Cauldron of Fire (Blood on the Stars Book 5)

by Jay Allan

  Barron wanted to intervene. It took all he had to remain still, silent, watching as this man, so recently his tormentor, but now his friend, was thrown to the ground. The bay doors opened again, and another column of troopers entered, this time escorting several senior officers, and the Imperator himself.

  Vennius stood back, not saying a word, looking somber, even sad. But Hirtius Longinus was in the forefront, animated, a sick smile on his face. “You tasked me with uncovering the treason in our midst, Your Supremacy, and so I give you the traitor.”

  “That is nonsense,” Tulus roared. “I will see you on the field of honor for such…” One of the soldiers kneed Tulus in the back at Longinus’s signal, sending the officer down to the floor.

  “You will do no such thing. Traitors have no honor, nor any recourse to the ways of honorable warriors.” Longinus turned toward Vennius, holding up a small datachip in his hand. “Here I have the evidence, Your Supremacy. Incontestable proof that Vian Tulus accessed our primary communications grid and sent a message…just before his fleet departed to meet Commander Mellus. It took some effort to track the endpoint of that transmission, but I can now say without doubt that it was Palatia itself.”

  Longinus turned and glared at Tulus, who had risen again to one knee. “Do you deny it, traitor? Or will you admit your guilt?”

  Tulus was silent. Barron waited for the officer to respond, but there was nothing. Only an angry glare toward Longinus, one that promised retribution but offered no defense.

  “You see, Your Supremacy? The traitor does not even try to lie his way out. He is guilty, and the blood of all the warriors we have lost through his treachery cries out for justice.”

  “I am no traitor.” Tulus’s tone was defiant, but there was something else there. Barron wondered, for an instant if it could be true, it the man he’d just fought alongside had been working against the cause the whole time. No, he decided. It wasn’t possible. Whatever evidence Longinus had, it was wrong. Barron could not believe Tulus was a traitor.

  “Commander Tulus, this entire episode grieves me.” Vennius finally spoke, and Barron could hear the emotion in his voice. “We have served many years together, and we have trusted each other with our lives. Explain this to me, Vian. Tell me whom you sent a message to, whom you contacted in the middle of enemy-held territory. I give you this chance now, as a friend and a comrade of more years than I can easily recount. Speak, clear yourself. I beg you.”

  But Tulus just stared back at Vennius, silent.

  Barron wanted to intervene, but he held himself. This was not his place, not even to be here, and much less to become involved. He just stood and watched as Vennius finally uttered a soft, somber command. “Take him away.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Command Center

  Fleet Base Grimaldi

  Orbiting Krakus II

  Year 311

  Admiral Van Striker sat at his desk, flipping through the morning comm traffic. It was mostly routine, until he saw the heading on one of the transmissions.

  He punched at his keyboard, pulling up the document. It wasn’t designated as a formal report, just as a personal message, which was why no one had pointed it out to him right away. But it was encrypted, with the specific code he’d given Tyler Barron when he’d sent him to the Alliance.

  There was a buzz at the door. He almost ignored it, he was so interested in the latest from Barron, but finally he looked up and asked his AI, “Who is it?”

  “Gary Holsten is at the door, Admiral. Shall I admit him?”

  “Yes…of course.” He shook his head, wondering if anyone would ever develop an AI that could really think worth a damn. Yes, probably the old empire. But we’d be wise not to emulate them, at least not in everything.

  The door slid open, and the head of Confederation intelligence stepped into the room. “Van, it’s good to see you. It’s been, what, four months?” Striker had known the intelligence director was planning to pay a visit, but he’d expected at least some warning.

  Though perhaps I shouldn’t have…

  He knew Holsten often liked to avoid the limelight and travel inconspicuously, not an easy goal for a man who was both the senior intelligence commander for the Confederation and the head of one of its most massive family fortunes.

