Last Measure of Devotion (TCOTU, Book 5) (This Corner of the Universe)

by Britt Ringel

  Heskan dipped a shoulder. “Perhaps, but I suspect Wallace will press for the battle regardless of the ruling. He doesn’t seem like a man who lets things go easily, which brings me back to the purpose of this appointment.” Heskan looked Nguyen in the eyes. “One of my most sacred duties as fleet commander is to ensure that there will be an orderly flow of command should I fall in battle.”

  Nguyen smiled congenially and said, “I agree with your statement, Captain, but as I said, Sade will hardly risk angering The Courts further with another sabotage attempt on our C-Three ship.”

  It clawed at Heskan that, to this day, nobody wanted to call Sade’s treacherous actions what they truly were. He steeled himself for his next sentence, hoping his tone would take the sting from his decision. “I won’t be on the C-Three ship, Captain. I’m going to command the fleet from Dioscuri.”

  Nguyen’s jaw dropped open. His befuddled expression matched the tenor of his voice. “Bu—but, isn’t that my ship? It’s been my command for only a week.”

  Heskan leaned toward Nguyen and said apologetically, “I must lead from the front, Yon. It’s in my DNA and I need an ace in my pocket in the event that I’m killed in combat.” He pointed at the Seshafian officer. “If that comes to pass, you are the only one that could save the fleet. Everyone respects you; they’ll listen to you.” Heskan stared hard into the man’s eyes. “I need you on the C-Three ship, Yon. Seshafi needs you there.”

  Nguyen’s head lowered with the realization that his command had been taken from him. After interminable moments of silence, the senior officer looked to Heskan. “If that’s where she needs me, that’s where I shall be.”

  The major hurdle cleared, Heskan and his second went over the details of the upcoming week. The aggressive schedule was built in decision-tree fashion, with each day’s goals dependent on the milestones achieved during the previous day’s results. After several hours of discussion, Nguyen unslaved his datapad and exited the office. Minutes after his departure, a second knock at Heskan’s door revealed Commander Vernay.

  “I had your secretary page me when Nguyen left,” Vernay answered his unspoken question while leaning against the doorway. “How’d he take it?”

  “Better than I expected,” Heskan admitted. Although Nguyen was most certainly mired in the mores of “old” corporate warfare, the man’s loyalty and professionalism seemed unquestionable.

  Vernay’s expression soured lightly. “So he didn’t talk some common sense into you?” She stated the question as fact as she walked into the office.

  “He tried. Fortunately, Brevic valor prevailed,” Heskan joked to break the tension. “Honestly, Stacy. If you were in my position, would you sit out the battle, safely ensconced inside the C-Three ship, five light-minutes away, while your people took all the risks?”

  Vernay’s blue eyes turned downcast briefly before rising again to meet him. “Yes, I believe I would. I wouldn’t like it but I’d accept that as fleet commander, my proper place is not on the front line. It’s been that way for a long time.”

  “But it’s not the Brevic way,” Heskan insisted. “Besides, Stacy, I’m not a fleet commander at heart! I’m just a ship captain. Less than two years ago, I was commanding a fifty-hand corvette!” Heskan smiled shyly. “Covington told me the Board is considering promoting me to rear admiral with the title of baron if we successfully defend Seshafi.” He shook his head while looking away. “We both know that’s not who I am. I’m not some baron-admiral who decides the fate of star systems.”

  Vernay strode purposefully to the front of Heskan’s desk and lowered herself to place her hands on its surface. Her positioning put her at direct eye level with the seated fleet commander. “Garrett, you are a corvette captain, you are a fleet commander and you are a man whose destiny does impact an entire star system.” Glistening, cerulean eyes pierced Heskan as much as the conviction in her voice. “Whether you wish to be or not, you are those things and much more. Accept that you are special, Garrett. Embrace it.”

  Gooseflesh broke over Heskan at the words of the woman who had stood steadfastly by him the past year and a half. In the silence that followed, the depth of her eyes threatened to bathe him not only in profound wisdom but also in a comforting embrace. He rocked back slightly, overpowered by the moment. “Stacy, where would I be without you?”

  The spell broken, Vernay grinned and answered, “Back in the Republic?”

