by Rick Shelley
“He sounded terrified of telling his wife.”
“In his place, I might be too. She’d have made a fine
Marine leading sergeant.” His laugh seemed to find some humor, about halfway through.
On normal visits to Sir John Raleigh, Ian waited in an outer office while Truscott went into the inner sanctum alone. This time, Ian was ushered in with the admiral.
“Good morning, Stasys,” Long John said, getting up and coming around the desk. Raleigh did not appear to be past middle age. As a senior officer, he had long been eligible for the full course of treatments to keep the effects of age at bay. There was as little gray in his hair as there was in Truscott’s. He stuck out a hand for Truscott, and after they shook, Raleigh turned to Ian. ‘ ‘Morning, Shrikes. I know you’re caught a bit off the mark, but what I have to say to your boss will involve you.”
Ian nodded.
“Let’s move next door and get comfortable.” Raleigh led the way to a door at the side of his office. Ian had never been through that door, but he knew what was there in a general way. Raleigh had a very comfortable den filled with overstuffed leather chairs, books, and book viewers, and various bits of memorabilia, few of which had any connection to the RN. A standard navalissue tea cart was the only object in the room that had any air of the CSF to it.
“Drop the bomb, First Lord,” Truscott said, a little stiffly, as he sat in one of the chairs. “You’re being so damn polite you must be ready to chop my head off.”
Raleigh laughed heartily, but it rang false. Ian took his seat more slowly, his eyes darting back and forth between the others. Raleigh’s body had started to show the effects of many years of a sedentary lifestyle.
His cheeks had a plump softness, and weight that had once been hard muscle had turned to sagging fat on his torso. But there was nothing wrong with his mind. That was as hard and sharp as ever.
“Nothing so dramatic, Stasys,” Raleigh said. “Tea, coffee, something else?” He moved to the tea cart.
“Coffee,” Truscott said with a sigh, “straight.”
“Ah, yes. And you, Shrikes?”
“The same, sir.”
Raleigh served his visitors, then took tea for himself. “Nothing like a good brew,” he said. He went to his chair and sat, then took a sip. He looked at Truscott over the rim of his cup.
“The bomb,” Raleigh said finally. He shook his head. “It’s really a simple matter, Stasys.”
“How simple?” Truscott was more suspicious with each passing second.
“A temporary addition to your staff. His Majesty has requested that we accommodate an observer from the Privy Council.”
“A politician?” Truscott let his dismay show clearly in his voice.
“Actually, no,” Raleigh said. For a moment, he seemed preoccupied with inspecting the remaining contents of his teacup.
Ian figured out the answer before anyone spoke. If it’s a member of the Privy Council, but not a politician, then it has to be…
“Prince William Albert Windsor, Duke of Haven,” Raleigh announced. “His Majesty’s youngest brother.”
Truscott closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and let it out noisily before he opened his eyes again. “It could be worse. At least the.duke knows the Royal Navy.”
“He served for six years,” Raleigh said. “I don’t believe you ever served with him?”
Truscott shook his head. “No, but I have met His Highness on occasion.”
“Now, Stasys, I want to be crystal clear about this. His Highness will be attached to your staff, but only as an observer. His commission hasn’t been activated. He isn’t going along to issue orders or interfere in your operations. That is the express order of His Majesty.”
“And what if the duke decides that he wants to take a hand?” Truscott asked.
“If the lad gets out of line, you’ll have to be firm, but diplomatic.” Raleigh gestured to Ian. “That’s why I wanted you in here for this, Shrikes. I imagine that a considerable portion of the ‘keeping in line’ will fall to you. I’ll repeat it straight out. The Duke of Haven will be along strictly as a civilian observer without naval rank. Since that is His Majesty’s order, the Duke of Haven is in no position to appropriate any other status. His only brief is to invite the rightful government of Buchanan to apply for membership in the Commonwealth.”
