by Jay Allan
“Yes Admiral Liang.” Commander Horace-103 replied immediately.
Dammit, Liang thought…they all sound the same. His crews weren’t all Shadow warriors, but most of them were. It wasn’t easy to crew a bunch of warships…veteran spacers weren’t exactly sitting around reading want ads, and the Shadow personnel filled a lot of chairs. They were completely competent…better, probably, than his other personnel. But they creeped the hell out of him.
Liang was stunned when Stark first told him of the Shadow plan and even more so when the Alliance spy came right out and offered him command of the fleet. The former CAC admiral had spent almost ten years confined in Alliance Intelligence headquarters, living in extremely plush conditions, but virtually a prisoner. Li An had sworn to execute Liang after his failures in the Third Frontier War, and it had been a source of humiliation to her that she’d been unable to do so. Even with Liang under lock and key, Li An had made two credible efforts to get someone on the inside to do the job for her.
Stark had taken Liang in and protected him mostly to piss off the old bitch, as he called Li An, but when he conceived the full extent of the Shadow plan, he knew he’d need a trained naval commander. He didn’t kid himself…Liang was no match for Garret, but he wasn’t a fool either. He was capable and experienced…and the most trustworthy candidate Stark was likely to find, being motivated as he was not just by greed, but by the near certainty he’d be killed if Stark withdrew his protection.
Liang had been doubtful the plan was possible, but Stark insisted it would…and he had accomplished everything he’d set out to do so far. His army was occupying worlds throughout Alliance space, and his machinations had brought the Powers to the brink of open war. Liang shook his head as he lay half-crushed in the acceleration couch. Stark truly is a genius, he thought.
“We’re getting damage reports back from the laser buoys, sir.” Horace-103 in the same relentless tone. “Moderate effectiveness only, admiral. The Alliance fleet seems to have had great luck in positioning its angel dust torpedoes.”
Luck, my ass, Liang thought…fucking Garret’s a genius too. He’d faced the Alliance admiral before, with uniformly disastrous results. His fall from power and grace had come at the hands of Augustus Garret. Still, he’d expected the x-ray units to perform better against the angel dust, but it didn’t seem that had been the case.
“Prepare to commence missile launches immediately.” The distance between the fleets was at the extreme edge of effective range, but Liang was thrusting away from Garret’s force. His missiles would have to accelerate just to overcome the intrinsic velocity of the launch platforms. Time would only exacerbate that disadvantage. “I want all external ordnance launched. Racks are to be jettisoned immediately after fire. I want a second wave ready to launch fifteen minutes after the first.” Most ships carried externally mounted missiles that increased their magazine capacity by 25-40%. It took time to properly eject the mounting systems holding the missiles in place, especially under high acceleration. Significant calculations were required to insure the jettisoned racks wouldn’t become a collision hazard to any of the fleet’s vessels. Rushing the process was dangerous, but it had to be finished before any internally-carried missiles could be launched. And fifteen minutes was definitely rushing.
“Yes, admiral.” A short pause, then: “External missiles launching in 60 seconds.”
Liang stared up at the small screen above his head watching the seconds tick off the chronometer. Well, Augustus Garret, he thought…here we go again.
“External racks flushed, sir.” Rourke snapped out the report. “Mounting disengagement in progress.”
Garret nodded. He wanted to get as many volleys launched as possible before he had to engage his point defense systems. His fleet wasn’t heading directly toward the enemy force, but it was close enough to give him a big advantage in the missile exchange. Their weapons would be struggling to overcome negative intrinsic velocity with respect to his ships, while his own missiles were coming out of the launchers at 0.08c.
Ideally, he’d be decelerating now, but he wanted his crews at their posts during the fighting, not wrapped up and half-crushed in the couches. Ships could fight under those conditions, but it degraded anyone’s performance…even that of Augustus Garret and his vaunted Alliance navy. He could slow down later. His trajectory was good enough for the missile exchange, and he very much doubted the enemy would let him get close to energy weapons range anyway.
