“Put them out the airlock in an hour,” she ordered, passing the datapad back to him. “I’ll be there to watch.”
Davidson looked at her. “Is that wise?”
“I owe it to my conscience,” Kat said. “I need to be there.”
Kat would shed no tears for pirate scum, but she wanted—needed—to watch them die. And yet, death was so impersonal in the middle of an interstellar war. She’d seen hundreds, if not thousands, of people die when their starships were blown out of space, but she’d never quite comprehended it.
“As you wish,” Davidson said.
Kat looked intently at Davidson. “Crenshaw was saying that I took a terrible risk,” she said. “And . . .”
“He was right,” Davidson told her.
“Yeah,” Kat agreed humorlessly. “I could have blown his career out of the water along with my life.”
Davidson gave her a reproving look. “I wouldn’t care to be the XO who lost a captain,” he said. “Certainly not like that.”
“I couldn’t do anything else,” Kat said. “If I’d done nothing . . .”
“I know,” Davidson said. He leaned in to kiss her forehead. “And I love you for it.”
Kat smiled wanly. “I hear a but coming.”
“But . . .” Davidson said.
He kissed her again, gently. “But you took a terrible risk,” he added. “And now that the affair is over, just how big a risk is sinking in.”
“I know,” Kat said.
“And not just for you,” Davidson said. “For me, for Crenshaw . . . for anyone who would have wound up in deep shit if this had gone horribly wrong. Putting my life, or his life, at risk is one thing. But putting your own on the line . . .”
“I can’t ask anyone to do something I wouldn’t do myself,” Kat said, stiffly. She knew he had a point, but she still saw no alternative. “And who else could have been sent?”
“I know that,” Davidson said. “And I imagine Crenshaw knows it too. But that doesn’t make it any easier.”
He gave her a tight hug and then settled back. “Are you feeling all right?”
Kat gave the question serious consideration. “I had a shower after the doctor saw me,” she said. “I probably need a few hours of sleep, but other than that I’m fine.”
“Make sure you do,” Davidson warned. “And we should spend more time practicing unarmed combat.”
“You just want an excuse to kick my ass around the mat,” Kat teased. She knew she was no match for him hand to hand. “Don’t you?”
“It does have its moments,” Davidson agreed. “And I should probably teach you how to get out of handcuffs too.”
“I suppose that explains the complaints from the Shore Patrol,” Kat said. There had been an odd report about two half-drunk spacers who’d escaped their handcuffs and vanished when the patrolman’s back had been turned. “Were they marines in spacer uniforms?”
Davidson laughed. “Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies,” he said. “But I’ll tell you one thing . . .”
He paused, teasing her. “You earned a lot of respect from my men,” he added. His voice was even. “They’ll follow you anywhere now.”
Kat flushed. She knew what marines went through to wear their uniforms. There was no way she met even the basic requirements for boot camp. To win the respect of some of the bravest and most dangerous soldiers in the galaxy . . .
“Thanks,” she said, feeling an odd lump in her throat. “That means a lot to me.”
Davidson kissed her once more. “It should,” he said. “They’ll never doubt you again.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The pirate system was a desolate wasteland circling a dull red star.
William sat in his command chair and watched as the tactical display slowly updated as more and more information flowed into the sensors. Very little in the system—it hadn’t a proper name, merely a catalogue number—would attract attention. A handful of asteroids, a number of floating comets and parsecs upon parsecs of empty space . . . and nothing else. He doubted that anyone, save for settlers who wanted complete isolation, would take any real interest in the system. And establishing an isolated colony would be a serious technological challenge.
“There’s no sign we were detected,” Lieutenant Commander Thompson said. “But they might have established a whole network of passive sensor arrays.”
“They’re pirates,” Roach pointed out. “This isn’t Tyre, Commander.”
True, William thought.
