by Eric Thomson
“Unbelievable,” Holt repeated. “Over ten years of fighting, countless dead, thousands of ships destroyed, planets ravaged and without warning, they’re walking back to the status quo ante, giving up everything they bled for. I guess those who figured the Imperial Armed Forces weren’t particularly enthusiastic about the war from the start might have been on to something. If the military sponsored or supported that coup, it means many, perhaps even most of their senior officers finally figured out they couldn’t win. They might even have picked up on the fact we’ve been operating at will within imperial space for almost a year. And allowing such a thing would mean dishonor of the sort no imperial dynasty could survive. From what I read, when a dynasty falls, it falls hard.”
A mischievous smile tugged at Dunmoore’s lips.
“There’s more. You’ll really enjoy this little tidbit.”
Holt cocked his head to one side.
“Yes?”
“You might recognize the Shrehari dictator’s name. I certainly do, and I doubt there are two admirals of the same name and fame in the Imperial Deep Space Fleet.”
“Dragging this out comes under the heading of torture, something not even flag officers can inflict with impunity.”
Her smile turned into a broad grin.
“Brakal.”
“What? Your Brakal? The one you faced in Victoria Regina and Stingray?”
“I won’t know for sure until I see an image of this kho’sahra, but overthrowing the council to end a war they can’t win strikes me as something he’d do.”
“No doubt. What’s next?”
Dunmoore shrugged.
“We assemble the task force as quickly as possible and, since Luckner doesn’t have an assigned patrol area, we head to the nearest starbase. One jump.” She thought for a few seconds. “Let’s make that Starbase 30 in two jumps. We might as well get out of 3rd Fleet’s way and place ourselves at Admiral Singhal’s disposal until SOCOM figures out what they want from us. Skua will join us there. I’ll let each captain know about this the moment their ship shows up. You can inform Iolanthe’s crew now. But make sure everyone understands that until Fleet HQ confirms the enemy has fully disengaged, we remain on a war footing. Nothing changes other than we stop hunting and go home.”
“Of course.”
“And now, if you’ll excuse me, I must draft a reply confirming I received the orders, understand them, and will comply.”
Holt jumped to his feet.
“I still can’t believe it’s finally over. And more importantly, that we survived. I’ll put Astrid to work on the navigation plan so that thirty minutes after the last ship arrives, we’re out of here, hopefully never to return.”
“Thank you. But let’s wait until we’re orbiting a human colony, safe under the protection of a starbase’s guns, before breaking out the champagne. I’d hate for us to go down in history as the last casualties of the war because we came across a Shrehari strike group that didn’t hear about the armistice.”
“Pessimist.”
“Amateur historian. Over the centuries, plenty of battles were fought after peace was declared simply due to a delay in communications. Considering we still don’t know how well the Shrehari can disseminate orders, I won’t celebrate just yet.”
“Point taken, sir.”
**
Gregor Pushkin reacted much in the same way as Holt when Dunmoore told him the news after Jan Sobieski dropped out of hyperspace at the rendezvous point several hours later. But he took greater delight in hearing Brakal’s name.
“It just occurred to me that half of my crew never served in a peacetime navy, Commodore. I daresay it’ll be the same for the other ships. I’m not sure how well those who joined up since the Shrehari invaded will adapt. If war is long periods of boredom interrupted by brief moments of sheer terror, how will the youngsters deal with long, uninterrupted boredom with no moments of sheer terror at all? I can barely remember patrolling for months on end, hoping an adventurous pirate will cross your bow, and what I recall involves a lot of drills and self-directed professional development. Not that pirate-chasing does much to raise the adrenaline level.”
She gave him an amused smile.
“Trust you to think of everyone else first. Never change, Gregor.”
“I wouldn’t know what I might change into, so no worries. What about you? When the navy returns to a peacetime footing, Task Force Luckner won’t be kept on the order of battle. You’ll be a commodore without a command, and since Zeke’s appointment as Iolanthe’s captain is permanent...”
