by Dietmar Wehr
“Okay then, in that case, we do it covertly.” Drake paused to think through the details. Janicot waited silently. “I think I should get to Zanzibar as fast as possible to get things organized there, but there should be someone here who’s in charge of gathering equipment and sending ships on to the rally point. No offense Admiral, but I don’t think that person should be you. You’re too high profile. If we’re going to be sneaky about this, it should be someone else. That person would need authorization from you to do what has to be done. The less you know about the details, the less you can be forced to give up.”
“That all makes sense. Do you have anyone in particular in mind?”
Drake thought for a few seconds. “Cate Foster?”
“Yes, she already knows about Zanzibar, and now that her husband’s dead, there’s nothing to hold her here. She can leave on the last freighter and start a new life on the new colony. Of course she may not want to leave, but if she agrees to take on that responsibility, you can have her. I’ll make sure she has all the authority she’ll need. Anything else?”
“Not right now, sir.”
“Fine. We both have a lot to do. Let’s get to it.”
After leaving the conference room, Drake headed straight for the Strategic Planning section of the building. He found Foster in her office. It was obvious that she’d been crying. She gestured for him to have a seat. He made sure her office door was closed first.
“I’m sorry that we had to bring you bad news, Major.”
She nodded. “How certain are you that Bret is dead?”
“Not 100% certain. I suppose it’s possible that Commander Murphy wasn’t in either the tower when it collapsed or the emergency shelter when it imploded, but if he managed to avoid those two events, he’d still have FED ground troops to worry about.”
He was about to say more when Foster interjected. “Even if he was still alive, how would he get back here? None of our ships are going there again, and if he attempted to board a freighter, he’d have to go to Earth first and risk being identified as an SSU defector. I wouldn’t be able to go to Midgard for the same reasons.” She paused. Her expression was remarkably calm under the circumstances, Drake thought to himself. Foster continued. “I suspect that you didn’t come here just to offer your condolences. What’s on your mind?”
Drake filled her in on the plan to shift the brain trust temporarily to another SSU planet and eventually to a brand new colony, as well as on what he needed to be done here while he went to Zanzibar.
“Make sure you hop on the last freighter outta here. We’ll need people like you to build the new colony, and besides, we can’t afford to let the FEDs get their hands on you,” said Drake with a smile.
“I’ll take on the mission of arranging for equipment and ships to be sent to the rally point, but I’ll have to think about whether I want to join the new colony or not.”
“Surely you see the risk that you’d be taking by staying here. The FEDs would have to be crazy not to interrogate the Head of the SSU’s Strategic Planning Section,” said Drake.
Foster took her time answering. He was right of course. She had lots of bits of information in her head that the FEDs would love to hear about. The smart thing would be to take Drake’s suggestion.
“All right, you’ve convinced me. I’ll make sure I leave before the FEDS get here. Give me a list of what equipment and supplies you want me to scrounge, plus the Old Man’s authority, and I’ll get started.”
Chapter Nineteen:
089/2549
Foster stood at the top of the boarding ramp of the freighter City of New Paris and watched Drake’s light carrier flagship lift off. He was on his way to Zanzibar now, and she wondered if the two of them would ever meet again. Turning to the freighter’s skipper she said, “Let’s go to your cabin, Captain. There’s going to be a change of plans.” When they reached the Captain’s cabin, Foster shut the door and took out a data tablet from her pocket.
“This is authorization from the Chief of Space Operations, as per a directive from Chancellor Belloc, that gives me the right to change your instructions. This ship is not going to Hekla. You’ll be going instead to the emergency rally point, and you’re to stay there until you receive further instructions coming from Commodore Drake and no one else. Your cargo is also going to change. This tablet has a list of what parts of your current cargo you can keep and what new cargo you’ll be taking on board instead of the rest. I’ll make sure that new cargo gets here; you make sure it’s loaded. Do not discuss this change of plans with anyone other than your Cargo Master. Your departure time has been moved up to 24 hours from now. If the ship and the cargo aren’t ready by then, I have the authority to relieve you of command, and I’ll use it. Is that all understood?”
When Foster left the freighter, she was in a good mood. Having the authority to kick butt felt good. It was a nice change from being a desk jockey for most of the last ten years. As she rode back to HQ, she checked her schedule. Another freighter was due to land in the next 24 hours or so, and she was looking forward to kicking some more butt.
Day 124/2549
On the main display, Remington watched Vice-Admiral Steven’s shuttle’s flight from the surface. After months of sitting in orbit and slowly going stir crazy, her ship finally had a mission. The last minute nature of her orders to convey the new Commander-in-Chief of First Fleet/Army Force to Hadley suggested to her that the courier, which arrived 36 hours ago, had carried bad news. The news media was reporting that the Council had been meeting in secret session all day. Something was definitely up. She wondered how General Trojan would react to being told that he was relieved of his post as CINC1FAF. The man seemed able to inspire almost fanatical loyalty among his senior officers. Remington found that to be slightly disturbing, although she wasn’t quite sure why.