  “Nearer five,” the Admiral said, without a doubt in his mind Holsten remembered their last encounter to the minute. Striker was out of his chair, slipping around the desk and extending his hand. “It’s good to see you…” He paused. “At least on a personal level. But, I have to tell you, my friend, you travel with a black cloud following you. I’d be thrilled if you walked in here one day and told me you’d just come to see if we could close down all the bars and officers’ clubs on Grimaldi, or because you wanted to discuss the navy’s excessive use of cleaning products, but I’m not going to hold my breath. Am I right that this is not a social call?”

  Holsten walked across the room, gesturing to one of the guest chairs in front of the desk. “Do you mind, Van? I’m afraid it was a rough trip out here—lots of extra acceleration. I just arrived, and I came here directly from the spaceport. My legs are killing me.” He sat down without waiting for an answer.

  “Of course,” Striker replied, now superfluously. “Sore legs? That sounds like g forces to me, all right. I could say you get used to it after a while, but that’s only half a truth…and one that requires you to spend a lot of time in combat conditions to test out…But you say you were rushing to get here? Which means that cloud behind you is probably a nasty one.”

  “No, not really. At least, not the worst one we’ve dealt with. But I wanted to give you as much time and warning as I could.”

  “Time and warning. That doesn’t sound good.” Striker turned and moved back to his desk, sitting down himself. His eyes caught the partially decoded communique on his screen. “If it can wait a moment, Van, I was about to read the latest message from Tyler Barron. You might be interested yourself.”

  “I am indeed. Commodore Barron has done an extraordinary job out there, but we both know we sent him to do an impossible task.”

  “It is impossible, at least with the resources we gave him.” Striker typed in the rest of the encryption code, and watched the jumble of letters move around, gradually forming a readable message.

  “What more could we have sent him? Could you really have spared anything from here?”

  Striker was reading the message as Holsten talked, and he got about three-fourths of what his friend said. “What? No, of course not. You know what shape we’re in here. We’d be in deep trouble without those last three new ships…and the fact that the Union is just as badly battered is our only saving grace.” He glanced back at the screen and then to Holsten. “Tyler says he needs reinforcements.”

  “I didn’t need him to tell me that.”

  “No, but it sounds urgent now. He says the Grays have been limited to hit and run operations against Red supply convoys and the like. They don’t have the strength to defend Sentinel-2 properly and mount any more significant operations.” Striker looked up from the screen, over toward Holsten. “Gary, Tyler hasn’t asked for anything since he’s been out there. Reinforcements, extra supplies…nothing. And now he’s saying if we don’t send more ships, Vennius is going to lose. Soon.”

  Holsten shook his head. “It’s a bad time for that news, Van.”

  “We’ve got some new ships coming out of the yards shortly, both new construction and repaired ships. Things have been quiet here. My scouts tell me the Union’s gotten some of their new ships up on the line, but no more than six. And we’ve already put that many new battleships into service. I think we could spare a few in the short term.”

  “That’s because you haven’t heard what I came to tell you.”

  Striker felt his stomach tighten.

  “It’s the Senate, Van,” Holsten continued. “Not just the Senate, but a lot of others too. Anybody remotely connected with military production is get
ting filthy, stinking rich…and everyone else is bleeding money and paying the taxes to support the war. Outside the Iron Belt shipyards and mines, people want this war to be over.”

  “I’d like that too, Gary. So would the men and women fighting it. Dying.” Striker had a sour look on his face. He wasn’t a big fan of politicians, and he suspected his opinion of them was about to get worse.

  “Of course, Van. Your people have done well, worked wonders even, to blunt the initial Union assault, and the price they paid was…” He paused. “I know that, and you know it too. But the civilians are tired of war, that’s all they know. They’re sick of casualty lists and rationing, and crushing taxes. And the politicians tell them what they want to hear.”

  “So, where is this going, Gary? I can’t exactly will the Union forces to stand down and agree to a peace. I don’t suppose any of those brilliant Senators who consider themselves such gifted diplomats have come up with a solution.”