  Chapter 6

  “Her magazine is full now, sir,” Lieutenant Commander Cottineau confirmed to Dioscuri’s newest captain. He approached the door to the bridge and stopped short to permit Heskan to enter first.

  Heskan had met Mike Cottineau several times during the final fitting of the line ship but never as his first officer. The lieutenant commander seemed capable enough, although understandably surprised at the news that the fleet commander would not only be directing the actions of the fleet but also the fleet’s flagship. Heskan had reviewed Cottineau’s naval record thoroughly before coming aboard and was satisfied with what he found. The Seshafian had seen action in two battles involving IaCom. Starting with the more distant one, nearly a decade ago, IaCom and AmyraCorp had allied together to fight against Unadex. It was that battle that cemented Admiral Cooke’s place in history by outmaneuvering the opposing Unadex line ships and “crossing the spacial-T” with predictably catastrophic results for the enemy. Until that momentous day on 0921.987, no fleet had successfully accomplished the decisive maneuver in over a generation of war. Even Unadex ship captains had blinked their running lights in salute to Cooke’s incredible display of spacemanship. Back then, Cottineau had been a mere sub-lieutenant witnessing history from behind a weapons panel. More recently, Cottineau commanded the snow, Tigre, in Seshafi’s defensive action against IaCom two years ago.

  In that skirmish, Cooke specifically cited Cottineau’s bravery in fighting his ship to a second pass despite “fierce and most distressing damage received in the first tilt.” Heskan had casually discussed Cottineau’s capabilities with Captain Nguyen, who himself captained the brig, Hawk, during that engagement. Everything pointed to a sailor with the capacity to step in and command Dioscuri if Heskan needed to focus on the fleet.

  “The latest delivery gives us a full complement of Javelin Nines, exactly what Sade will have,” Cottineau added. “Those missiles have a speed of point four-four-C with close to forty-five light-seconds worth of endurance.”

  “Slow,” Heskan muttered, “and with very short legs.”

  “We don’t want the Javelins flying too far and accidentally locking on to a civilian ship and any missiles that can move faster would take up too much space in our magazine,” Cottineau explained. “Besides, they’ll be going roughly three times faster than their target and even if they don’t hit, they’ll draw fire away from us.”

  Heskan grunted an acknowledgment as he stepped onto Dioscuri’s bridge. Like all space-vessel compartments, it was “just big enough.” No one called the bridge to attention—that had been Heskan’s first standing order after assuming command. Instead, Dioscuri’s second officer, Peyton Gentry, greeted the duo with a friendly, “Sirs.”

  Heskan acknowledged with a nod while waiting for Dioscuri’s weapons section commander to vacate the captain’s chair.

  “Ship status, WEPS?”

  Gentry smiled at the moniker as she moved toward her station. “Green across the board, Captain. She’s ready for full operations.”

  Although a Seshafian native might have disagreed, the rush to Dioscuri’s operational readiness had proceeded with measured order. The line ship’s newly installed captain had seen far greater, and more frenetic, pushes to achieve combat readiness in freshly launched naval ships.

  CDS Dioscuri was now the pride of Seshafi. A full, “triple-decker” second-rate line ship massing 8,430 tonnes, she boasted excellent defenses and state-of-the-art weapons. Like all modern line ships, her armament was concentrated solely on her starboard beam or “battle face.” The proud sh
ip’s four missile emplacements could salvo a quartet of missiles every forty-five seconds starting at a range of 45ls. These weapons alone ensured that nothing massing less than another line ship would dare sail against her. Two enormous dorsal turrets resided atop her third deck to comprise the heft of her directed-energy punch. Each massive turret housed twin Federation Maclex heavy lasers. For the inevitable knife fights common to corporate warfare, the line ship supplemented her four heavy lasers with three dual Lyle GP laser turrets on her lower deck and two additional dual GP turrets capping either end of her missile ports on her mid-deck. The four heavy lasers and ten GP lasers made her the equal of nearly any corporate line ship in the Lesser Magellanic Arm.

