Chain of Command

by Frank Chadwick

  “Well done, crew,” Sam said. “Helm, take us up to twelve hundred klicks. No one’s taken a shot at us yet, but let’s not press our luck.”

  “Aye aye, sir. Calculating burn for orbit at twelve hundred kilometers,” Chief Bhargava answered.

  It was well done: professionally executed and clearly successful. They’d have to wait for the FDA—Fire Damage Assessment—before they knew for sure, but it looked as if they had removed the threat.

  Removed, as in killed.

  That meant the ground brigade could hold out at least another few days. That was something, wasn’t it? Yes it was. The wolf had been at the door, but they had driven him away . . . for now. For how long, though? Well, he had no control over that. All he could deal with was today and the next day and the next. Someone once described civilization as the art of putting off the inevitable indefinitely—not that what they had just done had much to do with civilization.

  Off to the side of his vision he saw a now-familiar fluttering sparkle, come to see what he had done, watch what he would do next.

  He didn’t like this. The thrill of the hunt was one thing, but this had as much to do with a real hunt as those staged safaris that ended with the shooting of an elderly lion driven into some rich guy’s gyro-stabilized rifle sights. This had simply been murder.

  Okay, this was his job. It was stupid to romanticize it as some ancient and noble contest where people died but everyone’s honor somehow remained intact. What happened was, people died—and that’s about all there was to it of any importance. Better their people than his; he got that, and he’d do his job, but it had better be worth it.

  Something changed in him. Like his crew, he now wanted to know, needed to know, why they were fighting, and what they were fighting for. There was one difference, though. His crew’s need to know had been driven by anxiety over their own possible deaths. Anger at having been made a murderer drove his.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  3 January 2134

  (later the same day) (thirteenth day in K’tok orbit)

  Once the evening meal had been served, Sam had the mess attendant clear away and secure the table which normally dominated the center of the wardroom. He needed the extra space. Red Watch had just taken over the boat, so Lieutenants Filipenko and Hennessey were on duty, but he’d made sure the other seven officers were present, along with all four senior chiefs: Navarro, Cunningham from Ops, Burns from Tac, and Montoya from engineering. This was as large a leadership meeting as they’d had since the uBakai attack that had crippled the task force. Had that only been a little more than a week ago? It seemed longer.

  Sam tethered himself to a bulkhead stanchion and looked at the officers and chiefs, their faces mostly curious or carefully noncommittal.

  “Attendant, can we change the smart wall background?” Sam called over to her.

  “Yes, sir,” she answered. “What do you want?”

  “Direct feed from flat-vid tight beam. Bridge will send you the feed.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  “Okay, let me start by saying that Commodore Bonaventure sent a well-done to the entire crew for our bombardment run earlier today, and the ground brigade commander sent the same along with his personal thanks. Taking out those gunsleds hurt the uBakai, hurt them bad enough the ground troops have some breathing space. More than that, those two uBakai cruisers the other day killed Champion Hill delivering those sleds. We just evened the score. But that’s not the main reason we’re here.

  “Admiral Kayumati received a recorded message by jump courier missile earlier today with orders to share it with the entire task force at 1830 hours. I don’t know what the content is, but we’re coming up on 1830 now. It will pipe through to the entire boat but I thought it might be good for the boat’s leadership to watch this together, whatever it is.”

  The truth was he was frightened at what the message might contain, frightened enough he had barely eaten during dinner. Whatever the news was, its method of distribution made it hard to think it was going to be good.

  A few minutes later the smart wall came alive and the low murmur of conversation fell away. A large seal filled the screen for several seconds, a stylized picture of Earth with “Outworld Coallition” displayed above it and “Chief of Naval Operations (CNO)” below it. Sam had never heard of the Outworld Coalition before, but he supposed the four-nation alliance which had so unexpectedly found itself at war with the uBakai had to have a name. The seal vanished and an enormous image of a Human admiral sitting behind a desk filled the smartwall. The glowing nameplate on the front of the desk identified him as Admiral Cedric Goldjune.