He’d still taken the precaution of coming out of hyperspace on the other side of the red dwarf, just to minimize the chances of being detected, but it was unlikely there was any real risk. Vast sensor arrays that could detect a gateway opening within a light-year of the planet were staggeringly expensive, so expensive that only Tyre and a handful of other stage-five worlds could afford them. No pirate group in existence could hope to monitor local space so thoroughly.
“Best not to get complacent,” William said. There had been a vague report of a handful of recon ships being lost near Ahura Mazda. The Theocracy might have vast sensor arrays of its own. “Tactical report?”
“No active emissions, Captain,” Thompson said. “But I don’t think they need them.”
“And it would alert any passing patrol ship that there was something in this system,” William said. “Cloak us, then take us closer.”
He felt the tension rising on the bridge as Uncanny picked up speed. The pirate base, according to the report, was one of a number of rocky asteroids orbiting in a loose cluster around the star. There was no way to know, yet, just what sort of settlement it was . . . he reminded himself, firmly, that any real planning would have to wait until they knew just what they were facing. He leaned back in his command chair and concentrated on projecting confidence, waiting patiently as the minutes slowly turned into hours . . .
“Contact,” Thompson hissed, as a red icon blinked into existence on the display. “A starship just dropped out of hyperspace.”
“Stay calm,” William ordered dryly. The newcomer was well out of weapons range. Even if she’d seen Uncanny and turned to face her, they’d have plenty of time to prepare for an engagement. “Tactical report?”
“I’m not sure, Captain,” Thompson said, after a moment. “She reads out as a scaled-up destroyer, perhaps a frigate. Warbook says she’s built off a UN-designed Type-98 hull.”
“One that can be reconfigured extensively,” Roach commented. “The bastards did good design work.”
“Starships were less powerful in those days,” William reminded him. Putting Uncanny’s drives in a Type-98 hull would be enough to rip the ship apart, if they were ramped up to full power. “Threat analysis?”
“Unknown,” Thompson said. “Her tactical sensors are in stepped-down mode.”
He paused. “She’s heading right towards the base.”
“Keep sneaking up on them,” William ordered. “And stand by to launch stealthed probes.”
He forced himself to watch calmly, despite the growing anger in his heart. The pirate ship—and it had to be a pirate ship—was returning to its base, carrying loot from countless raids right across the sector. There would be prisoners onboard—hostages held for ransom, young women for the slave market—and he could do nothing, not yet. He clenched his fists in frustration, silently promising himself that the pirate base wouldn’t last the week. Blowing it up would be easy . . .
. . . And if there was no other option, it was precisely what he would do.
“I think they just hollowed out an asteroid and installed gravity generators,” Thompson said, as they closed in on the pirate base. “They don’t seem to have made any attempt to spin the asteroid to produce gravity. I guess they’re not intent on settling permanently.”
“Probably not,” William agreed, thoughtfully. It was rare for pirates to set up their bases from scratch, but the asteroid might have been settled by an isolationist group who’d then lost it to the
pirates. God knew they’d done it before. “Can you pick up any defenses?”
“None,” Thompson said. “But they could have a couple of weapons platforms on permanent standby.”
“They’d need time to power them up,” Roach offered. “I think they have no defenses at all.”
William was inclined to agree. Defending such a settlement against determined attack would be pretty much impossible. A single antimatter warhead—perhaps even a nuke—would turn the entire asteroid into rubble. The asteroid’s only real defense was obscurity—and it had lost that, the moment its location had been discovered. There could be any number of unwilling guests on the asteroid, from conscripted workers to slaves and hostages. The pirates could—probably would—use them as human shields.
We can’t risk giving them time to set up a defense, he thought grimly. On the display, the frigate had slipped into the giant asteroid. Still, we can’t simply blow the base into rubble.
He scowled as he contemplated possibilities. Mr. Abramson had included a couple of ID codes they could use to gain access to the base, but no one could possibly mistake a heavy cruiser for a destroyer or a captured freighter. Even if he’d thought it was workable, he wouldn’t have risked taking Uncanny so close. He could decloak and demand surrender, offering to let the pirates live if they surrendered at once . . .
