by Jay Allan
He turned and snapped out a series of orders to officers standing around him. Then he took one last glance at his exec moving off, gathering his own command around him.
The Marines were battered, bathed in their own blood, tired, hungry…but they were still fighting.
And, as far as Bryan Rogan was concerned, as long as his people—any of his people—were still in the field, weapons in hand, Megara wasn’t conquered.
No, sir…not while a Marine stands defiantly in opposition to the invaders.
* * *
“Master Carmetia, Colonel Blanth…welcome to Megara.” Chronos stood up from behind his desk, and walked around toward the man and woman as they entered. It was a bit over the top in terms of hospitality. Carmetia was a Master, of course, though her rating was far below Chrono’s own…and Blanth was a prisoner of war.
Chronos had been surprised when he’d received the reports of the attack on Hegemony headquarters on Dannith, and on the death toll, which had included a Master named Develia, the military governor of the planet. He’d been even more surprised to discover that Carmetia, Develia’s immediate superior, had not had Blanth put to death immediately. He’d almost ordered the execution himself, but he’d held back. Defeating the Confederation was going to take more than brutality, and though Blanth’s alleged actions during the fight certainly warranted death, he’d thought perhaps mercy could reap some gains as well.
He didn’t really expect the Marine to willingly betray his people…but there were multiple ways to accomplish a goal, and as he looked out at the two new arrivals, he decided Carmetia had been right.
The Marine was more useful alive than dead.
“It is an honor, Master Chronos.” Carmetia bowed her head in respect. Blanth said nothing. He showed no overt signs of defiance, but neither did he exhibit any respect.
“I am pleased to see that your wounds have healed, Colonel.” Carmetia had submitted a full report of the attack on the Dannith headquarters, including a mention that Blanth had been critically injured…and that she’d not only spared him summary execution, but ordered his wounds treated.
Blanth nodded, an acknowledgement of Cronos’s words, but he still remained silent.
“My apologies, Master Chronos. Colonel Blanth does not understand who you are.”
Chronos smiled thinly. “I daresay, if he did, he’d hurl himself across the room in an effort to kill me. Though, perhaps we can get past such things, Colonel. You oppose our presence here, I understand that…yet, you have been treated humanely, even after you attempted to intervene in the attack on the Dannith headquarters. We are not friends, indeed, we are still enemies, but perhaps we can be civilized ones. You may oppose our purpose on the Rim, but we do share some goals. To reduce the losses among your people, for one. You must have noticed our forces have not engaged in wholesale orbital bombardments, or the widespread use of high-yield weaponry. We are here not to destroy your people, but to protect them. I do not expect you to believe that, but perhaps you will work with me, at least, to reduce suffering among your people.”
Blanth shifted his feet back and forth, clearly looking uncomfortable. Chronos knew he’d maneuvered the Marine, put him in an impossible situation. There was no realistic way he could offer resistance, not in his current situation. But could he refuse to help his own people, to save lives?
And, if he doesn’t realize in doing so, he is helping to find and eliminate the last of his comrades, so much the better…
Chapter Twenty
Shuttle Bay
Orbital Platform Killian
Planet Craydon, Calvus System
Year 320 AC
“Tyler, wait…I’m coming with you.” Gary Holsten came running across the gray deck of the shuttle bay, followed by an aide carrying two large bags.
Barron had been walking toward the shuttle, but as soon as he heard Holsten’s words, he stopped abruptly and turned around.
“Gary…”
“I want to come with you, Tyler.” Holsten came to a stop about a meter from the admiral. “We both know what this fight represents. I may not be of much help, but I know enough to stay out of the way.”
Barron exhaled slowly, struggling to keep the breath from turning into a sigh. “Gary…you know I’d love to have you with us. You’re an asset in any situation.” Barron had a long history with the intelligence chief, and he still believed Holsten’s role in arranging Van Striker’s appointment as fleet admiral had saved the Confederation from defeat early in the Union War. He’d never gotten all the details of that affair, but he’d long been convinced Holsten had taken some considerable chances in taking action.
Gary Holsten wasn’t a combat spacer or a Marine, but the man was no coward…and he was a fit comrade to have along for any battle.
Save for one problem.
“If you come along, who is going to stay on top of production and ensure the defenses remain at the ready.” Barron wasn’t sure how important all that was, especially since he’d drained the partially-operational fortresses of three-quarters of their fighters. If the enemy came to Craydon again, the defense would crumble almost at once. There was little doubt of that.
But if the attack on Megara was successful, the fleet was certainly going to need supplies and replacements to sustain its effort to drive the Hegemony back into the Badlands.
“We also need you to keep a watch on the Senate, and on the Grand Alliance council.” Gary Holsten was one of the few people Barron really trusted to deal with the politicians, mostly because the spymaster detested them with the same intensity Barron himself did. He wasn’t overly concerned about the minor mischief that might go on in the fleet’s absence, but he hadn’t forgotten that the Senate on Megara had approved formal surrender documents, caving in almost immediately to the Hegemony occupiers. Those edicts had been mostly ignored, though they had caused trouble in a few places, but Barron wasn’t about to risk another group of Senators and diplomats losing heart and undercutting the fleet’s efforts.
