by PP Corcoran
A small chime interrupted Keyton’s reverie as the door to the briefing room slid open. A sleek, deep-ebony, furred figure entered; Force Leader Tolas, the Persai representative on the Combined Joint Chiefs. His almost eight feet of height only served to emphasize the small stature of Razna Holan, the Garundan admiral, who was barely five-foot-four. His light green, scaled skin and the constantly moving yellow-brown eyes could not have been more contrasting to the towering Persai and his distinctly canine features. Their animated conversation halted as they noticed the seated Keyton waiting for them.
Keyton wrinkled his forehead in a frown as he stood to greet his fellows, he worried that the heated discussion did not bode well for the meeting to order the joint Commonwealth forces into their first offensive operation.
“I gather by your... tête-à-tête, that we have no agreement as yet?”
Razna’s head fell back in an open-mouthed silent laugh, characteristic of his people. “On the contrary, Keyton. Tolas and I are in total agreement. You are perfectly correct there are, at present, only two points of contact between the forces of the Others and Commonwealth forces. Admiral Radford’s plan to locate the enemy base from which the harassing raids on Garundan space are being carried out is perfectly sound but, and I think we all agree on this point, it may take some time for his plan to come to fruition.” Keyton and Tolas remained silent; they knew this was true. “The problem I see is one that’s confronted us since the beginning of time. We must wrestle the initiative from the enemy. We must dictate to him how the conflict progresses. He must not dictate to us. We don’t know the extent of space controlled by the Others or the resources they can bring to the conflict.” Razna’s voice rose an octave as he voiced his concerns. “We must know these things so we can devise a winning strategy or the war could drag on for years.”
“I agree,” growled Tolas, “if we cannot identify the enemy’s star systems we will stumble in the dark and hope to bump into them. I’m concerned the Others haven’t attempted another assault on Garunda. I fear they’re amassing forces and will attack in overwhelming numbers.”
Keyton tapped a request into his PAD; the holo cube above the table burst into life as it brilliantly displayed the current force levels of Third Fleet. “OK, let’s take a look at what we’ve got.” Keyton pointed at the 3D image display. “Third Fleet has received its first Bismarck battleships and has priority on munitions and repair facilities. The Viper weapons platforms and Sherlock detection platforms surrounding Garunda are now up to scratch and are comparable to those protecting Earth. Ground-based Planetary Defense Centers are coming on-line at a rate of one a month and with their grazers and HVMs I am confident that Garunda could repel any attack.”
“And Razna, remember your Baasa guided missile destroyers are equivalent to the human Agis class and add another layer of defense against missile threats” added Tolas.
Razna nodded in agreement. Pars and Garunda had similar skill shortages. Pars had implemented population control and compensated their workforce with technology; Garunda simply did not have skilled crewmembers and were unable to provide crews for larger-sized vessels such as cruisers. The Persai stepped in and offered them ship designs that relied heavily on computer control, much more so than any human ship, but it allowed the Garundans to crew more ships with less crew. Built for small crews and designed for specific needs, the Baasa-guided missile destroyers were perfect for the new Garundan naval academy graduates.
Keyton cleared his throat. “Gentlemen if I may, I’d like to focus on the point of today’s meeting. So... Do we agree that Garunda is as secure as we can make it?”
“Agreed.”
“Agreed,” Razna nodded a little reluctantly.
“And we agree that Pars, Earth, Janus and Alona have seen no evidence of any enemy activity?” Keyton’s compatriots nodded their agreement.
Keyton let out a small, apprehensive breath. “That leaves us 70 Ophiuchi…” Another touch of his PAD and the order of battle of the Third Fleet in the holo cube disappeared, replaced with an image of a small, yellowish world orbiting 70 Ophiuchi some 16.59 light years from Earth. “For the past three weeks, Persai ships have been, under stealth, probing the system for any sign of enemy activity.” In the display, five small red icons appeared in a loose circle around a larger icon. “Tolas, if you please.” Keyton handed over the talk.
