by Britt Ringel
Upon reviewing the new protocols, Heskan admitted that a repeat performance by the saboteurs of Seshafi seemed remote in the extreme. The added measures made him more self-conscious about wearing his P-52A pistol during the initial exercises but he had remained resolute in donning it, if only to demonstrate that security was not to be taken lightly. Believing his point made, Heskan eventually exchanged the standard hip holster for a shoulder holster that disappeared conveniently under his dark blue service coat. The concealment reduced his apprehension about appearing paranoid but did little to diminish the physical discomfort that came with wearing a sidearm. It was still unwieldy despite the small size. The harness felt tight and made him sweat even more inside the heavy service coat. It was also restrictive. Heskan flexed his shoulders to remove some of the strain but felt the straps dig in further.
“Ship count, please,” Cohen ordered as his assistant adjusted settings on the holo-tank.
Commodore Dennis Cohen was a non-line officer, holding a commission that recognized his status as an officer of the Seshafian Navy but prevented him from exercising general command authority. In essence, he held all the rights and privileges of any Seshafian commodore but the chain of fleet command did not pass through him. This restriction freed individuals such as Cohen from the standard, general requirements of line officers and gave them more time to gain proficiency within their specialty, be it medicine, law or, in Cohen’s case, tactics. Cohen’s relative inexperience was yet another disadvantage Seshafi faced. Before serving at Nguyen’s side on the C-3 ship during the previous battle, Cohen was but a professor of line theory at the Seshafian War Academy. The navy’s brightest tacticians had been decimated in the stroke that killed Admiral Cooke.
The holographic tank, three meters by two meters by two meters, dominated the center of the battle bridge. A dais ran around the tank with the commander’s position along the length of its starboard side. Next to Heskan’s position was a bank of control consoles that could manipulate the holo-tank into the clearest possible picture of the ships throughout the battlespace. Along the perimeter were communications stations ready to issue the commander’s orders at a moment’s notice.
Cohen stared hard at the tank before asking tersely, “Is that all of them?”
De Haas searched her own screen before answering tepidly, “I believe so. Let me recount the disturbances, Commodore. One moment.”
Seventeen holographic ships had sprung from the ether inside the tank. IaCom’s three line ships were immediately distinguishable from the rest by their size and position. Admiral Lane’s second-rate, Formidable, led the procession like a warrior eager for redemption. Lane’s single defeat, in a career burgeoning with victories, had come inside this star system.
Differentiating between brig and snow was harder for Heskan’s eyes. The Saden fleet was 43lm from his own and the resolution of the incoming optics was relatively poor. He mentally counted the larger holograms but the total was coming up short. Four brigs that I can see… He squinted at the tank, searching in vain for more. “Where are the rest of his ships?” he asked no one in particular.
“Seventeen discrete tunnel disturbances,” De Haas stated confidently.
“Keep your optical tagged on the tunnel point, Lieutenant,” Cohen ordered. “Admiral, I count three line ships, four brigs and ten snows.”
“Concur,” De Haas added from her station.
Did Wallace mislead us on his order of battle? Surely, he must have known we wouldn’t submit to any terms before seeing his ships in-system. Heskan tore his eyes away from the holo-tank. A wild thought entered his mind. Unless… “Commodore, highlight the ships belonging to Secure Solutions.”
Cohen fiddled with the tank’s controls. “It’s a bit difficult at this range, Admiral, but let me see who I can find.”
Five minutes later, Heskan had his answer.
“None, sir,” Cohen said in disbelief. “I can’t find a single ship that fits a Secure Solutions profile. Did you hear word of them pulling out from the conflict?”
Heskan’s hearty chuckle served only to further confuse his advisor. “My gut tells me they didn’t pull themselves out as much as they were pulled out unwillingly.”
A blank stare from Cohen prompted Heskan to add, “It’s possible they’ve been delayed by the Commonwealth.”
Skeptical expressions around the bridge greeted Heskan’s hypothesis. De Haas finally asked what everyone was thinking. “Admiral, why would the Commonwealth risk its relationship with Secure Solutions and IaCom to do something like that? The Hollaran government remains strictly neutral in corporate conflicts.”