“Yes, sir,” Ian said. “I’ll do my best. I met Prince William at the Commonwealth Day ball last year. Not that he has cause to remember me.”
Raleigh nodded. “I’m certain you’ll do fine. In any case, even if His Highness had his commission activated, you’d still outrank him. His reserve commission is lieutenant commander, and you know the protocol. When a member of the royal family is serving on active duty, family connections give him absolutely no privileges beyond what his naval rank entitles him.”
“So I’ve been told, sir,” Ian said.
“Believe it,” Raleigh said. “The RN couldn’t function any other way.” He turned to Truscott. “The commander’s been with you too long, Stasys. Your cynicism is rubbing off.”
“I’d like to get moved up to Sheffield as soon as possible,” Truscott said, rather than responding to Raleigh’s jibe. “When can we expect His Highness?”
“Tomorrow afternoon.” Raleigh stood. His visitors immediately rose as well. “One of the last supply shuttles, I imagine.”
4
The air in the low entrance to the cave was nearly lethal with concentrations of carbon monoxide and carbon dioxide. But no smoke showed outside the cave, and that was the important consideration. Doug Weintraub had watched the mouth of the cave all night, dozing only intermittently, anxious that his fire not give away his location. Occasionally, he had scurried into the cave on hands and knees, breath held, to make sure that the low fire hadn’t burned out or grown too strong, or to add wood to the fire.
Just before dawn, Doug made another trip into the cave. This time he laid two thick hippobary steaks on the coals. Half an hour later, his breakfast was cooked. It tasted extraordinarily good after two weeks of raw meat and whatever wild fruit and vegetables he could find.
Doug hadn’t dared to go home since the night of the invasion. Twice, he had gone near the settlements, moving carefully in the night. His reconnaissances had provided little information. He had been too cautious, too nervous, to take chances. He assumed that the Federation soldiers would have the latest equipment, not just weapons but also detecting gear. Doug had only his nightvision goggles. If Federation soldiers were looking for him, they would find him.
The invasion was still a shock, and Doug had been unable to guess at the reason. Buchanan had no great reserves of people, no special natural resources. There had been no warning, no demands. Driven to distraction by his futile search for a motive, Doug had finally turned his mind to more practical considerations, and found almost as much confusion. What the hell do I expect to accomplish out here? One man, one foolish man. Against an army.
One man? What did it matter? There was no way that Buchanan could possibly stand against the Federation, not if it really wanted Buchanan. The Federation probably had more ships than Buchanan had people. Doug didn’t count on receiving help from outside. The Commonwealth might not have received his message rocket. The rocket might have destroyed itself in the immediate Qspace transit.
Even if the Commonwealth had received Doug’s message, they might not respond. Again, Buchanan had nothing in particular to offer.
It boils down to, “How much are we worth to them?” That was where Doug always came up against a blank wall. How could one man make the cost of holding Buchanan too great for the Federation?
Doug finished his steaks, then stared at the entrance to the cave he had used for cooking. There had been more to the exercise than breakfast. He had killed a hippobary the night before last, then stretched its hide on a frame and set it in the cave to smokedry. He had cut sixty pounds of meat into narrow strips to smoke and dry as well. The meat would k
eep longer as jerky, and he could carry food more easily that way if he had to move his camp.
There was still work to do. Hippobary hide was thick, an excellent insulator. Doug planned to cut and sew the hide to provide himself with a thermal shield, something to help conceal him from the infrared detectors he assumed Federation soldiers would have. With that extra layer of protection, he would be able to move around near Sam and Max with less chance that he would be discovered. He needed information, and he needed recruits.
One man had no chance. A group of men might.
Another four hours of sleep would have been nice. Doug was tempted to take those hours, put off his foray until the next night. It had taken him until midafternoon to stitch together his hippobary heat shield with fibers from a rivergrape vine and a needle fashioned from a sliver of a hippobary leg bone. Now it was sunset, and sleep was more tempting than a long walk and the danger of being discovered by patrolling soldiers.