Dunmoore replied with a shrug.
“Whatever happens will happen. I’ll worry about it when the time comes, and that won’t be tomorrow or the next day. Demobilization takes months, something which won’t even start until the armistice is signed and the Shrehari evacuate every star system they took from us. You won’t be rid of me as your flag officer that quickly.”
“No complaints, sir.”
“Let your crew know. Since Jan Sobieski’s the last to show up, we leave in half an hour. That should allow us to clear out before the convoy gets here. Your navigator should have received the plot for our trip to Starbase 30 by now.”
Pushkin glanced away, then nodded.
“Got it.”
“In that case, we’ll speak again when we drop out of FTL at our destination.”
He gave her thumbs up.
“Here’s to making it more or less intact.”
Before she could caution him, his image dissolved.
With the task force assembled and preparing its withdrawal from Shrehari space, she was once more left with little to do, other than bringing Luckner’s operations log up to date.
Dunmoore glanced at the clock with the silhouette of a gaunt knight on its face, a decommissioning gift from the crew of Don Quixote, her first command, now long consigned to history. She still vividly remembered sitting in her command chair on the scout ship’s tiny bridge with her coxswain, then Petty Officer First Class Guthren, the day Fleet units received notice of the invasion which started more than a decade of war.
Dunmoore had been a keen, ambitious lieutenant in her late twenties back then. Now she was a forty-year-old commodore with the thousand light-year stare of someone twice her age and enough silver in her hair to exude a flag officer’s gravitas.
She stared at the clock for a long time, lost in memories of past ships, of crewmates both dead and alive, and the moments of sheer terror which punctuated every encounter with an implacable enemy. The jump klaxon startled her and brought her thoughts back to the present.
They were going home.
— Forty —
“I’m not sure I understand, sir. Why is HQ assigning my task force the mission of escorting the armistice delegation?”
Dunmoore gave Admiral Alok Singhal’s image on the display in Holt’s day cabin a questioning gaze. The flag officer commanding 3rd Fleet smiled at her apparent puzzlement.
“The new Shrehari leader has asked that the ship which destroyed his forward operating base and then impudently raided the imperial home system be included in the official escort. He credits your action against the FOB for triggering a chain of events culminating in his becoming the imperial shogun, or whatever the title is in Shrehari. Never could manage the language. Your raid on their home system apparently triggered the regime change and convinced the imperial regent to seek an armistice.
“HQ decided, as a gesture of good faith, they would grant the request since Task Force Luckner is available since it’s not tied to a specific patrol area and is of approximately the right size and composition. The mission and the honor of representing us falls to you. Privately, I also think HQ chose you because you tweaked their skull ridges in such a spectacular fashion.”
“The FOB in the Khorsan system was Brakal’s? Unbelievable. It means we’ve been fighting him for a long time without knowing. That area was Iolanthe’s hunting grounds.”
How many times, she wond
ered, did their missiles and gunfire cross?
“And he seems to think your attack was the proverbial flap of the butterfly’s wings which caused a storm half a world away.” Singhal paused. “If they developed their own version of chaos theory, that is.”
“I see.” The idea of finally meeting her old foe in the flesh felt more than a bit outlandish.
“The Secretary-General and his delegation will travel aboard the Space Control Ship Terra, one of the carriers reconfigured a few years ago.”
“I know Terra, sir. For a brief time, before I came to my senses, I was a pilot in her fighter wing, long before the war.”
The rueful expression on her face turned Singhal’s smile into a delighted chuckle.
“I gather you discovered human-controlled non-FTL attack craft were good only for giving our Marine Corps brethren air support and therefore better flown by experienced Marine noncoms who can tell their own troops and the enemy apart.”
“Within a month. My wing commander took almost a year before deciding it would be better if I served in another capacity on another starship. Sorry for the digression. So the SecGen and his delegation are traveling in Terra. What is the rendezvous point and our destination? And when?”
“The armistice will be signed on Aquilonia station, a mining operation dug into one of Thule’s moons in the Cimmeria system.”
