“Spoilsport. So who brings the crown out?”
“Traditionally, it’s the new Empress’s closest female friend. Perrin suggested you.”
“Me? In the ceremony? In front of a hundred trillion people? Bobby, I’d be petrified. What if I dropped the dang thing?”
“There’s actually a hard circular thing sewn into the top of the pillow so it can’t slide off. Perrin also mentioned that, if we were to get married at some point, then the public would sort of know you already.”
“Bobby, are you asking me to marry you?”
“No. Not yet, anyway.”
“Oh, good. It’s early, I think.”
“Agreed. But it’s a distinct possibility down the road, and he’s right about the public reaction. ‘Oh, yeah. She’s the gal from the coronation.’ You know.”
“I get it. So what’s your preference, Bobby? What do you want?”
“I would very much like it if you brought the crown to the Throne, Amanda.”
“OK, then I will. Damn the butterflies, full steam ahead.”
Dunham laughed, and held her tighter. She sighed and melted into him.
“Oh, dang!” she said suddenly.
“What’s wrong?”
“That means I won’t get to watch it in VR.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Mr. Perrin, the two Imperial Guard officers for the coronation will be Lieutenant Colonel Kurt Leitner and Major David Mercer.”
“Very well, Sire.”
“And Ms. Peters will deliver the crown to the Throne.”
“Very good, Sire.”
“Your plan is in all other ways approved, Mr. Perrin. You may proceed with the preparations.”
“Yes, Sire. Thank you, Sire.”
Catalonia Sector Governor Renata Palomo de la Gallego was also checking over her preparations.
“You’re sure you’ll be able to intercept the VR feed?” Palomo asked.
“No question,” Nico Ferrer said.
“Don’t assume that they won’t fight back. That they won’t try to restore the feed.”
“We have three different methods, and there’s no way they can defeat the third.”
“Why not just use that one right away?”
“Why use it and show it to them if we don’t need to? Will you never want to intercept a Sintaran video feed again?”
“That’s a good point, actually,” said Palomo’s husband, Bernardo Palomo de la Gallego.
“All right. But you have that one in reserve, in case you need it this time, right?”
“Yes. Absolutely,” Ferrer said.
“And the video will be ready in time?”
“Yes, Governor,” Pelayo Estrada said. “We are editing up the final version now. It was a good idea to do it as a recording. We were able to use recordings of other crowds to make it look like there are many more people for your coronation even than the Sintaran coronation.”
“Doing it live would be stupid. Too many things can go wrong. How did the recordings you made of me come out?”
“Excellent, Governor. You look very regal. Very imperial.”
“Wonderful.”
Renata preened at his compliments and Bernardo sighed under his breath. Theirs had been a marriage of political convenience, with little love lost between them. She was more interested in the ladies anyway, though, to be fair, so was Bernardo. They had even found, over the years, some young women who could satisfy both their needs with enthusiasm.
But the impending coronation was making her even more self-satisfied than usual. He wondered when her ego would be too large even to accommodate his role in their partnership. He would be excess baggage then, unless he acted first.
“And the recording of my announcement of the secession from Sintar?” Renata asked.
“Also excellent, Governor,” Estrada said. “A ‘more in sorrow than in anger’ tone. It comes across very well. Very effective, I think.”
“Let me see the final recordings when you have them. Sometime in the next week or two. I want to leave time for you to make changes if you need to.”
“Of course, Governor.”
King Michael VI, King of Estvia, was meeting with his military advisers.
“This coronation is an opportunity. This kind of shit is crazy popular. It will dominate their news services for a week on either side of the event. So I think that’s when we want to hit them on Wollaston. Hard. Can we be in place to really hurt them?”
“Yes, Sire. We have tested their defenses there a number of times, and we know what their capabilities are. And we have new resources in place we haven’t shown them. They don’t employ locals inside the base anymore, so we can’t get anything inside. But even with that, it shouldn’t be any problem to hit them harder than their defenses can hold against.”
“Excellent. Let’s plan on that, then. Hit them while their wet-behind-the-ears, know-nothing Emperor is all busy playing dress-up. They won’t interrupt the coronation and that massive video feed to ask him what the hell to do, and by the time he’s paying attention, it’ll be over.”
“Yes, Sire.”
Dunham was also meeting with his top military brass.
“General Kraus, your plans are in place for a withdrawal from Wollaston?”
“Yes, Sire.”
“How soon can that withdrawal begin, and how long will it take?”
“We can start as soon as the Imperial Navy forces we’ve deployed arrive in-system, Sire. As for how long it will take, it could be as long as two weeks, perhaps as little as a couple of days. It depends on how much materiel we take with us, and what condition we leave the base in.”
“Admiral Leicester?”
“Our forces should arrive at Wollaston next week, Sire.”
“And they have the capacity to off-planet the entire Imperial Marine contingent on Oryssia?”
“Five divisions. Yes, Sire.”
