“That’s the law, Hew. You know that as well as I do.”
Suddenly Rochmon’s warm feelings for Mica were washed away in a cold wave of anger. Yet even as he rejected the idea that Bock might be a traitor, he knew Mica would not have made her assumptions without evidence.
The conflict churned in his mind as Stonefield reviewed the security procedures they would have to follow. And in a quiet corner of his mind, a lonely voice screamed in frustration.
◊ ◊ ◊
“But you abandoned them!” The tears ran freely down Marsha’s face and she didn’t care. “Wasn’t there some way, any way we could have saved them?”
“No,” Frye said coldly. The defeat angered him enough without having to put up with this whining from his own daughter. “In a situation like that you take what you can and retreat. If we had stayed, we would have lost ten times as many as we might have picked up.”
“I’ll bet Mother is turning over in her grave.”
Frye’s anger erupted into rage. “Shut up! Shut up! Just shut up and get out of here!”
Marsha was stunned into silent retreat. As she closed the door to his office, her tears flowed even faster. She had lost her mother without knowing why. She had lost Lucky because of a stupid – promise and somewhere, somehow, years before, she had lost her father. Whatever hope she might have had of getting him back was gone now.
After she left, Frye turned slowly back to his summary of the battle. As meticulously as he could, he had recorded the essential data for the Bridgeforce, but beyond the events and statistics lay a patch of space littered with the wasted lives of the people he had led to destruction.
Frye felt no sadness, no remorse, no sorrow for them – nor any need to feel such emotions. They had died in a good cause, as they had been willing to die.
But behind them lay the ghostly image of Vinita – an image colored by the sense of joy she had felt when he told her they would finally get their revenge. It was her image that hung in the back of his mind and forced him to reevaluate what had happened.
His most critical mistake had been in underestimating the personnel and equipment costs. He would not make that mistake the next time.
The next time he would match Sondak body for body and ship for ship on every front. The next time he would be prepared to sacrifice whatever it took to overwhelm them. The next time he would carry Vinita’s image with him as he led the U.C.S. to total victory.
Polar Fleet
The Double Spiral War
Volume Two
1
“RELEASE SHIP,” CAPTAIN RUTO ISHIWA ordered calmly.
Giant magnetic mooring clamps slowly opened with gentle thrusting movements. The hunk, Misbarrett – the first operational Wu-class subspace hunter-killer in the U.C.S. Fleet – drifted free in space beside its tender at fifty thousand kilometers per hour. Named the Misbarrett by the U.C.S. Fleet Command, the ship was immediately called Olmiss by the crew, believing as they did that every ship had to have an ekename to make it safe.
“Seperation complete,” Lieutenant Bon reported.
“Course zero-zero-three-hundred by seven-eight-two-hundred.” Ishiwa gave the heading from memory. The deck hummed slightly under his feet as the engines powered up.
“Attention,” he said through the ship’s loudspeaker, “this is Captain Ishiwa. You will be pleased to know that this is not a training mission. Olmis is going to hunt Sondak ships.”
Cheers broke out among the crew, and Ishiwa allowed himself a smile. He had trained the crew for five hard months without respite before reporting to Bridgeforce that they were fully prepared to undertak their mission. Within weeks there would be a fleet of twenty Wu-class ships operating in Sondak space. Within months there would be two-hundred. But their Olmis would be the first. “Good luck and good hunting to us all,” he said before turning off the loudspeaker.
It was a great honor for him and the crew and a great responsibility. As the first of the long-range hunter-killers, it was incumbent upon Olmis to prove the value of the new design, by striking a series of lethal blows for the U.C.S.
Earlier hunks, with a few exceptions, had experienced only minimal success. The ships themselves had been poorly designed, and their weapons and equipment had been inadequate. But one of the early hunks that had done well in spite of its handicaps had been the Pavion, commanded by, then Lieutenant, Ishiwa. Now he was expected to do great things with the same basic crew and a Wu-class ship. Such expectations would require the greatest effort from all hands aboard, including Lieutenant Bon, their kyosei political officer.
