Debt of War (The Embers of War)

by Christopher G. Nuttall

  We go to war with the navy we have, not the navy we want, he thought darkly. And there were limits to how many supply depots the king could establish before we started shooting at each other.

  “Emergence in two minutes, Admiral,” Commander Isa Yagami said. “The fleet is ready to engage.”

  “Good.” William returned to his chair and sat down. “Remind the fleet we’ll be playing it careful. There are three enemy superdreadnought squadrons waiting for us.”

  He sucked in his breath as the final seconds ticked down to zero. If the analysts were right, Kat’s fleet had taken one hell of a pounding. They needed time to repair their ships and reload their magazines . . . time she’d chosen not to give them. It wouldn’t have been that hard to return to Caledonia, rather than targeting another loyalist world. Kat’s ships had to be in better condition than he thought. Or . . . maybe she was bluffing. Her ships weren’t unleashing full salvos at anything. But there was a shortage of heavily shielded targets at Rosebud.

  An odd target, he told himself. For someone who claims to be fighting for the common man, the king is going to harm the commoners far more than the aristocracy by hitting Rosebud. Half the mining stations orbiting the star are independent . . .

  The superdreadnought lurched as the fleet powered through the vortex and into realspace. William leaned forward, half expecting to see enemy missiles flying towards him. Kat had the nerve to set up an ambush, if she had a rough idea where he intended to emerge. But her ships were still in interplanetary space, gliding around the system as if she didn’t have a care in the world. Moments later, they started to alter course. She’d seen him. William glanced at the reports as more and more data flowed into his console. Kat had blown up the cloudscoops and a handful of asteroid mining stations, but she’d left the rest of the system alone. Perhaps the king thought destroying the corporate stations would win him friends and allies.

  And it might, if she hadn’t blown up the cloudscoops, he mused. As it is, there’s going to be a serious shortage of fuel.

  “Admiral,” Yagami said. “The enemy fleet is holding position.”

  “Interesting,” William said. The display updated, again, as his fleet launched probes towards the enemy ships. “What are they doing?”

  He stroked his chin, considering his options. Kat had chosen her battleground well, if she intended to escape into hyperspace and flee. There were no gravity shadows that might impede her fleet’s passage into interstellar space. And yet, she wasn’t attempting to take advantage of her apparent superiority. A tacit admission she didn’t have the firepower to take him on? Or was she hoping he’d impale himself on her fire? That tactic would give her a very slight edge if she was truly short of ammunition.

  “Take us to engagement range,” he ordered slowly, choosing the least bad option. He couldn’t let Kat pin him down either, not here. Rosebud wasn’t that important. “And prepare to engage.”

  He felt the mood on the deck grow tense as the superdreadnoughts picked up speed. William winced, inwardly. Morale had taken a beating after the last battle, although they’d more than held their own. It didn’t help, he supposed, that the crews had read the press releases and grown convinced their superiors really didn’t know what was going on. The media reports were true, from a certain point of view. William had to admit that whoever had devised the press releases was a master of misdirection. He’d made it sound as if William had won a great victory without ever admitting he hadn’t fired a shot. The reoccupation of Perfuma sounded like the Battle of Cadiz.

  “Contact in ten minutes, Admiral,” Yagami reported. “They’re locking weapons on us, sir, but making no move to escape.”

  William felt sweat beading on his forehead. Kat was up to something, but . . . but what? He could see her superdreadnoughts. The ships were surrounded by an electronic haze, making it difficult to produce reliable data, yet they were superdreadnoughts. He wondered, sourly, if he was looking at ECM drones, but that was unlikely unless the king’s scientists had produced a breakthrough. The range was too short, and narrowing still further, for them to pull off the deception. And Kat had to know it.

  “They’re deploying point defense sensor platforms,” Yagami warned. “Sir . . .”

  William heard the question in his voice, but he had no answer. Kat was up to something . . . It looked as if she intended to stand and fight. But she couldn’t, not unless her ships were in perfect condition. And they weren’t. She simply hadn’t had time to do more than reload her ships. She couldn’t have repaired the damage, not in the last six days. Such a feat was physically impossible.

