Cauldron of Fire (Blood on the Stars Book 5)

by Jay Allan

  Free Trader Pegasus

  Docked at Fleet Base Grimaldi

  Orbiting Krakus II

  Year 311 AC

  “Stay with the ship, Vig. All of you stay. If anyone tries to come aboard…do what you can.” She was about to say “stop them,” but she caught herself before such an absurdity came out of her mouth. She’d willingly docked at the largest naval base in the Confederation, one with thousands of Marines on it, not to mention ship crews, security personnel, and just about every type of weapon imaginable. What did she think her crew could do if anyone really wanted to board Pegasus?

  “Good luck, Andi.” She wasn’t sure if she caught a tone of discontent in her friend’s voice or if it was just her own doubt manifesting itself. She was pretty sure Merrick had expected to stash the device they’d recovered, keeping it safe from confiscation, at least until they’d been paid their price, but he hadn’t argued with her when she stated her intention to go directly to Grimaldi without any stops. That was Vig’s way, but she was far from sure he didn’t resent her subordinating the interests of the crew yet again.

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” She turned and saw a small group of Marines moving forward. “Captain Lafarge?” one of them asked as he walked toward her.

  “Yes, Lieutenant. I am Andi Lafarge.”

  “Admiral Striker sent me to bring you to him.”

  “Lead the way, Lieutenant.” She glanced back toward Merrick, still unsure of the emotions behind the look on his face. She didn’t doubt her people’s loyalty, and certainly never Vig’s, but she didn’t like the idea of them feeling unappreciated or ill-treated by her. She had to admit to herself, the closeness she’d once enjoyed with them all wasn’t as easy anymore. She’d been distracted for the last two years—by the war, of course, and most of all, by Tyler Barron. Her affections for her people hadn’t changed, but now she asked herself, how would she react if she was one of them, watching their comrade suddenly so friendly with naval types and more interested in the war effort than in profits?

  She followed the Marine through the hatch and into the hall, tracing the familiar route toward Striker’s office. But then the lieutenant turned off from the course she remembered and down a hall to a large set of double doors. “I am here with Captain Lafarge, sir,” he said into the comm unit alongside the door.

  The hatch opened, revealing a large conference room. “Come in, Andi.” It was Striker’s voice, but there was something there, tension? Distraction? Then: “That will be all, Lieutenant.”

  Lafarge stepped inside, the doors closing behind her. “Admiral it’s…” She froze, staring down to the end of the conference table. It was a man, but not Striker. She recognized him, at least she thought she did.

  “Gary Holsten, Captain. We’ve never been formally introduced, though we have run into each other before.” He stood up and walked toward Lafarge.

  “I am sorry, Andi.” She turned as Holsten approached. The last words had come from the side, and Striker was standing there, in front of a massive screen. “I didn’t mean to blindside you. Mr. Holsten and I are dealing with something…important. But when they told me you said you had to see me, I ordered them to bring you here at once.”

  Andi turned back toward Holsten, who was next to her now, holding his hand out. “Van has told me all about what you did out in the Badlands, Captain.” He forced a smile over his otherwise deadly serious expression. “Please, call me Gary.”

  “Yes, Mr…Gary.” She reached out and took his hand. Then she turned back toward Striker. “Thank you for seeing me, Admiral. I can see that you’re…occupied.” Her eyes darted around by instinct, normal curiosity. But then she realized everything in the room was probably highly classified, and she looked back toward the door.

  “Don’t worry, Andi,” Striker said softly. “Yes, everything in here is top secret, but if I didn’t trust you, you wouldn’t be here. And besides, it won’t be secret much longer.” He sighed softly.

  “Ah…yes, Admiral…well, I have something I needed to discuss with you.”

  Striker gestured toward one of the chairs around the table. “As you have said. Please, sit.” Striker did the same, followed by Holsten, who took one of the closer chairs instead of going back to his old spot. “You can say anything in front of Gary,” he said, noting Lafarge’s hesitancy and repeated glances toward the other man.

  “Well, Admiral…Gary…you are aware of what my crew and I do for a living.”

  “Indeed, Captain…or may I call you Andi? You have had a very interesting career.”

  Striker shook his head. “You have to understand Gary here. He is the head of Confederation Intelligence. Chances are, if hamburgers give you a stomachache, he knows about it.”

  The whole thought gave Lafarge a shiver. She’d never really thought about what kind of files the intelligence services might have on her and her people. Now, she wondered what Sector Nine had…

  “Well,” she continued tentatively, “we found something…something I think may have military potential. And I wanted to give you first crack at it before I sell it.” She looked over at Holsten. “And yes, please call me Andi.”

  “Sell it on the black market, no doubt,” Holsten said, more amusement than accusation in his voice.

  “To the highest bidder,” Lafarge replied, mustering her defiance, “wherever that may be.”

  “I trust that would not include the Sector Nine agents infesting the border ports now, would it?”

  “No! I would never…” She was upset at the suggestion that she would sell her cargo to the enemy.

  “Yet you have in the past, have you not?”

