He nodded like that was all he’d intended before taking his leave, then grabbed her by the shoulders, leaned in, and kissed her fiercely. Addison let herself fold into it, reaching her hands around his back and pressing him closely. When they parted, their eyes seemed magnetized.
“Carpe diem,” said Laz.
* * *
“My government is not happy with your president, Admiral Kilgore,” said Leonid Volkov from across the conference table. He waved his glass around to make his point. “Bringing GILD online begins another arms race. This you know.”
“That’s going a bit far, wouldn’t you say, Admiral? And please don’t insult our intelligence by suggesting your government isn’t pursuing exactly the same kind of technological edge.” For once, Pierce’s superior tone, honed to perfection, didn’t grate on Kilgore’s nerves. In fact, she appreciated it quite a bit in that particular moment. But, for diplomacy’s sake, she raised a finger from the table that quieted the Englishman’s zeal.
Kilgore thought she saw the familiar Russian bluster building on Volkov’s face. Then he paused, took a sip of vodka, and smiled broadly. “I wouldn’t say, Admiral Pierce, that we’re pursuing the same kind of edge.”
Pierce recognized a diplomatic out when he saw one. “Of course not, sir. I’m sure yours is vastly superior,” he said wryly.
The Russian admiral laughed. “Of course. Of course!”
So, Pierce can be useful after all, thought Kilgore. Who knew?
“Melinda, I must compliment you on your vodka. It is surprising to find such quality all the way out here, so far beyond Russian space.”
Kilgore couldn’t help herself and glanced at the clock. 1315 hours. At least it wasn’t before noon.
“Thank you, Admiral, I’m glad it’s to your liking. And now that you’ve logged your official protest to the deployment of GILD in the Sol System, can we get to the purpose for this meeting?”
“Of course!”
She called up a 3D rendering of the Britannia Sector. Two primary locations were shown as green circles—Britannia itself and Wellington Shipyards. She zoomed in closer to Britannia, then angled thirty degrees off to another planet in the system. Inches of air represented millions of miles in space.
“We’d like you to position your strike force here, near Athena, the fourth planet in the system. The asteroid belt should afford you some cover. And, if we’re lucky, obscure you from Swarm sensors.”
“Is there any proof of that? Our scientists have no idea how Swarm technology works. Have you been holding out on us again, like with GILD? Our intelligence tells us you’re reverse-engineering Swarm hull tech to—as Admiral Pierce says—‘give yourself an edge.’ Can the same be said for their sensor technology?”
“It’s true,” said Kilgore, letting those words hang strategically in the air, “we don’t know how Swarm sensors work. But hiding in the background radiation of the asteroids beats leaving your ships in plain sight, doesn’t it?”
A faint smile tugged at Volkov’s lips, and he took another sip from his glass.
He knows how to play the game too. Then, in Leonid’s own voice inside her head, she added a comical, Of course!
“Of course,” he said at almost the same moment. “And you wish us to stay in reserve, at least at the outset of hostilities?”
“Well, as your own Clausewitz said, Admiral, ‘no campaign strategy survives first contact,’” said Pierce.
Kilgore winced as Volkov leveled a look at the Englishman. “Clausewitz was Prussian, Admiral Pierce, not Russian. But I can understand how you might be confused about the two.” He leaned over and lightly tapped the table to draw Kilgore’s eye. “That is often true of the English, when it comes to history.” Volkov winked. “Embarrassed for want of a proper P.”
Before Pierce could voice offense, Kilgore moved on. “You will be my flanking force, Leonid. If the Swarm attacks this sector again—and my gut says they will—the IDF will be the anvil, and you will be my hammer.”
“Ah!” expelled Volkov. “How metaphorically appropriate for Mother Russia! I like this plan, Melinda. We will hold position near Athena until you tell us otherwise.”
The bosun’s whistle sounded. With apologies for the interruption, Kilgore thumbed the button.
“Vickers here, Admiral. Long-range sensors from Starbase Midway in the Maori System report a large Swarm force vectoring this way. They’ll be here within the hour.”
“How large, Bill?”
