four dozen furious Shrehari starship captains.”

  “They do say a stern chase is a long one.”

  “Yes, but I’d still rather break clean, and that means jumping out before the boneheads show up. You’ll need to do without me for a while.”

  “I’m sure Gregor won’t mind.”

  “For some reason, he enjoys having me around. Besides, adding skipper of Task Force Luckner’s flagship to his official record won’t hurt come promotion board time.”

  “I’m sure he’s not thinking of it that way.”

  “No. He’s not. But that’s the situation. I’ll stay here so we can jump the moment your ships cycle their drives and leave the enemy guessing at our escape vector.”

  “Understood. Do you still want Astrid as the task force chief navigator? Or will Jan Sobieski’s sailing master do the job?”

  “Did she plot a single jump for our regular patrol area?”

  Holt glanced to one side, then nodded.

  “Yes. We can sync the task force at your command.”

  “Then make it so.” She put her reader aside, stood, and slipped on her tunic.

  “All ships confirm,” Holt said.

  “Iolanthe will control the transition into hyperspace. Set the countdown. I’m heading for the CIC.”

  “Aye, aye, sir. Countdown sync coming through now. As is my report on the raid against Hoqa.”

  The moment she entered Jan Sobieski’s CIC, Pushkin glanced up from his command chair’s display.

  “We’re locked in and ready to go at Iolanthe’s signal, Commodore. I understand you’re staying with us for now.”

  “Sorry for the imposition.”

  “No apologies necessary. We’re glad you’re staying with us a little longer.”

  To occupy her mind, Dunmoore called up Holt’s message and watched the video portion of his destructive raid on Hoqa until the jump klaxon sounded three times, startling her.

  “All hands, now hear this. Transition to hyperspace in sixty seconds. That is all.”

  “Sir.” The signals petty officer raised his hand. “Rooikat reports a large cluster of hyperspace bubbles headed in our direction.”

  Dunmoore felt her shoulder muscles tense. The pursuit, already. She glanced at the timer and forced herself to relax.

  By the time the Shrehari dropped out of FTL, Task Force Luckner would be long gone. Sure, the boneheads could figure out their general heading, but space was vast enough even the best guess would spit them out on the disputed frontier several light-years distant in any given direction.

  If she were the enemy commander, she wouldn’t even bother pursuing. Not if it meant stripping the home system of an assault division just when their human foes were showing a surprising degree of daring. Nausea gripped her innards as soon as the countdown timer dropped to zero.

  “We are FTL, Commodore,” Pushkin said while she mentally shoved her guts back into place. “And won’t exit hyperspace for a good long time. I’m placing the ship at cruising stations.”

  Dunmoore shook herself and stood.

  “In that case, I’ll place myself at left-handed spanner stations.”

  “Perhaps you could acquaint the wardroom with the St Crispin’s Day Speech at some point,” he suggested. When he saw the questioning glance in her eyes, he added, “We few, we happy few.”

  “There is a time and a place for that sort of thing, and I missed my chance. But if the invitation to dine in the wardroom still stands, I’ll gladly bore anyone to death with my fund of ancient trivia, should they be foolish and sit at my table.”

  “It stands, and I’ll be the fool, Commodore, so I may better protect my impressionable officers.”

  “Like any good captain would.”

  — Thirty-Seven —

  Trage was busy packing his belongings when Brakal and Edronh entered the office assigned to the head of the Imperial Armed Forces. Though Brakal wore nothing to denote his new status, Edronh was clad in an admiral of the first rank’s robes.

  When he spied them out of the corner of his eyes, Trage straightened his back and bowed respectfully.

  “Kho’sahra. As you can see, I am clearing the way for my successor, since I cannot see you keeping me on active duty, even if I wanted to remain. After reading the regent’s proclamation appointing you as the one who would rule in her son’s name, I understood my tenure was over, and in truth, I felt nothing but relief. Leading our military forces throughout this war prematurely aged me.” As he spoke, Trage pointedly ignored Edronh who wandered around the room, studying its lavish furnishings and decorations. “Did you see the videos of the attack we received from Miqa and Hoqa before the orbitals were destroyed?”

  “No. But I would watch them now.”

  Trage reached f
or a control surface embedded in the desktop, and a display on the far wall came to life.

