“Keep the Commonwealth busy, keep convincing them that you’re going to win,” Askew told him. “And focus on recovering your homeworld as soon as they withdraw.” He rose. “I’ll discuss the rest of the matter with you later, Admiral,” he said. “Right now, I need to hit my bunk.”
And we may no longer need you, Admiral Zaskar thought as the hatch closed behind Askew. If you can’t get us any more missiles, what good are you?
He looked at his datapad. The plan for transferring supplies to the freighters was well underway. Askew might notice something, if he kept an eye on their work, but . . . but what would he do? What could he do? Try to sabotage the escape plan? Or simply let them go?
We know too much for his comfort, Admiral Zaskar thought. The risk of discovery was incalculable but ever-present. He had nothing to lose, if they were caught, yet Askew and his backers certainly did. The Commonwealth would see them as war criminals, at best, and their actions an act of war.
Askew may simply plan to dispose of us before too long. And if we’re not ready to leave . . .
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
* * *
UNCHARTED STAR SYSTEM
“Admiral,” Lieutenant Kitty Patterson said over the intercom, “we will reach the RV point in thirty minutes.”
Kat sat upright. “Are there any signs we’ve been detected?”
“The ship’s sensors haven’t picked up any contacts,” Kitty said. “This entire section of space appears to be clear.”
“Which proves nothing,” Kat said as she climbed out of bed. “We just have to hope our approach hasn’t been noticed.”
She reached for a towel, then walked into the shower. She’d taken every precaution to keep the enemy from learning that she was coming, including sending fake messages and ECM drones to suggest that she was heading in the other direction, but she was grimly aware that all her preparations might be for naught. If someone really was leaking information to the Theocrats, someone who had remained undetected since the convoy’s destruction, the enemy might already know she was coming. She’d seriously considered not informing the Admiralty of her deployment, just in case. But that would have ended with her facing a court-martial board . . .
They wouldn’t care about why I’d done it, she thought as she turned on the water. She hadn’t slept well. The admirals would just be angry that I’d treated them as potential spies.
She cursed under her breath. Ahura Mazda was, at least in theory, far away enough not to be affected by the political chaos on Tyre, but she had her doubts. Everyone had seen the news reports, everyone had their own take on the situation . . . Kat couldn’t help feeling that the navy’s unity was a thing of the past. She wondered, sourly, if she should have cracked down on political discussion right at the start. But who could have imagined that things would go so bad so quickly?
The tensions were with us all along, she reminded herself. The war merely brought them into the open.
She washed thoroughly, then turned off the water and dried herself before stepping back into the cabin. Lucy had laid out a clean uniform already, along with a pot of coffee and a tray of sandwiches. Kat dressed rapidly, keeping one eye on the display. The local region of hyperspace still looked clear, but she didn’t like the look of the energy distortions in the distance. They might turn into full-fledged storms at any moment. The Theocrats might have relied on the distortions to help cover their path.
Her terminal bleeped, reporting that a new message had arrived. Kat glanced at the header and the string of reports waiting for her attention and ignored them. Catching up could wait until they were on their way back to Ahura Mazda, where she was certain there would be thousands more reports waiting for her. If there was one advantage to being on deployment, it was that they were out of touch with the StarCom network until they powered up the mobile unit. Anyone who wanted to waste her time would have to wait.
At least until we power up the communications ship, she reminded herself, glancing at the fleet display. The communications starship seemed out of place, like an oversized bulk freighter, but it represented the changing face of war. Kat knew, from grim experience, that she should be delighted with a mobile StarCom, yet it wasn’t an unmixed blessing. And then we’ll know everything that happened while we were in transit.
She ate her breakfast, then stepped through the hatch and into the CIC. The timer had started a steady countdown, ticking down the seconds until the fleet reached the RV point. Kat sat down at her chair, hoping and praying that the Theocrats hadn’t moved. She’d pushed her ships to the limit, but it had still taken five days to reach the enemy base. The Theocrats had had ample time to pack up and leave if they’d detected Dandelion’s presence. She wouldn’t have blamed them for moving regularly either. The longer they stayed anywhere, the greater the chance of being detected and destroyed.
