“Too soon to tell, sha.” He turned away from her without adding anything further.
“Dammit, Qunoy,” she said, jumping from her chair and grabbing his arm. “I want an answer!”
“Behot’s lost an engine,” the communications boater yelled above the noise. “Can’t reach the De Vries.”
Qunoy yanked Judoff’s hand off his arm. “The answer, Marshall Judoff, is that this was a stupid idea,” he said glaring at her. “The answer is that we flew right into a trap. So if you want to save your ships, you’d damned well better get us out of here.”
“Allsdon is heading for subspace, Commander!”
“How dare you presume to tell me what to do? Hold course to Sutton until I order otherwise.”
“Yes, sha,” he said with a quick salute. “And would you like your cremation with or without music?”
Qunoy’s sarcasm coupled to the speed with which the Saks were crippling her fleet shook Judoff’s confidence. Qunoy was her best officer. If he thought they were in that much trouble, then perhaps it was time to adjust her plans. “I’m sorry, Commander. By all means save the fleet.”
“And Sutton?”
Judoff shook her head. “I’m afraid Marshall Yozel will have to survive on his own. Retrieve as many naggers as you can, and head us for home space.”
She hated to concede the battle without a real fight, but she hated the thought of losing her fleet even more. The fleet was part of her power base, and without it she would have much less to bargain with in Bridgeforce. This war was still a long way from being over, and Judoff had every intention of coming out ahead. Victory – personal victory – was the only thing that mattered to her. If that meant cooperating with Charltos or retreating from a battle now in order to be the ultimate winner, that was acceptable strategy.
The victor would be the person with enough intelligence to conserve her strength and win the final battle.
◊ ◊ ◊
“I don’t know how they’ve held out this long, Clarest,” Frye said softly. “This is the second time they have cost me more ships than I ever expected them to. You have to give the Saks credit for courage and tenacity, if nothing else.”
Melliman snuggled closer to him. “I don’t think we ever doubted their courage. But what surprises me most is that they didn’t withdraw when they still had the chance. Now that we have them confined to close orbit, theirs is a lost cause.”
“But we still haven’t gotten through to the planet itself.”
“If we destroy their ships here, what will it matter?”
“I want to destroy their starports as well. I want Satterfield out of commission – especially after the losses we’ve taken here. No thanks to Judoff for that,” he added bitterly.
Melliman ran her fingers lightly over his chest. “Why do I suspect that you are working on some new plan?”
“Because, my dear AOCO,” he said, slipping out from under her fingers and sitting up on the side of the bed, “that is exactly what I am doing.”
“No rest for the wicked,” she said as she climbed naked out of her side of the bed.
“Nor for you, either. Get dressed.”
Twenty minutes later they stood in the planning room huddled over a holomap of Satterfield system. Shifting points of colored light marked the locations of all the know ships in the system.
“Look, Clarest,” Frye said. “All but one of Satterfield’s starports are in its southern hemisphere, and the Sak commander has concentrated his forces above them. Suppose we were to launch missiles from low orbit above the northern hemisphere? We might just be able to –“
“Begging the Admiral’s pardon, sir,” a young piper said with a quick salute, “but we just received reports of a large Sondak fleet headed in this direction.”
“Reinforcements,” Frye said. “How far out?”
“A day at most, sir.”
“All right. Get me Commander Belera.” After Judoff’s desertion and the damage Tuuneo Fleet had already suffered, Frye did not want to risk a set battle with a fresh Sondak fleet. But there was something he could do.
“Commander Belera reporting, sir.”
“Ral, look at this map,” Frye said after returning Belera’s salute. “We have pretty accurate coordinates for each starport on Satterfield. They’re the targets marked in orange. I want you to slip your missiles in from here,” he said, jabbing a space above the northern hemisphere with his finger, “and here, and here, and hit as many of those starports as you can. You think you can manage that?”
“With enough protection I can, sir.”
“I’ll get you the protection. You get the coordinates programmed into your missiles and be prepared to launch them in five hours.”
