Rebel

by Mike Shepherd

  The admiral allowed the young officer’s overenthusiastic remark to pass unremarked upon. His eyes were fixed on the table’s screen. A moment before, it had only shown an empty system: a few rocky planets in the middle distance from an unremarkable red dwarf. Close in was one large gas giant. Well out, there were more gas giants and one ice giant surrounded by a sparkling white ring of ice crystals.

  Now, beside the gas giant closest to the jump, a window opened, and a long list of names cascaded down. The first twelve were the battleships Vicky expected, then the list went longer. Empress’s Retribution, Terrorizer, Pounder, Hammer, Slammer, Trouncer.

  “Now she’s stealing names from us, her Empress’s Retribution and Trouncer just like we have,” Vicky said.

  “Get used to it,” the admiral said. “I doubt she’s expecting our ships to be around long.”

  Empress’s Smiter, Anger, and Ravager had been added while Vicky talked. The list now switched to heavy cruisers.

  “These seem to still have the names of the cities they carried in the Greenfeld Navy,” Lieutenant Blue said. “Their reactors are a match for the ones installed when their class was built.” He paused to eye his readout carefully. “Though they do not appear to be operating nearly as efficiently as they should.”

  “You can tell that?” the admiral snapped.

  “I can get just enough of a rough readout to make that call. Remember, this is only what we were able to capture during a ten-minute survey. I can tell you more, and it will be more reliable, when the one-hour report comes back.”

  “Excuse me, Lieutenant,” Captain Bolesław said, “but when we were fighting that bastard, we couldn’t make heads nor tails of his fleet. How can you read them now?”

  “Before, sir, they were jamming my sensors. I could read nothing. Now, they seem to have their jammers off. Maybe they’re broke. Maybe they’re saving them.”

  “You’re sure?” the captain said, the clear skeptic at the moment.

  “Sir, they can jam me. They cannot deceive me.”

  The captain pursed his lips, eyeing the junior officer, then nodded, and said, “Okay.”

  Admiral von Mittleburg cleared his throat. “When you get to the end of the quick search, tell me just what is the present size of the Butcher’s force.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  They all watched intently as the list grew longer and longer. Heavy cruisers gave way to light cruisers, then to armed merchant cruisers followed by destroyers. Finally, they were into the attack transports.”

  “God, if they have all those troopies locked down in zero gee, the barracks bays on those ships must be unmitigated hell from the stink alone,” Captain Bolesław said, then added, “Begging Your Grace’s pardon.”

  “I’m Navy, too, Captain, and the observation seems to fit the situation. Do they have any Marines?”

  The admiral shook his head. “They haven’t had much luck where they are concerned. Here and there, she manages to snap up a battalion by duress or holding families hostage, but the Navy managed to pull a lot of them back from the center of the Empire. ‘What need have you of these ruffians?’ Several of the battalions where she managed to suborn the officers emptied out the first time the men were given liberty. They’re young and creative, most had no stomach for breaking heads on riot duty. Some went sour and are taking her silver marks, but they are few. They’re Marines, not murderers. Few had attachments that the Empress could hold over their heads to keep them in line.”

  “We saw that on Brunswick,” Vicky said. “The officers and senior NCOs had wives and families the Empress held hostage to their good behavior. They surrendered and asked to be locked up. But a few days later, when Brunswick decided they needed an Army, the lower ranks of the battalion stood up to provide the skeleton of the training command. Then the Navy managed to break out the wives and kids, and the battalion was active again.”

  “Be that as it may be,” the admiral went on, now steeping his tea under the watchful eyes of the chief steward’s mate, “anyone holding on to their bunks to keep from floating away aboard those hell ships is likely some recent civilian who joined up for a paycheck and a chance to terrify unarmed subjects. They are little more than civilians themselves.”

  They passed a few quiet minutes steeping tea to their own preference and smelling the delightful result. After taking his first sip and nodding his satisfaction to the chief, the admiral looked around the table.