“Admiral,” Kitty said, “we’ll be at the RV point in five minutes.”
“Very good,” Kat said.
“And Captain Rogers sends his compliments, Admiral, and wonders what you intend to do with Dandelion,” Kitty added. “She isn’t one of our ships any longer.”
Kat made a mental note to have a word with Captain Rogers, in private. She’d never really understood just how badly the Royal Navy looked down on colonials until she’d become a commanding officer in her own right. William had told her, more than once, that it irritated the colonials while making life harder for the Royal Navy. Irritated people were not inclined to cooperate.
“Please inform Captain Rogers that I will ask Captain McElney to accompany us to the enemy base,” Kat said. She had no idea if Dandelion could be slotted into the squadron’s datanet, but it should be possible. The destroyer wasn’t that old. “If not . . . if he wants to return home . . . his loyalty is unquestionable.”
Kitty nodded. “Aye, Admiral.”
Kat keyed her console, bringing up the latest set of readiness reports. The training sessions she’d ordered had boosted the squadron’s stats back to their wartime level, although she was all too aware that there were still problems. They’d simply allowed too much to slide in the year between the fall of Ahura Mazda and the return of the Theocratic diehards. She promised herself, silently, that she’d make sure that changed, once the diehards were dead and gone. She’d declined the king’s offer of an appointment to Piker’s Peak, or anything else that might take her off a command deck once and for all, but she could still have a major influence. Any fleet under her command was going to drill as if they were expecting war to break out tomorrow.
If you want peace, prepare for war, Kat thought. The galaxy would eventually see another major conflict. And if you look ready to fight, you don’t have to fight.
“Admiral,” Kitty said, “long-range sensors are picking up Dandelion.”
“Send a standard greeting,” Kat said, “and invite her to take a place in our formation.” She allowed herself a cold smile as the icon appeared on the display. “And then set course for the enemy base. I want to come out of hyperspace as close as possible to our target.”
“Aye, Admiral.”
Kat’s smile grew wider. Most tacticians would raise hell about a plan that involved splitting the fleet, but Kat had considered it carefully before deciding the idea was workable. Four superdreadnoughts and their escorts would return to realspace while five more would lurk in hyperspace. If the enemy managed to jump into hyperspace, rather than fighting to the last, they’d run into a trap. There was significant risk in fighting in hyperspace, as Kat knew all too well, but it was manageable. The Theocrats could not be allowed to escape.
And they won’t, she promised herself. This is the end of the line.
“I’ve transferred most of the prisoners to the freighters, sir,” the supply officer said. “But the ship isn’t designed for transporting so many people.”
“Then expand the life support,” Admiral Zaskar ordered tartly. Why couldn’t anyone think for themselves? He cursed his former superiors under his bre
ath. “Make sure they know to behave during transit.”
“Aye, Admiral,” the officer said. “We made it clear to them . . .”
The alarms started to howl. Admiral Zaskar froze in horror, then spun around to look at the near-space display. A string of vortexes had opened, disgorging a fleet of enemy warships. Only four superdreadnoughts, according to his sensors, but they might as well have been a hundred. His missile supplies were so badly depleted that he suspected he couldn’t have put up an effective fight against even one superdreadnought. They’d been found.
He turned and ran for the hatch, slapping his communicator on the way. “Bring the fleet to battlestations,” he snapped. “Prepare to engage the enemy!”
His mind raced as he ran down the corridor, passing dozens of crewmen as they hurried to their combat stations. They’d kept their vortex generators powered down to avoid unnecessary wear and tear on the fragile devices, but . . . in hindsight, that might have been a mistake. The enemy hadn’t quite come out of hyperspace right on top of them—he rather thought the enemy CO could have his navigator shot for stupidity—but they were far too close for him to avoid engagement. And a quarter of his supplies were still in the asteroid base.