“Very well. General Kraus, when the Imperial Navy forces arrive on Wollaston, you are to withdraw entirely from Oryssia. I am not interested in taking materiel off-planet, but I want our people withdrawn as safely as possible. Admiral Leicester, your forces are to assist in making the Imperial Marines’ withdrawal as safe as you can, including the use of space-based forces as needed per the local commander’s discretion and without concern for collateral damage or civilian casualties. But, in any case, I want the withdrawal complete at least two days before the coronation.”
“Before the coronation, Sire?” Kraus asked.
“Yes. The coronation is enough of a disruption it presents an opportunity. Since we are withdrawing in any case, let’s get our people out of there.”
“Without concern for collateral damage or civilian casualties, Sire?” Leicester asked.
“Correct, Admiral. If anyone attempts violence against our troops as they withdraw, I expect you to counter it with extreme prejudice. Any and all weapons are authorized.”
“We can do that, Sire,” Leicester said.
“Thank you, Sire,” Kraus said.
“As for the base itself, General Kraus, leave it intact.”
“Intact, Sire? Estvian regular forces on-planet may move into the base.”
“That doesn’t concern me, General Kraus.”
Dunham consulted his notes in VR.
“Admiral Leicester, what is the status of your forces en route to Galveston?”
“They should arrive at the staging point one light-year short of the system in another week or so, Sire.”
“Excellent, Admiral Leicester. Let me know when they arrive.”
“Yes, Sire.”
“And we have a shipping ban on Sintaran freighters and liners to Galveston, Admiral Leicester?”
“Yes, Sire.”
“And how long has that ban been in place, Admiral Leicester?”
“It’s been a month, Sire.”
“And your forces en route to Catalonia, Admiral Leicester?”
“They should arrive at their staging point a
light-year short of the system before the coronation, Sire. It took a while to collect three hypergate tugs in one spot.”
“Very good, Admiral. Again, let me know when they arrive.”
“Yes, Sire.”
Withdrawal From Wollaston
Major General Miles Cranston, commanding the Imperial Marines Expeditionary Force - Wollaston, read and re-read his orders in VR.
“Well, that’s interesting.”
“What’s that, Sir?” asked Brigadier General Forrest Dykes, Cranston’s assistant commander.
“Orders from the Commandant. They’re implementing that withdrawal plan they sent us. We’re going home.”
“Really, Sir? All five divisions?”
“Yes. The Navy will be here next week with enough capacity to take everyone off-planet.”
“That’s thirty troopships, Sir.”
“That’s what it says. And they have orders to cover our withdrawal ‘without regard to collateral damage or civilian casualties.’”
“It says that?”
“Yup. They’re going to be weapons hot the whole time.”
“Wow.”
“That sort of sums it up. All right, General Dykes, let’s get those plans out and start making assignments. When the Navy shows up, we want to be in process with troops ready to go. No sense holding up the show on our end.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Is it true, Sergeant? We’re goin’ home early?” PFC Frank North asked.
“Yeah, it’s true,” Sergeant Terrence Flood said. “So get all your personal kit together, ‘cause we don’t know where in the queue we are yet, and I don’t wanna be stuck in the Shithole any longer than I have to be because we aren’t ready.”
“I’m ready to go now, Sergeant. Nothin’ I need to take I wasn’t born with,” PFC Gunther Schulte said.
“Even so. Pack it up. Think o’ your bunkmates, if nothin’ else. It’s a month to anywhere, and wearin’ just the clothes you got on is gonna get old fast.”
North looked around the compound.
“What about all the other stuff. Sergeant? We loadin’ all this stuff, too?”
“Nah, we’re leavin’ it. We wore most of it out, anyway. We’re lettin’ the Shitties have it. But we’re gettin’ outta here.”
“Works for me,” Schulte said. “Never liked the place much anyways.”
Imperial Navy Task Force Wollaston (TFW) dropped out of hyperspace across a broad front to avoid collisions when so many ships transitioned. They took their bearings on each other and started shaking out into formations as they started for the planet. TFW was thirty troopships, thirty battleships, twelve carriers, and assorted support and secondary vessels, for a total of almost two hundred vessels.
“Confirming Wollaston, Sir. All ships arrived without incident.”
Vice Admiral James Doheny immediately checked VR for messages. Now that he was here, after a month in transit, it was time to find out what he would be doing here. He pulled up his orders and read them, and a low whistle escaped his lips.
“What is it, Sir?” asked his chief of staff, Rear Admiral Gunnar Karlsen.
“We are to evacuate the entire Imperial Marine presence on Oryssia. Five divisions.”
“We expected that, didn’t we, Sir?”
“Yes, but I didn’t expect this part of our orders. ‘You are to ensure their safety during the evacuation without concern for collateral damage or civilian casualties. Any and all weapons are authorized per the local commander’s discretion. Offensive operations by hostile forces are to be countered with extreme prejudice.’”
“Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever seen orders like that before, Sir.”
“Me, either, Gunnar. Well, some people wondered what difference it would make the Emperor was in the Imperial Marines. Now we know.”
“You mean he values the lives of Marines more than the lives of people who shoot at them? What a concept.”
Doheny snorted.
“When it comes to sarcasm, Gunnar, you have a gift. OK, so I guess we ought to plan on aerial support for the evacuation, with gunnery standing by. Let’s go ahead and give everybody a heads up on that. Let’s figure three flights of attack ships on patrol, and nine on call at all times. Advise them of the rules of engagement.”