  “So far, what does this tell us?”

  “They have powered down their jammers to save wear and tear on them, or they have no fear of us,” Captain Bolesław said. “They showed that when they did not keep so much as an armed merchant cruiser at the jump. They expect that they will be the ones to invade the St. Petersburg system, not the other way around.”

  The admiral nodded his agreement.

  Lieutenant Blue went next. “By my count, and it is one I have a high confidence in, we now face nineteen battleships, most of them with 16-inch or 18-inch batteries, although there are a few old 14-inchers in there. The butcher has twenty heavy cruisers, eighteen light cruisers, and a dozen merchant cruisers armed with a mix of 4-, 5-, and 6-inch lasers. He has about forty destroyers, and they are accompanied by some twenty-five transports of various sizes. I’d estimate a ground force of at least two divisions, possibly three or more if they made no accounting for their comfort.”

  “I doubt they would,” Captain Bolesław said through a scowl.

  “I do not doubt at all,” the admiral said, then turned his eyes to Vicky.

  “I do not wish to claim too central a place of importance,” Vicky said, waving a casual hand at herself, “but it appears that my darling stepmom is throwing everything she can lay her hands on at St. Petersburg. Could her interest in the place be because poor little moi is here?”

  Neither the admiral nor captain moved to gainsay her. “Kill the spider at the center of the web, and you have put an end to everything,” Captain Bolesław said.

  “To kill a rebellion, you take off the head of the largest rebel,” the admiral added.

  Vicky gulped noticeably.

  “As much as I hate to agree with Admiral Lüth,” the admiral said, “he did have a point. The smart thing to do would be to put you on a fast ship to Metzburg.”

  Vicky shook her head. “Are you sure the good citizens of Metzburg don’t have a few among them who would be only too happy to deliver me gift-wrapped to my loving stepmother?”

  The two senior officers exchanged a droll glance.

  Vicky went on. “Besides, I would be depriving you of your flagship. Unless, of course, you put me on a destroyer or merchant cruiser and kept the Retribution for yourselves.”

  “That might very well deliver her gift-wrapped to that bitch if a pirate cruiser chanced upon her,” Lieutenant Blue dared to essay.

  “Too true,” Captain Bolesław agreed.

  “Any chance we could talk you into staying dirtside with that nice fellow, the mayor of Sevastopol?” the admiral asked.

  “Not only would I not want to go, but Mannie has already made it clear that the Empire has been ill served by one Peterwald falling into bed; no need for another to repeat the folly.”

  “I wasn’t suggesting that,” the admiral sputtered, then ground to a halt as Vicky eyed him.

  “Okay, that option is out for now,” Captain Bolesław said, “though I have to question the man’s logic.”

  “I question the man’s self-control,” Vicky said dryly.

  “Moving right along,” the admiral said. “Do we attack them, or do we continue to wait for them to come to us?”

  “They outnumber us five to three,” Captain Bolesław pointed out. “We can barely hope to fight them to a draw if we defend, maybe a bit more if Her Grace’s missile boats pan out. We’ve got to hold here.”

  Vicky leaned back in her chair and gazed at the overhead. “Where is the Empress getting all these ships?”

  “She seems to be scraping up everythi
ng she’s got to send here,” Captain Bolesław agreed.

  “What are you thinking, Your Grace?” the admiral asked.

  “It’s just that there haven’t been a lot of planets coming over to either of our sides. The original frantic switching back and forth is done, what with both of us garrisoning the planets and picketing them in orbit. But now she’s pulling ships from here and there, concentrating them on the other side of our jump and not getting a lot to show for her effort. If she’s all that strong here, could she be a lot weaker other places?”

  “While we maintain a refused center here . . .” the admiral said slowly.

  “Do you think the staff on Bayern would be interested in that kind of idea?” Captain Bolesław asked the admiral.

  “I think it’s enough to order a destroyer away from the pier this instant and get it headed there with all that we know of our situation.”

