Winds of Vengeance

by Jay Allan

  That is now our victory. To flee, to get away…even for a short time.

  But what will I do then?

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Planet X

  Far Beyond the Borders of the Imperium

  The trap is sprung. The enemy has advanced to the target system.

  The waiting forces have been released, they have engaged the enemy, entering the system from all three warp gates. The force in place is more than adequate for the task at hand. The humans will be defeated.

  The fleet at the enemy’s own entry warp gate is weaker than the others, a diversionary force intended to be defeated. If the humans fight to the death in G47, so be it. Their entire fleet will be destroyed. But if they retreat, if they defeat the task force at their entry warp gate, we will pursue. We will follow them back…back to the other humans.

  And then my forces will destroy them all…and the Regent shall be avenged.

  Bridge – E2S Legatus

  System G47

  Earth Two Date 12.09.30

  “Reroute the power grid. Shut down section 11C and bring the emergency conduits online. Now!” Hiroki Akira sat on Legatus’ flag bridge, shouting out orders, one after another. Some of them were crucial, actions that might keep Legatus in the fight for a bit longer. Others were mostly made up, orders he shot out just to keep his people busy, their minds occupied…anything to divert them from dwelling on the obvious realization that cast its shadow everywhere on the battered ship. They were all about to die.

  The First Imperium forces had raced across the system, with Josie Strand’s group bringing up the rear. Strand had conducted a magnificent warp gate defense, perhaps the best he’d ever seen…in action or even in the history books. Her use of missiles in sprint mode to hold the line while she cooled her main batteries had been ingenious…and brilliantly executed. She had held far longer than his own force, and hers were the last ships moving toward the warp gate. Except for Legatus and the two battered cruisers standing by her side. Akira’s ship was battered beyond repair, beyond the ability to keep up with the retreating fleet. There was nothing he and his people could do…nothing save giving the last they had to buy time for their comrades to escape the trap.

  He’d taken the initiative, suggested that the three vessels stand as a rearguard, sparing Frette the burden of issuing the command. She had argued with him at first, but he had simply countered her with facts. The three ships were badly damaged. They had no hope of outrunning the enemy. None. And if he was going to die—if his people were going to die—Hiroki Akira wanted it to mean something. Death helping to save the fleet, meeting the end in battle, fighting for something that mattered, was far preferable to being chased down as they lagged behind, engines failing.

  Frette had argued, as Akira knew she had to, but in the end she had agreed. There was no way to save Legatus, nor the two crippled cruisers standing at her side. His people could abandon ship, but there was no way for the rest of the fleet ships to pick up the escape pods, not without allowing the enemy to catch them before they transited. The First Imperium didn’t take prisoners, not unless they wanted specimens for dissection or experimentation. Better by far to die in battle.

  Legatus shook hard again, another direct hit. She’d held against the light units in the lead of the enemy fleet, but now the Leviathans were coming into range. Akira didn’t know what was holding his ship together. He was proud of Legatus, considering her more than a pile of plasti-steel and polymers. Like many captains, he thought of his ship as something almost animate, a friend, almost an extension of himself.

  He watched his bridge crew, at their stations, holding firm despite the fear, the realization that they all had minutes to live. Akira felt the fear too, but it was less than he’d expected. He realized some part of him was ready, had been ready for thirty years.

  His thoughts drifted back through the years, the image of a woman in his mind, young, beautiful, as she had been so long before. She had been gone so long, and yet she was still there, waiting for him in the depths of his mind.

  He remembered when it happened, an image that had stayed with him, undiminished in its hideous intensity over thirty years. Kamiko, looking at him from behind the hyper polycarbonate of the radiation shield. She was standing when he first saw her, her uniform covered in blood. She turned, and her gaze fell on him, even as she sank to her knees.