  Heskan seated himself and confirmed the second officer’s assertions with a quick glance at his chair arm panel. To his left, Cottineau mirrored Heskan’s actions from his own station. “We’ve got a busy day ahead of us,” Heskan said to no one in particular. Eight hours of planned exercises, he thought while running down the status of the fleet. His ships were already formed into their planned sections with Dioscuri leading a four-ship vanguard trailed by Ajax’s six-ship main. After several minutes of initializing the exercise program, their computer-simulated enemy appeared 10lm ahead of the fleet. Based on Sade’s order of battle, Heskan knew they would be facing twenty-eight ships ranging in size from a second-rate down to corvettes. While the exact composition of Wallace’s ship sections would remain a mystery until the day of the battle, Heskan assumed a nearly equal distribution of ships among three sections.

  Nguyen advised him that past a certain point, having vastly superior numbers in a fleet section was counterproductive in the line battles of corporate warfare. It limited the entire section’s maneuverability while providing little benefit, as the outnumbered opposing section usually sailed past engagement range before the trailing elements crossed its path. Instead, a fleet commander with grossly superior numbers usually placed the excess ships into a reserve that would be eligible to join any section that needed bolstering after a pass.

  Heskan divided the twenty-eight simulated adversaries into three sections of nine ships each with a reserve of a single corvette. The Saden vanguard held twice as many ships as Heskan’s own. It was shaping up to be a bloody day. Eight hours of being pounded by phantoms, he thought morosely.

  * * *

  “Six degrees starboard!” Commander Vernay barked as she premeditated where the two lines would reach their closest points on the tactical plot. Ajax’s navigator worked feverishly to determine the precise amount of thrust needed from each of the line ship’s sixteen thrusters. Precious seconds passed as calculations were made, inputted and adjusted. All the while, the captain glanced anxiously toward her first officer.

  Lieutenant Commander Ricot shrugged helplessly at Vernay before resuming his intense focus on the ship’s navigator, as if his concentration alone could shave seconds off Ajax’s response time to her captain’s order. After what felt like an eternity, the ship pushed her bulk to an orientation that would better present her batteries to the oncoming phantom enemies. Ricot looked back to his captain, intending to give her a more confident gaze but saw her head was already down and studying her chair arm console.

  Beginning with the first day of exercises, Ricot noticed that Commander Vernay opened an additional window on her console and duplicated Ajax’s weapons control panel. While the display did not contain an override feature that would grant her control over the ship’s batteries, it gave the enigmatic captain the same view as Ajax’s weapons officer. For the duration of the week, she had spent considerable time with her nose in those displays. It worried Ricot. Neither Commodore Johnston nor Captain Nguyen had ever shown such a keen interest in such minutia. Instead, they had focused their attention on commanding Ajax and coordinating with Admiral Cooke. Ricot tried to alleviate his fears by telling himself that Hollaran captains fight their ships differently than Seshafians, but the fact that Ajax’s new captain appeared unwilling to trust her juniors after the long week of exercises filled Ricot with dread.

  The battle pass played out with the main section taking moderate damage from the computer-generated Saden counterpart. Like the majority of their passes, their overall fleet instructions up to the exchange had been well planned. Captain Heskan might be a bit bloodthirsty but he also seemed adept at placing his fleet sections into advantageous positions immediately before shots were fired. Lieutenant Skoglund, Ajax’s navigator, had successfully accomplished the last-second task of orienting the ship to her best facing in time for those shots even if Ricot wished it had been performed slightly faster. The hectic orders in the final moments were necessary because Ajax was concealing her true target. During the brief time the opposing sections passed close enough to trade fire, Ajax turned slightly to attack not the Saden line ship she faced directly but the brig trailing it. The fourth-rate had consistently combined fire with Falcon and Hawk to decimate the unfortunate Saden brig.

  The results of their most recent pass bore this result yet again. Trailing simulated fire and debris, the targeted Saden brig was a wreck. Additionally, the three Iron Brigade ships comprising the rest of Ajax’s section had united their fire against a Saden snow with similar, ruinous effect. In recompense, the simulated adversaries inflicted damage upon the ships of Seshafi’s main ranging from light to moderate. Ricot confirmed the damage estimated by their computers and came away smiling, pleased not only with Ajax’s performance but also with the opportunity to serve his captain an easy softball she could use to compliment the crew. “Not bad, eh, Captain?”

  “We missed again with our first Maclex shots, Sam,” came the unyielding reply.