“From our analysis, I’m confident the five smaller returns are a single Goshawk anti-missile ship and three Buzzard class battleships. The fifth ship is a bit of a mystery, we haven’t seen its type before, and although it’s larger than both the Goshawk and Buzzards, it has a lower energy signature. The analysts believe it’s a cargo ship of some description and I have no reason to disagree.”
“That would certainly fit the data as I read it,” commented Razna.
Keyton, seeing the same data, also agreed. “What of the other ship? The one the Others are spread around.”
“Ah…” Tolas touched a control on his PAD, the image of the central icon magnified until it filled the holo cube.
Keyton allowed his eyes to absorb the image for a moment. It was a very impressive, if not completed, orbital structure. It looked like a giant starfish. There were five legs joined by a central hub. Beside the image was a small chart of dimensions showing the true scale of the build. The central hub was nearly one kilometer in diameter and each of the legs extended out another 900 meters. Keyton could actually make out small groups of workers on the outer skin, looking like ants.
“That, I think we can all agree, is a starship repair facility. It may incorporate a fleet base and we think it’s eighty-five percent complete. Comparing the build progress over the past three weeks, we predict its completion within fifty to ninety days. When does it become operational? Well… your guess is as good as mine... but if I were in charge, I’d want it operational immediately after completion.”
A fifty-to-ninety day window before the base may be operational. Keyton gave a silent whistle.
“What about the enemy base on the surface?” Razna queried.
Tolas worked his PAD and the image of the space station shrunk until it was only a point in space hovering over a now rotating planet. As they watched, a small, blinking red icon came into view by the planetary rotation. The rotation took the blinking icon directly beneath the fixed space station until it disappeared out of view.
“The Others have built the space station so that the surface base passes directly below it once every planetary day. Approximately every twenty-six hours.”
“Have the Persai ships observed any weapons platforms in orbit?”
Tolas shook his head. “None have been observed but,” he snorted, “that doesn’t mean there aren’t any.”
Keyton pushed himself up from his chair and paced slowly around the table, deep in thought. The Others could have an operational fleet base in the next two to three months. God only knew how many ships they would base there. So... five enemy ships in orbit, one of which is a cargo ship; no orbiting weapons platforms, we think, and a surface base with a short time window for attack in a twenty-six hour timeframe... mmm... He continued his pacing for a few more seconds before coming to a decision; he stopped and turned to face Razna and Tolas.
“We must consider an assault on the space station before it becomes operational. If the assault is successful, we must follow it with a ground assault on the surface base. Our objective must be to secure any intelligence it contains. Time is short. If the analysts believe the fleet base could be completed within as little as fifty days, we must strike before then.”
Tolas and Razna both knew the risks such an attack entailed, but neither could come up with a valid argument as to why it shouldn’t be launched.
Razna sat up a little straighter in his seat and his face was set. “I agree. Tolas?”
The Persai used one elongated finger to scratch behind his left ear as he considered his answer. He could see no other way to gain the initiative from the Ot
hers. He considered the risks of achieving the destruction of what was obviously going to be a major fleet base, its supporting surface facilities and the potential bonus of gleaning intelligence from the facilities computer core against the odds of success. He came to a conclusion, slapping his hand hard on the table, he said, “Very well. Attack we must.”
Keyton tapped his wrist comm and a disembodied, heavily accented voice answered his summons.
“Communications. Commander Petrovic.”
“Commander. Signal the Dark Horse and the Chromite. My compliments to Admiral Ricco and Brigadier General Pak and request that they report to Central Command at their earliest convenience.”
#
CARSON CITY – EARTH – SOL SYSTEM.