“If my guess is correct, Erika,” Heskan answered with a wry smile, “I don’t think this was the action of the Hollaran government but more the action of a single komandor.”
Cohen struggled briefly to fit the pieces together before deducing, “An old ally of yours, Admiral? Someone whom you fought alongside?”
Heskan snorted. “Alongside, in front of… with, against.” He glanced at the chronometer. “It’s complicated, Commodore, but we’ll know for certain in about forty minutes when Wallace sends us his updated order of battle.”
“When are we sending him ours?” Cohen asked.
“Not yet.”
“Corporate Skirmish Rule Two Thirty-two states we must send him an accurate update before hostilities commence,” Cohen pressed.
“We will. We’ll send it so it reaches him before the battle starts, Commodore. I trust you have one ready for release?”
“Yes, Baron. It’s ready to go now if you wish,” Cohen answered.
“Not yet,” Heskan repeated firmly but smiled again. That update of yours is going to need a bit of refinement.
“We’ve reached the battlespace, Admiral,” De Haas informed. “Shall I signal the fleet to enter the standard holding pattern?”
Heskan nodded. “Please, Erika. Do it exactly like we’ve practiced.” He looked at the slice of the holo-tank dedicated to his own fleet and added, “That is, if you can find a spot for us to park.” Several of the private civilian yachts were inside the exclusion zone, contrary to skirmish law. He grumbled at the inanity of it. How can they take such risks? This is infinite space, people! There’s plenty of room for everyone out here. Seshafi’s four patrol craft, normally supplemented with corvettes, had become overwhelmed by the amount of civilian traffic around the battlefield.
Cohen left his station to stand next to Heskan. “Admiral, I can monitor things here while you attend to the media.”
“They can wait,” Heskan said with a faint smile.
“But you’re expected, sir.”
“That’s nice. They can wait.”
Cohen shuddered visibly and motioned toward his mic. He discreetly mouthed, Visual and audio are being transmitted to them now.
“That’s nice,” Heskan repeated and cleared his throat. He dramatically pressed the tiny mic closer to his mouth. “I’m sure my friends in the media are willing to sacrifice a small portion of their Q-and-A time to ensure the brave Seshafian sailors have their commander at hand just hours before the battle.” He walked to a nearby console and sat down. “Besides, I have very important tasks that must be completed before I can speak to them.” He loaded up the Solitaire program.
* * *
Heskan had never enjoyed the ancient card game but it was a ubiquitous program found on every computer in the galaxy. He was well into his sixth game when Cohen interrupted, “Admiral, we have Wallace’s update.”
Heskan gratefully closed the gaming program and rose from his chair. “What’s it look like, Dennis?”
Cohen gestured toward the holo-tank. “Just like we counted, seventeen ships and none of them are from Secure Solutions.”
Heskan approached the display with a critical eye. During the last half hour, the Saden fleet had crept 7lm closer to the Ugrit tunnel point. He tapped commands into a console and estimated three hours remained until Wallace’s ships would reach a point 10lm fro
m the Seshafian fleet, the distance at which Heskan planned to open negotiations with Wallace. Although he had initially held out little expectation for a resolution, the reduction in Wallace’s forces promised to improve the chances. We’re still outmatched, Heskan told himself in an attempt to tap down his optimism. They have more ships and bigger ships. He looked over his fleet, orbiting near the tunnel point in a formation designed to mask its ultimate arrangement. Our eleven real warships against their seventeen, not to mention they have an extra line ship and another brig. He thought of his strategy and the preparations of his fleet. Still, this could work. Heskan mustered all his confidence and ordered, “Erika, disseminate Wallace’s order of battle to the fleet and patch me into the command channel.”
“Aye, sir,” De Haas replied after a beat. “You’re on.”
Heskan rested against the rail around the holo-tank and watched a two-meter wide screen divide into squares that held each of his ship captains’ faces. A linked screen below each portrait offered a detailed status of every captain’s vessel. Even in the heat of battle, the information on Heskan’s screen would be almost as accurate as the displays the captains would have on their own ships.
