by Britt Ringel
Chase Fuller smiled jubilantly and started to speak but the bumpkin reporter he met earlier overpowered his question.
“I told you that you could never run far enough, Commander.”
Heskan’s eyes darted from Fuller and found Agent Jennings standing next to the dumbfounded media veteran.
Chapter 23
The deafening report of Jennings’ pistol punctuated Fuller’s high-pitched shriek of “He’s got a gun!” Heskan dropped behind the podium, twisting on his way down to place his back against the narrow column. A second report thundered through the room, concurrent with more screams of terror. The accompanying bullet penetrated completely through the lectern, sending splinters of material over Heskan’s right shoulder. Heart racing, Heskan turned awkwardly to his left, peering around his makeshift cover to assess his situation.
I’m screwed. Jennings was wrestling his way through the fleeing crowd and Heskan’s only avenue of escape was directly through the Brevic agent. Even more distressing, the pain that coursed through Heskan’s shoulder as he had turned bespoke of a grim reality: Jennings had already found his mark.
“The Republic never forgives a traitor, Garrett!” Jennings roared over the din. A third shot entered the podium, but did not pass through.
Heskan reached over his left shoulder to feel his upper back. It was sticky and wet. The confirmation of being shot increased his suffering exponentially. First bullet must have hit me up high and exited out my shoulder, he thought in a pain-filled stupor. Heskan tore open his service coat, looking for the entrance wound. A small circlet of red marred his white shirt just below his left clavicle. Resting patiently below the crimson disc was the butt of his P-52A. My God! I forgot I was armed! He shook his head. Get in the game, Garrett. He turned his head to his right and shouted, “What has Brewer promised you, Aaron?” While he waited for an answer, he slid the weapon out of the holster with a blood-covered hand.
Jennings snorted. “The old man doesn’t even know I’m here but Minister Fane promised me redemption if I eliminated you. I’m in no rush though, I want you to suffer.”
A fourth shot followed his statement. Heskan instantly felt a scalding iron touch his lower back. Hiding here is a death sentence but I’m not sure I can even get to my feet. He searched his side of the room desperately for an answer. As soon as I move from behind the podium, he’ll kill me. I’m going to have to let him come to me.
The room had grown empty and silent. “You still alive?” Jennings taunted.
Don’t say anything. Let him wonder. “Just peachy,” Heskan heard himself answer.
“Yeah. I can see your blood,” the agent said smugly. “Bet you regret not killing me now.”
“A little bit,” Heskan admitted. “How do you expect to escape from this ship, Aaron?” Heskan double-checked his pistol and remembered that he had holstered it without charging it. “I always knew you were a lapdog but I didn’t realize you were a suicidal one.” His left arm refused to move, forcing him to transfer the pistol to his left hand and use his right to pull back the slide slowly. Once fully back, he let the slide ease silently forward to chamber the first round. The incredible effort required for such a simple action baffled Heskan. His breath was coming in gasps.
“I’m not escaping,” Jennings answered. “In fact, after I empty my pistol into you, I’m placing it on the deck and surrendering.”
Jennings’ voice was alarmingly close. Heskan shifted the pistol back to his badly shaking primary hand. The slide of the weapon was streaked in red. He’s circling around now, I think to my right, he guessed while ensuring the slide had travelled fully forward and the gun was in battery. Heskan swallowed to help steady his voice. This is it. “So you’re incarcerated for the rest of your life? That’s what you call redemption?”
Jennings laughed maniacally. His voice was practically on top of Heskan. “Fane promised me a quick extradition back to the Republic. I’ve been told my trial there will be—”
The barks from Heskan’s pistol came so rapidly that they blurred into one extended, thunderous boom.
When Jennings’ leg had come into view, Heskan had been shocked to find the assassin a scant three meters from him. At such proximity, Heskan had started firing before he had even fully extended the weapon from his body. The recoil of the 8mm pistol was negligible and Heskan had been able to subdue the bucking weapon to place the front sight briefly over Jennings’ torso. By the time the pistol’s slide locked back, empty, his target was no longer upright. Beyond the smoking barrel, Agent Jennings lay on his side at the deck.