But that would give them time to turn off the antimatter containment chambers, he thought, sourly. If they have antimatter . . .
“Helm, pull us back to ten light seconds,” he ordered, finally. “Tactical, continue deploying stealth probes.”
“Aye, Captain,” Cecilia said.
“This isn’t going to be easy,” Roach commented. “If we knew what was in there . . .”
He paused. “We could send in a shuttle, using the ID codes.”
“That’s a pirate base, not a smuggler base or a black colony,” William pointed out. ID codes or no ID codes, he couldn’t imagine the pirates not asking a few questions when a strange ship—or shuttle—arrived. They’d certainly want to know how the shuttle had reached the system in the first place. “We could try to capture one of their ships and then sneak through the defenses . . .”
His voice trailed off. Perhaps, if they took one of the freighters, they could claim she was a prize. They’d definitely let her dock if the manifest claimed she was carrying all sorts of useful things. And then he’d have an assault team on the base. But it was really far too risky, far too likely to make the pirates panic. Unless they thought they were beaten . . .
. . . And that there was a way to keep their miserable lives.
He keyed his console. “Major Lupine, report to my Ready Room,” he said. “We have an operation to plan.”
“Aye, sir,” Lupine said.
William rose. “Mr. XO, you’re with me,” he said. “Mr. Thompson, you have the conn.”
“Aye, sir,” Thompson said.
“Make sure they don’t even catch a whiff of us,” William added. “If they do, the game is up.”
He strode into his Ready Room, nodding to Lupine as he entered through the other hatch. The lack of Marines was going to cost them, he suspected. Lupine’s men weren’t bad—he’d watched their drills—but they hadn’t been put through hell during basic training. And yet, he was short of options. They had to force the pirates to surrender themselves as quickly as possible.
“Captain,” Lupine said.
William nodded for him to take a seat. “You’ve seen the sensor reports,” he said, as he put the live feed up in front of them. “What do you think?”
“It’s going to be a bitch,” Lupine said bluntly. “Getting onto the asteroid won’t be that hard—we know where the main doors are—but we know fuck all about the interior. We might wind up running around in circles while the pirates muster a counterattack.”
“We could try to sneak a team through on a freighter,” William said.
“I wouldn’t want to try, if it could be avoided,” Lupine said. He nodded to the display. “It could go badly wrong. Forcing our way through the main doors might be easier.”
“Particularly if I was blotting out the airwaves with demands for surrender,” William said.
“Yeah,” Lupine said. “We’d take shuttles and drift up to the asteroid, only going active once we were close enough to get into the main doors . . . we could try to burn through the rock, but without knowing anything about the interior, I wouldn’t care to take the risk.”
William nodded. There was no way to know what the boarding party might encounter. A mile of solid rock, a pressured chamber . . . or the pirate fuel dump. Boarding an asteroid was always nightmarish. They had no choice.
“Organize the mission,” he ordered. “If we demand surrender at the same time you reveal yourselves, we might just cow them into submission.”
“Of course, sir,” Lupine said. “Stun bolts only?”
“We want to take prisoners, if possible,” William said. He wanted—needed—to interrogate the pirates, even if they were due to be executed afterwards. “And the pirates may not be the only people on the asteroid.”
Lupine nodded. “Stun them all, and ask questions later.”
“Yes,” William said. “How long will it take you to prepare?”
“I’d like to borrow the remainder of the shuttles,” Lupine said. “And crews. If I ask for volunteers and then brief them . . . I’d say it’ll take around half an hour to prepare, then another half hour to get into position.”
“See to it,” William said. Marines would be quicker. But he had none. “And make sure the volunteers know the dangers.”
“Of course, sir,” Lupine said.
He rose and headed for the hatch. William sat back in his chair, feeling uneasy. They were committed now . . . unless he wanted to simply decloak and threaten the pirates with a missile barrage. That would give the pirates too much time to think. They’d have to know he’d be reluctant to risk civilian lives.