Heskan’s command ship was a scant 5ls behind his fleet, making real-time conversations possible. “Seshafi defense fleet, I’m sending Sade’s most recent order of battle to each of you. As you’ve no doubt already noticed, we have a pleasant surprise.”
He waited for the update to reach the fleet but enthusiastic expressions were already on the screen before him. Every captain had undoubtedly monitored the Saden fleet since its arrival in-system and all were well aware of their opponent’s composition.
“Admiral,” Truesworth asked during the pause, “where’s the rest of their fleet?”
Seconds later, Vernay answered the question for Heskan. “Jack, seriously? You haven’t noticed that Secure Solutions is a no-show? You grew up in SENS for God’s sake.”
Truesworth’s head ducked playfully between his shoulders on Heskan’s screen. “Whoops! I, uh, hadn’t noticed that.” The man’s cheeks flushed red. “We were a bit busy trying to figure out which line ship might lead their rearguard.”
“Admiral?” It was Lieutenant Baldwin. “Did you call in a few favors with your old privateer firm?”
The insinuation made Heskan bark out a quick laugh. He shook his head while smiling. “Jaynee, it’s more likely that someone in the Commonwealth did us a favor.”
Heskan heard Vernay mutter, “I will never understand that woman.”
“It’s all speculation right now, Jaynee,” Heskan added. “Probably always will be. What’s important is that while the odds still favor them, we’ve got a real chance if we fight hard.”
Lieutenant Covington nodded forcefully in agreement. “The van won’t let you down, sir. We may not last the entire fight but we’re going to take their section down with us.”
“I know you will, Clayton,” Heskan replied. He did his best to look at all of his ship captains at once. “Our plan hasn’t changed. Each of you knows your ship’s job. Do your job and we’ll win. The next signal you receive from me will be the one that disperses us into our battle line. Sights tight.”
“Barrels bright!” responded Vernay and Truesworth enthusiastically.
* * *
Lieutenant William Merriweather watched Falcon’s captain shake his head in annoyance.
“What was that nonsense, Will?” Commander Tannault asked him.
Merriweather shrugged. “Dunno, sir. Must have been a privateer saying.” He looked over the Saden order of battle and commented, “It’s nice to get some good news for a change.”
“Yeah,” Tannault responded apathetically before returning his attention to his chair arm console.
Earlier, Merriweather had walked by the captain’s chair ostensibly on his way to the sensor station but, in reality, to see what had engrossed the captain’s attention over the last hour. He had been unable to read the screen but discerned what might have been naval regulations. “Master Chief, was that a Secure Solutions saying?”
Chief Brown looked up from his station. “Yeah, sure,” he grunted. “L-T, we’re gonna want to depressurize the fire suppression system within the next thirty minutes so we can purge the lines before fillin’ them up again.”
Merriweather looked curiously at the master chief petty officer. “Why would we empty the lines only to refill them, Master Chief?”
The man smiled knowingly. “The ship’s atmosphere infiltrates the lines over time, L-T. By purgin’ them right before a battle, you can make the whole system two, maybe three percent more efficient an’ that can make a big difference.”
Merriweather felt his jaw drop open. “I’ve never heard that before. Why aren’t we taught that at the academy?” The old master chief’s transfer to Falcon had been unexpected but the grizzled veteran had been a boon to the ship’s war readiness since his first day aboard. The man sat at the OPS station on Falcon’s bridge, a decision made by the Operations section leader that demonstrated maturity well beyond that young sub-lieutenant’s grade.
“Just stuff you pick up over time,” Brown dismissed. “Now you know it too. Pass it on to yer next ship, L-T.”
Merriweather nodded to the master chief before requesting, “Captain, permission to depressurize?”
“What?” Tannault asked.
“The fire suppression lines, Captain. Permission to purge them?” Merriweather repeated with a look of concern. The captain had been distracted ever since his return from Nessus.
“Proceed,” Tannault granted before refocusing his attention to his console.
