Opening Moves

by James Traynor

  Or alien powers, Sammy thought somberly, remembering the reason for their redeployment. She dug in her pocket and retrieved her billet card – the hall pass, as Jones had jokingly called it – which told her which room she was in and provided access. Though it wasn't really a physical 'billet card' at all but an identity code uploaded on the platoon members' personal comm units.

  “All right people, go get settled in. See you all at seventeen hundred in the mess. The captain has your specific assignments and departure times so try and don't be late,” the lieutenant stated, then headed off for his own quarters.

  The NCOs and regular troopers were assigned four to a room, while the lieutenant and other junior officers were two to a room. Apparently even the battalion's majors had to bunk together due to a lack of space on McKenna. It seemed like half of the Union's armed forces had just about arrived in this otherwise quiet sector. Sammy thought it was probably a good thing Orion colony was the human holding the farthest away from Sol. A military deployment of this size certainly would have sparked a minor crisis if it had been somewhere within the closer spherical colony zone around humanity's home system. Out here it only served as a warning to the other alien powers and resulted in many a one-system nation getting its panties in a twist.

  The latter really didn't bother her one bit. While certainly not everybody living out here on their own was bad, those systems had a suspicious habit of housing pirates and privateers who all too often ended up flying said system's flag once the going got tough. That usually was the point where one of the 'Big Three' put their foot down.

  The entrance wall to the station's section housing enlisted personnel and non-commissioned officers showed a painting of a group of men in insanely tight trousers playing drums and some other old instruments. Each and every one of them had longer – and curlier – hair than most women nowadays choose to wear. On the edge of the larger-than-life piece of art someone had scribbled with black permanent marker 'Now they even have a star of their own. God help us all, it's the final countdown...'

  Sammy frowned but moved on. She found their quarters and swiped the lock with her comm unit, causing the door to clank open. Samantha threw her kit on the nearest bed while Grunt, Tucker and Private Walters followed her in and tried to make themselves at home.

  “Don't get too comfortable,” she warned, a virtual impossibility in these rather spartan surroundings. “We'll probably be spaceborne again in a day or two. Or down on the planet. Wonder what season it is down there right now. I heard Orion is pretty much Earth-like.”

  “Yeah, the way I understand it, Orion's prime real estate: standard gravity, almost no natural hazards, temperate climate and resource-rich to boot. Wasn't that the reason the Pacs threw such a hissy fit in the first place?”

  Sammy sat down on her bed and shrugged. “Bit more complicated than that, but yeah, jealousy's been a big part in that affair.”

  “I heard they think because it's so far out in the boondocks we'll use it to stage an attack against'em one day and catch them on the wrong foot,” he held up a tablet computer. “Xinhua's also been playing up the angle that a colony this far out has the potential to drag us into an alien war. Reckless Yankee brinkmanship, they're calling it.”

  Sammy rolled her eyes. “Who the hell even talks like that nowadays? I mean, Yankee? Really? That was archaic even before my grandpa was born. And why the hell are you reading a rag like Xinhua anyways?” The Xinhua newsfeed agency was generally thought to be the Pacific Rim Alliance's government mouthpiece.

  The lanky soldier shrugged. “Alert preferences. I wanted to know what's going on back home now that we're back in realspace.” It was impossible to communicate with an object in foldspace from a point in normspace and vice versa. “Turns out the other big two aren't too happy with the amount of firepower we're shipping around at the moment. And a whole lot of indies are probably two seconds short of a heart attack, too.”

  Samantha scratched her hair. At two inches it was getting dangerously long! “Screw them. Stupid independent systems. If we show up it's always 'Bitch bitch moan moan, freedoms this, tyranny that, leave us alone'. If we keep out of their affairs it's 'Mommy, why don't you help me? Timmy stole my sweets'. If it's a choice between babysitting those guys and staring down an EMC squadron in space I'm all for the space job.”

  “Oh. Joy and jubilance,” Tucker grunted with exactly zero enthusiasm.

  “Look at this way: at least in space you won't feel overweight, you just look the part,” Grunt prodded.

  “Solid muscle, this!” Tucker thumped his barrel sized torso. “Anyway, I'd be careful if I were you. Wouldn't wanna wake up outside the station, now would you?”

  “Knock it off, guys,” Lee sighed. “Try and get some sleep with normal gravity. I've got a feeling it'll be the last for a while, so enjoy it.”

  Her fellow soldiers relaxed, dropped onto their bunks, and with record speed were asleep. Samantha reached into her uniform pockets, the all resistant fabric of the clothing proof against all known biological agents, and found her most treasured possession. It was a quaint, old school photograph of her wife and child. She pressed it up on the wall beside her bunk, taking a few moments in the dim light to savor the image. “Good night,” she whispered to them, then she too closed her eyes and within minutes was fast asleep.

  * * * * * * *

  “Divisions one to fifty are reporting ready, Strategos,” a captain said with undisguised glee, the prospect of battle clearly very exciting to him. “Our airwings are docked and ground forces prepared to follow us into battle.”