They won’t trust us to keep our promises either, he thought. And even if we did, sending them to a penal colony is like sending them to hell.
“The mission is simple,” Major Lupine said. “You will take the shuttles along the preset course”—he nodded to the display—“and go active once we’re close to the asteroid, half of you landing on the rock and the other half taking your craft directly into their landing chamber. At that point, my men will deploy into the asteroid; you crewmembers will remain in your crafts, ready to transport wounded or prisoners as necessary.”
Joel sucked in his breath. He hadn’t expected the summons as it had been quite some time since he’d flown a shuttlecraft, at least outside the simulator he’d used to keep his skills honed. He was tempted not to volunteer. The mission struck him as the sort of fancy half-assed scheme that looked good on paper but was disastrous in real life. Yet, if Sir William had authorized the deployment, perhaps the endeavor wasn’t so farfetched . . .
You’re starting to admire him too, Joel told himself crossly.
He pushed the thought aside as he studied the mission plan. It looked workable, on paper; he knew he could learn a great deal from watching the militiamen in action. Still, his death would mean the end of the plan. He would be astonished if the pirates didn’t have a few basic defenses on their base, even if it was just a simple point defense system. No threat at all to Uncanny, of course, but easily capable of blowing a defenseless shuttle into atoms. It was no consolation to know that his death would be avenged. Everything he’d worked for would die with him . . .
Even with the threat of death, though, Joel knew that refusing the mission would also be held against him.
Oh, it wouldn’t be official. Sir William wasn’t the sort of person to hold a grudge. However, he wouldn’t consider Joel for any commendations either. Joel would be classed as someone unwilling to put his life on the line when needed. He might not be officially marked down, but he wouldn’t be raised up either. He didn’t need that sort of attention from the ship�
��s commanding officer, not now. Running rings around a genuinely competent commanding officer—one who knew the Uncanny-class inside-out—was a great deal harder than fooling an incompetent and crooked aristocrat.
Besides, he thought, it will help get rid of the competition.
He strode forward. A couple of volunteers were already standing in front of Major Lupine, looking disturbingly eager. They probably saw the whole stunt as a way to gain a bigger share of the prize money . . . if, indeed, there was prize money. The pirates might blow the entire base into atoms, leaving Uncanny with nothing to show for her efforts. And if Joel was unlucky, the blast would take out the shuttles as well.
“Chief,” Major Lupine said, “you can fly a shuttle?”
“A lot of us were cross-trained,” Joel said, striving to keep the irritation off his face. What sort of idiot would claim to be able to fly a shuttle if he couldn’t? “You can download my certification from the datanet if you wish.”
He supposed he should be grateful that some idiot in the Admiralty had thought that assigning militiamen to starships was a good idea, but it was stupid. The militia and the planetary armies didn’t need to cross-train as extensively as starship crewmen or the marines. Uncanny had nearly twice the number of crewmen she needed during routine operations, but her operations wouldn’t stay routine. Having excess crewmen came in handy.
“Very well,” Major Lupine said. He didn’t seem inclined to check Joel’s certification. Joel silently marked him down another point or two. “You’ll fly Shuttle Four, carrying a platoon of militia and several boxes of supplies. Remember to stay ballistic until you receive the alert signal.”
“Of course,” Joel said, biting down the urge to make sarcastic remarks about teaching spacers to keep their facemasks within reach. The pirates might not be operating any active sensors, but they wouldn’t need them to see a wave of assault shuttles screaming towards their base on full thrust. “I’ll see you in the bay.”
He saluted, then hurried down to the shuttlebay. The crews were already running through preflight checks, the militia donning their armor as they readied themselves for the coming engagement. They looked efficient, Joel decided, although he knew from bitter experience that that didn’t always mean they actually were. Captain Abraham had been fond of wearing full dress uniform at all times, and he’d been a crook.
Cursed Command (Angel in the Whirlwind Book 3) Page 26