Commander Bryer Anderson approached his office on the eighty fourth and second from top floor of the Naval Intelligence Service Headquarters in Carson City with crisp steps. Anderson’s starched blue uniform with its three gold cuff rings crowned by a gold five-pointed star gleamed. His non-regulation tailored uniform managed to conceal the small paunch that seemed to expand annually. His gold name tag, exactly level with his lapel, announced his name to all. Unusually for an officer in a time of war, even one involved in intelligence, Anderson failed to display any awards or citations related to combat operations. For some unexplained reason, Bryer Anderson had never found himself attached to a unit that was about to go into combat. He’d managed to call in a few favors and had been appointed as Fleet Intelligence Officer for Third Fleet where he’d quickly cleaned house of all those who didn’t toe the party line. Free thinking by your underlings was only something that got department heads into trouble and he had stepped on it with a vengeance. Junior officers needed a strong, hands-on approach and after only a short time with Third Fleet, where he caught the eye of Admiral Radford, he was rewarded with a move to headquarters and placed in charge of a newly founded department of Special Projects Research, which forwarded all its reports directly to the office of the CNI. Of course Anderson ensured that every report came through him first, making whatever amendments he deemed necessary before copying the report upstairs with his signature as the author. After all, he did have to rewrite the majority of the reports, so it was mostly his work and he deserved the credit.
The top floor of the building was reserved solely for those working directly for Admiral Aleksandr Vadis, Chief of Naval Intelligence. The one underneath was reserved for heads of the major departments, but after repeated calls to the commander responsible for allocating office space it had taken the promise of a crate of expensive bourbon and dinner at one of the city’s most exclusive restaurants to secure Anderson an office suite. It wasn’t a corner office, but it would do.
On entering his outer office, it took him a moment to realize that CPO Mundy was missing from her desk. Where was that infernal woman? She knew that today was dry-cleaning day and he had a golf date with Senator Mackenzie this afternoon. Scowling, he walked through the open door into his office, never stopping to wonder why the inner office door was open. The sight of someone perched on the corner of his mahogany, hand-polished desk, enjoying the view, brought him to a halt. The interloper was dressed in the uniform of the day, standard khaki. Probably some secretary who had come to deliver hard-copy material and couldn’t resist seeing how her betters were rightfully treated. How dare she enter his office without his permission? Anderson’s face flushed with rage. That lazy bitch Mundy will find herself counting paper clips for the rest of her naval career for not being at her post, Bryer promised himself.
“Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my office?”
Without turning, a soft female voice answered him. “Perhaps, Commander you should know to whom you’re speaking before using profanity to a senior officer.”
As the woman turned to face him, the single silver star of a rear admiral glinted on her collar.
Anderson sprang to attention. “Apologies, Admiral. I didn’t recognize you, Admiral…?”
“Wilson.”
Anderson felt his chest tighten. Admiral Wilson worked directly for the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs and she cut a swathe through officers of not only the navy but of every armed service in her quest for efficiency and an end to corruption at all levels.
“My secretary failed to notify me we had a meeting this morning. I shall be sure to suitably rebuke her for this oversight. Again, please accept my apologies.”
Elizabeth Wilson regarded the overweight commander with eyes that would have bored holes in the toughest battle armor. “It would appear, Commander, that you are incorrectly dressed. I believe you should be in standard khaki, unless there’s a reason why you’re wearing dress blues?”
Anderson managed a spluttered reply. “I… I… I have an important meeting with Senator Mackenzie this afternoon and instead of going home to get changed, I came to work ready.” Anderson fixed his most ingratiating smile on his ruddy face. A trickle of sweat ran down the side of his face. He fought the urge to wipe it off. Wilson still hadn’t released him from the position of attention. The bitch is enjoying showing me who’s boss, thought Anderson.
If at all possible, Wilson’s eyes hardened even more. “Is that so, Commander? So would you say you’re aware of everything that goes on in your department?”
Anderson’s sense of self-preservation had never let him down and now it was sounding alarm bells in his head. “I assure you, Admiral, that I personally vet any and all material before it leaves this department.”
“Do you? And does your management style also include suppressing information that could prove vital to our understanding of the war?”