“You talk too much, Aaron,” Heskan declared to no one. He brought a blood-slicked thumb to the slide release but struggled with the stubborn lever briefly. After several attempts, the slide clacked forward and he pointed the weapon at Jennings’ still form. It may be empty but he won’t know that.
Heskan sat for what felt like an eternity, leaning against the bullet-ridden lectern before he heard salvation approaching. He lowered his weapon to the deck and waited until Seshafian marines, rifles at the ready, circled around his podium. It was the honor guard from the bridge. Ears still ringing from the gunfight, he almost shouted his words. “I think he’s dead but I’ve been hit too.”
“Medic!” a marine bellowed instantly. “Get us a medic!” The horrified look on his face sent shivers down Heskan’s spine.
The marine assisted Heskan completely down onto the floor only to have the first medic at the scene prop him back up and onto his side. A jumble of medical terms spewed from the technician’s mouth as he felt his service coat being cut away from him. It cost me a fortune to tailor that, he thought crazily as he groaned. As the adrenalin wore off, the pain kicked into full force. In the background, he heard a medic telling the infirmary to prepare a medical bed for surgery.
“Wait,” Heskan said while holding up his right hand. “You can’t operate on me. I’ve got a battle to fight.”
“Sir,” the medic said direly. He pressed his hand to the wet floor and brought it up to Heskan’s face. It was dark red. “This is you,” he said, waving his hand. “You’ve been shot twice. One went all the way through your shoulder. The other partially penetrated your lower back. You need surgery.”
I have to lead the battle, Heskan thought frantically. Nguyen doesn’t have the timing down. Heskan looked at the medic. The man appeared to be leaning at a forty-five degree angle. Heskan felt his head beginning to wobble.
* * *
“He’s what?” Commodore Cohen’s face rapidly drained of color. The tactician reached out to his console to steady himself. “Yes, I understand,” he finally answered into his mic. Cohen stared blankly at the holo-tank before ordering, “Erika, open the command channel.”
The man nervously pulled at his collar before announcing, “Attention, Seshafi defense fleet. By order of Admiral Heskan, command of the fleet will pass to Captain Nguyen.”
Stunned expressions filled each of the fourteen panels on the communications screen.
“What happened to Admiral Heskan,” Commander Vernay demanded under a rapidly furrowing brow.
“He’s been shot,” Cohen answered in lingering disbelief.
“Saden bastards!” Vernay spat furiously. The commander’s face flushed a dark crimson. “I’m killing them all! How bad is Garrett?”
Cohen held up a hand to stem the flood from Vernay. “Commander, the admiral’s instructions were to inform you that it was a person named Aaron Jennings. Apparently, the admiral knew the attacker.”
Vernay’s jaw dropped at the news. After a moment, she closed her mouth and asked through gritted teeth, “What’s Jennings’ status?”
“Quite dead.”
A single, spiteful nod was her only reply.
An ashen Captain Nguyen asked, “Was there anything further from the baron?”
“Yes,” Cohen answered. “He ordered me to tell you to give Wallace absolutely nothing during negotiations and that it was vital the fleet carries out the maneuv
ering plan precisely as we’ve practiced these weeks.”
“I… I understand,” Nguyen acknowledged.
“Commodore,” Vernay interrupted. Her insistent voice spoke deliberately. “Is Garrett Heskan going to be all right?” Cohen judged from the woman’s fraught expression that her composure balanced on a knife’s edge.
“I don’t know,” he said. He looked at Nguyen’s panel. “Captain, Admiral Wallace has already broken inside ten light-minutes. He’s undoubtedly waiting for a message from us. We also must give him our updated order of battle. I have it prepared; shall I send it?”
Nguyen began to nod but stopped. “No. Admiral Heskan said to give them nothing.”
“Surely he wasn’t referring to the order of battle. Sir, by corporate conflict laws, we must give him the most accurate order of battle possible… we can’t break the law.”