  “And the supply situation?” Corr'tane asked calmly, his face a picture of neutrality in the busy command center of the dreadnought CLAWBLADE.

  “Our vessels are freshly loaded, sir. We have fuel and food for a full six months of operations, and approximately two weeks' worth of attack craft ordinance and spares. More than enough for our needs.”

  “Do not be so sure, captain,” Corr'tane commented quietly. “There seems to be an attitude that this war will be over in weeks. I assure you: it will not.”

  “I would never question you, Strategos, but our opponents are surely not powerful enough to stop us?” the officer replied respectfully.

  “As a whole? No, they aren't. However, we must be cautious in our planning and execution of this great battle. The initial advantage will be ours. We will dictate the pace and the locations of where the opening moves of this war will be fought. But no matter what we do, how fast and how successful we are: the enemy will find the time and the place to react to our advance. We cannot afford constant heavy losses, and our enemies will fight with courage if not with skill. Be aware of your enemy, captain. That is the first rule of war.”

  “Yes, Strategos,” the officer answered and refrained from further comments.

  Corr'tane looked at the banks of screens, each showing statistics and reports from his fleet massing for the assault into Tuathaan space. As the captain had confirmed, everything was ready. And, despite his words of caution, he had also proven the Ashani fleet had the single most crucial weapon in their arsenal prepared: the confidence and willpower to win.

  Over a thousand ships had massed in his fleet, with other strategoi farther forward and across the borders of Érenni space commanding similar fleets. The attack was designed as a perfectly simultaneous strike. Two fleets would hit Tuathaan space while another two fleets struck the Érenni colonies. The main reserves would be held centrally to support either operation, but Corr'tane's personal force would act independently, a sign of his esteem in the Supreme Strategos' eyes, and he had decided to personally oversee the breaking of the Tuathaan space forces.

  “I will be in my quarters,” he said. “Inform me when the assault fleets begin moving and we enter the fold.”

  “As you wish, sir.” The officer nodded and saluted.

  Corr'tane made his way to the spacious facilities set aside for the fleet commander. They were simple two-roomed quarters and fair
ly small, but on a warship – even a nine million ton dreadnought – they were considered almost palatial. He settled down and took a quick sip of a potent Ashani wine, then activated the private communications system wired into the cabin's wall display. In a few moments the desired image appeared.

  “Sister,” he smiled warmly. “It is good to see you. You are well, I hope?”

  “You don't have to keep checking up on me every week,” Pyshana winced. “I'm capable of taking care of myself, you know. But it is good to hear from you, too.”

  “You can understand my concern,” Corr'tane's smile waned. “I hear you will be at the vanguard of our attack on the Érenni. It is a noble and honorable task.”

  “Indeed, and I wonder if I was assigned this position on your influence?”

  He did not answer straight away. Frankly, if he had had the choice he would have made sure that Pyshana was as far from battle as possible. Her command of the leading elements of the fleet was a virtual death sentence. “It's not by my hand, but perhaps someone understands your value,” he said, and recognized the effect of her death on himself. Pyshana was all that was left of his family now. “Just make sure you live long enough to collect your promotion.”

  “Consider it a guarantee.” Pyshana smiled. “I know what this battle entails and how the Érenni fight, brother. I have no intention of attacking them head on in a rush for glory like many of our commanders seek to do. I will use some intelligence in the matter and avoid getting my ships cut to ribbons in the guns of the Érenni.”

  “Just remember that the Érenni are powerful in defense but useless in attack. They literally have no concept of mobile warfare, in space!” he shook his head. He had never been able to make sense of the all too pacifist race. It was a wonder the Érenni had ever made it out of their own gravity well, given that at some point some Érenni matriarch surely must have thought fire was too dangerous a thing to use. “Use these apparent strengths against them, turn their strength into weakness!”

  “I will, brother. And you watch out for the Tuathaan, they are supposed to be vicious animals.”

  “They are,” Corr'tane said darkly, an image of their father's ship burning under Tuathaan guns came unbidden into his mind. They were going to suffer for the pain they had brought his family in the past. “Sister, do you have the weapons I developed?”

  “Yes, they are in our magazine on the SUNBURST. Our orders are to use them at the earliest opportunity.”

  “When you deploy them get full readings, as much data as you can,” he enthused. “This is ten years of work finally reaching fruition, sister. We must know its effects and the efficiency of the delivery system.”

  “Corr'tane, you over think these things,” his sister laughed. It was a clear, beautiful sound that reminded him of simpler days. “Of course I'll take the measurements. I, more than anyone, know how hard you've worked on these devices. They will work, and it will be to the betterment of all our people, and the terror of our enemies!”

  “Victory, sister,” Corr'tane announced proudly. “And life to our people.”

  “Stay safe, you're the only family I have left!” she grinned. “It would get very boring without you.”

  “Same to you! Watch those Érenni lasers, they are very nasty at long range and go through our ships disturbingly well.”

  “I've seen the briefings,” she chided. “You really don't need to keep worrying about me.”

  “Older brother's privilege,” Corr'taine claimed with a shrug.

  “Older!? By about fifteen seconds!” she chuckled.

