by Blaze Ward
“Gentlemen,” he said, bringing all of his seriousness to his voice. Even the ensigns and lieutenants around the outer wall came to closer attention at his words. “We are about to launch an assault on a Republic world that has never, to the best of my knowledge, seen war.”
Emmerich nodded at Captain Baumgärtner. His aide pressed a button and a new projection sprang into the space above the table.
“This is the planet Ballard,” the Red Admiral continued. “The planet itself is not our primary target, and may end up being entirely ignored while we are in–system. That will depend on how things unfold after we arrive.”
He paused to take the measure of each man around the great table before he spoke again. The faces were hard. These were serious men. Had he announced an assault on Hell itself, they would probably look no different. He certainly wouldn’t.
“We are going there to destroy this,” he pointed at the smaller sphere in orbit. “Alexandria Station. Home of the last Sentience in known space. Protected by the Republic of Aquitaine because of a sentimental attachment to their own Founder, Henri Baudin. Gentlemen, we are going to kill her.”
He watched the men bristle at the words. Sentience. Aquitaine. Her. Words primed to infuriate their subconscious. Drive them. The root of all evil in the galaxy.
Captain Scheinberg spoke first. “I seem to recall this is a fairly back–water system, admiral,” he said. “Do they have any notable defenses?”
“None worth mentioning, Captain,” Emmerich replied. “A squadron of local fighter craft, perhaps a few patrol boats.”
The captain nodded, confusion written on his features. “And we need an entire Task Force to attack it, sir?”
Emmerich leaned closer, drawing those men into a tighter orbit.
“This does not leave the table, gentlemen, until we break orbit and insert into Jumpspace,” he said with his greatest gravity. “Aquitaine spies will be fed information about our impending assault. Nils Kasum will have just barely enough time to react. The only force he has available will be sent to stop us. We will mousetrap that force and annihilate it.”
Captain Sundén spoke up. “Do we know the composition of that force, Admiral?”
“An older strike carrier,” Emmerich replied. “Plus her consorts: two destroyers and a frigate. Possibly one other vessel, although internal war–gaming at the Palace was mixed in predicting who and what. Nils Kasum cannot strip his Home Fleet of forces to send without a risk that we’ll attack Ladaux instead.”
Emmerich waited for the men to nod. These were professionals at the peak of their careers, serving with the best tactician in the Fribourg Empire.
“The enemy commander, gentlemen,” he continued, “is Jessica Keller.”
These captains were far too sophisticated to actually growl in anger, but he could see it in their eyes.
Yes, they all had scores to settle with that woman, as well.
PART I: LADAUX
Chapter I
Date of the Republic May 28, 394 Fleet HQ, Ladaux System
It felt odd to be seated in the audience today. Normally, Jessica would be up on that stage, probably at the center of the ceremony. It was one of her crew, after all, being honored.
But today, she had put her foot down. Command Centurion Jessica Keller would not be up there with the rest, where her presence might be a distraction, however small that chance might be.
After consideration, and a few tart observations on her part, the fine folks on the station had acquiesced. They’d also decided to use the big amphitheater for today’s ceremony and to let her sit in the audience. Probably something to do with her threat to send as much of Auberon’s crew as she could spare, in their best uniforms, to attend. Or rather, to grant passes to as many people as asked, which might well be all of them.
She wouldn’t have to order anyone to be here.
If anything, she would have had to pick which of her crew would be ordered to miss this ceremony, to stay aboard Auberon, as well as Rajput and CR–264, in order to keep the reactors behaving and the life support systems purring quietly.
In the end, her old command, Brightoak, had volunteered to send over enough engineers and crew to let the rest of the squadron come. Brightoak’s leader, Command Centurion Robbie Aeliaes, had come to the ceremony to represent them, while they found their own way to honor today’s guest.