We’re doomed, he thought. Even if he managed somehow to get his fleet into hyperspace, it would mean abandoning things he desperately needed. The odds of successfully establishing a colony, already low, would drop still further. There’s no way out.
He forced himself to slow down as he stepped into the CIC, doing his best to project an air of calm competence. Moses was already there, standing next to Askew; Admiral Zaskar wondered, sourly, what the foreign agent was thinking. There was no expression on Askew’s face, damn the man, but he had to be terrified. Who knew what would happen if he were taken alive?
Admiral Zaskar took his seat. “Status report?”
“The fleet datanet is coming online, Admiral,” the tactical officer reported. He sounded frightened, although he was trying to hide it. “Our ships are linking in now.”
Too slow, Zaskar thought. Keeping the datanet down was another mistake, although it hadn’t been unjustified at the time. The risk of a stray emission being picked up by a prowling enemy scout ship was too great. They have us dead in their sights.
“Order the freighters to start moving away from the fleet,” he said. He was kicking and screaming on the way to the gallows, and he knew it, but something in him refused to give up. “And bring Sword of Righteousness into the battle line.”
The tactical officer glanced at him. “Admiral?”
“Do it,” Admiral Zaskar snapped. The superdreadnought’s skeleton crew would have to use her maneuvering jets to get her into position, but there was no choice. She might absorb a handful of missiles that would otherwise strike his battle-worthy ships. “And stand by to deploy our remaining ECM drones. All of them.”
“God is with us, my son,” Moses said. “We will prevail.”
Zaskar didn’t bother to look at him. There was no escape, unless Askew’s mystery backers chose to step in. And he had no idea if they could step in. And even if they could, why would they? None of the Great Powers would risk war with the Commonwealth over the pitiful remnants of the Theocratic Navy. Better to let Admiral Zaskar and his fleet die in fire, taking the evidence of outside involvement with them, than start a war.
“Admiral,” the communications officer said, “I’m picking up a wide-band transmission on an open channel. They’re signaling us!”
“They’re signaling everyone,” Admiral Zaskar said. The entire system would hear the message. “Put it through.”
A voice, a woman’s voice, echoed through the air. “This is Admiral Katherine Falcone of the Royal Tyre Navy,” she said. “You are outnumbered and outgunned.”
Admiral Zaskar stared, torn between horror and a grim awareness that God had brought the Theocracy’s most dangerous enemy within striking range. If he killed Admiral Falcone, if he . . . He shook his head tiredly. Killing Kat Falcone would not bring the Theocracy back to life, let alone reverse the outcome of the war. Besides, he had no idea which ship was her flagship. His sensor systems appeared to believe that the message was coming from every enemy ship.
“If you surrender now, and make no attempt to kill prisoners, destroy your datacores, or otherwise cripple your vessels, we will spare your lives,” Kat Falcone continued. “You will be returned to Ahura Mazda, where you will spend the rest of your days. But if you refuse to surrender, there will be no second chance. You and your ships will be utterly destroyed.”
“Silence that woman,” Moses hissed. “She will lure our men into sin!”
For once, you might have a point, Admiral Zaskar thought. Everyone could hear the enemy message. The fanatics would fight to the last, of course, but the less-committed spacers might be glad of a chance to surrender and return home. How many of our men will decide that surrender is the best option?
He considered it, briefly, before dismissing the thought. His spacers might be allowed to return home, but he’d be lucky if he was merely dumped into a penal colony. He’d committed war crimes, at least by their standards. Kat Falcone might be willing to let bygones be bygones, but very few others would agree. She certainly wouldn’t be deciding his destiny. Admiral Zaskar and his senior officers would be marched to the airlock and thrown into space. There was little to be gained from surrendering his ships.
But my people would live, he thought. My crew would survive.
“I will address her,” Moses said. He strode forward. “Give me the microphone.”