  Lafarge suddenly felt strange, a combination of unease and anger. “If I did, it was long before the war, and nothing of any real importance. Your operatives may not approve of what my people do, Mr. Holsten, but we are no traitors.”

  “Gary didn’t mean anything by that, Andi. He just has a hard time dropping the grim intelligence chief bit.”

  “I apologize…Andi. I did not mean to impugn your patriotism. Indeed, your efforts involving the planet killer may very well have saved the Confederation from destruction. We all owe you our heartfelt thanks.”

  “So, what did you find now, Andi?” Striker looked right at her, an anxious expression on his face.

  “I am not sure, but I think it is some kind of interference generator, something that blocks scanners. It seems to be intact, or at least relatively so.”

  “Functional?” Striker sounds surprised.

  “No, but it had an antimatter power source with it when we found it. The canister was damaged, and we couldn’t risk taking it with us.”

  “There’s a canister of antimatter out where you found this?” Holsten’s voice this time, concerned.

  “No, not anymore. We destroyed it.”

  Striker shook his head. “All that antimatter…I’m surprised you didn’t leave it so you could come back.” He paused. “Or did you?”

  “No, Admiral…I might have done that, but I didn’t think we could leave it there for just anyone to find.”

  “You must have been way out there…why were you so concerned?”

  She sighed. “Because I think there was a Union expedition two systems away.”

  “You ran into Union ships?” Striker and Holsten both sat bolt upright.

  “No…not exactly. On the way there, we found a system. There were residual fuel traces everywhere, and the surface of one of the planets was massively scarred. Someone had excavated there—a massive project—and they covered their tracks with a nuclear bombardment.”

  “Are you sure? Could it have been an asteroid collision or something natural?”

  “I’m sure.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a data chip. “Here are the scanner readings. Someone was definitely there, and they didn’t want anyone to find out why.” She slid the chip across the table toward Striker.

  He reached out and scooped it up, looking down at it in his hand.


  “Who else knows about this, Andi?” Holsten’s voice had some edge to it now, a sense of urgency.

  “No one but my crew.”

  “Where are they now?”

  She tensed up. “Why?”

  “I mean them no harm, Andi…but can you order them to stay on your ship, what is it, Pegasus?” He paused. “Just until we can check this out. If the Union has made a major find in the Badlands…”

  “I told them all to stay put until I came back. And though I suspect it was the Union, I have no real evidence.”

  “The fact that you found what you did is pretty strong evidence. Who else would be out there in flagrant violation of international law?” Holsten looked across the table at Striker. “I’ll have that analyzed immediately, Van.” He reached out across the table, and Striker dropped the chip into his hand.

  “I’d have brought a copy if I knew there’d be two of you here.” It had been an attempt at levity, but it came out dark and deadpan instead. “That chip has a complete scan of the blast site, as well as the fuel trails and other remnants of the expedition. You can study what someone else did or did not find there, but I have a real piece of old tech, and I’m looking to sell it. You were fair to my people last time, Admiral, and I want to help the war effort. That is why I am here. But I cannot just give away what I found.”

  “I will do what I can, Andi,” Striker said, cautiously. “Unfortunately, I am limited in my ability to requisition funds.”

  “I’m not,” Holsten interrupted. “I give you my word, Andi. Whatever you have, whatever condition it is in, Holsten Interests will purchase it for its full black market value. Just give it to Van and his people so they can begin researching it. If it is of military value, it might make a difference in the war…and if not, my people will repurpose it for civilian use, and I’ll get that much richer. And you and your people will wealthier than you’ve ever imagined.”

  Andi was silent. She didn’t know Holsten, at least not well. She looked over at Striker.

  “I trust Gary with my life, Andi. If you would rely on me, you can rely on him.”

  She turned back and forth, looking at each of them in turn. Finally, she said, “All right. I will trust both of you.” Since you could just take it away from me, and neither of you have threatened to do that. Yet.

  But watch your words, friend…you have no idea how much wealth I’ve imagined…

  “I will send a team to offload the device. We’ll do it late, when the night duty shift is on. We want to keep this quiet, of course.”

  Andi nodded.

  “I will leave authorization for you to stay for as long as you wish, and you can refuel and refit if you want.”

  “Leave authorization?”

  A shadow passed over Striker’s face. “Yes, I’m afraid Gary is going back to Megara on government business…and I will be leaving with the fleet.”

  “The fleet?”

  “Yes…I’m afraid the Senate has ordered an immediate offensive to break through the Union defenses and end the war.”

  Striker’s tone told her all she needed to know about his hopes for success.

  God help us all…

  Chapter Thirty-One

  From the Journal of Commodore Tyler Barron

  We are on the way to Palatia. The desperate, crazy gamble has begun. I have seven battleships, a dozen escorts, and just over four hundred fighters. Commander Tulus commands another three capital ships, and eight frigates. It is an impressive fleet by any standard…any standard save the invasion and conquest of the capital of a race that worships strength and victory in combat. A race that is driven by an obsession to ensure their homeworld in never again subject to any enemy. I am haunted not only by what lies ahead, but also by the knowledge that this whole insane effort was my idea.