  “Launch additional probes,” he ordered. “I want to see through that haze.”

  His eyes narrowed as the probes flew towards their targets. There was no point, as far as he could tell, to Kat’s actions. And that meant . . . what? She wasn’t trying to hide her ships, merely their condition. But that also made her ships easy targets. She was deploying drones and sensor decoys, yet . . . she couldn’t hope to hide her real ships. It was almost as if she was tiptoeing around while shouting at the top of her voice.

  “We’ll enter firing range in one minute,” Yagami reported.

  “Yes,” William said. Technically, Kat was already in firing range. If she fired now, his ships would glide right into her missiles. And yet . . . she held her fire, waiting for the range to close. He understood her logic, but . . . he almost wished she’d opened fire. He could have reversed course and let her missiles burn themselves out before closing the range again. She couldn’t have full magazines. She couldn’t. “Open fire on my command.”

  He leaned forward, studying the display as if he could draw more insight by looking closer. Kat’s ships were barely moving, as if they were sitting ducks. The haze made it harder to tell. He frowned, wondering just what she was doing. The range was closing rapidly. She didn’t have a hope of escaping unscathed, even if she did have full magazines. William might even risk closing the range himself, sacrificing his vessels in an attempt to smash the king’s forces. It might even pay off for the loyalists in the long run.

  “Fire,” he ordered, quietly.

  The superdreadnought shuddered as she unleashed her first barrage, flushing her external racks and internal tubes at the enemy. William watched as a tidal wave of destruction roared towards the enemy ships, enough firepower to scatter and destroy an entire superdreadnought squadron. Three squadrons might survive, but . . . they’d take one hell of a beating. His crews were already rushing to prepare the next salvo, hoping to land a second blow before the enemy ships struck back. William frowned, unsure what Kat was waiting for. There was no point in holding back now. She might find herself watching helplessly as her ships were vaporized, their missiles unfired. And . . .

  He felt his heart skip a beat as thousands of red icons sparkled to life on the display. Thousands . . . more than there should have been, even if Kat had six superdreadnought squadrons under her command. He stared, even as his well-trained crews hurried to prep the point defense. Impossible. The king’s entire fleet couldn’t have produced such a massive salvo. And yet, it had happened.

  “Admiral, I’m picking up hyperspatial distortions,” Yagami reported. “A fraction of their fleet is jumping out.”

  William swore under his breath as the pieces fell into place. He’d thought he was facing three superdreadnought squadrons. He’d been wrong. He was facing one superdreadnought squadron and two squadrons of converted bulk freighters. Some ingenious bastard had crammed thousands of missile tubes into the freighters, covering their hulls with missile pods . . . all quite easy, if one didn’t care about the freighters surviving the engagement. They didn’t have point defense or shields or armor . . . He studied the live feed, shaking his head in disbelief. Kat had crammed missiles taken from Perfuma into the freighters and fired them at him. They weren’t as fast or destructive as naval missiles but there was one hell of a lot of them.

  And then she used the ECM haze to convince us she was
trying to hide her fleet’s condition, he mused. She showed us what we wanted to see, and we didn’t think to look for what she might be hiding.

  “Let them go,” he ordered. The freighters were drifting out of formation now, probably operating on automatic. Anyone mad enough to crew them would be taking to the lifepods by now. Freighters were easy targets, even to destroyers. The hurricane of missiles bearing down on them would smash the vessels to atoms. “Rotate the fleet and stand ready to take enemy fire.”

  He considered, briefly, jumping into hyperspace himself. But there wasn’t time to bring up the generators. The missiles would catch his fleet on the hop, exposed and vulnerable. He had to stand off the barrage, not try to run. Besides, Kat would probably have detonated a few warheads in hyperspace itself. The storms would probably fade quickly, but not quickly enough.

  His fleet was effectively trapped.

  And if she’d caught us like this a few months ago, she might have crushed us, he thought as the missiles came into attack range. But I had time to work on training my crews.