  He could remember the pain in her face. He’d known she was badly wounded, that the radiation levels beyond the barrier were fifty times the lethal level. But for all that knowledge, the inevitable conclusion had seemed somehow unreal, impossible to accept. Kamiko was dying…

  He’d thrown himself against the clear shield, not even feeling the pain as his body slammed into the hard, immovable barrier. He knew he couldn’t get to her…it would take a laser cannon to cut through the shield. And even if he could, all he would achieve was killing dozens more of Kyoto’s crew. There was nothing he could do to save her. He couldn’t even hug her, comfort her with his touch. All he could do was watch her die.

  She had looked back at him, and for a brief instant he saw the familiar sparkle in her beautiful eyes. They had been the first thing he’d seen in her gaze so many years before…and now they were the last. The brightness seemed like a goodbye, and a few seconds later it faded, gave way to a dullness, and he could see death taking her.

  He slammed his fists against the unyielding shield, screaming her name, though he knew she couldn’t hear it. His eyes filled with tears as he watched her slump down slowly, her body finally lying motionless on the metal floor of the engine room.

  He realized instantly she was dead, he felt it. But he had stood there, screaming her name, pounding against the polymer wall until his comrades pulled him away.

  She had been gone thirty years now, and he still remembered her as though she was just in the next room. He’d worked tirelessly to help bring the navy into its new age, as defender of a small but growing republic. He respected the culture his people adopted, the promotion of reproduction almost as a civic responsibility. He had praised his colleagues as they had child after child, but he’d never joined them.

  Kamiko had been his love, and she should have been the mother of his children. He’d never been able to move forward, to form a new relationship, or even to consider a platonic pairing to produce offspring. Part of him had died in that engineering compartment with Kamiko, and the shell that remained for so long had focused on work, on building the navy. It was all he had.

  Until now. He could hear the dull rumbling, the internal explosions he knew were killing his ship, tearing its guts out from within. Legatus shook again, and the bridge lights flickered several times. He knew his ship had given all she had to give.

  He felt the hit, and he knew immediately. Legatus shook hard, and then the bridge started spinning wildly. The positioning jets were gone, the inertial dampeners blasted to scrap. Akira realized that last hit had been a mortal wound, and he could feel his ship, yielding, giving up at last. He could feel the internal blasts shaking the dying vessel wildly.

  His body slammed against the harness, and he could hear the cries of his bridge crew, the panic that was finally spreading, slipping past the control they had maintained for so long. He’d though about the moment of his death before, as all warriors had at one time or another…and now he realized this was it.

  He closed his eyes, breathing deeply but coughing on the noxious fumes pouring from the ventilation system. He felt a wave of fear, stark terror in the face of imminent death. And then calm, a woman’s smiling face. Kamiko, waiting…waiting for him.

  He was still smiling back at her when Legatus’ reactor lost containment…and turned into a miniature sun.

  * * *

  Nicki Frette sat in her chair, hunched over, struggling to maintain the image she had tried to project to her officers and spacers. She was afraid, of course, but that wasn’t what was bearing down on her. Frette was a combat veteran who’d faced death befor
e. But leaving Hiroki Akira and Legatus behind had hit her hard, and she was struggling to deal with the aftereffects. She knew Admiral Compton had faced such terrible choices, and Erika too, but Frette had never before given an order knowing she was sending people to certain death. There had been no choice, Akira and his people were doomed anyway, their ships too damaged to keep up with the fleet. And their sacrifice had bought her time…time to get the rest of the fleet out of the trap.

  The trap I led them into…

  She had known Akira since the days before the fleet was trapped behind the Barrier, even before the First Imperium had invaded human space. The two had been junior officers serving on the cruiser Portland. She had been a newly-minted ensign serving on Portland’s bridge, and Akira a liaison to the Alliance from the allied Pacific Rim Coalition. The Third Frontier War had been raging for several years, and the Alliance-PRC coalition had been hard pressed. The Marine Corps had been gutted in the disastrous invasion of Tau Ceti III, which had already acquired the name it would always be remembered by…The Slaughter Pen.