Jessica enjoyed the view from the front row. She was dead center, between her current first officer, Denis Jež and her old friend and former first officer, Robbie Aeliaes. Her other two squadron Command Centurions, Alber’ d’Maine of Rajput, and Tomas Kigali of CR–264 were on either side of them. Behind, and around them, a mob. That was the best way to describe it. A mob.
All of Auberon. All of Rajput. All of CR–264. They lined the walls three deep and filled the aisles two wide. Every one of them dressed in their best uniforms.
It was a very special day.
Up on the stage, Tadej Horvat, the Premier of the Republic of Aquitaine Senate himself was just finishing up his opening remarks, a brief speech to welcome everyone and remind them how important it was that the civilians of the Republic recognize and honor those who served.
Jessica suppressed a snort. The only two other civilians present beyond the Premier, among the tremendous horde of people in the room were her own parents, Indira and Miguel Keller, standing in loco parentis. Jessica’s mother practically glowed. Father beamed. The rest of the crowd projected enough joy to float a dreadnaught.
Nils Kasum rose from his seat to one side as Tadej returned to his own. The First Lord of the Fleet was a skinny man, who looked much taller than his merely–average height. Something about the way he held himself filled any room. The voice that boomed out over the room was amazingly powerful, a Command voice used to giving orders across a crowded and noisy bridge in the midst of battle.
At one time, the best of the Fighting Lords. Now, their leader.
“Thank you, Premier,” Nils said warmly as he stood at the lectern. Jessica knew that the two of them went back at least to boarding school as friends. When the First Lord became her guardian angel, the Premier eventually had, as well. That had helped, today.
“I wanted to take a quick moment to say thank you to the men and women before me, specifically the crews of Auberon, Rajput, and CR–264,” the First Lord continued, gesturing the crowd before and below him. “The orders a Command Centurion reads when taking charge remind them to exercise excellence and demand the same of their crews. These crews have done just that. You are the reason we sleep safe at night, secure that the forces of evil and tyranny will be kept at bay. As your First Lord, thank you.”
The room was too polite to erupt in the sort of growling display they might in a more–private setting. They settled for applause.
“Today, we gather to honor one of our own. There will be medals and citations, in good time. There will be parades and publicity. But the terrible threat to the Republic today does not allow us the luxury of leisure. All too soon, you will be called to battle again. To stand atop the wall and hold it against all comers. To face the darkness and, in doing so, defy it.”
He paused, staring out at the people before him, not as a politician addressing civilians, but as the First Lord of the Fleet, first among equals, surrounded by his peers, uplifted on their shoulders. This was not a civilian ceremony.
Civilians would not understand.
This was The Fleet.
He finally turned to the two civilians seated behind him in their best finery.
“Madam and Sri Keller,” he said simply, “would you please join me?”
Miguel and Indira rose and stepped forward. The room could not remain silent as they did, greeting them with a booming cheer. It was almost a solid noise, welcoming them to the podium next to the First Lord.
Both civilians seemed taken aback. That didn’t surprise Jessica. They might have been intimately involved with the Fleet for their whole lives, Miguel as a shipwright, I
ndira as a mother to a young officer, but they were still civilians. And it wasn’t even their daughter being honored. But they were more than happy to stand in.
The First Lord waited for the warriors below him to quiet before he spoke again.
“Today,” he boomed, beaming in his own way, “we gather to add a new name to the ranks of those entrusted to the highest level of responsibility in the Fleet. To honor a young woman who has gone, again and again, above and beyond the call of duty for her adopted homeland. To welcome her to our ranks as an officer, a leader, an inspiration for others.”
He paused to let the room breathe.
“Yeoman Moirrey Kermode, citizen of Ramsey, adopted daughter of Ladaux, would you please rise and join us?”
The noise had been intense before. It became almost painful now, every throat in the room cheering and screaming themselves hoarse with enthusiasm. Every one of these people, Jessica included, was alive today, several times over, because of this woman.
And they loved her.
Moirrey rose from her seat, trailed today by Jessica’s steward, Marcelle Travere.