His mind raced. Suppress information? What the hell was she getting at? Then the penny dropped. Wilson. Wilson! Surely she couldn’t be related to that awkward ensign? The one who’d bombarded him with fanciful tales about how the Others should’ve crushed the Commonwealth by now and that somehow the combined intelligence apparatus of the Union had failed to ask the right questions, whereas he, a lowly ensign, had asked the right ones. It had taken a direct order from Anderson and the threat of disciplinary action to shut him up. So he’d gone to a powerful relation, none other than the chairman’s hatchet woman, with his lunacy and she had, of course, rushed to his defense. Nepotism at its worst.
“I’m sure in your time, Admiral, you’ve come across junior officers who’ve been… let’s say, over-enthusiastic about an idea and it’s taken a more experienced hand to guide them in the right direction.”
Wilson couldn’t believe what she was hearing. The basis of good intelligence was to collect all available information and then follow it to its ultimate conclusion for better or worse, not just to tailor it to what you thought your superiors wanted to hear. Generals directing a war needed to know all the facts or mistakes were made. And mistakes in war meant dead seamen, soldiers, and marines. For the first time in her life, Elizabeth Wilson felt something snap inside her.
It was at that instant that Bryer Anderson realized he just might have created the end of his naval career. Wilson’s steely stare had been replaced with one that he misinterpreted as one of triumph. The bitch is going to crucify me to save the skin of her pathetic ensign.
His face recoiled in horror as Elizabeth closed the distance between them. So close that he could feel the spittle hit his face as she said the words that rang his career’s death knell:
“Consider yourself beached, Commander Anderson, with immediate effect. The Judge Advocate General’s office will prepare papers for dereliction of duty, conspiracy to suppress vital information in time of war and anything else that I can think of. Now get out of my sight before I help you from the building via your office window!”
Anderson staggered backwards under her verbal assault and as she finished he virtually fled the office. CPO Mundy was sitting at her desk as he went past. A large smile on her face. Laugh all you want, Mundy, but I’ll wipe that smile off your face. I don’t forget an enemy. I have friends and Senator Macken
zie is just one of them. My father hasn’t built a shipping empire without making some connections and I’m not afraid to call in a few of his favors.
CHAPTER SIX
ADVANCE!
EARTH ORBIT – SOL SYSTEM
The flag bridge of the TDF Furious hummed with subdued activity. Rear Admiral Analisa Chavez felt apprehension welling in her as she cast a furtive glance at the countdown clock on the far wall. Ten minutes to zero hour. Analisa forced herself to relax. The last five weeks had passed in a blur of planning sessions and operations orders. Her staff had worked like demons to bring BatFor 5.1 up to full combat readiness. The ships under her command had exercised as single units, then progressed through squadron maneuvers till they could work within their respective battle force or be chopped to Admiral Ricco’s BatFor 5.2 with no loss of command and control. Analisa had thought that the move to the command of one of Fifth Fleet’s battle forces was a snub after having commanded a battle force, in what many regarded, as the fighting fleet but as zero hour approached and she was about to take part in her, and the Commonwealth’s, first offensive operation, she had to admit that she wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.
A blinking light in her tactical holo cube caught her eye and she recognized it as belonging to her personal link to Admiral Ricco on his ship, TDF Dark Horse. Pressing a stud on her chair’s armrest, she accepted the call. The slightly chubby, gray-bearded face of Stephano Ricco filled one quarter of the holo cube. Stephano had been one of the many retired officers who had been reactivated under the program conceived and run by the then-Admiral Olaf Helsett before his promotion to Secretary of Defense. Maybe it was because Stephano appeared older than his actual years that he always reminded Analisa of her grandfather. It wasn’t a physical resemblance, far from it. Analisa was of old Mexican stock, her skin tone was a warm golden brown and her features were soft and smooth, whereas Stephano Ricco was unmistakably Italian. The high forehead and prominent hooked nose wouldn’t be out of place on an ancient Roman coin. But no matter, his soft tones and warm smile exuded confidence and right now, Analisa was glad to share in it. The depth of experience he brought as commander of Operation Lightning Strike was something they all felt was the reason they were ready within the timescale the Combined Chiefs had set. Operation Lighting Strike. Analisa wondered again who had thought that name up.