  Well, Sam thought, Larry’s uncle finally made CNO. It wasn’t CNO of the US Navy, but maybe something bigger.

  Admiral Goldjune seemed like an older, leaner, and more mentally focused version of Larry Goldjune. He wore a bandage wrapped around his forehead so he must have been in the headquarters compound when it got hit. After seeing what orbital bombardment munitions could do, Sam wondered how he was alive at all. The admiral’s hands rested on the bare desk, folded, and he looked directly at the camera.

  “Men and women of Combined Task Force One of the Outworld Coalition,” he began. “We are in the midst of a war which will determine the destiny of our species, and you are on the very front lines of that war. You didn’t ask for that. None of us did. You were sent to the K’tok system as peacekeepers, not war-bringers. The enemy forced this unwelcome role on you with a cowardly sneak attack, launched when all our nations were still at peace. Now they have widened the war with an illegal attack on the neutral Human colony on Bronstein’s World.

  “Two things you can be sure of.

  “First, we’re behind you one hundred percent and we’re doing everything we can to get reinforcements to you. But the attack on Bronstein’s World complicated that and several vessels getting ready to jump out to you were put out of action. It’s going to take time to get help to you, and until it arrives it’s up to you to hold on. We need the K’tok system, especially close orbital space around K’tok and our foothold on the planet surface. It’s going to be tough, but I know I can count on you.”

  How does he know that? Sam wondered. He hadn’t met any of the crew, at least as far as he knew, except for his nephew Larry.

  “Second, you can be sure we aren’t just going to sit and take this. We’re on the defensive now, but everyone in the military knows the best defense is a good offense. If the uBakai want to bring this fight to us, we can take it to them as well, and we will. I promise you we will.”

  Sam thought that sounded more like a pledge to avenge their deaths than a promise to get them back alive.

  “Right now the eyes of the entire Human race are on you, and I know you won’t let them down. I am deeply proud of every one of you, and honored to serve as your commander. And I promise I will lead you to the victory you deserve.”

  And then the screen went blank.

  Well, Sam thought, at least he knew how to give a short speech. The news also wasn’t as bad as he’d expected. Actually, it was plenty bad, it just wasn’t news.

  He heard a buzz of subdued conversation, mostly positive he thought. He looked around the wardroom and realized they were waiting for him to say something. Of course they were.

  The captain is the navy.

  Not some admiral over sixty light-years away, the captain—him.

  The youngsters, like Jerry Robinette, Barb Lee, and Rishanda Lipinski, were fired up. Most of the others seemed pleased by the speech, but waiting to see what their captain thought. A couple looked completely unmoved, among them Moe Rice. Sam figured Moe didn’t have much use for anyone named Goldjune.

  “Okay, the admiral didn’t tell us anything we didn’t already know, but it’s nice to know we aren’t the only ones who know it.”

  That got some smiles and he saw most of them start to relax.

  “There are a couple things the admiral probably didn’t know when he recorded this.
Three days ago the uBakai ran two cruisers right through our picket line to drop off a swarm of lift cavalry. This morning we blew those gunsleds off the face of K’tok. It doesn’t take a genius to figure we’re due for another visit from the uBakai Express to drop more troops. Well, the admiral says hold this rock and we’re going to. Ensign Robinette.”

  “Sir!” he nearly shouted, coming to attention.

  “Get together with your boss, Lieutenant Filipenko, and look at the attack profile they’ve been using. Make some recommendations to maneuvering as to where our bow ought to point at different positions in our orbit track so we can get missiles off quicker.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  “Anyone else have any good ideas, write ‘em down and send ‘em in, or talk to your department heads. You chiefs, get with your acey-deucies, pick their brains. Everybody on this boat has a head on their shoulders and it’s time to start using them. This fight coming up, we’re going to need every edge we can get.

  “Okay, so back to work.”