By the time the shuttle had rolled to a stop in Trafalgar’s hangar bay, Remington was there to greet Stevens. As he stepped off the shuttle, she came to attention and gave him a textbook perfect salute. His return salute was pretty sloppy in her opinion, but flag officers were allowed to be sloppy if they wanted to be.
“Welcome aboard Trafalgar, Admiral,” said Remington. His expression was not a friendly one.
“Yes, yes. Let’s get to my quarters, Commander. While we’re talking, I want this ship on its way to Hadley.”
“Yes, sir. I’ve made arrangements for your gear to be transferred to your quarters. This way, Admiral.” As they started walking to the hatch she said, “Remington to Bridge.”
“XO here, Skipper.”
“XO, get clearance to leave orbit and head for Hadley as soon as possible.”
“Understood. Anything else, Skipper?”
“Not right now. Remington out.” She was expecting to exchange polite conversation with Stevens on their way to his quarters, but he remained silent. She was glad that Trafalgar was one of the few cruisers designed with flag officer’s quarters. That meant she wouldn’t have to give up her quarters and cause a chain reaction of officers bumping lower ranked officers out of their living spaces. When they entered Stevens’ quarters, he immediately took off his cap, threw it on the desk, took off his jacket and sat down on the sofa. Remington remained standing. Protocol demanded that she remain standing unless and until invited to sit down by Stevens. Normally a flag officer would do that, but Stevens showed no signs of letting her get comfortable.
He looked up at her and said, “Aside from my new posting as CINC1FAF and our destination, what else, if anything, do you know about why I’m being sent to relieve General Trojan, Commander?”
“Nothing else I’m afraid, Admiral.”
Stevens nodded. “Well then, you’ll find this information interesting. A courier arrived two days ago with news from General Trojan that his space and ground forces had destroyed a covert rebel shipbuilding operation in the Midgard system, including a major shipyard on Midgard’s moon, five very large warships still under construction in orbit and an admi
nistrative center on Midgard itself. He claims that Majestic had deduced the existence of this covert operation from the routine data packages sent to Hadley on a regular basis. We obviously don’t have confirmation yet that there really was a covert rebel operation there, but I’m sure there was. If he’s lying about that, we’ll find out about it eventually. Needless to say, the Council was shocked to learn that the rebels had managed to build a major shipbuilding operation on a Federation planet right under our noses, but that wasn’t what sent them ballistic with outrage. The courier also carried word that General Trojan, acting on his own initiative, has decided to interpret the covert operation in the Midgard system as a violation of the ceasefire agreement, and he will be resuming offensive operations with a task force sent to Sparta to wipe out the rebel fleet! THAT’S what’s got the Council foaming at the mouth! How dare he undermine the negotiations, which looked like they might result in a peaceful settlement of this whole war? The Council has decided that he’s stepped over the line once too often. That’s why I’m being sent there to replace him.”
When it was clear that he was pausing for a bit, she said, “Do you think you’ll get there in time to stop the attack on Sparta, Admiral?”
Stevens shook his head. “Afraid not. Unless he changed his mind, those ships are already long gone. God only knows how that battle will turn out. Based on the data we have here on Earth, it’s hard to see how the few ships he has could overpower the defenses that the rebel Capital planet is sure to have. The man has obviously lost touch with reality. If that battle is a defeat for our side, it’ll set back the campaign for months, maybe even years!” Before Remington could say anything else, Stevens jumped up and said, “We’ll have plenty of time to talk on the way there, Commander. I’d like to get my gear stowed asap, so if you could expedite the transfer, I’d appreciate it.”
When Remington saluted, Stevens had already turned his back to her, and she decided not to wait for a return salute. As she left his quarters, she shook her head in dismay. It was going to be a LONG trip with that asshole aboard.
Day 126/2549
Romanov waited patiently for the main display to update the tactical situation after emergence from the last micro-jump. Sparta was still almost 20 light seconds away. If the rebels were radar scanning out to their hyper-zone boundary, his ships should have detected that micro-wave energy by now, but there was nothing. He was disappointed but not surprised. With his own ships invisible to radar, the only ships that would be detectable would be SSU ships. It would have been nice if the rebels had been stupid enough to do him that favor, but considering that they had pulled this same stunt the last time he was here, it made sense that they would continue to do the smart thing from their point of view. Naturally, using his own ships’ radars was out of the question. It would give away their own position without any guarantee of detecting any enemy ships or boats. However, there was a drawback to using passive sensors only. If the enemy somehow did triangulate his ships’ positions precisely enough and fired missiles at them, his own lack of radar coverage would handcuff his ships’ anti-missile defenses, thereby making his ships more vulnerable. And unlike the attack on those orbiting battleships around Midgard’s moon, the enemy ships here could and would fire back if they caught sight of him.
He turned to the Astrogation Station. “Where are we relative to their Capital city, AO?”
