by David Weber
Bachfisch and Layson could follow the logic of that argument, however much they might detest it, but privateering as practiced in the Silesian Confederacy was a far cry from the neat theories propounded by the practice’s defenders at the interstellar conferences. Breakaway system governments and an incredible variety of “people’s movements” proliferated across the Confederacy like weeds in a particularly well-rotted compost heap, and at least half of them issued—sold, really—letters of marque to license privateering in the names of their revolutions. At least two-thirds of those letters went to out and out pirates, who regarded them as get-out-of-jail-free cards. Whereas piracy was a capital offense under interstellar law, privateers were legally regarded as a sort of militia, semi-civilian volunteers in the service of whatever nation had issued their letter of marque in the first place. That meant that their ships could be seized, but that they themselves were protected. The worst that could happen to them (officially, at least) was incarceration along with other prisoners of war, unless they had been so careless as to be captured in the act of murdering, torturing, raping, or otherwise treating the crews of their prizes in traditional piratical fashion.
That was bad enough, but in some ways the genuine patriots were even worse. They were far less likely to indulge themselves in atrocities, but their ships tended to be larger and better armed, and they actually did regard themselves as auxiliary naval units. That made them willing to accept risks no true for-profit pirate would consider running for a moment, up to and including an occasional willingness to engage light warships of whoever they were rebelling against that week. Which wouldn’t have bothered the Royal Manticoran Navy excessively, if not for the fact that even the best privateers were still amateurs who sometimes suffered from less than perfect target identification.
The fact that some privateers invariably seemed to believe that attacks on the commerce of major powers like Manticore would somehow tempt those major powers into intervening in their own squabbles in an effort to impose an outside solution to protect their commercial interests was another factor altogether. The Star Kingdom had made it abundantly clear over the years that it would come down like the wrath of God on any revolutionary movement stupid enough to deliberately send its privateers after Manticoran merchant shipping, yet there always seemed to be a new group of lunatics who thought they could somehow manipulate the Star Kingdom where everyone else had failed. The Navy eventually got around to teaching them the same lesson it had taught their countless predecessors, but it was ultimately a losing proposition. That particular bunch of crazies would not offend again once the RMN crushed them, but a lot of Manticoran merchant spacers tended to get hurt first, and someone else would always be along in a year or two who would have to learn the lesson all over again.
And at the moment, the Saginaw Sector of the Confederacy (which just happened to contain the Melchor System) was in an even greater than usual state of unrest. At least two of its systems—Krieger’s Star and Prism—were in open rebellion against the central government, and there were half a dozen shadow governments and liberation movements all boiling away just beneath the surface. ONI estimated that several of those insurrectionary factions had managed to open communications and establish a degree of coordination which had—yet again—taken the Confederacy’s excuse for a government by surprise. Worse, The Honorable Janko Wegener, the Saginaw sector governor, was even more venal than most, and it seemed obvious to ONI that he saw the turmoil in his command area as one more opportunity to line his pockets. At the same time that Wegener fought valiantly to suppress the rebellions in his sector, he was raking off protection money in return for tacitly ignoring at least three liberation movements, and there was compelling evidence to suggest that he was actually permitting privateers to auction their prizes publicly in return for a percentage of their profits. Under the ironclad laws of cronyism which governed the Confederacy, the fact that he was a close relative of the current government’s interior minister and an in-law of the premier meant Wegener could get away with it forever (or at least until the Confederacy’s political parties’ game of musical chairs made someone else premier), and the odds were that he would retire a very wealthy man indeed.
In the meantime, it was up to HMS War Maiden and her company to do what they could to keep some sort of lid on the pot he was busily stirring.
“If only we could free up a division or two of the wall and drop them in on Saginaw to pay Governor Wegener a little visit, we might actually be able to do some genuine good,” Bachfisch observed after a moment. “As it is, all we’re going to manage is to run around pissing on forest fires.” He stared off into the distance for several seconds, then shook himself and smiled. “Which is the usual state of affairs in Silesia, after all, isn’t it?”
“I’m afraid you’re right there, Sir,” Layson agreed ruefully. “I just wish we could have started pissing on them by getting into missile range of the bastards who killed Gryphon’s Pride.”
“You and me both,” Bachfisch snorted. “But let’s face it, Abner, we were luckier than we had any right to count on just to recover the ship herself. If they hadn’t wasted time… amusing themselves with her crew and gotten her underway sooner instead—or even just killed her transponder to keep us from realizing she’d been taken—they’d have gotten away clean. The fact that we got the hull back may not be much, but it’s better than nothing.”
“The insurers will be pleased, anyway,” Layson sighed, then made a face and shook his head quickly. “Sorry, Sir. I know that wasn’t what you meant. And I know the insurers would be just as happy as we would if we’d managed to save the crew as well. It’s just—”
“I know,” Bachfisch said, waving away his apology. The captain took one more turn around the cabin, then parked himself in the chair behind the desk once more. He picked up Layson’s memo board and punched up the display to scan the terse report himself. “At least McKinley and her people cleared the ship on the bounce,” he observed. “And I notice that even Janice remembered to take a gun this time!”