“I’ve wasted too many days now,” Doug told himself firmly.
After he left the cave, he followed hippobary paths along the river. The spring floods had been gone for nearly three months, and the ground was firm enough that it wouldn’t show footprints. The Federation soldiers were new to Buchanan. They would probably avoid hippobary. Right now, those animals were the only allies Doug could count on. They gave him food, his thermal shield, and some protection. If only they had guns and a willingness to fight on our side, Doug thought, smiling in the dark.
The barn had burned to its foundation, or been blown apart. Even the course of plascrete that had supported the walls was damaged. At the rear of the barn, where Doug had launched the message rocket, the plascrete had been fused into something unrecognizable. The back of the house was scorched, the wall warped, if not as badly as the barn’s foundation. The roof shingles were blackened, and many w ere missing. There were no lights on in the house.
Doug lay motionless in the reeds for twenty minutes. It doesn’t mean anything, he told himself. They wouldn’t stay here. They’d have gone to Marie’s. Marie was Elena’s oldest sister. She lived in Max, near the Park, the greenbelt between the two settlements.
He crawled to the house, just in case it was being watched. He had to go inside, look for any message that Elena might have left, and unless the invaders had looted the place, he hoped to find supplies.
After pausing again below the porch, Doug went up the back stairs and through the kitchen door quickly.
He dove into the house and rolled to the floor under the table. When he came to a stop, his rifle was up, ready for action. Doug gave himself a moment, until he was breathing normally again.
‘I must be alone, or I’d already be dead or a prisoner.
He scooted out from under the table, stood, and closed the outside door. He made a quick tour through the house to make certain that he was alone, and to see what his wife had left. Clothes were missing from his wife’s dresser and closet, and from Jamie’s. A piece of paper on the corner of the dresser carried one word: “Marie.” Doug closed his eyes in relief, then turned the paper over and printed his initials on it. If Elena came home, she would understand.
Then Doug went to work. He found a knapsack and filled it—clothing, ammunition, supplies, and food.
The first pack filled quickly. He filled a second as well. He could have filled a dozen, but this was all he could carry back to his hideaway. Doug needed only an instant to suppress the instinct to grab a portable complink. The advantages of communications were infinitely outweighed by the simple fact that even the most basic scanning equipment could pinpoint his location the instant he turned the complink on.
Got to get moving, Doug told himself. I’ve been here too long already. The night’s work wasn’t over yet.
Gil Howard came out on his back porch and stood there silhouetted against the light from inside his house. He jumped when Doug rose from the tall grass and walked toward him.
“We thought you were dead,” Gil said when he recovered from the start. He hurried down off the porch and moved to meet Doug. ‘ ‘Where the hell have you been?”
“Hiding,” Doug said. “What’s going on? I’ve been completely out of touch since the night of the invasion.”
“There hasn’t been much,” Gil said. “The Federation people say they’ve decided to ‘assert their rightful sovereignty,’ as the new governor told us over the net.”
“How many troops did they land?”
“No more than a couple hundred, but their ship is still in orbit. No telling how many more men they have up there.” Gil looked around, nervous. A little shorter than Doug, he was only a couple of years older, although he looked older than he was. Buchanan did not have the sophisticated nanotech equipment to hold down the appearance of age. But he was also a farmer, fit and healthy from a lifetime of physical work.
“And everyone’s ready to sit still and let them steal our world?”
“There’s not a hell of a lot we can do, now, is there?”
“Maybe, maybe not,” Doug said.
“What do you think we can do?”
“We can try to make the price higher than they’re willing to pay,” Doug said. “We can make sure they know this is our world.”
Gil lowered his head and turned away. Doug waited, almost holding his breath. Did anyone feel as strongly about this as he did? Finally, Gil turned back to him.
‘ ‘What do you want me to do?”