“Updated damage report?”
The laser attack from the buoys hit a few of his ships hard, but Garret had timed the angel dust launches perfectly, and Sparks’ new reflective materials had performed extremely well against the x-ray weapons. Two of the battleships had major damage, and a destroyer had been nearly vaporized, but he knew it could have been much, much worse. He suspected one of those buoys could destroy a capital ship with a single direct hit, and he was glad to postpone the day that theory got its test.
“One of Cromwell’s reactors is offline, sir, and she has heavy casualties.” Rourke hated casualty reports, and it showed in her voice. “All other vessels report 85% or higher operational capacity and full battle-readiness.”
“Very well, commander.” Garret leaned back in his chair. Cromwell, he thought…the old girl’s done enough…we really shouldn’t be asking more of her. The oldest capital ship in the Alliance fleet by 30 years, Cromwell had been somewhat of a lucky ship, surviving far longer than any other vessel of her day. She should have been in well-deserved retirement in the strategic reserve by now, but there was no reserve anymore. Crisis after crisis had driven the navy to the edge, and anything capable of carrying weapons had been kept in service. Cromwell wasn’t a match for a modern battleship, but there was more to war than counting weapons. Garret considered himself fortunate to have her under his command, and he was pulling for her damage control crews to save her once again.
“All primary units report mounting disengagement complete, admiral.”
Garret glanced at the chronometer. Seven minutes, fifteen seconds. He let a brief smile cross his lips. He drove his crews hard, but it was times like this that it really showed. No other naval force in human space could match that time.
“Commence second missile launch immediately.”
“This is your last chance, general.” Liang was exhausted with Samuels’ indecision. “If you wish to join your ground forces on Arcadia, we will cut acceleration and launch your shuttle. But it has to be now.”
Liang was angry and frustrated enough without having to deal with this reject Marine Stark had placed in command of the Shadow ground forces. The fleet had taken heavy damage, much worse than he’d anticipated. They were already leaving one battleship behind. Toshiru had been a PRC vessel badly damaged in the fighting at Garrison. She’d been nearly fully repaired when Liang’s forces seized the shipyards, and he’d put the vessel into service almost immediately. Now her reactors were both down and she was streaming air. There was no chance her crew would complete repairs before Garret’s ships caught up and destroyed or captured her.
He had one thought now…getting out of this system while he still had a fleet. Garret’s people had been good when he’d last faced them during the Third Frontier War, but they were like razors now. War against an enemy like the First Imperium had killed many of them, but it had honed the survivors into a weapon the likes of which he’d never seen. Stark thought he had everything figured out, but Liang was starting to wonder if he hadn’t underestimated this adversary. Liang still had a lot of force under his command, but he didn’t know how he was going to defeat Garret. All he could do now was postpone that inevitable showdown.
“No.” Samuels tried to hide the fear in his voice, but his efforts were in vain. “I will go to Armstrong.”
“As you wish, general.” Liang cut the line. “Yes,” he whispered to himself. “You don’t want to be left behind, cut off with your troops and blockaded.” His face was twisted with derision. “So you
will go to Armstrong instead…and face Erik Cain.” He couldn’t stifle a laugh, at least as much of one as 30g acceleration would allow.
“General Holm’s transports are inbound to Arcadia at 0.02c. Projected orbital insertion in two hours, forty-three minutes.” Rourke’s voice betrayed her fatigue. She’d been on duty for almost two straight days, and in the acceleration couches for most of the week prior. Garret had as well, but somehow he seemed immune to exhaustion.