Holsten stood where he was, looking back at Barron. It was clear he hated the idea, that the last thing he wanted was to stay behind and babysit the Senate. But it was just as obvious he agreed with Barron, that he knew he had to remain.
“I just hate sending you off again, and staying here. I was never a soldier, Tyler, you know that, but I know how important this fight is…and I feel a real pull to be with you all.”
“I would be honored to have you at my side, Gary…but without you here, we could lose all we’re fighting to defend.” Barron paused, then he turned toward Atara Travis, who was standing right behind him. “Atara, issued a fleet level command. I am placing Gary Holsten in command of the Craydon defenses, with the temporary and provisional rank of admiral. All spacers, base personnel, and Marines are to obey his orders as though they were mine.”
Atara nodded. “I will send it out as soon as we get to Dauntless. I’ll make sure the Senate and the Council both get copies.” That was Atara being comprehensive, Barron knew, but it was also her taking the chance to send a jab toward the politicians.
Holsten looked on, the surprise in his face obvious. For most of their time working together, Holsten had been the more powerful of the two, but Confederation Intelligence had been largely unable to penetrate Hegemony security, and consequently, Holsten’s importance had diminished. He was still intelligence chief, and one of the wealthiest men in the Confederation, but Barron’s power and prestige had risen so high, he’d been able to bend the Senate and the Council to his will with no more than a threat to resign.
“I will stay.” The disappointment was clear in his voice, but also a spark of gratitude. Barron didn’t doubt Holsten would have found a way to do whatever he decided needed to be done anyway…but now he could simply issue an order and dispense with the cloak and dagger for once.
He looked up at Barron. “Go, Tyler. You know what has to be done. Don’t worry about things here. Just retake Megara…and send those Hegemony son
s of bitches heading back where they came from.”
* * *
“I’m still worried about the escort carriers, Clint. We’re all at risk, of course, but sending crews forward in a bunch of tin cans seems like…murder. You know as well as I do, a couple hits could take one out, and I’m not talking about railgun hits. Hegemony cruisers will cut them to ribbons, and even most of the escorts. All maybe, save the ones a hundred percent converted to anti-fighter ops. Though, even the point defense guns could cut up those thin hulls if they’re close enough.” Barron had been of two minds on the escort carriers since they’d first been suggested. He’d take any extra fighters he could get in a fight against Hegemony forces, and the ability to project the attack craft into small actions without detaching battleships from the main fleet had vastly expanded the anti-shipping operations against the enemy supply lines. But he’d dreaded what would happen to the ships in a pitched battle. He imagined not just a heavy casualty rate, but quite possibly losing them all.
“Tyler, I understand your concerns. They’re valid, all of them. But what about this conflict, the situation and the odds we face is ideal? It’s not a question about the risk the crews are taking, or what will happen to the squadrons if the enemy moves on the escort carriers, and they’re too slow to get away. The question is can the fleet win the battle…because if it doesn’t, you know how badly our losses will be, in battleships and cruisers as well as the small carriers. Even whatever ships get out will just face the enemy again, in increasingly hopeless efforts to stop their advance. You’re my friend and my commander, and I’d follow you into hell if you led me there, but you’ve got to cut yourself some slack on this. You’ve got to accept the fact that losses don’t matter, not now. Only victory does. If we win, and if we can go on from there to save the Confederation, believe me, there will be more than enough time to torment yourself over everything you did in the war. And, if not…what difference does it make?”
Barron felt the urge to argue, but he knew Winters was right. They were both exhausted, but Winters seemed to have adapted better than he had to the likely costs of the commitment to retake Megara. Maybe it was a look at the inner strength that gave Winters his nickname, or perhaps it was the relative solace of the number two position. Whatever the effect, though, the ‘Sledgehammer’ seemed coldly focused, and ready for the fight.
Barron, on the other hand, was edgy, dedicated to completing the operation no matter what, but troubled by one aspect after another. He knew it was a combination of factors affecting him, worry over Andi, the stress of the top command, the realization that failure in the next days would likely lead to total defeat.
The Barron admirals will be a pair of bookends, one who saved the Confederation…and the other one, who lost it…
The elevator doors opened, and the two men stepped out onto Dauntless’s bridge. Winters’s flew his flag from Constitution, as he had for years. The battleship was a relatively new vessel, and it had been refit and upgraded with every new system available, including enhanced primaries. It was about thirty thousand kilometers away, holding position with the fleet’s Second Division, waiting for the admiral to shuttle over and step onto the bridge.
But Winters had something to do first. He’d come to Dauntless to stand by Barron as the commander in chief addressed the fleet, to let the spacers waiting to depart see and hear their two commanders, side by side.
Barron walked toward his chair, snapping off a few routine commands as he took his position. He didn’t sit. He would make this speech standing, Clint Winters at his side.
He glanced over at the tiny sphere on the ceiling, the camera that would transmit a visual feed along with the audio. Barron was introverted by nature, and he hated the idea of his image as well as his voice being transmitted to tens of thousands of spacers. But they were all at their posts, almost certainly afraid, and they deserved to hear from their commander before they set out on what would be, for many of them at least, their final journey.