Nguyen stared blankly at the screen as he weighed his options. Finally, he answered, “No, Commodore. I’m following my orders as given to me. Now, record the following and send.” Nguyen cleared his throat and stared directly into his bridge camera. “Seshafi welcomes your fleet to our system, Viscount. I apologize for the delay in our greeting but we’ve experienced some difficulties. I beg your forgiveness. As the aggressing officer would you care to open negotiations or shall you defer?” After several seconds, Nguyen ordered, “Send that, Commodore, and route his reply to me when we receive it.” He then addressed his ship captains. “For now, we’ll hold at the rally point. We have fifty-five minutes before hostilities commence but we’ll be initiating pre-combat runs shortly. Nguyen out.”
* * *
“Very peculiar,” Wallace commented.
“What does it mean, Admiral?”
“Perhaps, Damien, Seshafi has had enough of the outlander,” Wallace theorized. “I know Yon Nguyen. He’s a traditionalist.”
Commodore Ladd gestured toward their holo-tank. “Well, his fleet’s composition could hardly be considered traditional.”
Wallace nodded agreement but it was the powerful man standing next to him that answered. “It’s clear that they’re desperate,” Archduke Dunmore observed. He pointed toward the three freighters holding near a corvette. “They can’t possibly be planning to place those civilian ships into the line.”
“Will they even offer us a single pass?” Ladd wondered.
“It will be the end of them if they do,” Wallace stated boldly. “But Yon won’t let it come to that. He knows there’s no honor to be found in a slaughter.” He raised a finger upward. “Record.”
Once Wallace had straightened his red coat, he began. “Thank you for your welcome, Yon. It is good to see you although rather unexpected. Am I to understand that Seshafi has decided to place a legitimate, accomplished commander in charge of their fleet? It warms my heart to see this. I am open to negotiation, Yon. I can see the state of your fleet and there’s no need to embarrass Sade’s brothers and sisters with pre-combat maneuvers. Our terms rest in the casus bellum but I will guarantee all titles of Seshafi’s peerage, save one, if you accept now.” Wallace motioned nonchalantly to his communications officer.
“Very gallant of you, Viscount,” his assistant said. “May we form up our sections, sir?”
Wallace considered the request and slowly nodded. “Very well. Our sailors have trained hard and they should, at least, have the honor of lining up for battle. It will give Yon an advance look at our formations but that hardly matters now.”
Wallace paced the bridge as his ships took their battle positions. There were no tricks hidden within his asymmetrical formations but plenty of opportunity for superior tactics. A line ship led each section. Triumph, Sade’s third-rate, had the honor of leading the vanguard while, predictably, Admiral Lane’s second-rate anchored the main. Courageux, the smallest of the Saden line ships, would command the rearguard. A single brig followed the line ships in each section, with the main enjoying a second brig behind its first. Snows rounded out the rest of the fleet.
While the main was seven ships strong, he had allocated the standard six ships to his rearguard. Upon hearing that Secure Solutions would not appear, Wallace had decided to use his vanguard as a light, skirmishing force to lure his opponent into the jaws of superior, trailing sections. He had known the plan could change based on how many ships Seshafi mustered, their order of battle was infuriatingly vague, but his initial formations offered him flexibility against a foe that might equal or outnumber him. Wallace held great dissatisfaction that his vanguard would only muster four ships. It was the regrettable consequence of Secure Solutions’ absence but shameful nonetheless. His vision blurred red at the thought of the privateer company even though now he knew his native fleet would be more than enough to carry the day. Wallace was confident of that. Still, attacking with less than a full complement of ships in each of his sections lacked dignity. He cast a hidden look of annoyance sideways at his CEO, realizing such was the price of rising up the military ranks in a small corporation. Resources were always at a premium. Taking AmyraCorp today would solve IaCom’s issues and his future fleets would reflect the new order.
“Their response, Admiral,” his assistant notified.
Yon Nguyen’s face appeared apologetic. “I regret to inform you that Seshafi cannot accept those terms, Admiral.”
Wallace waited for more from the short-statured man but no further statements came other than the Seshafian ships moving into their formations. He felt ire rising deep within him. “I expected better from a Seshafian,” he muttered and turned to Ladd. “Record,” he growled.