  “Tell them not to reinforce here though I wouldn’t mind some help,” Vicky said, “but we’ll achieve more eating away at the Empress’s flanks than going head-to-head with her here.”

  “Are you teaching your grandma to suck eggs?” the admiral said.

  Vicky must have turned a pale shade of white because the admiral went on, “Your thoughts of late show you paid attention to Admiral Krätz’s lessons. Good.”

  Vicky relaxed. It was so hard to find the middle ground the Navy expected of her. She could usually manage to be the proper field-grade officer, but when they brought her into strategic planning like tonight, it was impossible not to jump in and run with an idea.

  Then Vicky paused. They are pushing my idea up to the Navy staff. If they approve, the entire rebellion will be following my strategy.

  Not a bad thought.

  Vicky leaned back, kept her mouth shut, and watched as the admiral and captain taught her crazy idea how to run.

  CHAPTER 49

  FOR the next several weeks, Vicky watched as the rebellion unfolded on two tracks: what was happening here in front of St. Petersburg and what developed along the edges of the battle line between Empress-controlled space and her own.

  The destroyer Cobra was away from High St. Petersburg Station within an hour of Admiral von Mittleburg’s decision. It quickly accelerated to four gees and didn’t flip ship to decelerate until it could coast through the jump at the maximum 50,000 kph.

  It would refuel at Metzburg. Vicky and the admiral hoped the folks there would use their own fleet to start the pressure on the Empress. They had eight refugee battleships at last count and an Army of several divisions, only half-trained, but they’d likely be more effective than the “Security Specialists” the Empress was defending with.

  The first Vicky learned that her plan was accepted was when a pair of battleships showed up. The Sachsen and the Baden were old 16-inch battleships from when her grandfather was still naming battleships after planets. They’d been shot up pretty badly attacking Arkhangelsk.

  The Empress had left four old battleships there. Metzburg had risked sending an invasion fleet built around six battleships, two of them fairly new. The battle had been hard fought until the Bavaria blew up, taking the fight out of the Empress’s other three. Still, the Sachsen and Baden were hard hit.

  So they were sent to St. Petersburg as reinforcements, thank you so very much.

  When Vicky remarked upon that, Admiral von Mittleburg just laughed.

  “You should see the three battleships that surrendered. They’ll be joining the Metzburg Reserve Fleet as soon as they can patch them back together. I made sure the fleet at Metzburg learned of Captain Bolesław’s little trick of targeting the same place on their opponent’s hide. I’m not sure they did as well as the Retribution did around Brunswick, but it was good enough. By the way, the Cobra just jumped back into the system, right after our new battleships.”

  “Wrecks of battleships,” Vicky insisted.

  “Well, I think the Cobra’s dispatches will cheer you up. I am to be a vice admiral, and your Captain Bolesław will raise a rear admiral’s flag on Retribution.”

  “Good for him,” Vicky said. “Will I be rousted out of the admiral’s quarters to make way for him?” From her time in the Navy, Vicky had learned that few fair winds didn’t blow somebody ill.

  “He can’t. You outrank him, Your Grace. Admiral Waller has promoted you to vice admiral, a fraction of a second ahead of me.”

  For one of the rare times in her life, Vicky found herself speechless.

  “Lieutenant commander to vice admiral in one long jump,” she finally stuttered.

  “I’ve heard that historically, revolutions tend to leave sudden promotion openings for those who don’t lose their heads.”

  “Yeah,” Vicky said, still trying to take the measure of this sudden gift.

  “Face it, young lady, you have been amazingly successful in your direction and timing of this bit of political theater. You haven’t done at all bad using what few ships you had.”

  “It was Captain, I mean Admiral Bolesław’s idea that won us the battle at Brunswick.”

  “Yes, and you didn’t joggle his elbow but used his tactics and victory to allow you to bring another important planet onto our side.”

  “Keeping my mitts off the control stick has been my main job,” Vicky pointed out.