“Larger than anything we’ve seen before, ma’am. And they’re flying faster than anything we can put into space. They mean business this time.”
“Acknowledged. I’ll join you on Intrepid shortly. Have the repair crews at Wellington tighten the last bolts on the Indy and get her and the other ships out of drydock and into space, Captain. We fight the war with the fleet we have.”
“Acknowledged. Admiral, Endeavour is still without engines.”
“Damn it. We need every ship!”
“Admiral, if I may?” Volkov downed the last of his vodka and stood, preparing to join his fleet. “Does the Endeavour have weapons?”
“Captain Vickers?”
“Aye, ma’am. They’ve reinstalled about half her mag-rail batteries. But what good will that—”
“Place minimal crew aboard to operate her maneuvering thrusters,” said Volkov. “And double her gun crews. Get her into space near the Shipyards. Let her defend them as best she can.”
Kilgore thought it through. “A mobile weapons platform?”
“Da. Not as mobile as your GILD system, maybe,” he said with a wink at Pierce, “but not as useless as tits on a boar either.”
She nodded her appreciation. “Captain Vickers, give the order. I’ll see you shortly.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She rose and extended her hand to Volkov. “Best of luck, Admiral.” She really was glad, Melinda realized with some surprise, to have Volkov and his strike force with them.
“When I call, charge your Russian bear self out of your cave and tear those cumrats a new asshole.”
Volkov smiled as he shook her hand. “There is an old Russian saying, Admiral: Ne trevozh medvedya v berloge—on prosnetsay golodnym. ‘Beware rousing the bear from his winter sleep. He always wakes hungry.’” He held her hand a moment longer than propriety demanded.
“I like you, Melinda. Try not to die.”
Chapter 26
Britannia Sector, near Calais
Wellington Shipyards
Bridge, ISS Invincible
“Release docking clamps, Mr. Jameson.” Ethan Blake’s voice was calm, Addison noted. Calmer, maybe, than she felt herself.
“Aye, XO.”
“Maneuvering thrusters.”
“Maneuvering thrusters, aye.”
Halsey felt the raw power of Invincible come to life around her as the ship inched out of her berth. She could see Independence already moving beyond the Shipyards, and Avenger, the ship in best shape, in the lead beyond her. Kilgore’s battleship, Intrepid, stood off from the Shipyards, standing guard as her sister ships took to space again. Endeavour hung back, waiting for Invincible to clear the yards, before she used her own thrusters to take permanent post duty over Wellington as a last-ditch bulwark against the Swarm.
“Captain Preble on meta-space,” said Nichols at comms.
“Put him through, Lieutenant.”
Noah’s face lit up the viewscreen. At least he looks well rested, thought Addison.
“So, here we go again, Captain Halsey. Second verse, same as the first?”
“If it means victory, I’ll sing the whole damned song,” she replied. “How’s the Indy, Noah?”
“Engines are about sixty percent, but I don’t see too many q-jumps in our immediate future. We’re fine. You just watch your own ass.”
“Captain Halsey,” interrupted Nichols. “Starbase Midway just went silent. Their last transmission confirmed a massive Swarm force moving this way. More than twenty car
riers.”
“You get that, Noah?”
“I heard. Looks like we’ll have our hands full.”
Addison grunted. Her thoughts turned to Laz, already running silent and dark somewhere near one of the outer planets in the sector, waiting for the very large rat to spring their very small trap.
“Take care of yourself, Noah. Invincible out.”
The screen faded to stars again.
“Captain, we’ve cleared the Shipyards,” said Blake. “Intrepid is falling into formation on Avenger’s wing. Spartan and the other destroyers, too.”
“Very well. Steady as she goes.”
Four large starships—five, if you counted the nearly immobile Endeavour—and a handful of destroyers against the Swarm. And this time, the enemy was attacking in force.
Addison fancied she could feel the sand trickling through the bottleneck of Laz’s hourglass, one grain at a time—each one more precious than the last for its increasing rarity.
Bridge, SS Renegade
“So you and her are a thing now, huh?”
Laz had expected the question, had even been waiting for it, he supposed. And now—as they hung cloaked in the silent blackness of space, hidden he hoped from enemy sensors—was as good a time as any to deal with it.