  It made her look way too young and too good to wear the crimson tunic with the black arms of a commanding officer. More than anything else Corr'tane wanted her out of the danger zone. And more than anything else he knew that if he tried to get her out it would lead to a break between the two of them. “Respect your elders,” he said in a firm manner before breaking into a smile. “I'll be waiting to hear your victory report.”

  “And I expect to see yours on the news net. May fate smile on us.”

  “Fate has nothing which a few well-placed nukes won't reverse,” Corr'tane intoned. “Trust in your own judgment and don't be afraid to swamp a location with massive firepower if you feel the need.”

  “I can see why the fleet likes you!” Pyshana laughed. “With that attitude you'll win a lot of friends.”

  “Just concentrate on winning battles. Remember to avoid the cities, if you can. We don't need slave populations, just living space. If the Érenni happen to have built their planetary defenses too close to their cities, though...” he shrugged. “Worse for them. Breaking their defenses is your paramount objective at this phase of the campaign,” he told her the same things he told his own officers. “If you're in doubt just destroy everything. Leave nothing behind you but blackened ash and it will drive terror before you like a storm. Kill their morale, make them fear you and you have already defeated them.”

  “I'd hate to be your enemy,” Pyshana observed. “I better go, we're almost out of the local gravity well.”

  “Take care of yourself,” Corr'tane nodded. “I'll be waiting.”

  Senfina Colony, Érenni Republics

  Once this particular part of the galaxy had been tranquil, a peaceful and blissful location to exist and grow old at. The planet itself was capable of supporting generous amounts of life and had a rich ecosystem along with numerous useful minerals in the nearby asteroids and more barren worlds orbiting the local star. To the Érenni it was a semi-paradise and a great many had settled here.

  But in recent years something had changed. Now a ship entering Senfina was greeted by pickets around the borders of the inner system and had to follow set routes given to it by an Érenni traffic control station hovering above the ellipsis.

  The planet itself, while still a blue and green orb, was ringed in steel and dormant fire. Vast swathes of mines and laser platforms orbited the colony along with a handful of space stations and orbital control facilities. Standing out above them all was a massive Fathal-class battle station. The word meant something along the lines of 'protective sign' or 'gesture warding off evil' in the Érenni language, Llyr had explained to them when they had first come across one of these giants. The station would dominate any battle fought for the planet and its inhabitants. From a distance it looked hugely impressive, its main guns large enough to be visible to the bare eye from a dozen kilometers away. However, up close it was a slightly different matter. Construction teams were crawling over the station, working frantically to finish it. Massive bundles of spare parts floated beside it waiting to be attached. It had its teeth, but it wasn't ready for a real battle.

  Tarek Winters observed these strengths and weaknesses as his freighter detached from the civilian spaceport within sight of the great complex. The IRON MAIDEN had been plying its trade across Érenni space for a year now and he had become a familiar sight to the patrol ships between the colonies of Senfina, Ampleksa and the Érenni home world, Akvô. He had also taken the opportunity to travel farther into the space controlled by the Pact of Ten Suns, delivering cargo shipments to Kom and Agama space. He and the crew had even been able to make a few runs back to Union space, but most of his trips were within Érenni and Tson territory.

  He had first arrived, against his better wishes, soon after the fall of Toklamakun. At that time the Érenni race had been petrified of the chance of an attack from their Ashani neighbors. The initial panic had disappeared after a month or so, but to their credit the Érenni government, in an unusual bout of speed and unity, had stuck to its plans and begun a massive military program to prepare for an eventual war with the Dominion. The defenses at Senfina were one of the more obvious statements of that policy. Whoever Tarek spoke to, they always answered with the same response: it wasn't a case of if the Dominion came, but when.

  “Clearing the minefield,” Alexej reported, the massive man manipulating the ship's controls with surprising precision and gentleness. There was a moment of hush a
s the small ship made it past the outer markers, then general relief as they entered empty space.

  They had been assigned as part of a convoy to Akvô transporting civilians from the colony to the greater safety of the home world. About two dozen assorted freighters from various races gathered beyond the defenses and formed up underneath the watchful eyes of four Érenni frigates. Almost all of the MAIDEN's jobs had involved moving people from one location to another, usually from Ampleksa which the Érenni had decided to abandon in the face of attack. Knowing they couldn't construct an adequate defense in time and knowing their small fleet could not contest the planet, the Republics had agreed on an orderly evacuation of all civilians, leaving just a skeleton military garrison to operate the orbital defenses that were in place. It had taken almost a year but the entire population had been moved to more easily defensible locations in the Republics. And while neither the evacuees nor their new hosts were always happy their new homes at least they were considered safe.

  “Keep pace with the convoy,” Tarek said with a wry grin. “We are, after all, paid by the hour.”

  The four crew smiled silently. Running an independent freighter, even a comparably smaller one like the IRON MAIDEN, was a costly business. But they had become very rich thanks to the current climate of anxiety. Wealthy business women would pay a considerable amount for a place on a freighter heading for Tson space or farther afield. When they finally made their way home Tarek and his crew could all happily retire in comfort now.