“Very well, commander.” He was as tired as Rourke and the rest of the staff, but he refused to let them see it. He didn’t crave the hero worship…in fact, he hated it. But there was no arguing its usefulness and effect on morale. Men and women would follow the invincible Augustus Garret into places that would freeze their blood if they were under any other commander. “Advise Blackhawk to begin deploying com satellites.” Garret didn’t know if Holm’s hastily-assembled strike force of retirees would be enough to turn the tide on the ground, but he was going to do what he could to help. His ships had already destroyed the enemy satellite network, severely crippling their communications. Now his ships would string a new series of com satellites, giving Holm and his people planetwide transmission capability once they landed. If Teller’s Marines were still holding out somewhere on the surface, their Corps-standard transponders would find the new satellite network immediately. They would be able to tap in, vastly improving their own communications and connecting them with Holm’s new force.
“Incoming message from Admiral Arlington’s task force, sir. She reports no enemy contacts.” Rourke looked up from her workstation toward Garret. “The system is clear, sir.”
Arlington’s group was the last of the scouting parties Garret had dispatched. It had taken a week to complete the scanning job and insure there were no enemy forces hiding anywhere. Fleets traveled hundreds of lightyears through warp gates, but movement between transit points was at non-relativistic speeds…and a solar system was one goddamned big space to cover.
The enemy fleet had been defeated and driven from the system, but he still had no more information on who they were. The battleship Toshiru and the other damaged ships had self-destructed before his people could board them, and the shipyards had been mined with thermonuclear charges. Trillions of credits of construction had been consumed in an instant, leaving nothing but a slowly cooling plasma where the largest shipyard in human space had been.
Garret felt strange about covering Holm’s landing and then evacuating the system, leaving the Marines on their own. But it was unlikely the enemy would come back anytime soon, and he couldn’t afford to tie down too much fleet power in one place. With the shipyards gone, there was nothing of value in the system but Arcadia, and the enemy ground forces were still in place…and presumably in control of most of the planet. There wasn’t much the fleet could do to help the Marines once they were landed. Arcadia was an Alliance world, and that ruled out any orbital bombardment. For better or worse, the Marines would have to try to retake the planet on the ground…meter by meter.
He’d tried to convince Holm to wait until he could gather more force. He was landing with just over 1,000 Marines, most of whom hadn’t seen action in 40 years. Garret had a bad feeling about the whole thing…but he understood. General Teller had gone down there, and as long as there was a chance he and some of his people were alive, Elias Holm had to go in. It was his duty, just as pulling out of the system was Garret’s. Like defending Armstrong was Cain’s…and staying behind in the X2 system had been Compton’s.
Garret was beginning to hate duty. Certainly, she was a harsh mistress, one who seemed unceasing in her constant demands. In a few hours he would direct the landing of Holm’s strike force…a few days later he would begin pulling the fleet out, hunting down the enemy force they’d already wounded. Holm and his people would be left on Arcadia, to live or die on their own.
How many more friends, he wondered, would this new war cost him?
Chapter 20
Paradis
Seventh Arrondissement
Paris, Europa Federalis
Earth – Sol III
Roderick Vance sat at a small table next to the fountain. Paradis was one of the most exclusive cafes in the Europan capital, indeed, in the world. Only the elite politicians and their most influential cronies walked through its celebrated doors. Vance was in his element, traveling in his cover as a Martian mogul and industrialist. It wasn’t so much a cover as a part of his real life…Vance was one of the wealthiest men in any of the Powers, and he legitimately headed his family’s massive conglomerate. He was in Paris to conduct real business…which was the perfect cover to meet Li An’s emissary.
He’d have preferred to meet the CAC’s intelligence master herself, but they both agreed it was too dangerous. Even those who knew Vance was also the Confederation’s top spy were aware that he frequently conducted private business as well. He would draw no undue suspicion sitting at a café in Paris, but if he was spotted within 100 kilometers of Li An, it would be obvious he was wearing his hat as intel chief.
It’s a shame, he thought…I’d like to see her again. He’d been an adversary of Li An far more frequently than an ally, but he found her to be a fascinating woman. Her moral code differed wildly from his own, but he had come to enjoy her company and respect her intelligence. He would have been happy to see her one more time. But it was very unlikely they would meet in person again.