“Yeah, Mimi, we’re a thing now.”
His confirmation was met with silence.
“A thing again, you mean. That’s good,” she said unconvincingly. “Y’all fit together.”
He ignored the double entendre in her voice, opting instead to keep the conversation as short as possible.
“Thanks.”
More silence. Laz spared a glance at the sensor readouts. The circular screen showed all clear. He noted four green blips crawling away from Wellington. Addie commanded one of them.
“I’ve taken good care of her,” said Mimi.
“What?”
“Renegade. We refitted in Caliphate space. Cleaned the anti-fighter batteries—they always seemed to jam at the worst times, remember? Retuned the engines, even optimized the cloak to use less power. Put some of that take from the Chinese job to good use.”
Mimi sounded proud, and she had a right to be, Laz decided. She’d taken good care of his ship. Her ship now, he reminded himself.
Renegade had been his life once, the only love in his life. Now he had his first real love back—at least the opportunity to make it work with her again. Mimi could have the ship, and a hundred others like her, if only he and Addie could make it out of this war alive.
“You’ve done right by her all right,” he said.
“I’m happy for you, Laz,” Mimi said, the words tumbling out of her. Like they’d been leashed, held in her throat, and she’d finally decided to release them. “A little jealous, I can’t lie. But—happy for your happiness.”
Laz looked her in the eye, and all their adventures—the close scrapes, the payoffs, the stolen nights together in his bunk or hers, fending off the loneliness of long nights in deep space—it all came back warmly in his belly. He was devoted to Addie, but still he loved Mimi for the depth of friendship they shared. “I appreciate that, Mims.” He couldn’t remember the last time he’d called her that. During one of those quiet nights, no doubt, entangled in one another’s arms after stealing a bit of life together from an indifferent universe. His gaze lingered on her raven hair, and his memories began returning to places they shouldn’t.
“How about you?” he asked quickly. “Happy? The pirate’s life for you and all that?”
“Oh, hell yeah!” she said, her face brightening. “After this, you wouldn’t believe what I’ve got lined up. Remember the Minsk run? Okay, double that and add—”
Renegade’s proximity alarm went off. Their eyes fastened on the ship’s sensor screen. It went from clear to cloudy in seconds. An advancing wave of bright green light flowed over and around the dwarf planet-asteroid named Glastonbury Tor, headed straight for them.
“Holy Christ on the cross,” said Mimi.
Every instinct in Laz wanted to hit the q-jump drive and get the hell out of there. But he had his mission. And Addie was depending on him.
“I sure hope you didn’t low-bid those cloak upgrades,” he whispered.
Bridge, ISS Avenger
The proximity alarm beeped, startling Avery in the captain’s chair. She’d been mulling over Brent’s betrayal and the assassin’s mission again. And realizing just how lucky she’d been in Engineering, where Brent’s madness, his homicidal need for blood, had seemed to work to her advantage. Or maybe it was more than luck. What had he said? That he’d finally thrown them off?
Thrown who off, she wondered. The Swarm? Had Malcolm managed to cast off the enemy’s brainwashing in time to … do his duty, he’d said. To save her from the assassin?
Malcolm…
But now it was time to focus.
“There they are,” said Buckland at sensors. The tactical display of Britannia Sector replaced the stars on the viewscreen. In the northeast quadrant, a fogbank of overlapping sensor returns crept forward. “My God, Captain, how many of them are there?”
Too many, thought Sam. “Launch fighters,” she said, her injured arm pulsing at her.
“Bridge to Fighter Bay, launch all birds,” said Hathaway on her right, his promotion to XO now confirmed.
O’Brian signaled from comms. “Admiral Kilgore is hailing us, ma’am.”
“On-screen.”
Melinda Kilgore’s face appeared, the ping and whir of sensors resounding behind her. The battleship Intrepid was the newest gold standard for IDF warships, with even better armament than her own Avenger. Intrepid bristled with twice the complement of mag-rail batteries of a Constitution-class starship, able to deliver a broadside of devastating destruction along a 360-degree front all at once. She was a spacefaring weapon of mass destruction, gun barrels bristling like sharpened teeth—a massive gunboat in space.