  He watched them glide out through the hatchway and as they did he felt a flush course through his body. They were coming together, he realized. They really were. They were turning into a team. They were becoming a real crew.

  Sam yawned broadly and then slid the visor on his helmet down. It had been a long day and it wasn’t over yet. In a moment the comm chair on the bridge triggered the link to the holoconference. At least this was a small one: just himself, Commodore Bonaventure, and Commander Atwater-Jones. Bonaventure nodded a somber greeting to him but Cassandra’s image was frozen with a frown on her face. The task force was far enough away that the round-trip communication lag to them was over a minute, and so participants at each end froze their images after speaking and waited for the response. After almost two minutes she unfroze.

  “Ah, everyone’s here, including your newly appointed intelligence officer,” she said. “You may come to regret accepting Commodore Bonaventure’s invitation to serve as his smart boss, Bitka.”

  Her image froze.

  “Wasn’t aware it was an invitation,” Sam said. He thought her voice sounded professional and courteous but not as warm as it once had.

  “Commander Atwater-Jones and I were just discussing Admiral Goldjune’s address to the task force,” Bonaventure said, “but now we should get down to business.”

  He triggered their image freeze and after a long pause Cassandra spoke again.

  “By all means. Admiral Kayumati has ordered me to give Commodore Bonaventure as detailed a brief on fleet policy and enemy capabilities as I can, and the commodore asked you be present, Captain Bitka. You have a dormant Most Secret security clearance—you say Top Secret, don’t you?—which was activated when you took command of Puebla. That makes things easier.”

  “First, fleet policy. When the coalition formed and agreed to dispatch this task force, the possibility that hostilities might ensue was certainly considered in detail. Our obvious opponent was the Commonwealth of Bakaa—the uBakai. They had been among the most powerful—in economic, military, and diplomatic terms—of the Varoki nations, possibly the most powerful. The abortive coup and brief civil war a year ago changed all that. Bakaa’s navy was disgraced and demoralized. The capital suffered considerable physical damage from which it will take a decade or more to recover. In one month, Bakaa went from a leader among the Varoki to an outcast, virtually a pariah state.

  “Some in our own intelligence and strategic communities then came to believe that this development presented us with a unique opportunity. A weakened and demoralized Bakaa, if pushed with sufficient force and determination, would have no alternative but to back down. Others believed it was as likely they would lash out in desperation. Is that clear so far?”

  Her image froze.

  “I think so,” Bonaventure said. “Which side did you favor, Commander?”

  Her mouth turned down into a frown when she unfroze,

  “In my considered opinion those arguing for a hard push against the uBakai, and expecting an easy win, were reckless nearly to the point of insanity. Not that I predicted the opposite, mind you. I always believed it was impossible to predict their actions at all, and so basing a hazardous policy on the imagined ability to do so was . . . well, I believe I already said insane, but it is a form of insanity you know, this stubborn, willful self-deception.

  “Of course they had intelligence reports and learned political science essays and all sorts of anecdotal twaddle you can string together any way that suits you. But here is the nub of the problem: Varoki politics work in fact the way Human politics are thought to work by delusional conspiracy theorists. There really are secret cabals which stand behind their public figures of power. There really are. Whatever a politician’s public position on an issue, you can almost guarantee it was taken in large measure to confuse the opposition as to his real intent. I know I am overusing the word, but it borders on insanity as well, although of a different sort.”

  She froze.

  “Yeah, paranoia,” Sam said. “Everyone must be conspiring against you so you better get in there and do the same out of self-defense. So, to push or not to push, that is the question. Just out of curiosity, which side did Admiral Goldjune come down on?”

  Bonaventure made a disgusted face but turned away, freezing their image to wait for Cassandra to answer.

  “Sorry, Bitka,” she said at last. “Need to know only, I’m afraid. Not that it’s any more sensitive than what I am about to tell you. It’s just good policy to limit information to those with a legitimate interest, as opposed to curiosity.