“Proceed to subspace speed, Lieutenant, then report with Chief Kleber to my cabin for the reading of the orders.”
“Aye-aye, sir.”
Ishiwa had nothing against Lieutenant Bon except the fact that he was kyosei. The lieutenant had proven an above-average hunk pilot during their training missions, but Ishiwa still had to remind himself that the man was worthy of his position. The problem was that Ishiwa had never been comfortable around the kyosei and their political fanaticism.
The kyosei were protectionists who argued that the war must be fought on limited terms – terms that would bind the hands of any aggressive commander. Was that why Bon had been assigned to his ship? He had heard of such appointments for similar reasons before. As he slid down to the work deck he reminded himself that he had no choice but to accept things as they were.
But Ruto Ishiwa had never been comfortable accepting things as they were. Such complacency was for less ambitious men. He had always prided himself on seeking challenges, and on challenging the status quo. That was why Pavion had succeeded where others had failed. Ishiwa had refused to accept the limitations of the old hunks. He had pushed Pavion close when long-range attacks failed and repeatedly taken risks that neither his commanders nor the enemy had expected him to.
With great anticipation he broke the seal on his orders and pulled the shiny grey disk from its envelope. As he inserted the disk into the slot under his viewscreen, he knew what to expect. Supreme Admiral Tuuneo had honored him with a personal viewscreen briefing before they left Yakusan, yet even that briefing had not prepared him for the sweeping nature of the Operating Order that appeared on his screen. Misbarrett was directed to act as an independent command and interdict any and all shipping along routes to and from Sondak’s polar systems.
It was an even greater honor than Ishiwa would dared to have dreamed. Bridgeforce trusted him to act alone in the heart of some of Sondak’s most important shipping lanes.
Such an opportunity to achieve greatness came to few men, and Ruto Ishiwa accepted it with a proud heart. He would impress upon Lieutenant Bon and Chief Kleber the necessity of exceeding Bridgeforce’s highest expectations. Together they would lead Misbarrett to glory against Sondak.
◊ ◊ ◊
Civilians on a hundred planets were celebrating Sondak’s victory over the Ukes in the battle for Matthews system. The military people weren’t celebrating anything. They knew that despite the victory, the immediate odds were still against them. That much was obvious to Henley Stanmorton as he sat outside Fleet Admiral Gilbert’s office.
Henley was impatient with the waiting. He would rather have been on Sutton with the planetary troops, or in the crew’s quarters of a launchship, or anywhere with the men and women who were doing the actual fighting. There was a war going on out in the galaxy and he wanted to report it as it happened.
Henley allowed himself a small grin and wondered what was really bothering him. Interviewing a fleet officer was not an assignment he would have chosen, because most officers at the top of the echelons didn’t interest him at all. But there were scores of Tellers who would have paid thousands of credits to be in his boots at this moment. Everyone was interested in Admiral Josiah Gilbert, the hero of Matthews, Henley should have been pleased with this assignment. Instead he felt annoyed.
However, the scene around him lessened his annoyance. With a reporter’s curious eyes and e
ars Henley observed soldiers and spacers moving quickly and seriously through the halls. There was a tension in their actions and conversation that infected the air with an old, familiar feeling. He could sense the deep concern that filled this headquarters and his reporter’s mind responded by trying to catch snatches of conversation.
Henley always thought of himself as a reporter even though the term was archaic and rarely used. He never thought of himself as a Teller like most of the members of the Efcorps he knew, because he never fully understood what a Teller really was.
Tellers claimed to “tell” what was happening when they covered a news story. Worse, as far as he was concerned, they truly believed that they actually did understand what was happening. Henley never claimed such understanding and could not begin to. He only reported what he saw, and heard, and felt, and left it for others to try to “tell” what that meant.
“ –almost certainly the polar systems, even if the Joint Chiefs refuse to admit it,” a passing officer said to one of her colleagues.