  He braced himself as hundreds of missiles vanished from the display. His point defense crews really had improved. His eyes narrowed as he realized Kat had deployed sensor platforms, using them to coordinate her missile strike. Expensive—he wondered, with a flicker of gallows humor, if the king’s bean counters would whine at her for expending the platforms—but crafty. The bloody things were hardly out of range, yet . . . it was too late to order his first salvo to take them out. They were busy obliterating the helpless and harmless freighters.

  “Target the sensor platforms,” he ordered. Kat’s ships had either fled or been blown to atoms. “Take them out.”

  “Aye, Admiral,” Yagami said. “I . . .”

  The superdreadnought rocked as five missiles slammed into her shields. Alarms howled, red icons flashing up on the status display. William glanced at the stream of orders from the bridge—Captain Cavendish’s damage control teams already had matters in hand—and then turned back to his display. Three of his superdreadnoughts had taken heavy damage, a fourth . . . he cursed savagely as a fourth superdreadnought exploded. The damage would have been a great deal more serious if Kat had held her fire for a few moments longer. It was no consolation to realize she’d known her deception couldn’t be sustained forever.

  Nor can her fire, he thought as the last of the missiles vanished from the display. It’s over.

  He sat back in his chair, studying the reports from the fleet. A dozen ships damaged . . . five of them badly enough to require weeks in a repair yard. It would have been acceptable if he’d taken out a bunch of her superdreadnoughts, but he hadn’t even hit them. Kat had wisely fled before he’d had a chance. The news broadcasts would make her out to be a coward, but anyone who knew anything about military affairs would know better. She’d suckered him, twice. This was not going to look good.

  Until the media hears about it, he told himself. They’ll make me look good.

  He turned to Yagami. “Secure the fleet, then arrange a StarCom channel to Tyre,” he said. “Alert the loyalist systems. We don’t know what she did with her other superdreadnought squadrons. They could be anywhere.”

  “Aye, sir,” Yagami said.

  William rubbed his forehead as he settled back into his chair. The engagement would be branded a victory. Both sides would claim it for their own. He knew better. It had been a draw, one that slightly favored the enemy. And . . . he shook his head. The House of Lords could fight and win a war of attrition, but they didn’t have time. They had to take the offensive. And he was starting to come up with a plan.

  “We made it, Admiral,” Kitty said. “There’s no sign of pursuit.”

  “Good.” Kat allowed herself a tight smile. The engagement had been so simple, even though she’d kept her ships on a hair-trigger, ready to cut and run the moment the enemy ships realized they’d been lured into a trap. It was almost a shame she hadn’t been able to keep the other two superdreadnought squadrons with her. She might have been able to pull off a major victory, perhaps even a decisive one. “Set course for Caledonia.”

  She closed her eyes for a long moment. She’d left scouts behind with orders to monitor the engagement and report on the final outcome. They’d tell her, she hoped, if she’d done real damage. And then . . . She shook her head. There was no hope of reversing course, of returning to the battlefield and completing the destruction of the enemy fleet. They didn’t know it, she hoped, but she’d emptied her magazines. She barely had enough missiles left to deter a destroyer let alone a superdreadnought. She couldn’t risk another engagement until she had a chance to rearm.

  Turning victory into defeat would be embarrassing, she mused as the first reports appeared in her display. The freighter crews had made it through the vortexes and rejoined the fleet, where they were being feted as the heroes of the hour. She’d won a victory without losing a single life. That would have been impressive, if she hadn’t known she was dangerously close to losing the war without firing another shot. We have to rearm before anything else happens.

  She brought up the starchart and studied it thoughtfully. Grand Admiral Rudbek was known for being unimaginative, but William wasn’t. He’d be looking for ways to take the offensive as soon as possible. And being unimaginative wasn’t necessarily a bad thing in this situation. The admiral might throw everything he had at Caledonia. That would be bad for the king, even if he won. He’d take such heavy losses that the next engagement would be his last.

  Savor the victory, she told herself firmly. You never know when you’ll get another one.