  “In a manner of speaking, yes. There’s a motion pending in the Senate. I’ve done everything I could to thwart it, including a few things that could get me prosecuted if I’m not damned careful. If I hadn’t, you’d have the orders already. But I wanted to come here myself and tell you personally that they’re coming. It could be a month, maybe even six, but the Senate is going to order you to go on the offensive, at the latest after you get the next big wave of reinforcements. They’re convinced we haven’t pressured the Union enough. They think one strong assault will be enough to bring the enemy to the bargaining table to make a peace.”

  “That’s insane, Gary. We’re no better off than they are. Maybe in eighteen months, when our higher production levels have really had an effect—and hopefully after the Grays win the Alliance Civil War and come in on our side. But now…it will be a bloodbath, and when it’s over, we’ll be sitting right back here where we started, with half the strength we have now.”

  “That may be, my friend, but you don’t need to convince me. I’ve said everything you’ve just said, to anyone who would listen…and a few who wouldn’t. I’m telling you, they’re going to pass the resolution sooner or later, if only to look like they’re doing something.”

  “They’ll send thousands of spacers to their deaths so they can look like they’re doing something?” The anger was keen in Striker’s voice.

  “You know politicians, Van.”

  “Yes, I know them. Sometimes I wonder if we wouldn’t be best served by turning the fleet around and heading straight to Megara. Let them explain themselves to the men and women they’re so ready to order to their deaths.”

  Holsten shook his head. “C’mon, Van. You need to be careful what you say. I understand you’re angry, and I agree with you. You can say anything to me, and it won’t go farther than these walls. But if the wrong person heard that kind of thing…” He took a breath. “With what’s happening in the Alliance, no one in the Senate is likely to look kindly on a senior commander who sounds too independent.”

  “They can eat shit, Gary. A big steaming pile. If they want this job, they can take it and shove it so far…”

  “I’m sure it felt good to say that, Van, but think it through. The Senate will order your fleet to attack, and if you bring undue suspicion on yourself, or if you argue too aggressively with their orders, they will replace you with someone more pliable.” He stared right at Striker. “And there won’t be a thing I can do about it. So, your fleet, your spacers, will still go into the inferno, but they’ll do it under some political appointee instead of you.” He paused. “Unless you’re serious about starting a civil war right now.”

  Striker looked like he was going to argue, but he just leaned back and nodded, a sour expression on his face. Finally, he said. “I know you’re right, Gary, but this is damned hard to take. You know many people we’ll lose if we’re forced to attack.”

  “Yes, Van. I know.” Holsten’s words were somber, almost a whisper. “And this is what puts us in a spot now. We could spare reinforcements for Barron…but not when you could be ordered to take the offensive at any time. We will need every ship we can get into space here when that happens.”

  Striker shook his head. “No.” He paused. “Well, yes, conventional wisdom dictates we get everything we can into the line. But I don’t think that’s the right move.”

  “You want to move forward with fewer ships, less strength?”

  “I don’t want to move forward at all. But if I have to, what do we do? Pour everything we’ve got, every new ship and patched-together old wreck and push them into the furnace? It’s still not going to be enough. We’ll take a system, two, maybe even half a dozen. But we won’t have enough strength yet to reach anything vital enough to force a peace, not before the whole thing slows down to a bloody crawl. Then we’ll just be farther from Grimaldi, at the end of a long supply line through devastated systems. Even if we hold what we take, we’ll be a year moving our supply bases forward.”

  Striker stared hard at Holsten and continued, “Meanwhile, what do we do if the Reds win in the Alliance? Tyler Barron isn’t an officer who’s bashful about taking on rough odds. If he says they’re going to lose, they’re going to lose. If the whole fleet is forward, invading the Union, what are we going to use to counter an Alliance attack? We’ll be fighting for bullshit frontier planets, and Calavius and his fleet will be in Megara almost unopposed, roasting those timid politicians over a spit.”