“With a little prodding,” Layson agreed, and they grinned at one another. “I think the problem is that she regards anything smaller than a missile or a broadside energy mount as being beneath a tac officer’s dignity,” the exec added.
“It’s worse than that,” Bachfisch said with a small headshake. “She’s from downtown Landing, and I don’t think she and her family spent more than a day or two all told in the bush when she was a kid.” He shrugged. “She never learned to handle a gun before the Academy, and she’s never actually needed one in the line of duty since. That’s what Marines are for.”
“Sergeant Tausig mentioned to me that Ms. Harrington seemed quite competent in that regard,” Layson observed in a carefully uninflected tone.
“Good,” Bachfisch said. “Of course, her family has a nice little freeholding in the Copper Wall Mountains. That’s hexapuma country, and I imagine she grew up packing a gun whenever she went for a hike. Actually, I think she did quite well. At least she kept her lunch down while they recovered and bagged the bodies.”
Layson managed to keep his eyebrows from rising. He’d known Harrington was from Sphinx, of course, but he hadn’t known she was from the Copper Walls, so how did the Captain know? He looked at Bachfisch for a moment, then drew a deep breath.
“Excuse me, Sir. I realize it’s not really any of my business, but I know you must have had a reason for specifically requesting that Ms. Harrington be assigned to us for her snotty cruise.”
The sentence was a statement that was also a question, and Bachfisch leaned back in his chair and gazed steadily at his executive officer.
“You’re right, I did,” he said after a thoughtful pause. “Are you by any chance familiar with Captain Raoul Courvosier, Abner?”
“Captain Courvosier?” Layson’s brow furrowed. “Oh, of course. He’s the head of the Saganami Tactical Department, isn’t he?”
“At the moment,” Bachfisch said. “
The grapevine says he’s up for rear admiral on the current list. They’re going to jump him right past commodore, and they’ll probably drag him over to head the War College as soon as they do.”
“I knew he had a good rep, Sir, but is he really that good?” Layson asked in considerable surprise. It was unusual, to say the least, for the RMN to jump an officer two grades in a single promotion, despite its current rate of expansion.
“He’s better than that,” Bachfisch said flatly. “In fact, he’s probably the finest tactician and one of the three best strategists I’ve ever had the honor to serve under.”
Abner Layson was more than simply surprised by that, particularly since that was precisely the way he would have described Captain Thomas Bachfisch.
“If Raoul had been born into a better family—or been even a little more willing to play the suck-up game—he would have had his commodore’s star years ago,” Bachfisch went on, unaware of his exec’s thoughts. “On the other hand, I imagine he’s done more good than a dozen commodores at the Academy. But when Raoul Courvosier tells me privately that one of his students has demonstrated in his opinion the potential to be the most outstanding officer of her generation and asks me to put her in my Snotty Row, I’m not about to turn him down. Besides, she’s about due for a little offsetting career boost.”
“I beg your pardon, Sir?” The question came out almost automatically, for Layson was still grappling with the completely unexpected endorsement of Honor Harrington’s capabilities. Of course, he’d been very favorably impressed by her himself, but the outstanding officer of her generation?
“I said she’s due for a career boost,” Bachfisch repeated, and snorted at the confused look Layson gave him. “What? You think I was stupid enough to ask for Elvis Santino for my OCTO? Give me a break, Abner!”
“But—” Layson began, then stopped and looked at Bachfisch narrowly. “I’d assumed,” he said very slowly, “that Santino was just a particularly obnoxious example of BuPers’ ability to pound square pegs into round holes. Are you saying he wasn’t, Sir?”
“I can’t prove it, but I wouldn’t bet against it. Oh, it could be innocent enough. That’s why I didn’t say anything about it to you ahead of time… and why I was so happy that he gave you ample grounds to bring the hammer down on him. The creep had it coming, whatever his motives may have been, but nobody who sees your report and the endorsements from Shelton and Flanagan could possibly question the fact that he was relieved for cause.”
“But why would anyone want to question it in the first place?”
“Did you ever happen to encounter Dimitri Young?”
This time, despite all he could do, Layson blinked in surprise at the complete non sequitur.
“Uh, no, Sir. I don’t believe I can place the name.”
“I’m not surprised, and you didn’t miss a thing,” Bachfisch said dryly. “He was considerably before your time, and he resigned about the time he made commander in order to pursue a political career when he inherited the title from his father.”
“Title?” Layson repeated cautiously.
“These days he’s the Earl of North Hollow, and from all I hear he’s just as big a loss as a human being as he ever was. What’s worse, he’s reproduced, and his oldest son, Pavel, was a class ahead of Harrington at Saganami.”
“Why do I think I’m not going to like this, Sir?”
“Because you have good instincts. It seems that Mr. Midshipman Young and Ms. Midshipwoman Harrington had a small… disagreement in the showers one night.”
“In the show—” Layson began sharply, then broke off. “My God,” he went on a moment later in a very different tone, “she must have kicked his ass up one side and down the other!”
“As a matter of fact, she did,” Bachfisch said, gazing speculatively at his exec.