  “I watched them over and over since it happened, incapable of comprehending what insanity drove the humans to attack our home system.”

  Brakal scoffed. “Insanity? Hardly. But I would not rule out their understanding of our thought patterns as a cause or maybe even the sole cause. This was not random. Their high command knew that striking at the heart of the empire, even if the only thing they destroyed were easily replaced targets such as antimatter cracking and fueling stations, would cause more political turmoil than the annihilation of ten assault divisions.”

  When he saw the look of outraged disbelief on Trage’s drawn features, Brakal chuckled.

  “They know us better than you think. Certainly much better than we know them. And judging by the fact Mishtak and the council are gone, replaced by the first kho’sahra in countless generations, they succeeded. Perhaps beyond their most fevered dreams. Now let us see the ships our enemies deemed worthy of this mission.”

  “This sequence is from Hoqa.”

  Brakal watched with sick fascination as five Commonwealth Navy ships suddenly appeared above the gas giant and launched enough missiles to saturate the ring of defense satellites. One caught his attention, and he reared back with a low growl.

  “That battleship. It is the one which bedeviled me for so long on the frontier. It destroyed Khorsan Base, Tyva Base, and countless supply convoys.”

  “Your phantom?” Edronh asked, speaking for the first time since they entered what was now his office.

  “The very same. Its commander is a demon spawn, sent to drive me mad. Let me see those who attacked Miqa.”

  When Trage called up the sequence, Brakal grunted.

  “That cruiser is one of their newest models, capable of destroying a Tol class in a matter of moments. I think those nine ships come from the strike group that has been hunting in the Atsang sector since earlier this turn. Remarkable. I would meet the admiral who led them here, thereby ensuring my appointment as head of government, charged with ending the war. You sent an assault division after them?”

  “I did. The Shrehari Prime and Shrehari Minor monitoring stations determined both groups’ vectors when they transitioned to otherspace and calculated where they would emerge to reunite and cycle their engines before entering interstellar space. Our ships should be there soon.”

  “And the humans will be gone by then. Their commander has surely planned on a quick escape, knowing we would pursue to punish them. Edronh, you may decide whether chasing these impudent creatures back to their own sphere is a worthwhile use of your ships. Since I will end the war before the close of this turn, retribution for tweaking our skull ridges within sight of the imperial palace would be senseless.”

  “If they come across the humans upon emerging from otherspace, I will allow them to attack. But if the humans are no longer there, the chase will end.” Edronh dropped into the high-backed chair behind the desk and grunted. “Soft. It will need replacing. As will most of the furniture. In fact, take anything you wish, Trage. Someone who has served the empire as long as you did deserves a bountiful retirement gift.”

  Trage gave his replacement a baleful look, aware Edronh, whom he had personally relieved of duty, was mocking him.

  “You may do as you wish with the contents of your office. I want nothing other than the items I already placed in this box. Do you need a handover briefing or am I free to go?”

  “You are free to go. The empire thanks you for your service and bids you a pleasant retirement.”

  After one last look around, Trage picked up the box and walked out without saying another word.

  “He was a capable admiral when he still commanded a strike group, long ago,” Edronh said. “But his best days were behind him even before Mishtak took us to war.”

  “And he knows it, deep within, which is why he spoke of relief at being dismissed. Lady Kembri expects me momentarily. Enjoy cleansing the admiralty of its stench.”

  **

  Brakal bowed upon entering the imperial palace’s small reception room. Lady Kembri and a youth of barely twelve turns, both sitting on throne-like chairs adorned with precious metals and rare woods, acknowledged his gesture with regal nods.

  The young emperor took after his late father more than his mother and was already showing hints of growing Emperor Ahikar’s sharp skull ridges as well as his robust musculature.

  “Kho’sahra Brakal. Welcome,” Kembri said.

  “My lady, my lord Tumek. I am honored to be in your presence.”

  “And we are honored to meet he who will rule in our name,” Tumek replied in a steady, though still somewhat high-pitched voice.

  Kembri raised a hand, and Lady Adjur entered via a side door with a small box under her arm.

  “The palace staff needed most of the night to find it.”

  “Lady?”

  “The ancient and revered kho’sahra badge of office, last worn by a lord named Tawdek long ago.”