Not wasting words on a salutation, Kilgore kept it simple.
“You know your job, Sam. Attract the lightning bolts to enable the rest of us to get close enough to punch hard. And protect your engines, for God’s sake. Your maneuverability is key to our strategy.”
“Acknowledged, Admiral. We’ll do our part.”
“I’m sure.” Kilgore’s cheek twitched. “Godspeed, Captain.”
“And to you, ma’am.”
The screen returned to the tactical display. The Swarm fogbank had rolled closer.
“Captain, we’re receiving encrypted sensor data from Renegade’s position behind the enemy fleet. Looks to be a couple dozen Swarm carriers and ten to fifteen thousand fighter escorts coming in. They’re staying tight across their front.”
“Like ancient warriors with shields locked,” muttered O’Brian.
“Stay focused, Lieutenant. Thank you, Mr. Buckland.”
Sam sympathized with Laz and his pirate crew watching and waiting in the shadows as, all around them, the most powerful force in the known galaxy crawled over them. Like locusts hungry to ravage Britannia and her sector planets. To strip the Shipyards of their ability to help the IDF defend mankind.
Not while I have breath in my lungs.
“Mr. Harkness,” said Avery, “aim for the center of that cloud. Let’s punch a hole for the Admiral, shall we?”
The helmsman nodded. “Aye, ma’am.”
“And Mr. O’Brian?”
“Ma’am?”
“Run out the guns.” She grinned over her shoulder at the young enthusiast for a bygone era of sailing ships and broadside cannonades. “Beat to quarters!”
Chapter 27
Britannia Sector, near the Dwarf Planet Glastonbury Tor
Fighter Wing Alpha
“Well, shit on a stick,” said Pops Banacek. “I ain’t never seen so many of ’em before.”
“Don’t let it spook you, old man,” said Ballbreaker over the hum. No matter how often they knew to expect that infernal Swarm buzzing over comms, once they got in range, it was sti
ll unnerving. “They’re just cumrats sitting in tin cans.”
How she ever let Scollard talk her into stepping in as Indy’s CAG, she’d never know. She loved leading a squadron of eight, but coordinating eighty with two other fighter wings? She felt like a babysitter, and she didn’t give a tinker’s damn about maintaining morale. As far as Ballbreaker was concerned, you did that by killing cumrats. All she wanted to do was redline the throttle and charge in head first, like always. Fire and fire and fire again until there were either no more cumrats left or the Swarm did for her. But this was her job for today, and she’d made the pirate a promise.
She stared at her sensor readouts, the enemy still too far away to pick up visually. The massive, green cloud edged forward, millimeter by millimeter, enemy fighters in the lead.
“Red Squadron, form up on me,” said Ballbreaker. “Listen up, Independents. We’re the tip of the spear.” Jesus, how she hated talking like that. “We punch through first, and we punch through fast. No stopping to do-si-do with the enemy. We make them chase us into their own backfield. Understood, squadron leaders?”
As they sounded off in her headset, a glint ahead caught Ballbreaker’s eye. A glance down confirmed it. They were almost within range of the tidal wave of Swarm fighters heading their way.
“Mustang, you back there? Or did you decide to let us carry the ball … again?”
“Shove it up your ass, Ballbreaker. Or if you like, I can do that for you. Cuz we’re right behind.”
“Enjoy the view.” She grinned. “McCall?” She didn’t know Avenger’s CAG personally, but he’d bought her a drink at the Crow’s Nest. She already liked him.
“Here, Ballbreaker, right behind Havers.”
More flashes ahead as the light of Britannia’s sun glimmered off the hulls of enemy fighters. Five, fifty, a hundred, a thousand, five thousand—they filled in her field of vision like silver lights winking on. And only five hundred of their own to oppose them. Three wings in three waves, one from each of the Constitution-class ships, charging through enemy lines without stopping—that was the plan, anyway. Once engaged, it was every wing, every squadron, every pilot for themself, all with one mission … to clear a path for Avenger and the other ships of the line right through the middle of the enemy’s advancing wall of carriers.
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