Dunmoore nodded.
“I know the system well. That’s where I gave Brakal his first bloody nose when I had Stingray.”
“Which won’t be lost on him once he finds out who destroyed his forward operating base, I’m sure. The Shrehari are withdrawing from Cimmeria and should be clear by the time you arrive. The rendezvous point will probably be in interstellar space and its coordinates communicated in good time. For security reasons, it’ll be at the last minute. The date on which Terra will depart Earth is also still up in the air.”
“Makes sense. Confusion is probably the order of the day pretty much everywhere right now.”
“No doubt. Fleet HQ said I should warn you that your crews and Marines will be called upon to provide ceremonial guards on Aquilonia. Terra is bringing its own contingent, but the SecGen and Grand Admiral Shkadov want to put on a show.”
“My Marines are a company of soldiers from the Scandia Regiment, many of whom stared at Shrehari infantry through gun sights during the empire’s unsuccessful attempt to invade their homeworld.”
“Even better, though I wouldn’t parade the Shrehari battle standard the Scandians captured.”
“No worries. It’s sitting in an armored display case in the regiment’s headquarters.”
“Good. If you need to refresh your ceremonial attire and equipment, I’m sure we can help.”
Dunmoore made a face.
“In that case, I suppose I’ll need a commodore’s dress uniform.”
“Done. Tell your staff to speak with mine.” Singhal contemplated her for a few seconds. “I envy you, Commodore. You’ll witness one of the most momentous events in human history. Peace between our species and the Shrehari after more than a decade of war.”
She thought about it and put on a dubious air.
“I’m not sure it’s that remarkable compared to the negotiations which ended both Migration Wars. The casualties were at least an order of magnitude greater, as was the devastation. We humans inflicted greater harm on each other than the Shrehari ever did.”
“Indeed.” Singhal inclined his head to acknowledge her point. “Civil wars are always among the most vicious of conflicts. In any case, those are your orders. Why HQ funneled them through me, I couldn’t say, since you still belong to SOCOM. Nevertheless, my supply warehouses are yours. Take whatever you need and ask us to order it if it’s not in stock. Should any of your ships need a turn in the dry docks, they’re yours. Even if HQ hadn’t ordered me to support you with everything Starbase 30 can offer, I would have done so anyway, seeing as how our hopes for a peaceful future go with Task Force Luckner.”
Dunmoore inclined her head.
“Thank you, sir.”
“One more thing, Admiral Xi asked me to congratulate you on his and the grand admiral’s behalf for the success of your raid in the enemy home system. Task Force Luckner will receive a Commonwealth Unit Citation for the operation. Now, if there’s nothing else, I’ll leave you to it and let HQ know you’re ready for one last mission.”
“Can I mention the nomination for a unit citation to my captains?”
“Sure. Admiral Xi said it’s about to land on the Secretary General’s desk and Lauzier most certainly will sign it.”
“Excellent.”
“Before Task Force Luckner leaves, I wish to entertain you and your officers in the starbase mess. If you let my flag lieutenant know when you plan on sailing, he’ll arrange things. We’ll give you a traditional send-off.”
“Much appreciated, sir. I look forward to raising a glass with you.”
“Until then. Singhal, out.”
**
Stunned silence greeted her announcement when she told the assembled captains, for once sitting around the conference room table in person, of their next mission, why Luckner was chosen, and the soon to be announced award. With all nine ships docked at the huge, spindle-shaped station, a first in the task force’s history and a rare event for a ship Iolanthe’s size, getting everyone aboard was simplicity itself. However, Holt had made sure his colleagues were piped aboard in style by a bosun’s mate and a quarter guard from E Company, 3rd Battalion, Scandia Regiment at the main airlock.
“Are you telling us our actions are what ended this damned war?” Commander Vento asked. “If so, we should get more than just a Commonwealth Unit Citation. How about a victory parade on the Palace of the Stars’ ceremonial plaza in Geneva? Or a lifelong free drinks allowance in any Armed Services mess for every spacer and soldier in Luckner?”