“But, Jas, there just aren’t enough ships to do that and defend the home planets, too. I’m afraid we’re going to lose those systems like we lost…”
The rest of the captain’s response faded away from Henley’s straining ears as he watched the trio of spacers move down the hall. They hardly looked old enough to be officers.
“I said are you Mr. Stanmorton?” a new voice asked.
Henley looked around quickly and saw another captain standing in front of him with a slight smile on her face. “Yes, Ma’am,” he said as he rose to his feet, “I’m Stanmorton.”
“Admiral Gilbert will see you now.”
Before he could respond, she turned and led him through the doorway to the admiral’s anteroom. He wondered if he had read her name tag correctly. “Pardon me, Captain, but –“
“Yes, Mr. Stanmorton?” she asked as she turned to face him.
“Uh, forgive me, Captain, but you wouldn’t be Captain Mica Gilbert, would you? The Admiral’s daughter?”
Captain Mica Gilbert appraised this Efcorps Teller with cool disdain. He wasn’t bad looking for an older man, and there was something ingratiating about his manner, but she had no use for him or any other member of the Efcorps. “Yes, I am.” She said flatly. “But you mustn’t keep the admiral waiting.”
“No, certainly not,” Henley had been around far too long not to catch her dislike of him – or the Efcorps – it didn’t matter which. “May I talk to you – I mean after I talk to the admiral?” he asked suddenly. “It wouldn’t take very long.” He knew she had been present at the Matthews battle and he hoped she would tell him about her part in it.
“You’ll have to ask the admiral,” she said as she opened the door to the inner office.
Her tone told him she had no desire to talk to him, but that only made him more determined to try. “Of course. Thank you.”
“Admiral, this is Mr. Stanmorton, from the Efcorps,” Mica added with a wicked grin. “He wants to talk to me after he has interviewed you.”
“Give him ten minutes,” Admiral Gilbert said, barely looking up from his desk. “And sit down, Mr. Morton.”
Mica’s grin started to fade, but came back again when the teller said, “It’s Stanmorton, sir.” Ten minutes with him might be an interesting diversion, she thought as she closed the door.
Henley sat comfortably waiting for the admiral to finish the notation he was making on the small stack of papers in the middle of a very full desk. He sensed that Gilbert’s involvement with the paperwork was not a ploy to put him in his place.
“Now, Mr. Stanmorton,” Gilbert said finally as he pushed the papers aside and leaned across the desk, “what can I do for you?” He was surprised that the teller looked as old as Gilbert felt.
“Well, sir, I’m not exactly sure,” Henley said slowly. The admiral looked tired and strained, and Henley regretted imposing himself on the man. “Efcorps sent me here to interview you about the Matthews battle.” He paused for a moment then decided to go ahead. “But in all honesty, sir, I’d rather be interviewing the pipe jockies and spacers who fought it, or with the troops on Sutton.”
Gilbert stared at the teller for a moment then surprised them both with a short, crackling laugh. “I think I know who you are, Mr. Stanmorton.”
“I beg your pardon, sir?” The admiral’s claim following the laugh threw his thoughts off balance.
“You were in uniform in the last war, weren’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What unit?”
“Ninth Fleet Marines, sir. Spent most of my tour attached to the Four-Twenty-Fifth Planetary Corps,” Henley said without hesitation. After all these years the quick military response still hadn’t left him.
“Doing what?”
“I was a Combat Teller, sir.”
“I thought so. Wrote for the Flag Report, didn’t you?”
“Yes, sir.” Suddenly Henley understood where this was leading, and a slight knot of apprehension tightened in his stomach. He had angered more than one officer with his stories and reports back then. They hadn’t appreciated his honest recounting of the problems the troops faced. Was Gilbert one of those he had angered?
“Wrote good stories, too, as I remember them. Damned good stories. I especially remember the series you did about the LeHew invasion where you went in with the first assault team. Made me feel like I was there.” Gilbert leaned back with a smile.