  Ricot winced slightly at the observation as he looked away from the demanding ship captain and toward her bosun. The calm, grey-haired master chief petty officer seemed to be the “yin” to the fiery captain’s “yang.” Ricot took a moment to consider his response and finally admitted, “Yes we did, Captain. They’re tough ones though. That brig is a high deflection shot. We’re just starting our thrust and there’s no time to coordinate between the helm and the gunners.” He pointed at the main wall screen. “They hit with everything after that.”

  Ricot saw the “little” captain with a big attitude open her mouth, pause and then close it again. She typed rapidly on her datapad.

  Speakers inside Ricot’s shocksuit helmet crackled to life. “Attention all ships, this is Captain Heskan. Good work on that last pass. We’ve punished our computer foes for long enough, I think.”

  Ricot saw grins break out over the bridge at their fleet commander’s praise.

  “The next time we do it,” the reassuring voice continued, “it’ll be for real. Let’s assume caravan formation and head back home. I want everyone to get a good night’s rest. All ships will be ready to form up tomorrow at zero-eight-hundred when we will begin to make way for Sade. Try to get some rest, speak with your loved ones and come back tomorrow locked and loaded. Ship captains will conference with me tonight at twenty-hundred hours. Heskan out.”

  “We can’t afford to waste our shots, Commander Ricot.”

  Ricot cringed again. “I agree, ma’am. We’re doing everything we can to hit. In fact, our first heavy laser barrage hits more often than not—”

  “I don’t want more often than not, Sam! I want hits!” Vernay snapped. The woman’s hands flew over her console and the bridge’s wall screen flickered before producing the Seshafian fleet status display. Vernay used her index finger to draw a huge, sloppy circle around the fleet’s vanguard. “Look at them, everyone!” Her voice boomed with an anger that seemed out of place. “Our section may be getting off lightly but those four ships in the vanguard are getting pulverized. They’re paying the piper for our laser shots.”

  Ricot heard the woman pound at her controls, causing the fleet status display to zoom inward to Dioscuri. The second-rate boasted true shield generators, like most modern line ships, but there had been several spot failings in her defens
es.

  “How many people are dead on Dioscuri, Sam?” Vernay asked vehemently before breaking eye contact. She snarled as she pointed at Pruette sitting at the weapons station with a malevolent gaze that threatened to bore a hole straight through him. “Do you want me to tell those sailors that they have to sacrifice their lives even though we can’t be troubled to aim our opening salvo?”

  Ricot watched the midshipman deflate before his eyes. The man shook his head feebly, “No, ma’am. I’m sorry.”

  Ricot turned back to the ranting ship captain to see if the pitiful attempt at appeasement was successful. “Don’t be sorry, Tyler!” Vernay was now standing. Despite her physical stature, her presence filled the room. “Be accurate!” she spat before spinning in place and stomping out of the compartment.

  In her absence, Ricot felt the entire bridge staring at him, including Chief Brown, and quickly realized the chief’s astonished expression matched the rest of the crew’s. “Lieutenant Skoglund, you have the bridge. Please assume our place in the formation.”

  Ricot heard the senior lieutenant’s acknowledgment as he hastily made way for the bridge doors.

  He did not have far to run; Commander Vernay was standing alone in the corridor just outside the bridge with her arms folded tight.

  “We must make every shot count, Sam,” she said in a more measured tone. She was staring at the deck. “I know we can’t protect the sailors in our vanguard and that some of them are going to die in the pass so we must honor their sacrifice with solid hits, dammit. They deserve that much, at least.”

  Inwardly, Ricot relaxed slightly, relieved that his captain had cooled off. Since her arrival to Ajax a little over three weeks ago, she had started out docile enough but with combat looming, it seemed as if nothing accomplished aboard Ajax was done fast enough or good enough to the captain’s liking. Ricot’s first thought the day he looked upon his new captain after nearly running her down was, “Aw, she’s adorable.” He shook his head now at the snap-judgment. Sure, Commander Stacy Vernay’s small stature and natural beauty made her easy to underestimate, but her talent, focus, and experience were undeniable. She was an adorable, miniature, unstoppable brawler that pulled no punches against the crew regardless of how battered they had become.