Even from down here, Jessica could see that the young woman was blushing clear to the tips of her ears. But her smile might have lit a star.
Moirrey walked to the front of the stage and came to rest between Miguel and Indira, indeed in loco parentis today, with Marcelle behind her, so much taller, but not looming.
The day was too big to overshadow Moirrey.
Nils Kasum let the sound drag on far longer than he normally would have, understanding the value his crews placed on the young lady from Ramsey.
When the noise finally started to recede, Jessica watched him stride back to the podium and pull out a folded parchment from his inner breast pocket, along with a pen. Carefully, he flattened it out and signed it at the bottom.
He turned and walked three steps to stand in front of Yeoman Kermode, before holding up the paper.
“By order of the Senate of Aquitaine, on this day signed by Senator Tadej Horvat, Premier, and Nils Kasum, First Lord of the Fleet, we declare to all that Moirrey Kermode of the planet Ramsey is hereby promoted to the rank of Centurion of the Fleet. May she exercise this responsibility with authority, intellect, and care, for she is our representative in all things.”
He handed the paper to centurion Kermode as the room erupted again.
Jessica found herself on her feet with the rest of the squadron, cheering, stamping, and howling.
Indira carefully pinned the single white stripe around Moirrey’s upper right arm, crying with joy as she did.
There were hugs all around. Even the Premier got surprised by a hugging assault from Jessica’s mother before he realized what was happening.
Jessica smiled. This much she had insisted on.
Now, the hard part could begin.
Chapter II
Date of the Republic May 28, 394 Fleet HQ, Ladaux System
Nils took a deep breath and considered the man seated across the desk from him. Tall, blond, good looking. If he had asked Central Casting to send him down a heroic action lead to star as the God of Thunder, the first number they called would have been this man’s.
The uniform of the Republic of Aquitaine Navy just accentuated his appearance. Three stripes on his right bicep for a Command Centurion and the unit patch of the battlecruiser Stralsund, pride of the fleet, on his left shoulder.
“Arott,” Nils said carefully, “we don’t have a lot of time before I have to commit. This conversation does not leave this room. Ever. Am I clear?”
“Yes, First Lord,” Command Centurion Arott Whughy said carefully, straightening in his chair and setting down the mug of coffee he had been sipping. His face lost something. Perhaps a little of that carefree smile drained out.
“Good,” Nils continued. “In a few minutes, there will be an all–hands meeting for a group of people that I am about to send out on a forlorn hope to try to rescue Ballard from Fribourg Empire Admiral Emmerich Wachturm, the so–called Red Admiral.”
Nils paused to study this man. Like Jessica Keller, Arott was another one of his excellent protégés. Unlike Jessica, this man was kin. All of the Fifty Families of the Republic were related, cousins to some degree, but Arott Whughy was only two degrees removed. That made him practically family.
Fortunately, the man had never attempted to trade on those connections, other than to be one of the best, and let his natural skill and confidence carry him to great heights. Nils could see Arott Whughy on this side of the desk, one of these days, if he played his cards right.
Arott nodded silently.
Good.
“I have two choices about who I can attach to this task force from Home Fleet,” Nils said. “If I send you, you will be the senior Command Centurion, both by virtue of time in grade, and by command of the largest vessel. However, you will not be in command.”
“No Fleet Lord going with us, sir?”
“No, Centurion Whughy.”
“Then why not, sir?”
“Because I’m putting Jessica Keller in charge, and you will need to take orders from her.”
Nils watched his former student bristle. Not much. Mostly in the eyes and the set of the jaw.
“May I ask why, sir?”
The voice was contained. Almost compact. Barely any emotional signature. Another good sign. Nils needed a team player here, not another MacArthur.
“Arott,” Nils said as he leaned back, subtly breaking the tension. We’re just two soldiers having a chat, right? “I would rank you in the top one percent of centurions in the Fleet right now. You will be a Fleet Lord soon, and a damned good one. You will have a career most people will be jealous of.”