The knot softened in Henley’s stomach. “Why, thank you, sir. I never suspected you might remember –“
“Look, Stanmorton,” Gilbert said with a wave at his cluttered desk, “I really do not have time to give you much of an interview right now, but if you will come to my quarters tomorrow evening, say twenty-hundred hours, we can discuss the Matthews battle – and anything else that’s on your mind – at a little more leisure.”
Henley was surprised by the admiral’s invitation, and flattered that Gilbert had remembered the LeHew series. He always thought of that series as some of his best writing of the war. “Of course, sir, I would be delighted to come.”
“Good. I’ll make sure that Mica is there, too, although getting her to tell you anything will be your problem. Now get out of here and let me get back to work.”
“Yes, sir. And thank you, sir,” Henley said. He resisted a strange urge to salute and left the office quickly and quietly, flushed with a kind of pride he hadn’t felt in years.
“Ran you off, did he?”
Henley was startled to see Captain Mica Gilbert standing in front of him. “Certainly did,” he said with a smile to counter her smug look. “Told me I’d have to talk to him in his quarters tomorrow at dinner.” The change on Captain Gilbert’s face amused him and added to his good feelings.
“He what?” You can’t be serious.” Mica was shocked that her father would do such a thing.
“Oh, but I am serious captain. I am. Seems your father is an old fan of my writing. See you tomorrow.” Henley gave her a mock salute with a feeling of satisfaction and left her standing in the middle of the anteroom staring after him.
With a quick shake of her head and a shrug of her shoulders Mica dismissed Stanmorton and his absurd comments. The grim new reports from Sutton had to be analyzed and added to her father’s briefing book. Admiral Stonefield expected an update on the fleet repairs. And Commander Rochmon wanted her for still another debriefing session. There was too much work demanding her attention to worry about some crazy old Teller from the Efcorps.
2
COMMANDER FRYE CHARLTOS ALMOST SMILED as he left the meeting. Bridgeforce’s final judgment against him had been amazingly mild. They would place in his record a sealed document reprimanding him for his loss at the battle for Matthews system. There would be no public reprimand and no loss of command. In fact, they had laid most of the blame for the defeat on poor intelligence, and consequently enlarged his area of command responsibility. If the U.C.S. won the war, the letter of reprimand would be
destroyed. If they lsot – well, if they lost, the reprimands would come from the enemy.
Frye wished Marsha could let him off as easily. Since the battle she had barely spoken to him outside of the line of duty. Despite the fact that as his AOCO she was forced to speak to him many times each day, she never said more than was necessary. Her condemnation of him was as clear as though she had engraved it permanently on her face.
Even before the meeting with Bridgeforce his mind had been churning with ideas and problems surrounding the next major offensive against Sondak. But now as he and Marsha walked back to his offices, he felt the need to try once more to break through to her. “Bridgefore seems to have disagreed with your assessment, Marsha.”
“In what way, sir?” She knew what he meant, but she wasn’t about to make it easier for him.
“You heard them. The commended me for saving as many lives as humanly possible.” The look on her face told him he had said the wrong thing again. Why couldn’t he find the key to her?
“Bridgeforce said what it had to. You’re the best space strategist they have. But you and I know the truth about those people you deserted.”
“Dammit, Marsha, what kind of truth do you believe in? I told you then, and I’ll repeat it for you now. We didn’t desert them. We did what we had to do to save our forces from further destruction. Anything else would have been –“
“I’d rather not talk about it, sir.”
“I wish your mother could hear you!” As soon as he said that a brief, dark wave of emptiness swept through the place in his heart that had once been filled by Vinita.
“You leave Mother out of this.” Suddenly Marsha was angry and finally, finally she was ready to confront him. “You want to talk about what happened? You want to talk about us? All right, let’s talk about us. But let’s wait until we’re back in your office so I won’t embarrass you in front of anyone.”
Double Spiral War Trilogy Page 27