“I’m afraid the citation, and the honor of escorting our armistice delegation is it, Farren. Sorry. You’ll need to keep buying your own drinks.”
Vento put on a disconsolate air and shook his head.
“Sad.”
“Keep in mind the unit citation comes with a nice, shiny device you can pin to your dress uniform,” Holt said. “Wear that in an officer’s mess and steer the conversation in the right direction. With any luck, someone might consider buying you a glass.”
“Consider the notion, take one look at your ugly mug, and reject it,” Pushkin added, grinning at his friend. “Tell you what, Farren. Come eat supper in Jan Sobieski tonight and I’ll feed you as much questionable booze as your stomach can handle.”
“Knowing the sort of bar your lot keeps, pass.”
“All right, folks.” Dunmoore raised a restraining hand. “We’ll be tasked with ceremonial duties as well, so make sure you have enough crew members with presentable dress uniforms to form an honor guard of, say, seventy-five under a lieutenant commander. Zeke, it’s a given E Company will parade alongside Terra’s Marines, so I need it ready. If we’re short of anything, Starbase 30’s supply section will help us.”
“Such as making you a commodore’s dress uniform, I hope?” Holt asked.
“Already on order. Replenish your ammo and ship’s stores. We’re heading for Cimmeria ready to fight if necessary. Until that armistice is signed, we are still technically at war. Anything requiring dry dock time is a priority since I don’t know when we’ll get the order to sail.”
“That would be Hawkwood,” Commander Midura said. “Those long crossings in hyperspace shook a few of our earlier repairs loose. We could do them ourselves, but it would be faster if we let the engineering section handle it.”
“Call the chief engineer directly. He’ll have received Admiral Singhal’s notice we’re a priority.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll do so the moment we’re done here.”
“Does anyone else need dry dock time? No? Good. You may put your crews on liberty rotation, one third at a time until you’ve replenished and completed n
ecessary maintenance tasks. After that, you may allow liberty to anyone not standing harbor watch. But no one leaves Starbase 30. I don’t want your coxswains chasing crew members all over the place if we receive sailing orders on short notice. And please warn them about getting into trouble. We’ve been on the go for so long, some might overdo the recreation part of R&R.”
“If you’ll allow me, sir,” Holt said. “What the commodore means but doesn’t wish to say in crude terms is anyone overdoing the intoxication part of I&I will be on her personal shit list. Our people will have drinks pushed on them because our raid on the Shrehari home system is now common knowledge. We don’t want those with insufficient self-control ruining Task Force Luckner’s good name. Make sure your coxswains hammer it home.”
As Holt looked around the table, his fellow commanding officers nodded one after the other saying, “Understood, sir.”
**
The first week docked to the starbase quickly stretched into a second. By then her ships were ready to sail, Hawkwood included, and Dunmoore was feeling restless to a surprising degree. With her reports sent and no fresh orders, she found herself at loose ends. Since she wasn’t the sort to enjoy the various entertainment facilities offered by Starbase 30, her sole social outings were dining in each ship, at the base officer’s mess and, for old times’ sake, in Iolanthe’s chiefs’ and petty officers’ mess at Guthren’s invitation.
But if the daily digests published by 3rd Fleet were correct, the Shrehari had ceased hostilities and were evacuating the occupied systems with commendable speed. A small number of shooting matches, quickly ended by the human ships withdrawing, were reported in the first couple of days, but since then, everything was quiet on the Shrehari front. Evidently, their communications network was reasonably efficient or had suddenly become so under Brakal the military dictator.
Her captains reported a few minor disciplinary incidents during the first rotations ashore, mostly alcohol-related, but nothing that the respective first officers couldn’t deal with after their coxswains collected the defaulters from the base brig. Thankfully none of them came from Iolanthe, though she heard unconfirmed rumors Sergeant Major Haataja inserted himself into a shouting match between his soldiers and Marines from the local garrison before fists flew and successfully prevented a brawl.