“Will do, sir. And, sir?”
“What is it, Ral?”
“I just want you to know that I am honored by this opportunity, sir.”
“Orders, AOCO,” Frye said after Belera left. “I want to begin the gradual regrouping of the fleet. All damaged ships first with complete assessments of their conditions. All others to regroup immediately after Belera has completed his strikes. When Sondak’s reinforcements get here, they won’t find us, but they will find a smoking planet.”
Fourteen hours later Tuuneo Fleet began its withdrawal from the Satterfield system. As Frye assessed the summary damage reports, he felt a mixture of sadness and elation. A third of his original number of ships had either been destroyed over Satterfield or had to be blown up because they were too heavily damaged to make the trip through subspace. Almost half his fighters had been lost or damaged. Six hunks were missing, including the Misbarrett commanded by the brilliant Commander Ruto Ishiwa.
But Satterfield was a planet dotted with radioactive clouds. The remnants of its defensive forces were stranded in space. Satterfield had paid for Frye’s defeat at Matthews system.
29
“THE FLEET IS WITHDRAWING, SIR,” Nunn said. “I don’t think we can catch up to them.”
“Sir!” the nav-boater shouted. “I think I’m picking up Saks! Two of them.”
Ishiwa shook his head and the pain rang in his ears. If Tuuneo Fleet was withdrawing, Olmis was truly on its own again. “Range and closing rate?” he asked automatically.
“Ninety thousand kilometers and closing at point-six-plus.”
“Call Lieutenant Bon immediately. Nunn, ready the aft tube. All able hands to battle stations.”
As his orders were relayed through the ship, Ishiwa climbed wearily out of his command chair and limped over to the targeting screen. The two Sak blips moved toward them from the edge of the screen like tiny cancerous spores eight degrees off their present course. His choices were all too few.
“Engines stop,” he ordered without hesitation. “Reverse orientation, one-hundred eighty degrees.”
“What’s happening, sir?” Bon asked breathlessly as he rushed onto the deck.
“Saks,” Ishiwa said simply. Olmis was turning now so that her remaining firing tube would give them a shot at the two Sondak ships.
“Captain, we can’t do this,” Bon said when he realized what Ishiwa was doing. “We’ll be completely vulnerable.”
“We don’t have any choice, Lieutenant. We can’t run. We can’t call for help. Honor requires that we fight.”
“Aft tube ready, sir,” Nunn announced.
“Targetting for the lead ship…locked. Prepare to fire at my command.” Ishiwa almost held his breath as he stared at the targeting screen and watched as the distance closed between Olmis and the Saks. “Fire, Nunn.”
The normal firing thump was followed by several seconds of severe rattling that spoke for Olmis’s condition.
“Missile away, sir.”
“Reload,” Ishiwa ordered. “Locking on second target.”
“I’m picking up a third one, sir. No! They’re firing at us. It’s a missile headed this way.”
“I see it. Engines on. Take over targeting, Bon.” Ishiwa’s voice was much calmer than his
emotions. For the first time he questioned whether or not they were going to survive.
“Aye, sir.” There was a look of resignation on Bon’s face that matched the tone of his voice.
“Enemy missile closing at point-nine-six.”
Beads of cold sweat rolled down Ishiwa’s face. He couldn’t reverse Olmis’s orientation until Bon fired the second missile, but if they didn’t move quickly, the Sak missile would surely hit them. The scent of fear mixed with the crew’s normal stench.
“Aft tube ready, sir.”
“Fire!” Bon ordered.
“Reverse orientation one hundred fifty degrees. Course one-zero-one-zero by nine-thousand. Engines full ahead.” Ishiwa clung to a stanchion and watched with horror as the blip of the Sak missile streaked toward the center of his screen.
Olmis turned with agonizing slowness. Just as her engines started their thrust, the Sak missile exploded against her damaged bow. The screams of tearing metal drowned out the screams of the crew. Ishiwa thought of Kleber and wept.