  Alliance fortunes were to turn around soon, driven by Admiral Augustus Garret and the remarkable series of brilliant victories he would win, but Frette and Akira had lived through some desperate times first, as Portland and the other cruisers of her squadron tried to hold the line against the advancing Caliphate and CAC forces.

  And now he’s dead, gone. He lived through the nightmares we faced on Portland, survived all of Admiral Garret’s campaigns…and he died serving under me.

  “Admiral, we’re picking up an energy spike at the G47 warp gate.”

  Frette heard Kemp’s voice, slicing through to her, cutting through the self-pity she was wallowing in. His words were not unexpected, but she felt like they punched her in the gut anyway. The enemy was transiting into the system. Now, she could calculate the exact value of Akira’s death, precisely what she had bought with his life.

  “Distance from the warp gate, Commander?”

  “Compton is one hundred ninety-three minutes from the gate, Admiral. Starfire and her group are one hundred twenty-seven.”

  Frette didn’t answer. She just sat still, forcing her mind to focus. For as emotionally painful as it had been, sacrificing Legatus and her two escorts had been an easy call. The two ships had been doomed already…and she suspected Akira would have disobeyed her even if she’d ordered him to retreat. But Starfire and her group were another issue entirely. Strand’s ships weren’t damaged, they were only behind because they’d retreated from a greater distance.

  The young captain wasn’t commanding one wrecked capital ship…she had two battleships, both fully operational, and ten escorts. Twelve vessels and crews…and Frette knew she had a choice to make. Keep the rest of the fleet at full thrust…and leave Strand and her group to fight alone, more lives sacrificed to buy a brief respite. Or she could reduce acceleration, allow the trailing units to link up with the main force. That would reduce the time before the enemy caught her…but the fleet would be united, ready to fight as one cohesive force.

  And die as one force…

  She knew her fleet couldn’t win. She’d seen the array of enemy forces in G47, and it was more than enough to obliterate every vessel under her command. She’d have had to sacrifice Strand and her people, save for one fact. Even if she did so, the enemy would still catch her long before she got back to Earth Two. And even if that hadn’t been the case, she knew she could never lead the enemy back with her. Not unless she could destroy the enemy, wipe out every vessel they had, she couldn’t go home.

  And if her people were going to fight to the death, they were damned sure going to do it together. “Commander Kemp, compute a thrust plan to allow Captain Strand’s ships to catch the main fleet and match course and velocity.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  She could hear the agreement in her tactical officer’s tone. Kemp was scared…they were all scared. But if they had to face the enemy, they would do it together.

  And if they were all going to die, they would die together.

  “Commander Kemp, I want damage control teams on all ships to prioritize weapons readiness.”

  “Yes, Admiral.”

  If they we’re all going to die, by God, we’re going to die fighting…

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Note from Terrance Compton to Max Harmon

  Found Attached to Compton’s Log After His Death

  Max, there are things I would say to you, words I would choose first to speak in person. Yet, we are in a life and death struggle, and I know the day of that conversation may never come. So, in case I do not survive our journey, I have left this for you.

  First, I knew your mother well, and your father too before his tragic death. I know the burdens you faced, the difficulty of being the son of two such officers. But you need to know that both of them spoke to me of you, and whatever feelings you may have, whatever resentments, or regrets, know that they both loved you deeply, and were enormously proud of you.

  I also want you to know what you have meant to me. I have served for more than fifty years, and the navy has been my life. It has brought me glory, success, advancement to the very top of my profession. But the fleet is a jealous mate, and she had denied me things others take for granted. I am wedded to duty, and it cost me Elizabeth. If I had been another man, if my stature had been less, perhaps our story would have been different. But none of that matters now. She is gone, on the other side of the Barrier, and I will never see her again. I take solace that she will be better off without me, for the weight I carry taints everything around me.