* * *
“Say that again?” Lieutenant Donovan asked over the rearguard’s channel.
“It goes, ‘sights tight,’ and then you say ‘barrels bright,’” Truesworth explained. “Just an old gunner’s expression from long ago.”
“Not bad,” Lieutenant Commander Soffe commented on the same frequency. He had heard other expressions uttered by his fighter crews but repeating them in the command channel would be inappropriate. Soffe had been expressly forbidden from referencing his charges before battle although anyone with an optical could clearly see his modified racing tender was different from the two pressed freighters orbiting with him.
Soffe was still coming to grips with his situation. When AV Nest dove into Seshafi nine hours ago from the Ugrit tunnel, Soffe and Sub-lieutenant Gables held a frank but vital encrypted conference with Seshafi’s fleet commander. Garrett Heskan’s reputation had preceded him. Given the events of the prior two skirmishes between Sade and Seshafi and, now, the breaking news detailing Heskan’s court appearance at Nessus, the admiral’s name was on the lips of every corporate citizen inside the LMA. Despite the fearsome and brutal reputation the man possessed, Soffe was shocked at the fleet commander’s affability and the almost familial relationship that existed between the admiral and Denise Gables, a mere sub-lieutenant.
“Commander Soffe,” the rearguard’s leader asked, “is Nest ready?”
“Plus Five, Lieutenant Truesworth,” Soffe responded cryptically. The relative ranks between himself and the section commander made for some awkward conversations. Soffe outranked Truesworth… by a great deal. However, Soffe understood and accepted that he and his vessel would be under the command of a vastly subordinate officer. Subordinate did not mean inferior though. Soffe had learned that much by watching the amazing displays of skill and courage from the fighter pilots over the last several months.
He rechecked the status board for his fighters. All of the pilots were in their cockpits, waiting for the launch order. The entire squadron of fifteen fighters could be scrambled in five minutes, probably less. That was a comforting fact. Less comforting was the position Nest would find herself in after the fighters were spaceborne. His modified tender, officially designated an auxiliary carrier, was pathetically equipped to enter a line battle. Unadex may have offered him a handsome sum to volunteer for this dut
y but he had to survive the battle in order to collect.
* * *
Commodore Cohen looked at Heskan penitently. “They’ll enter ten light-minutes in the next twenty minutes, Admiral.” His pleading eyes caught Heskan’s but darted away shamefully.
“I know,” Heskan relented. “You’re right. I’ve kept the media waiting long enough.” He sighed a final time before saying, “Dennis, hold down the fort while I’m gone, okay?”
“Yes, sir,” Cohen responded eagerly. “I’ll page you when they hit eleven light-minutes. We need you back in time to greet them.”
Heskan turned from the holo-tank and exited the bridge. The trip to the media room was a long one, its location two decks down from the bridge and near the bow of the schooner. As Heskan approached, a liaison exhaled in relief at the sight of him. The petty officer tapped commands into his datapad while saying, “The natives are very restless, Admiral. Poor PO Barber is fighting them off with a whip and a chair.”
Heskan chuckled lightly at the comment as he stopped at the door. “Sorry you guys had to cover for me.” He jerked his head toward the portal. “Can I go in?”
The liaison nodded. “Yes, sir. They’re ready for you.”
Heskan waved a hand over the door sensor and the portal slid open. From near the podium, he heard someone announce his presence.
Although packed with civilians, the compartment grew respectfully quiet. Heskan drew in a deep breath and moved into the room. A petty officer stood at attention near the podium and Heskan reflexively ordered, “At ease.” When he reached the lectern, he docked his datapad and looked around the room.
The compartment was jammed full. Members from every news outlet imaginable stood shoulder to shoulder and merged into a sea of faceless humanity. Once his datapad synched with a computer inside the podium, Heskan read the first name from the interview list. Wonderful, he sighed and looked for Chase Fuller, finding him standing just a few rows back. “Greetings, everyone. I’m sorry for the unavoidable delay. Since we’re running short on time, let me jump straight to the questions. Mr. Fuller?”