Nils paused as the man absorbed the compliment. Arott even smiled a touch.
“Thank you, sir.”
“However,” the First Lord continued, “I would put Jessica Keller in the top three people currently serving. You were one of the youngest Command Centurions in a generation. She was the youngest in more than a century. And the youngest ever squadron commander. If she survives Ballard, she will be the youngest–ever serving Fleet Lord. I picked you for this mission because I believe you can take orders from her, or from her First Officer, Denis Jež, who should have been promoted to Command Centurion before now. This is Auberon’s show. Stralsund is there because Jessica needs a battlesword in her left hand.”
It took a moment for the younger man to absorb the information, perhaps a touch grumpily.
Downside of never having failed in your life, Arott? We need to teach failure better to our cadets, so they can learn to respond quicker.
“What are we facing, First Lord?”
Good. Internalized. Understood. Accepted.
Yes, a man I can trust. He really might be First Lord, one of these days.
“The Imperial battleship Amsel,” Nils replied. “Her usual consorts include a handful of escort frigates, a light cruiser, and a battle cruiser. The light cruiser is probably still SturmTeufel, but Muscva was killed at Qui–Ping, and we don’t know who is likely to replace her yet.”
“And what do we have to stop him?”
“Stralsund, Auberon, the Destroyer Leader Brightoak, the Heavy Destroyer Rajput, and the Escort CR–264.”
He watched Arott blink in surprise.
“That’s it? Against a battleship? And Emmerich Wachturm?”
“I’m also sending you, Arott Whughy, plus Denis Jež, Robbie Aeliaes, Alber’ d’Maine, Tom Kigali, and Jessica Keller. Plus a young woman named Moirrey Kermode.”
“I don’t know that last name, sir,” Arott said, confused.
“You will, Centurion. Trust me. You will.”
Ξ
The air in the chamber crackled with tension.
Unlike a normal staff meeting, this was limited to just the people seated around a single conference table, without the usual junior officers along the wall, or yeomen ready to handle tasks and locate information.
Jus
t the senior people. That alone made it interesting.
Arott knew almost none of these people by sight, only reputation, having spent his entire career either on the Primary Front with First War Fleet, or rotated back to Ladaux and Home Fleet.
As he was introduced around the table, he was struck by how much the people around him reacted as almost a single entity. It went beyond even a school of fish reacting in quick sequence.
No, it was a single being.
Arott would have expected the First Lord to be the center of gravity, around which everything rotated, but instead it was very obviously Keller.
In person, she was surprisingly small for the amount of reputation she had accumulated. Arott was tall, but Jessica barely cleared his shoulder. However, she was built like a warrior, hard and toned. Feminine, but not girlie. Attractive and brunette. But there was something off. He couldn’t place it.
Arott had followed the events of her Court Martial after Iger. Almost every officer in the Fleet had done so. You could almost divide the Fighting Lords and the Noble Lords into camps, just by asking their opinion of Jessica Keller and her eventual acquittal.
Perhaps it was the eyes. They didn’t seem to focus on him when he spoke, instead seeing a spot on the horizon. The voice was subtly off as well. Flat. Almost mechanical.
After the introductions, and everyone was seated, Arott took a sneaky moment during the First Lord’s opening comments to study the people around him.
Command Centurion Robertson Aeliaes. Brightoak. Tall and built like a swimmer, with chocolate–brown skin and golden eyes. Apparently one of Jessica’s former squadron mates under that idiot Bogdan Loncar. Aeliaes was a man with a reputation for being smart, well–prepared, and constantly on the verge of insubordination against stupid orders. Arott liked him immediately.
Command Centurion Alber’ d’Maine. Rajput. A man of average height, but very broad across the shoulders. The sort of physique you got from working with heavy weights and not a lot of running. A quiet man of few words that were almost growled. A warrior on a ship of war.