  Max, if you are reading this, it likely means that I have been lost. I hope my death was a worthy one, and that I died in the service of those who have followed me. I know you are grieved, for your affection has been as clear to me these past years as your unyielding loyalty. There is little I can say to ease your pain, save to say to you that which I so many times wanted to in the past.

  You have been the son I never had, Max, and I am profoundly thankful for the time you spent at my side. I couldn’t have been prouder of a son of my own, and indeed, I couldn’t have loved one more than I do you. You are an outstanding young officer…and an extraordinary man. Do not make the mistake I have made. Do your duty, as always, but never forget Max Harmon, the man. You are more than an officer, more than a leader. Live…in every sense of the word. Leave more behind than I did…for all the statues they will build in my image, and the stories that will be told of my exploits are cold, empty. Your true legacy will be those you leave behind who truly knew you, who loved you.

  Navy Headquarters

  Victory City, Earth Two

  Earth Two Date 01.03.31

  Max Harmon sat at his desk, one of his desks, at least. Now that he had returned to active duty, he had an office at navy headquarters in addition to the one he still occupied as president of the republic. He wasn’t a legal scholar, but he doubted any reasonable reading of the constitution would allow him to hold the presidency and a military rank simultaneously…but then it didn’t allow the president to declare martial law and cancel elections either, and he’d done that.

  He was dressed in uniform now, his collar adorned with the admiral’s stars he’d worn for all of eleven days thirty years earlier…before he’d reigned his commission to assume the provisional presidency. He’d dropped the ‘provisional’ part three months later after the republic’s first election, one that had seen him get over ninety percent of the votes cast.

  That was a long time ago. You’d have been lucky to get thirty percent this time. It’s a good thing so much of the military was still in that minority of support…

  He’d joked about wearing his old uniform, and he’d even gone so far as to treat Mariko to the show of him trying to squeeze into it. But he was thirty years older, and while he was still in reasonably good shape, the sleek, trim form of his youth was a thing of the past. He’d finally abandoned his efforts with the face-saving explanation th
at the navy had new styling, and he would have to get a new uniform anyway.

  He had to admit, the new blues were an improvement over the old ones, far more comfortable…and practical as well. He’d thought it might feel odd to be in uniform again, but as soon as he’d slipped it on it felt like something he hadn’t expected. He felt home.

  His eyes were fixed on the screen now, staring at the reports zipping by. The early days of habitation on Earth Two had been ones of paranoia. The colonists had endured two years of constant warfare, death nipping at their heels every step of the way. Back then, people were constantly looking for the next crisis, and the periodic suicide attacks by rogue First Imperium forces only inflamed their fears.

  The ships of the fleet had been gradually decommissioned, as new, robot-enhanced vessels came online and the growing industry of Earth Two put a premium on civilian workers. But the fear was still there, and few of the old vessels were scrapped. Midway was decommissioned after it was discovered her spine was warped from repeated critical hits. Admiral Compton’s ship was preserved as a museum, but her days as a combat vessel were over. But to everyone’s surprise, Erika West’s flagship, Saratoga, which had been battered to the verge of utter destruction, had proven repairable. She had served as the republic’s flagship for almost ten years before she was decommissioned and placed in the mothballed reserve, amid many celebrations and solemn speeches.

  And now the old vessel was active again. She’d been towed out of her position orbiting Earth Two’s second moon and placed in space dock at the orbital shipyard. Her reactor core had been replaced, and her weapons systems overhauled…all in less than three weeks. She’d even been restored to her old glory. Harmon had made her the flagship of the gradually assembling Home Fleet. Erika West had left behind thirty-odd, mostly light, vessels when she’d taken the best of the republic’s remaining warships with her…and now that rag tag force was being augmented by the refurbished ships of the legendary lost fleet. Harmon had the shipyards working around the clock, the automated systems restoring a ship to active duty every three to four days.