  “So, to return to our subject, there is no consensus. Clearly there was an aggressive contingency plan in place or we would not have had been able to launch the attack on K’tok. That said, there is no agreed-upon strategic policy for moving forward from here. Unless and until there is, I am afraid our mission remains to hold orbital space above K’tok and support the landed troops to the best of our ability. The needle and the city of T’tokl-Heem have enormous strategic and political value, although for the moment the only operational value of holding them seems to be to divert uBakai ground forces from their attacks on the Human settlements.

  “Once the war is over we’ll give them back, of course. The question is what we’ll get in return.” She turned and looked at Sam. “You look rather pensive, Captain Bitka, although I may be one reaction cycle behind. It’s hard to judge given this delay.”

  She froze.

  “I’m just wondering if the uBakai are fighting the same war we are,” he answered.

  “What do you mean?” Bonaventure asked.

  “Well, they had ten cruisers available, right? Our principle objective is K’tok. If that was their objective too, why not throw all ten cruisers at us? That would have given them overwhelming force at the decisive point. Instead they split them: five cruisers to K’tok, five to Bronstein’s World. That doesn’t make sense unless these guys are either a lot dumber than they look, or K’tok is not their main objective.”

  “Then what is?” the commodore asked.

  Sam shrugged and nodded toward Cassandra’s image. They waited.

  “Spot-on analysis, Bitka, ,” she said after the pause, “but I haven’t the foggiest what they’re really after. I anticipate spending a number of sleepless nights grappling with that very question.

  “Now on to part two, enemy capabilities. You have an extensive database of their entire fleet roster and their most recent known dispositions. I have little to add to it but would draw your attention to the fact that of their thirty-seven cruisers, fifteen were reported as in low-energy low-manning mode in high orbit around Hazz’Akatu, the Varoki homeworld. They can of course be reactivated, but it will take time. And in passing, one of the principle arguments that the uBakai were not prepared to make a serious fight of it was they made no effort to begin reactivating those ships. That still puzzles me.

  “But all of this data, aside from its intrinsic utility, is by way of s
howing we have a fair amount of prewar intelligence amassed on the size and specifications of the uBakai Star Navy. As a result, it came as something of a shock when analysis of the observed weapons and energy output profiles of the five uBakai ships which attacked Bronstein’s World showed that two of them did not match any ship previously identified.”

  Sam felt his heart rate increase. Beside him Bonaventure’s image leaned forward and he muttered, “Jesús Cristo!”

  “Of course our first thought was secret new construction,” she continued. “We rejected that in short order. It is very difficult to imagine how we would not have noticed something like that. There are only so many orbital shipyards, after all.

  “But analysis of the decrypts of their transponder codes revealed the two ships in question are identified KBk-Zero Three B and KBk-Zero Four B. As you know, Varoki warships are never named; they instead carry an alphanumeric identifier which is uniform across the Cottohazz. Even our own vessels have assigned hull codes for use when we operate as part of a combined Cottohazz task force. The first letter K indicates a cruiser-class vessel. The next letters, Bk, indicate the nationality, in this case Bakaa. The hull number follows. But the ‘B’ at the end is quite interesting. It indicates the hull number assignment is provisional.

  “More telling is the fact these energy signatures match exactly with a new class of cruisers employed by the uKa-Maat, another Varoki nation, although one of lesser resources than the uBakai .”

  She froze.

  “Provisional hull numbers?” Bonaventure asked. “As in temporary?”

  “Or as in a cover,” Sam said.

  “Meaning we might not be fighting just the uBakai?”

  Sam nodded. “Either these guys—what are they called? uKa-Maat?—are selling ships to the uBakai or they’re sending fully crewed ships to help, but don’t want it to look that way. And it means there are probably at least two other ghost cruisers out there.” When Bonaventure looked at him questioningly, he explained, “If they’ve got numbers oh-three and oh-four, as anal-retentive as the Varoki are they’ve probably got numbers oh-one and oh-two. What I don’t get is why the subterfuge. If these uKa-Maat are in this with the uBakai, why don’t they just say so?”