“Mr. Vance?” A tall, thin Asian man stood next to the table. He spoke English with no discernible accent, and he was impeccably dressed.
Vance rose and extended his hand. “Mr. Fung.” He gestured toward the empty chair. “Please…join me.”
“I am sorry I am late.” In truth, he wasn’t late. Vance was habitually early to any meeting, especially those dealing with security matters. “I must confess, I saw this as both an opportunity to meet with you and a chance to get to Paris for a few days.” He looked around. “Beautiful city.”
“Yes, it is.” Vance detested meaningless chitchat, though he knew it was necessary. In this case, however, he agreed completely. Europa Federalis didn’t function very well as a Superpower, but Paris was a magnificent metropolis…at least the inner core. The slums around La Courneuve and other rundown areas were notorious.
“Unfortunately, I had some difficulty clearing security.” The visitor pulled the chair from the table and lowered himself gracefully into it. “I’m afraid I haven’t seen international tensions this high since the last colonial war.”
Vance nodded in agreement but didn’t say anything.
“I trust we can come to an agreement.” Fung turned the subject to business. “We are very interested in regular importation of stable super-heavy elements from your sources.”
Fung was one of Li An’s agents, of course, but he also ran one of the CAC’s megacorps, one with which Vance had done considerable business. He’d gotten the job over half a dozen more senior personnel, something very rare in the CAC, where seniority was the usual determining factor in advancement. That had been two years earlier. Vance was impressed with Li An’s forward thinking in preparing for future dealings with him before any crisis actually existed. She’d put Fung where he was to facilitate contact with him just in case she needed it. She had a reputation for being meticulous, and he realized it was well deserved.
The waitress came over as soon as Fung sat. She was very pretty, her uniform form-fitting, with a short skirt and very high heels. The fashions and behavioral codes of Europa Federalis were considerably more libertine than those in the straitlaced CAC or the conservative Confederation. “May I get you anything, sir?”
“Perhaps you’d care to share this bottle with me, Mr. Fung?” Vance gestured toward a slender decanter, almost full with a deep red wine. “It is something special, a pre-Blight Bordeaux. An indulgence, I’m afraid, one I find I can’t resist when I’m in Paris.”
Fung smiled and nodded slightly. “Thank you, Mr. Vance. You are most kind.” To the waitres
s: “Just another glass, please.”
“Yes, sir.” She smiled and glided toward the bar.
“I am glad we were able to schedule this meeting, Mr. Vance. Our business relationship has always been satisfactory, but I find that despite all our technology, there is no substitute for sitting face to face across a table. It may not be logical, but there is something to sharing a meal, shaking a hand…especially before embarking on an endeavor of this size.” His eyes held Vance’s for a few extra seconds.
He’s telling me they found something, Vance thought…something significant. Something urgent.
The waitress reappeared with a second crystal goblet, placing it gently in front of Fung, pausing for an instant to give both men a better view of her as she leaned over the table and filled the glass from the decanter. “Would you gentlemen care to order lunch?”
“Perhaps in a few minutes.” Vance glanced up and smiled. “I think we’re fine with this…” – he held up his glass – “…for now.”
She nodded and smiled before turning and walking away, giving them both an extended view of how short her skirt really was.
Vance smiled again, amused by the differing customs of the Powers. Europa Federalis, while as repressive a government as any other, was very open with regard to sexual matters. It was always amusing…Paris seemed like one massive adult resort, but it actually made intelligence gathering more difficult. He suspected the CAC and Confederation had just as much going on, but it was behind closed doors. Mistresses and concubines were generally kept hidden, as his extensive blackmail files attested. Sex remained one of the top tools of the spy trade, as he suspected it had always been…both for bribery and coercion. But in Europa Federalis, the powerful indulged quite openly, indeed, even competing informally to have the most beautiful mistresses. Such an environment virtually eliminated the effectiveness of blackmail, at least regarding sexual matters. Any Europan politician would welcome that sort of attention.