The torque forces on Olmis were more than her damaged hull could withstand. It twisted and split, then broke apart with agonizing slowness.
The first of the Wu-class hunks and its crew had ended their honorable service to the United Central Systems.
◊ ◊ ◊
Henley walked slowly down the slope to where the three generals were sitting at a camp table under a spreading tree. His eyes darted to the rock-strewn hillside behind them, then to the stand of trees less than fifty meters away. As he presented himself to General Mari, he felt an itch on the back of his neck that wouldn’t be cured by scratching.
“Well, Chief Stanmorton, I had heard that you survived.” The only thing that surprised Mari was that he wasn’t totally displeased to see the teller.
“General Archer let me tag along with some fine units, sir,” Henley said giving Archer a nervous wink. “Even had my own skimmer for a while.”
“Nothing too good for a teller, huh?”
It had been five days since the captain from the Forty-Ninth had been killed beside Henley and he was all too aware that her blood was mixed with the grime on his uniform. He had been looking for a clean uniform, but now he was glad he hadn’t found one before Mari saw him. “Not to worry, General, as you can see, I did my fair share of mucking around.”
“Well, I’m not going to worry about you, Mister. I figure you earned your right to be here. Wouldn’t you agree, Archer?”
“That I would, sir.”
“Join us,” Mari said waving at a folding chair beside the table. “The local wine is quite good, and the fresh air only adds to its excellence.”
Henley looked quickly around before sitting in the chair. The place they were sitting was exposed on three sides, and despite the presence of hundreds of troops, Henley felt very vulnerable. “At the risk of angering you, General Mari, I really have to ask if you think it’s safe to sit in the open like this?”
“Snipers, sir,” Archer said quickly. “The Chief has seen more than his fair share of them.”
Mari gave Henley a faint smile. “I understand, but I think it’s worth the risk. It’s good for the troops to see us this confident in them. Now that they’re down to flushing out the isolated Ukes, they need something to replace the morale of battle.”
“That’s an odd term, isn’t it, sir?”
“Not at all, Mister. Battle is ninety-five percent boredom and five-percent fear and exhilaration. Anticipation of the exhilaration keeps you going the rest of the time. That’s battle morale. But once the battle is over, morale tends to sink. The troops aren’t quite sure what they’ve accomplished or what they will have to do next. If they see their officers relaxed and in good spirits, you can bet that will rub off on them in a hurry. It’s more effective than any speech we could make, because the troops will know instinctively that they’ve done well and the danger’s behind them for a while.”
“That’s quite a theory, General, but I’m not sure –“ Something slapped Henley hard on the right shoulder. He heard the shot before he felt the pain. Then he saw Mari with his hands over his chest and blood seeping through his fingers.
Mari watched Chief Stanmorton slump over the table, but he never lost consciousness. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. Voices shouted around him while he sat in the midst of stillness. Archer pulled him down to the ground. Other hands pulled his hands away from the wound and applied painful pressure to his chest. Then a needle jabbed into his arm. Mari closed his eyes and drifted, hearing the sounds, smelling the blood and antiseptic, but distant, uncaring.
Henley came slowly out of a fog of pain to find himself lying close beside General Mari. His shoulder throbbed dully, but Mari looked pale and awful. There were tubes running into both of the general’s arms, and a thick bandage on his chest. The medic beside Mari caught Henley’s eye and shook his head.
As Henley turned away from the sight, he saw several troopers dragging a bound Uke soldier toward them. Quickly he turned his head back to Mari. “Can you hear me, sir?”
Slowly Mari opened his eyes and turned to the voice. “I hear you,” he said softly.
“I think they caught the sniper, sir.”
“She surrendered,” one of the troopers said. “Claims to know the general.”
Mari tried to focus, but the edges of his vision were blurred. “Closer,” he whispered.
“Bring her closer,” Henley repeated.
For a brief instant Mari’s vision cleared, and he starred into Giselda’s sad, pale face.
“We are even now, Fortuno,” she said.
Her words seemed to take forever to make sense. “Yes,” he whispered finally. “Kill her.”