Wallace let his sour expression shine through his normally reserved manner. “You give me no choice, Yon, than to press forward.” He pointed at the recording camera and scolded, “You chose this, Captain. Not I. The slaughter that I will reap falls upon your shoulders, not mine. Negotiations are concluded. I will speak to you again only when you are prepared to submit entirely to your betters.” He gestured a cutting motion and stomped back to the holo-tank. “Bring our ships into line ahead; have them make their speed point one-three-C. Execute in thirty seconds.”
Saden vessels pivoted expertly in unison. Moments later, main drives glowed at the stern of each vessel. The gradual acceleration to just over a tenth the speed of light made the fleet’s movements appear deliberate and confident.
Across the 5lm expanse, the Seshafian fleet turned piecemeal before deciding upon a single heading. Twenty seconds later, the fleet rotated yet again to a slightly different course.
Wallace shook his head in disgust at the composition of his foes. “Look at that, Damien,” he said while pointing to the Seshafian rearguard.
“A corvette and the three freighters?” The tactician’s face paled. “Viscount, they can’t possibly mean to pit that against Courageux’s section.”
“Why would Nguyen insist upon this madness?” Wallace asked rhetorically. “And why did he place his only two line ships into the same section?”
“Isn’t the trailing line ship Ajax?” Dunmore asked.
“It is.”
Dunmore smiled darkly. “Don’t you see, Viscount? That’s the one commanded by an outlander. Vernay, I believe. Surely you remember how poorly she performed at Sade?”
Wallace dipped his head. “That is an excellent point, Archduke.” He looked back at the holo-tank and muttered, “Nguyen is a fool for not sacking that impertinent bitch. Damien, reposition Pernach from the rearguard to the van.”
The man looked at Wallace skeptically. “Viscount, that will hardly stop the slaughter…”
“Of course it won’t,” Wallace acknowledged matter-of-factly. “But if they wish this section of space to become an abattoir, then I shall accommodate them. Roll all our privateers into the vanguard. That will give us superior numbers in both the rear and van.”
“What of Renown, sir? Will we permit a brig to face Ajax?”
“Our Commander Tannault is more than a match for Ajax’s captain. She’ll most likely shy from decisive engag
ement anyway,” he prophesized. A devious smile spread across his face. “Besides, their main is going to be preoccupied.”
Chapter 24
The first two mock-combat passes were performed without fanfare. Nguyen elected to avoid any corrective maneuvers inside 50ls of the enemy to prevent the chaos that would be caused by forcing new orders on his sections while they prepared for their pass. As a result, the enemy fleets sailed within 3ls of each other on nearly reciprocal courses during both passes. The exchange of fire, had there been any, would have lasted a full fifty-three seconds, with sixteen of those seconds inside the knife-fighting range of GP lasers. Given the overwhelming superiority of Wallace’s fleet and the luxury of time to apply that firepower, it was evident that the Sadens would have easily shattered the Seshafians except, possibly, in the main. It had been a grim half hour and although only phantom shots had been fired during that period, it was clear to every spectator that Seshafi’s van and rear would soon be occupied by ghosts.
On the battle bridge, Commodore Cohen sank his face into his hands after witnessing the latest, disastrous combat run. “This isn’t going to work,” he muttered dejectedly.
“They’re swinging to port, Dennis,” Nguyen said over the command net. “Help me figure out how to get them to go starboard!”
Cohen took his hands away from his face and stared soberly at the facts. “Captain, maybe we should consider their terms. We’re going to have to accept them at some point anyway… we should do it before you’re all dead.”
“No,” Nguyen answered adamantly. “I’m not giving up.” He grimaced in frustration. “Now help me, Dennis. We need the Saden fleet to go this way and they aren’t following the plan.”
A shaky, though confident voice carried through Cohen’s bridge. “Reverse your course, Yon.”
Every head on the battle bridge jerked toward the entrance. Standing at the portal, assisted by a man in medical scrubs, was Heskan.