“Everything is ready when you are, Admiral.” Atara was about a meter from her workstation, looking over at the two admirals standing on her bridge.
“Let’s go, Atara…let’s get this over with.”
Travis turned and gestured toward on of the bridge officers. A few seconds later, she looked back toward Barron and said, “You’re live, sir.”
Barron took a deep breath. “Spacers of the fleet, warriors of the Grand Alliance, this is Admiral Tyler Barron. I am here with Admiral Winters, as the fleet prepares to set forth on its great mission. For those of you from the Confederation, we go to liberate our capital, the world that more than a century ago founded our nation as it emerged from the darkness of the Cataclysm. For the rest of you, we go to fight a climactic battle, one conceived to break the momentum of the enemy’s advance…and to begin the crusade that will save the Rim.
“Make no mistake, any of you. When we reach Megara, you will be fighting for your families, your loved ones, and your nations. You will be fighting for your homes. For if we fail, if we are defeated, the Rim will almost certainly fall…and we will lose our ways of life, our belief systems, all we hold dear.”
Barron’s voice was loud and strong. As always, he wasn’t sure where the strength came from, but despite his trepidations, he’d always managed to give his spacers the support they needed.
“Admiral Winters, and I will be with you, in the main battle line, fighting the enemy as you do. The entire fleet will be together, driving forward, with a relentlessness that can come only from the righteousness of our cause. Stay with me, spacers, fight at my side…and we will drive the enemy back where they came from, chase them from the Rim, now and forever!”
Barron turned and gestured toward Winters. “With an officer like the Sledgehammer at my side, and veteran spacers like all of you, I have no doubt of our victory…none!” Barron hated lying to his spacers, but sharing the trepidation he truly felt would have made for one hell of a bad speech.
“Come with me now…to Megara and to victory!”
Barron couldn’t see or hear the spacers of the fleet, most of them at least, but he couldn’t ignore the cacophony on Dauntless’s bridge. Every officer was on his or her feet, shouting and applauding. If the other ships of the fleet were anything like the flagship, his people were ready.
Ready for whatever lay ahead.
Ready to do what they had to do.
He just hoped he could lead them to victory, that he had the skill and the talent they believed he had.
He had decided to throw the dice, to make one great gamble, to trade a long, slow decline for one last chance at victory.
Now, it was time to see it through.
Chapter Twenty-One
Bridge
CFS Hermes
Megara, Olyus III
Year 320 AC
“We’re through…” Vig Merrick sat at the sole spare workstation on Hermes’s small bridge. Andi had been concerned her regular naval crew would resent the presence of her comrades from Pegasus, but she’d been pleasantly surprised to see that wasn’t the case at all. She had a hard time acknowledging the reputation that had built up around her, especially since her battle with Ricard Lille. The notoriety of defeating the deadliest Sector Nine assassin had only increased interest in the rest of her past, and the vast wealth she and her companions had earned exploring the Badlands for lost technology made them folk heroes of a sort.
Her people on Hermes had treated her almost as a celebrity from day one, but it hadn’t taken long to realize that same respect extended to Vig and the other veterans from Pegasus. She’d disliked the almost fawning attention at first, but now she was grateful. It had been much easier to integrate her people into Hermes’s operations…and she’d come to realize not only how much she’d missed her old friends, but how much better she felt having them around her. She regretted leading them into danger, but Barron had been right in what he’d done. Having Vig on the bridge and Lex Righter down in engineering could on
ly increase the chances of success…and that was more important than anything or anyone. If she failed, the fleet would face far greater odds when it arrived, and the chance of the Rim escaping enslavement would drop significantly.
She was edgy—no, she was scared—but she was glad she’d insisted on taking the job. If she could help the fleet succeed, reduce the danger Tyler was charging into, even a little bit, it was worth any risk.
“Keep your eyes on those scanners, Vig.” The ship’s scanning suite hadn’t even rebooted from the jump, but Andi wasn’t going to waste any time. The stealth unit was operating at full power, and it had run so far without a hitch. But that wouldn’t mean a damn if the Hegemony was able to penetrate the protective field around the ship.
“I’m watching, Andi.” Vig had been making every effort to maintain a calm, focused demeanor, but now that they were in the Olyus system she could hear the tension slipping into his tone. Her people—both the old Pegasus crew and her Confed navy regulars on Hermes—were courageous and capable, but there was nothing they could do just then but hope the Hegemony forces hadn’t yet developed a way to detect cloaked ships.
Andi caught herself holding her breath, and she inhaled a deep lungful of fresh air, at least as fresh as recycled spacecraft atmosphere ever got. Her hands were on the armrests of the chair, gripping tightly, and her eyes were glued to the display, even as Vig’s—and those of every other officer on the bridge—were.
Nothing. No, wait…
There was some suspicious movement. Two ships, small escorts. They had just started to change course. It was hard to tell what their final vector mods would look like, but they were definitely altering their headings in the direction of the transit point.