  Though my thoughts lie forward, on the battle before us, and on the men and women who will fight it with me, they are also behind, at Sentinel-2, where Vennius and his forces will stand and face the furious onslaught of Calavius and his Red fleet.

  Vennius would have been outnumbered even with every ship under my command arrayed alongside his forces. Now, without my ships and Tulus’s, his position is utterly hopeless. But he is not there to win, nor to save Sentinel-2. He is the bait, drawing in Calavius and as much of his fleet as possible. Every ship that attacks Vennius is one less defending Palatia. One less standing in the way of our desperate assault.

  We discussed the plan, a hundred times, it seems. I urged the Imperator to withdraw almost as soon as the Reds appeared, to flee and follow after my ships, having done their job of diverting the enemy’s strength. But I fear he will fight far too long, that he will do all he can to keep the enemy tied down in Palatia, to buy more time for our desperate bid to end the war.

  I only hope he breaks off soon enough, that he does not allow himself to be trapped. For he is not expendable, and no matter what success my arms achieve, I cannot long control Palatia without him. He must divert the enemy…and then he must get here, before his pursuers. Before my meager ground forces are defeated.

  Vennius is a good man, brave and trustworthy. I have seen too many like him lost, dead in battle. I pray he does not join that list.

  Bridge

  CFS Dauntless

  Sistari System, En Route to Palatia

  Year 311 AC

  “Bryan, come in.” Barron looked up from where he sat at the small desk in the corner of his quarters. His office off the bridge was a roomier workspace, but his quarters were quieter, farther from the nexus of activities on the ship. He’d suggested the attack on Palatia on an impulse, the only thing he could think of to ward off imminent defeat. But the reality of what he was attempting had since sunken in, and he realized what a desperate gamble the whole thing was. If Calavius didn’t commit most of his forces to the attack on Sentinel-2, all was lost. If he was wrong about the range of the Palatian orbital defenses, all was lost. If his small force of Marines and troopers couldn’t secure and hold the most vital installations on the ground, all was lost.

  “Commodore.” Bryan Rogan had been the commander of Dauntless’s Marine contingent since Barron had taken command. Despite years of service together, Rogan was still stiff around Barron, formal. He stood at attention for a few seconds, hesitating to sit in his commander’s presence. But then he obeyed, and he dropped into the chair, managing to look as tense and rigid sitting as he had standing.

  “Bryan, I want you to command the landing forces on this operation. You’ve got Dauntless’s Marines as well as the contingents from the other ships…and the Alliance troopers as well.” Rogan’s Marines had fought a harrowing battle against Alliance soldiers at Santis, and Barron knew asking the officer to fight alongside, to command, the troopers, was a heavy lift. But the ground action was vital to success, and there was no one in the fleet Barron considered a replacement for the Marine captain sitting across the desk from him.

  “Yes, sir.” The response was crisp, proper, but even the dour Marine was unable to completely hide the emotions Barron’s words had stirred.

  “I know this will be difficult for you, Bryan. I’m also confident you can do the job.” Barron reached out and grabbed a small box. “But it is not a posting for a captain. This has been long overdue, Bryan. I’m only sorry I allowed it to take so long.” He pushed the box across the desk. “I’m afraid I had to have these made in Dauntless’s metal shop…apologies if they’re not quite up to normal standards.

  Rogan picked up the small box and opened it, staring down in dumbstruck shock. Finally, he stammered, “Sir…I don’t know what to say.” He pulled out a shiny platinum eagle, the insignia of a Marine colonel.

  “It’s well deserved, Bryan.” A pause. “I’m afraid it’s just a brevet bump for now, at least officially. But the high command will make it permanent as soon as we get back, I have no doubt of that.”

  “Thank you, Commodore.”

  “Now that we got that out of the way, let’s talk shop. Y
ou won’t have any problems with the other Marine contingents. You’ll have just under sixteen hundred, and eleven vital objectives. You’ll have to take control of them…and hold them for an indeterminate period.” That was the part of the plan that most worried Barron. A surprise attack could be successful, even against overwhelming odds, but unless Vennius managed to break off in Sentinel-2 as planned and get back to Palatia before Calavius—or, for that matter, just get back before the troops on the planet managed to reorganize and counterattack—it was all academic. A force as small as the one Barron was landing could only hold out so long.

  “Understood, sir. Resources will be thin, but we’ll make it work.”

  “You have my every confidence, Bryan.” Barron paused. “You will have about eight hundred troopers as well. They will also be under your command. You, better than anyone, know how well they can fight.”

  “Yes, sir.” There was a vast pool of emotion behind the Marine’s clipped reply.

  “Well, this time they’re on your side. And, Bryan…you’ve got to use them effectively. All your strike teams need to be integrated. We don’t want the entire planet rising up against us, and I think you have some idea how the Palatians would respond to a foreign invader. With their history, they would lose their minds. You’d have young kids strapping bombs to themselves. Your troopers are your cover against that. Deploy them in the most visible spots, use their officers to interact with the locals. They’ve gotten a lot of propaganda against the Grays, but that will be nothing compared to how they would react to foreign officers and troops. If any of your Marines sneaks out to take a leak, he’s got to have a trooper with him. Understood?”