  She stood. “Order the fleet to continue on course, evading all sensor contacts,” she said. “I’ll be in my cabin.”

  “Aye, Admiral,” Kitty said.

  The king will be pleased, Kat thought as she left the CIC. She was sure of it. Hadrian had ordered the strike on Rosebud. But not everyone will agree with him.

  She kept her face impassive until she reached her cabin and heard the hatch hiss closed behind her. It was growing harder to convince herself that she’d done the right thing, even though she was fighting for the right side. The king was going to have problems spinning the damage she’d done into something positive. The real victims had been the little industries, not the big corporations. And she’d followed orders. She’d refused to commit actual war crimes before, but now . . .

  They weren’t war crimes. It was true. She just didn’t believe it. I hit legitimate targets.

  Sure. Her own thoughts mocked her. And everyone is going to see it that way.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CALEDONIA

  The streets felt as if something bad was about to happen.

  Sarah shivered, despite herself, as she made her way through the spaceport complex. Avenues were jam-packed with spacers on leave, desperately spending money in search of intercourse and intoxication before they had to return to their ships. The fleet’s crews had been given bonuses upon their return from Perfuma, bonuses that would be worthless if they died during the next engagement. She scowled as she saw a handful of bare-breasted prostitutes staggering down the streets, half carrying spacers too drunk or drugged up to know what they were doing. They probably wouldn’t be robbed blind—the spaceport strip was surprisingly safe, with plenty of ways to take someone’s money perfectly legally—but they’d wake up the following morning wondering what had happened. Behind them, she heard drunken singing coming from a bar. The singers didn’t seem to know the words.

  She kept walking, keeping her coat buttoned up as a cold wind blew down the street. A line of rent boys waved to her, calling out enticements. She ignored them, as well as their female counterparts. She couldn’t afford to waste time in a brothel, even the high-end pleasure palaces for senior officers and anyone else who could pay the fees. A line of policemen walked past, their faces grim. She tried to ignore them too, but it wasn’t easy. There were policemen, guardsmen, security officers, and soldiers on every corner. It felt as if
they were trying to mute the celebrations without actually doing anything.

  I shouldn’t be down here, Sarah thought. She’d left Remus on the ship, handling the repairs . . . the few they could do, in the time allocated before their next deployment. The king was already talking about hitting another world or two, if scuttlebutt was to be believed. I really have to stay on the ship . . .

  She reached the spaceport hotel and stepped inside. Silence fell the moment the door closed behind her. Sarah relaxed and stepped over to the desk. The assistant looked her up and down, as if she thought Sarah had no right to be there. She changed the moment Sarah held up her ID card. It was almost a shame she’d switched to civilian clothes before she’d boarded the shuttle to the surface. The assistant would have been very polite the moment she walked in the door.

  “You’re in Room 101, Captain,” the assistant said. “Do you need a guide?”

  “I’ve been here before,” Sarah said curtly. She’d visited enough spaceport hotels—the chain was practically omnipresent—to know it was hard to get lost. The internal security network was designed to chivvy visitors away from places they weren’t supposed to go without being too obvious. “Thank you.”

  She turned and walked up the stairs. She’d spent enough time in intership cars to dislike the idea of taking an elevator if it could be avoided. Besides, she needed the exercise. She stepped through the door on the first floor and walked down the corridor. Room 101 was where it always was, in spaceport hotels. She privately suspected the franchise prefabricated the components on Tyre and transhipped them to whatever they wanted to install them. There was no other way to explain just how freakishly alike the spaces were . . .

  The door opened as she approached, revealing a handful of others. Sarah tensed, knowing she was bending the rules as she stepped inside. She was a naval officer, one who wasn’t supposed to play politics. She’d certainly never liked watching better-connected officers playing politics. And yet, what choice did she have? She let out a breath as Governor Rogan held out a scanner and waved it over her body, then relaxed. It was unlikely that Soto or one of his subordinates had managed to sting her with a bug, but such subterfuge couldn’t be ruled out completely. The asshole had a remarkable talent for doing things other people found outrageous and getting away with it.