“And stand by point defense,” Admiral Zaskar added. The enemy was already in missile range. “They’ll open fire at any moment.”
Moses shot him a sharp look, then took the mike. “We are the custodians of the True Faith . . .”
Well, Kat thought, at least we know we found the right people.
“Prepare to fire,” she ordered, ignoring the misogyny. Still, the enemy CO, or whoever was speaking, was unusually polite for a Theocrat. She’d heard a great deal worse on Ahura Mazda. “Bring up tactical sensors to full power. Let them know they’re being targeted.”
“Aye, Admiral,” Kitty said.
Kat nodded, studying the live feed from the stealth drones. The enemy didn’t seem to have spotted them, even though they were quite close to their hulls. They’d kept their drives and sensors powered down to minimize the odds of detection, something that had come back to bite them hard. Their sensors were powering up now, but her drones had already gone dark and silent. The Theocrats would have real trouble spotting them.
One of their superdreadnoughts is in a very bad state, she thought. But is it for real?
Her eyes narrowed. The enemy ship wasn’t even trying to power up her drive. Was she nothing more than a shipyard queen, used only as a source of spare parts? Kat tapped a command into her console, ordering the tactical crews to regard the enemy ship as a potential threat anyway. There was no reason to assume she couldn’t fire missiles, even if her drives were offline. A Royal Navy superdreadnought was designed to continue fighting till the very end, with so many redundancies built into her command systems that it would take one hell of a battering to put her out of commission. She was sure the Theocrats had followed the same philosophy.
She frowned as her eyes moved to the freighters and, beyond them, to the asteroid base. It clearly hadn’t been built by the Theocrats, at least not as a naval base. The freighters were maneuvering like wallowing sows, suggesting that they were fully laden. Kat gritted her teeth, wondering precisely what the Theocrats had taken. Starship parts? Or prisoners? Or . . . she shook her head. The freighters would need to be taken intact. They had to know what the enemy had been doing over the last few months . . .
And who has been backing them, Kat reminded herself. We need to know that too.
Kitty coughed. “They’re still babbling . . .”
Kat sighed. “Signal all ships,” she said. “Firing pattern beta-nine. Prepare
to engage.”
“Aye, Admiral,” Kitty said.
We have them, Kat thought. And they have to know we have them.
She shook her head. There was nothing to be gained by waiting any longer. She’d hoped they’d surrender, but she hadn’t expected it. The Theocrats had no reason to believe that she would keep her word, even though she certainly intended to honor her promises. She would happily allow their crewmen to return to their homeworld in exchange for their datacores and clear proof of who’d supplied them with weapons and tech.
“Fire,” she ordered quietly.
Violence rocked as she emptied her external racks. The other three superdreadnoughts followed suit, their missiles boring through space towards their targets. Kat could have fired a bigger barrage—she was wryly aware that there would be plenty of armchair admirals who’d criticize her for not emptying her missile tubes too—but she wanted to try to take some of the enemy ships intact. If she was lucky, the missiles would cripple the ships, allowing them to be boarded.
“The enemy ships are returning fire,” Kitty reported as red icons flashed to life on the display. “Missile tubes only, Admiral. No external racks.”
And that one superdreadnought hasn’t fired at all, Kat thought. It was quite promising. The enemy CO clearly didn’t have enough missiles left to put up a proper fight. She could force him to expend his remaining stockpile relatively quickly. And then we can batter his fleet into submission at leisure.
“Tighten up the datanet,” she ordered. The enemy missiles didn’t seem to have any improved seeker heads, let alone penetration aides, but there was no point in taking chances. “And stand by to fire a second salvo.”
“Aye, Admiral.” Kitty checked her display. “The freighters are pulling away from the base.”
“Detail a squadron of destroyers to round them up,” Kat ordered. “And remind their commanders that they are authorized to accept surrenders.”
She turned her attention to the display. Her missiles were entering the enemy point defense envelope. One way or the other, the engagement would be over soon . . .
Debt of Honor (The Embers of War) Page 34