A moment later Henley smelled the pungent fecal odor of death and knew that Mari was gone. The general’s eyes started blankly up at the trees with a look that only dead men have. “What did he say?” one of the troops asked.
Looking up, Henley stared at the pikean woman, and suddenly he knew who she was. She was Mari’s mistress, the one who had absorbed his legendary sadism for so many years. Any teller worth his byline would have recognized her from all the times she had appeared in public as Mari’s bruised but smiling consort.
With a sigh Henley shifted his eyes back to the trooper. “General Mari said to take her away.”
“All right, let’s go, you pukin’ Uke,” the trooper said, jerking the woman out of Henley’s sight.
The weight of fatigue and drugs pulled Henley’s eyes closed again. Leaden thoughts dragged him down toward sleep and rest. He knew he would write the story of Fortuno Mari, hero of Sutton, but he also knew he would never be able to tell all of it.
◊ ◊ ◊
Avitor Hilldill sat beside Pajandcan’s bed in the Royal Oak’s sickbay. “Looks like you’re going to make it, Admiral.”
“Maybe,” Pajandcan said softly, “but I’m one of the few.”
“It’s not as bad as you think. Your Admiral Dawson just told me that two of the starports will be operational again in a matter of weeks.”
“But the fleet – and the people.” Pajandcan shook her head slightly in the painful confines of the brace that held her rigid from the waist up. Her back was broken, and so was her spirit. “The Ukes beat the life out of us.”
“Quit feeling sorry for yourself. A lot of survivors and salvageable ships are beginning to make their way back, and we’re out looking for more. Dimitri’s ships are pulling into the system now, and they’ll be able to speed up the rescue operations. All in all, I think you can count this operation as a success.”
Pajandcan closed her eyes for a few long seconds and fought the hot wave of pain surging through her body. Only part of the agony she felt was physical, and she knew it. When she finally looked at Hilldill again, part of the bitterness she felt spilled out on him.
“I don’t want to hear that,” she said. “POLFLEET lost almost thirty percent of its ships, and Satterfield’s atmosphere is filled with radioacti
ve dust, and a million people died unnecessarily because of my stupid plan. What kind of success do you call that, Hilldill? Answer me that.”
“A wartime success,” he said without flinching.
For the moment, that was an answer Pajandcan couldn’t cope with. After the catastrophic damage Reckynop had suffered in Matthews system, and the terrible losses that were her responsibility here, she wasn’t sure she could accept any more successes like those.
◊ ◊ ◊
“This is incredible,” Caugust said.
“It is our own fault. We shouldn’t have left the Wallen out there.” Sjean looked at him and waited for some response.
“But who would ever have thought that some damned Oinaise would find it and Ayne Wallen, too? Doesn’t that strike you as incredible, Sjean? I mean, what are the odds against that?”
“Nothing strikes me as incredible anymore, sir – especially the odds for a random event. How much does this Xindella want for Wallen and the weapon?”
Caugust ran his fingers through his thick hair. “He wants to hold a festbid – an auction of some kind. He wants us to bid against other unnamed parties for possession of both of them.”
“Against the Ukes, you mean.”
“He doesn’t say that, but you and I both know that’s who he means. Now that the Ukes know about it, they’re sure to be interested.”
“Have you informed Sci-Sec, sir?”
“Hell, no, Sjean. I’d bet a full share in Drautzlab that Sci-Sec’s own Inspector Janette is partially responsible for this ‘Xindella’ finding the weapon in the first place. I’m not about to let Sci-Sec bungle this, too.”
“Then what are you going to do?” Sjean had a hard time believing the competent Inspector Janette had bungled anything, but she understood why Caugust might feel that way.
“I don’t know. I just don’t know. Maybe we should just let the Ukes have Ayne and the weapon. Maybe we shouldn’t worry about this at all. By the time he analyzes what we did – if he can analyze it – and what we didn’t do…Who knows? This war could well be over by then.”
Double Spiral War Trilogy Page 52