“What rules?”
“Yes, well, they won’t know that unless we tell them, so let’s make sure our captains get the message.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Admiral Doheny, we have confirmation from Wollaston the Marines are ready to depart. They’re queued up for us, Sir.”
“Thank you, Comm. Ok, Gunnar, let’s detach air support and crew shuttles on our first time past.”
“Yes, Sir.”
The shuttle crews were all assembled in a VR conference room. With pilot, co-pilot, and loadmaster for each of sixty shuttles, and three crews on rotation per shuttle, five hundred and forty people watched the briefing on the operation. When they asked for questions, shuttle pilot Lieutenant Charles ‘Chuckie’ Lawson raised his hand.
“Yes, Lieutenant.”
“We’re landing, loading, and out on thirty-minute intervals, Major? That sounds awful close.”
“We don’t want to be here all week, Lieutenant. Don’t forget we’re drawing the base all the way down to nothing. Our ground support is going to dwindle and then disappear as we withdraw the Marines. The last troops will actually be running to the shuttle pads from their guns. At that point we have air support only. We’ve advised them of our schedule, and they have been told to expedite boarding. We’ve given them a fifteen-minute window to be on board and secured for each landing. That should give you time enough if you don’t dally yourselves on the way in.”
“I see, Major. Thank you.”
Task Force Wollaston did not go into orbit about the planet, but accelerated past the planet in order to maintain apparent gravity for the crews. On their way past, the carriers each dropped a flight of four attack ships. Three flights dropped down to the planet while the other nine maintained position above the Marine base with their engines at low thrust.
The troopships also detached auxiliaries as they overflew the planet. Two large troop transfer shuttles with a capacity of five hundred men each detached from each of the thirty troopships as they spaced past and descended to the planet. They staged their descent so all sixty shuttles wouldn’t land at once, but instead landed six at a time, at thirty-minute intervals.
“That’s somethin’ you just love to see, isn’t it, Sergeant?” PFC Schulte asked as the first six shuttles descended on the thrust of their fanjets. They were coming down fast, that thirty-minute window on the mind of all the pilots.
“Looks good to me, Schulte,” Sergeant Flood said. “All right you guys. We got minutes to be aboard and secured, because they’re coming down one after the other. So as soon as you get the go, you run like you’re bein’ shot at. No lollygaggin’. I’ll be last, and I will personally assist any laggards along with a combat boot in the posterior. Ya got me?”
The shuttles landed and spooled down their engines on the side facing the troops. At a signal from the pilot of the shuttle, the battalion XO, Major Spears, gave the go order.
“Go!” Flood shouted. “Go, go, go, go, go.”
His men headed for the shuttle at a dead run, each carrying their duffel on their shoulder. Twelve platoons – all three rifle companies of Second Battalion, First Regiment, Eighty-Ninth Division, Thirty-Seventh Field Group of His Majesty’s Imperial Marines – ran for the ramp. They handed their duffels off to the loading crew, who had a fire brigade into the cargo hold. The loading crew stacked duffels in the hold all the way to the ceiling as they came in. Troops broke right and left by platoons as they came in, to seating forward of the hold or seating aft.
“Go to the farthest seat, sit down, and secure,” the loadmaster called out as they came aboard.
All three companies were aboard the shuttle and secured within the fifteen minute window.
“Goodbye, Shithole. See you again in Hell,” Flood muttered.
On a hilltop several miles away, an observer with a telescope noted the activity with interest.
“Something unusual is going on on Wollaston, Sire.”
“What’s that, Whitcombe?” King Michael VI of Estvia asked his Prime Minister.
“The Sintarans are moving Marines off the planet, Sire. It looks like they’re completely decamping Wollaston.”
“I doubt it, Whitcombe. That would take three hundred shuttle trips and thirty troopships to accomplish.”
“They’re dropping shuttles in six at a time, Sire. We’ve noted eighteen different troopship names on the auxiliaries so far.”
“Are they taking materiel off-planet, too?”
“No, Sire. Not so far. Personnel shuttles only. No cargo shuttles have been seen. No prepping of materiel for shipping is underway.
“I’ll be damned. You see, Whitcombe. I told you their new Emperor had no clue what he was doing.”
“Should we attack them, Sire? Before they get away?”
“No. Never interrupt your enemy when he’s making a mistake, Whitcombe.”
“I don’t understand, Sire.”
“Once they’re off-planet, Whitcombe, they’ll have a helluva time getting back. If they try to bring people down, their shuttles will be sitting ducks for anti-aircraft artillery. Until your beachhead is a certain size, you don’t have enough manpower to defend your own supply lines and the arrival of your reinforcements. So no, let them leave. They’re not getting back.”
“I see, Sire.”
“If they really do empty that base entirely, get some engineers and demolitions people in there. Make sure they didn’t booby-trap it. Then we’ll make the base a hard point against them coming back. Eventually, saner heads will prevail against their impulsive Emperor, and they’ll try coming back, at which point we’ll be shooting at them with their own guns.”
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