  “Keeping your mitts off the machinery is something you have learned to do, as well as knowing just the right moment to put your nose into our business. You have done well. Admiral Waller has chosen to promote you. Enjoy it while you can.”

  Vicky chose to change the subject. “Admiral Waller managed to make it out of Anholt ahead of my stepmother’s Imperial Guards?”

  “Barely.” Admiral von Mittleburg got suddenly serious. “His wife was caught during her escape. The Marines escorting her out died to a man defending her. The Empress slit her throat personally and sent the video to Bayern.”

  “The bitch,” hardly seemed strong enough.

  “The Navy is now fully in the rebellion,” Admiral von Mittleburg said softly.

  “All of the Navy?” Vicky asked.

  “Sadly, no. There are those who have chosen her side. No doubt they are confident she will prevail. We have heard that she is paying very high bounties to any captain who brings his ship over to her side.”

  “We must see that they do not live long enough to spend her largesse,” Vicky said, and only as she heard the words realized just how evil she could be.

  “We may need a general amnesty when these troubles are over,” Admiral von Mittleburg said softly.

  Vicky eyed the admiral and realized that she had likely just received the best advice she would ever hear. It made her stomach rebel, but she said. “Yes, we will. If we don’t, this war will drag us all down, and the aliens, if, no when they show up in our sky, will find that we have already made of it a wasteland.”

  “The aliens had slipped my mind,” the admiral said, “but yes, they, too, argue for clemency.”

  “Once you’ve seen a planet wrecked by the alien raiders, they can never be far from your waking mind because they haunt your every night.”

  The admiral paused to let the station’s ventilators clear that black miasma from the air. Then he continued.

  “Lieutenant Blue just reported that the Butcher is changing his habits.”

  “I hadn’t heard anything for a while.”

  “There was nothing to hear. However, now there is. Six attack transports under heavy guard of four battleships as well as cruisers and destroyers have withdrawn from his system.”

  “Where will they go?” Vicky asked.

  “I’d very much like to know, but I’ve got nothing I can risk to feed my curiosity. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

  “Strange. He’s keeping most of his force there but sending a major part of it out.”

  “If I were a betting man,” the admiral said, “I’d bet that he has been persuaded to give some of those poor damned souls shore leave.”

  “God help the planet
he picks,” Vicky said.

  “And may the gals there have fast running shoes,” the admiral said, extending her prayer to something more practical.

  “How long before we know what he’s up to?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” the admiral said.

  “Well, I better call Mannie and see what he can do to get these busted-up battleships patched up quickly.”

  “He’s coming up to see for himself. Why don’t you show him around?”

  “Are you trying your hand at matchmaking?” Vicky asked.

  “I think what I’m suggesting is high and aboveboard, but if you think the shoe fits, I would suggest you try it on.”

  Vicky did meet Mannie as his shuttle came in. She stayed at his elbow as the skippers of the two pranged-up battleships and their dock bosses showed him the worst of it. Mannie had several fab managers following him around. They got specs for the damaged equipment and measurements for the bent bulkheads, strength members, and hull plates. The fab managers left immediately after their tour, but Mannie stayed for a nice dinner in Vicky’s own quarters. It was quiet and candlelit even if it was just goulash. Vicky could never chase from her mind the closeness of her bed in her night quarters next door.

  Is Mannie thinking what I’m thinking?

  But the table talk was of the coming battle and what might follow.

  “I hope we can avoid fighting over every planet in the Empire,” Mannie said, as Vicky served dessert from a tray that offered way too many choices. Goulash for the main course, yet this fancy dessert tray. How strange.

  “I hope we don’t have to dig the security thugs out of every planet, too,” Vicky said, then told Mannie of her plan to nibble around the edges of the Empress’s holdings. “Those two dinged-up battleships were from a fight at Arkhangelsk. We captured three old battleships and blew up one. I’m told that the next system in had not one ship picketing the main planet. They took it without a fight. Bayern is launching a similar thrust.”