“Damned straight she did,” Layson said with an evil chuckle. “Ms. Harrington works out full contact with Sergeant Tausig, Sir. And she gets through his guard upon occasion.”
“Does she?” Bachfisch smiled slowly. “Well, now. I suppose that does explain a few things, doesn’t it?” He gazed sightlessly at the bulkhead, smiling at something Layson could not see, for several seconds, then shook himself back to the present.
“At any rate,” he said more briskly, “Harrington sent him to the infirmary for some fairly serious repairs, and he never did manage to explain just what he was doing in the showers alone with her after hours that inspired her to kick the crap out of him. But neither did she, unfortunately, press charges against him. No,” he said, shaking his head before Layson could ask the question, “I don’t know why she didn’t, and I don’t know why Hartley couldn’t get her to do it. But she didn’t, and the little prick graduated with the rest of his class and went straight into the old-boy patronage system.”
“And cranked the same system around to wreck Harrington’s career.” There was no amusement in Layson’s voice this time, and Bachfisch nodded.
“That’s Raoul’s belief, anyway,” the captain said, “and I respect his instincts. Besides, unlike you I did know Young’s father, and I doubt very much that he’s improved with age. That’s one reason I have to wonder how we wound up saddled with Santino. North Hollow may not be Navy anymore, but he’s got one hell of a lot of clout in the House of Lords, and he sits on the Naval Affairs Committee. So if he does want to punish her for ‘humiliating’ his precious son, he’s in the perfect spot to do it.”
“I see, Sir.” Layson sat back in his chair, and his mind worked busily. There was even more going on here than he’d suspected might be the case, and he felt a brief uneasiness at the weight and caliber of the enemies his Captain appeared to be courting. But knowing Bachfisch as well as he did, he also understood perfectly. In many ways, there were actually two Royal Manticoran Navies: the one to which well-connected officers like Pavel Young and Elvis Santino belonged, where all that truly mattered was who was related to whom; and the one which produced officers like Thomas Bachfisch and—he hoped—Abner Layson, whose only claim to their rank was the fact that they put duty and responsibility before life itself. And just as the Navy of patronage and string-pullers looked after their own, so did the Navy of dedication and ability protect and nurture its own.
“Does Harrington know?” he asked. “I mean, know that Young and his family are out to get her?”
“I don’t know. If she’s as observant as I think she is—or even a quarter as good at analyzing interpersonal relationships as she is in the tactical simulator—then it’s a pretty sure bet that she does. On the other hand, she didn’t press charges against him in the first place, and that raises a question mark, doesn’t it? In any case, I don’t think a snotty cruise in the middle of Silesia is the best possible place and time for us to be explaining it to her, now is it?”
“You do have a gift for understatement, Sir.”
“A modest talent, but one which has its uses,” Bachfisch admitted. Then he picked up the memo board and handed it back to Layson. “But that’s enough about Ms. Harrington for the moment,” he said. “Right now, you and I need to give some thought to where we go from here. I’ve been thinking that it might be worthwhile to hang around here in Melchor for a while and use the system as a pirate lure, since this is the main magnet for our shipping at the moment. But if we do that too obviously, the local pirates—and probably Wegener—are going to get hinky. So what I was thinking was—”
Commodore Anders Dunecki replayed the brief message and clenched his jaw against the urge to swear vilely.
“Is this confirmed?” he asked the messenger without looking up from the display.
“Yes, Sir. The SN made the official announcement last week. According to their communique they picked off Lydia a couple of weeks before that, and Commander Presley is almost a month overdue.” The nondescript man in civilian clothing shrugged unhappily. “According to the SN they took him out in Hera, and that was where he’d said he was planning to cruise with Lydia. We don’t h
ave absolute confirmation that it was him, of course, but all the pieces match too well for it to have been anyone else.”
“But according to this—” Dunecki jabbed his chin at the holographic screen where the message footer was still displayed “—it was a heavy cruiser that nailed him.” He paused, looking at the messenger expectantly, and the other man nodded. “In that case,” Dunecki said, “what I want to know is how the hell the SN managed to run a ship that powerful into the area without our hearing about it. There’s no way John Presley would have been careless enough to let a heavy cruiser sneak up on him if he’d known she was there to begin with. And he damned well ought to have known!”
The rage Dunecki had struggled to conceal broke through his control with the last sentence, and the messenger sat very still. Anders Dunecki was not a good man to anger, and the messenger had to remind himself that he was only the bearer of the news, and not the one responsible for its content.
“I didn’t know Commander Presley as well as you did, Sir,” he said carefully after a long moment of silence. “Or for as long. But I’m familiar with his record in the Council’s service, and on the basis of that, I’d have to agree that he certainly would have exercised all due prudence if he’d been aware of the escalation in threat levels. Actually, as nearly as we can tell, at least two heavy cruisers, and possibly as many as three have been transferred into Saginaw in the last month and a half, and there are some indications that more will be following. Apparently—” he allowed himself a predatory smile despite the tension in Dunecki’s cabin “—losses in the sector have gotten severe enough for the Navy to reinforce its presence here.”