  Kembri took the box from Adjur and opened it. Within, resting on a bed of faded material, was a disk of steel no bigger than the palm of Brakal’s hand. The imperial dragon emblem was engraved on the disk, but this version held a sword in each of its six claws, signifying the kho’sahra’s sacred duty to defend the empire and the dynasty.

  As badges of office went, the simplicity of its design pleased Brakal. No precious metals, no gems, and no extraneous artwork to detract from the message it conveyed. An adornment suitable for a member of the Warrior Caste who became admiral on his own merits.

  She turned to Tumek.

  “It would be proper if you presented this to your kho’sahra.”

  “Of course.” Tumek took the badge from the proffered box. “Approach, Lord Brakal.”

  When the latter complied, Tumek stood and reached out to pin the badge on Brakal’s chest, just below the right shoulder. “It suits you, I think.”

  Kembri made a gesture of assent.

  “I agree.”

  A pair of servants brought a chair for Brakal, and he sat, facing regent and emperor at the latter’s command.

  “Tell us your plans, Kho’sahra.”

  “Certainly. I hope you understand I formulated them overnight and they need refinement.”

  “I do. But the emperor and I want a sense of what you intend.”

  “Certainly. My first purpose will be to offer the enemy peace, bring our occupying forces back within the empire, and relieve your people of the crushing tax burden imposed by Mishtak. We will no longer shed treasure and blood for no gain. Better we trade with the humans. They proved most conclusively their technological prowess now outstrips ours.”

  “Many will consider ending the war short of victory a shameful act.”

  Brakal turned his eyes on Tumek.

  “No doubt. And they will be the ones who made no sacrifice and paid no price. But there will never be a victory because there was never a possibility of beating the humans. In fact, had your father lived, we would not be fighting them. He knew better than to believe stories about cowardly hairless apes who would surrender after a single devastating strike. Yes, we captured the star systems abutting our sphere, but only because we achieved surprise. Once the human warriors were roused, we advanced no further. They even defeated us on a planet called Scandia and seized one of our regimental standards as a war trophy before chasing our troops out of the star system.”

  “I did not know we lost a precious sacred standard during the initial conquest.”

  “Mishtak did not wish it known. Such incidents contradict his narrative on human weakness. More importantly, in the intervening turns, we lost too many equally precious lives, my lord. Sending the best of our race out there and watching them die needlessly, that was truly shameful.”

  “Strange words from an admiral and military lord,” Tumek replied, though his tone conveyed wonder rather than censure.

  “But words that must be spoken.
We wish what is best for the empire and its people. Recognizing the humans as a worthy enemy, one with whom negotiating an armistice would not be dishonorable under our sacred traditions, is best for the empire, your people, and your dynasty, my lord.”

  “Agreed,” Kembri said. “Let us now speak of more immediate matters. How do you propose organizing the government?”

  Brakal spoke until his throat ran dry. When a servant brought him water, he revived it and spoke again just as long. Lady Kembri asked pointed and intelligent questions and in the end, appeared satisfied she had given the kho’sahra’s badge of office to the right lord. But convincing her was the easy part. Carrying out his ambitious program would be a very different matter, and there were plenty in the Forbidden Quarter who might try to stymie him.

  “You have our approval, Kho’sahra Brakal,” she said when he finally fell silent. “What do you need from us?”

  “Right now, the order to seek an armistice which will include withdrawing from occupied star systems.”

  “Lady Adjur will draft it before the end of the day.”

  “Thank you, my lady.”

  “If that was all, you may go.”

  Brakal stood, bowed, and left the small reception room, feeling both buoyed and strangely weighted down by the badge of office he now wore.

  — Thirty-Eight —

  Holt greeted Dunmoore at the foot of the pinnace’s aft ramp, along with a single bosun’s mate who piped her aboard Iolanthe after the long hyperspace jump returning them to their regular hunting grounds.

  “Welcome back, Commodore. How was the trip in Jan Sobieski?”

  “Boring, if truth be told. And after the amount of chess I played with Gregor and his officers, I won’t be challenging you for a while.”

  “Thank the Almighty!”

  “She’s a nice ship, but she’s smaller than Iolanthe and that made life for an idler such as me a tad claustrophobic. I wrote the part of my mission report covering the Miqa attack, but I still need access to your logs so I can finish it.”