  “So, what do you propose?”

  “Well, the weaker we are here, at Grimaldi, perhaps the less likely the Senate will be to order an offensive.”

  Holsten snorted. “I hope there’s more to your plan than that, because I’d hate to bank on that sort of sense prevailing. Know this, whatever you suggest…they’re going to order the assault, whether you move a single new ship up here or not. And, if they get wind that you’re not massing for an invasion, they’re just going to order the new construction up here themselves.”

  “Not if we send the ships to Barron first. Not all the new construction, of course, but enough to make a difference…or at least give Vennius a chance. That will leave some reinforcements for us here, and the temporary diversion of significant forces to the Alliance front at least makes an argument to delay a major offensive. They wouldn’t dare order Barron’s ships to return. Tyler’s become too much of a hero, his grandfather reborn. If the people get the impression the politicians have abandoned him…”

  “That may actually work, at least for a little while, but remember, we’re talking about Senators here, not sane, rational people. All they know is votes and holding on to power. But if I make sure any hint of ordering forces from the Alliance front sounds like a betrayal of Barron…”

  “I’m not saying we can convince them to give up on an attack, but maybe we can gain some time that way. A month. Two. Anything is worthwhile.”

  “You may have something there.” Holsten sat quietly for a few seconds. “But once they get word that we sent more battleships to the Alliance front, there will be hell to pay, at least privately.”

  “If anybody gives you too much trouble, you can let the word out the Senate is waffling on supporting Barron. That should scare the shit out of them, at least temporarily. Let those ships get out there, give Tyler a chance to use them. We’ll warn him he’s only got them for a short while. Maybe even a few months with extra force can make the difference.”

  “You’re talking about playing rough with the Senate, my friend.” Holsten had a troubled look on his face. “You know I almost took the big fall for the shit I pulled to get you named supreme commander. I slipped out of that one by a hair, Van, but you and I are in different positions. Even Senators are afraid to cross me too aggressively, for fear I’ve got some nasty dirt on them. The combo of Confederation Intelligence’s resources and my family’s money is enough to shake up even a veteran power broker. But they won’t think twice about cashiering a military officer who misleads them or tries to thwart what they want. You could lose your career,
Van. You could go to prison.”

  “You think that scares me? You think I’d miss this job? I’ve lost count of how many condolence letters I’ve written, how many funerals I’ve attended. I’ve seen almost five years of brutal warfare. I’m supposed to quake in fear because a bunch of fat, corrupt Senators might lock me away? They should live so long.”

  “I admire your attitude, Van. And, I agree with you…you have to know that. But don’t forget, if you go down, your men and women will still have to fight this war, and if the Senate replaces you, they’ll put a puppet political commander in your place. How many more of your people will die if a fool like that is in command?”

  Striker could feel Holsten’s comment hit home. The idea of his fleet going into a desperate fight without him, under the control of some crony admiral, sickened him. “You’re right, of course. But we have no choice. We must send at least another task force to Barron. We have to do everything possible to help the Grays survive, even win. If the Reds consolidate control over an even partially intact Alliance fleet, the Confederation could be finished.”

  Holsten sat for a moment, clearly thinking. Finally, he said, “You’re right, Van. There’s no choice. But let’s be smart about this. I will provide misleading information to the Senate, not you. I want you to send me reports, asking for the new ships to be sent to the front. That way, you’ve got cover. They can accuse you of improper use of the chain of command, or other nonsense, but you’re too famous now for them to sack you over bullshit like that.”

  “No, Gary. Not a chance. If we do this together, we do it together. I’ll take the same risks as you.”

  Holsten shook his head. “You’re a good man, Van, and loyal. But you have to let me take point on buying time. First, and let’s be brutally honest with each other, you’re more important right now to the war effort than I am. If our people have to invade the Union, I damned sure want you leading them…and so does every officer and spacer out there. On the other hand, I’ve done most of what I can by now…including getting you in that admiral’s uniform.”