Doug took a deep breath, then let it out. “Help me organize. Get some of the men. Have them put together field packs and weapons. I can’t go house to house recruiting. The Federation people may be looking for me. I managed to fire off the message rocket before I went to ground. If it got through, we may get help from the Commonwealth— eventually. But we can’t count on that, and we can’t very well let strangers come in and do all the work.”
Gil spent a moment pacing before he answered. ‘ ‘Okay, I’ll do what I can. But when I’ve done that, I’ll join you. I don’t much like the idea of strangers barging in and taking over.”
Doug smiled. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
Part 2
5
Admiral Truscott sat motionless through most of the ascent to Sheffield. Ian could almost hear his boss sigh with relief when the command shuttle moved out of the atmosphere into the freedom of space.
“It’s been decades since I really felt comfortable ashore,” the admiral said. “I would almost have passed up the chance to get my flag if I could have stayed in space fulltime.”
Ian sat across from the admiral and looked out a porthole, almost as avid for space as Truscott. This is why I joined the Navy, he thought. Man had been trespassing in space for a thousand years, and there were still all of the absolutes. Space was unforgiving of error. A moment’s distraction could be deadly.
“You know, Ian,” Truscott said as the shuttle pilot matched orbits with Sheffield, “this mission may take us into completely unknown territory.”
“Sir?” Ian had allowed himself to become distracted by the outside view. Sheffield’s bulk had dominated the view for some time. The bundle of three tangent cylinders stretched for miles, comforting in its bulk.
“We’ve never had a real space war. Apart from a few minor skirmishes, we’ve simply used space for transportation. The wars have all been down in the dirt, just as they’ve been since one caveman first hit another over the head with a club. We haven’t the foggiest notion whether any of the tactics we’ve dreamed up at the War College will work when it isn’t just a drill. We don’t know anything about the business of war in space.”
“We’re as ready as we can be, sir,” Ian said. “After all, the Federation has no more experience at this than we do.”
“On the contrary, Ian. We have to assume that they’ve already won at least three space engagements.”
“Camerein?”
Truscott nodded. “Camerein. We still don’t know what happened there. All we know is that three ships haven�
��t returned from that system. Northumbria was there when the Federation declared war. Suffolk and Hebrides never came back from their missions to Camerein.”
“Not to mention Prince George,” Ian said.
“Not to mention.” Truscott nodded again. “That may be why we’re to be honored with the presence of his younger brother, to keep William out of His Majesty’s way for a time. It is my understanding that the Duke of Haven has been pressing His Majesty for an allout assault on Camerein to rescue their brother.”
“I’m a bit surprised that we haven’t been ordered to do something like that, instead of this Buchanan go,”
Ian said.
“No, not yet,” Truscott said, and then he held up a hand to forestall any further conversation. The shuttle was about to slide into its hangar bay on Sheffield.
Admiral Truscott was welcomed aboard with full honors, sideboys, flourishes, and whistles. Rear Admiral Paul Greene, commander of Sheffield’s battle group; Captain Mort Hardesty of Sheffield; and a half dozen other officers were there to greet the admiral. Truscott suffered the formalities with cheerful resignation. Under peacetime conditions, he had welcomed the ritual and pomp. The Navy wasn’t fully conditioned to war yet, and rituals were hard to suppress.
It was twenty minutes before Truscott and the others reached the flag bridge. Ian went straight to the tea cart to provide refreshments for the senior officers.
“I want a full conference, as quickly as you can set it up, Paul,” Truscott said while Ian passed around the cups. “Skippers and first officers of all five ships, Colonel Laplace of the Marine regiment, along with his top staff and battalion commanders, the commander of the air wing, and her squadron commanders.” In addition to Sheffield and Victoria, the battle group would include the frigates Repulse and Lancer, and the supply and service vessel Thames.
“There’s a chance some of those people are still dirtside, Stasys,” Greene said. “Provisioning is still going full lick, and quite a few of the people from Victoria are getting in their bit of shore leave yet.”