“On the main display, sir,” said the Astrogation Officer.
Romanov nodded with satisfaction. The display was showing Sparta as if it were the center of a clock with the Capital city pointing to the 12 o’clock position. His Task Force was just slightly off to one side of that. Given that the last micro-jump had covered a distance of over 55 million kilometers, the AO had put his ships about as close to directly over the rebel Capital as anyone could reasonably get. They could make final adjustments to their position by using their maneuvering engines.
“Almost perfect,” said Romanov.
The AO shrugged. “Thank you, sir. I think I can do even better next time.”
“Okay, I’ll hold you to that,” said Romanov. “Any sign of orbiting assets yet, Weps?”
The Weapons Officer shook his head. “Not yet, sir. Still…bingo! Opticals have picked up a cluster of small objects! I’m transferring the image to the main display now!”
Romanov frowned as he looked at the new image. At this distance, the optical sensors were pushing the limits of their capabilities, and the image wasn’t as sharp as he would have liked. The WO was right. There did appear to be a cluster of what had to be relatively small objects orbiting in formation at a very low altitude. Romanov started to count them before he realized that the image wasn’t sharply enough defined to do that manually.
“How many of those things are there, and what are they?” asked Romanov.
The WO answered after a few seconds. “There appear to be 101 of them, sir. TacComp has classified them as missile boats, and they’re VERY low altitude, possibly even in the planet’s upper atmosphere, sir.”
Romanov wanted to verbalize his surprise at the number of boats but resisted the urge. Flag Officers should portray confidence at all times, and admitting to being surprised by anything the enemy did could undermine his people’s morale. But Holy Buddha, that was a lot of missile boats.
“Weps, remind me again, how many Mark 1s is the Task Force carrying this trip?”
“That would be 34 each for a total of 102, sir.”
Romanov wondered if the Gods of War were messing with him. He had barely enough Mark 1s to take out those missile boats, but he knew that the rebels had at least eight captured FED cruisers, which they would have had plenty of time to have had repaired by now. Those cruisers weren’t armored, which meant that he didn’t need to use Mark 1 fission warheads to kill them, but his standard HE chemical warheads were still sitting atop the old style missiles, while his Mark 1 warheads were carried by the new stealthy missiles. If he used his stealthy Mark 1s to ambush the boats, the element of surprise would be gone from that point forward, and the rebel cruisers, which had to be around this planet somewhere, would surely go to active radar scanning, and that meant that his HE missiles would be detected and have to penetrate the cruisers’ anti-missile defenses. On the other hand, if he held some of his stealthy Mark 1s back, his HE-tipped missiles were unlikely to damage the remaining missile boats, which he was sure had at least some armor.
“Any sign yet of their cruisers? They’ve got to be around here somewhere.” asked Romanov.
“No sign of them yet, sir,” said the WO.
Romanov thought for a bit, then got up from his Command Station chair and stepped quickly over to the Weapons Station. Leaning on the console, he said in a low voice, “If you were deploying at least eight cruisers here, where would you put them, Weps?”
The WO took his time answering. “Cruisers are jump capable; missile boats aren’t. Since they‘ve deployed their missile boats deep inside their hyper-zone, I’d deploy those cruisers outside the zone so that they could jump away if they faced annihilation, sir.”
“That makes sense but where beyond the zone?” asked Romanov.
After another pause, the WO said, “If I suspected that this planet was about to be attacked by ships that were invisible to radar, I’d place those cruisers further out from the zone boundary so that they might detect the attacking ships optically, the same way we detected their missile boats, sir.”
Romanov nodded. He’d been thinking along the same lines. Just as his ships could see the cluster of missile boats against the lighter background of the planet, so could a rebel cruiser see his stealthy ships against the planet’s background too IF that rebel cruiser was in the right position so that it, his ships and the planet all lined up in a straight line. That meant that a rebel cruiser might have detected them already, and it was possible that a wave of missiles was on their way right now! He had to act fast if he didn’t want to be ambushed himself.
“Allocate one Mark 1 t
o each missile boat, and set up a firing plan for our ships. But before you do that, I want Undaunted to send out a single radar pulse directly away from the planet. One pulse only, understand?”
The WO smiled as he nodded. “I got you, sir.” He manipulated his console controls. “Single pulse is ready when you give the word, sir.”
“Do it,” ordered Romanov.
Spartan Space Force HQ:
Janicot thanked the Gods of War that he just happened to be in Ops when Excaliber detected three ships almost directly over the Capital beyond the zone boundary. However, he cursed the fact that Excaliber was almost 21 light seconds away. It made direct control from the ground, or even from Commodore Palmgren aboard his missile boat, impossible in real time. Too much could happen during the 42 seconds it would take to send down data from Excaliber and for a response to get back to her, but at least all the cruisers in their High Guard positions had contingency orders for just this kind of situation. The main display pinged another status change. A new green icon appeared and began moving away from one of the cruiser icons.