“You have five minutes before we open fire,” the Redcom said, glaring ahead. “We await your response.”
Adolphus looked carefully at the man. He had similar facial features to his legendary father’s, though his light-brown hair was neatly trimmed, and he did not sport the old Commodore’s distinguished muttonchop whiskers. Escobar’s hard eyes stared ahead like weapon beams. He looked confident, arrogant, completely in charge. But he had hollow shadows under his eyes, a gaunt and shaky look. Despite his bravado, he carried an aura of desperation, like brittle glass. Everyone on the enemy bridge was thin and stooped over, with haunted eyes, like images he had seen of torture victims.
Sophie saw it, too. “Look at him, and the other officers on the bridge! They’re all starving.”
Without activating his own codecall, the General stared and pondered. This revelation changed everything. “Let them eat silence for a few minutes.”
The answers now crystallized, and Adolphus guessed what must have occurred. This surprise ambush was not part of a long-standing, devious plan at all. When the iperion path was cut, the lost fleet had indeed been stranded—just as the Urvanciks had determined. But they had gone so far astray that the General’s search parties had not been able to locate them. They had limped their way here, using the last gasps of their resources; only four of the five stringline haulers had made it.
Although he admired the younger Hallholme for the impossible decisions he must have made just to keep his fleet alive for so long, Adolphus realized that every person aboard those ominous battleships had to be weak from malnutrition, desperate, at the ragged end. Before his ships fired a single shot at them, Redcom Hallholme had already lost 30 percent of his fleet.
Adolphus could use that.
Before he responded to the ultimatum, Adolphus made preparations. He had the kitchen staff deliver a platter of pastries, cheese, and hard-boiled eggs, an impromptu breakfast feast. Only when he had the extravagant food spread out before him did he activate his own codecall screen; for good measure, to make certain everyone aboard the seventy attacking ships saw him, he expanded the signal to include all standard Constellation military frequencies.
When he finally answered, he gave a bright grin. “Greetings, Red Commodore. You are a long way from Sonjeera.” He picked up one of the pastries, took a slow bite.
“Your actions forced us to come, General,” Escobar said. “I have orders from Diadem Michella to accept your immediate surrender. All of your assets are forfeit.”
“You don’t look well, Mr. Hallholme.”
The Redcom jerked back, looked around. A female officer whispered in his ear, apparently telling him that their enemy could see the inside of their ship. Hallholme scowled, stared straight at the screen. In the background, his officers struggled to find the work-around to shut off the images.
“In fact,” Adolphus added, “your entire bridge crew looks ragged and hungry.” He casually nibbled on his pastry. “You have intruded upon my territory and I’m afraid it won’t be possible for us to surrender.” He took a sip of kiafa, leaned forward. “I will, however, accept your surrender.”
“Don’t be foolish, General. We have twice as many ships as you do!”
Adolphus’s gaze did not waver, nor did he quibble with Escobar’s exaggeration. “I see your ragtag ships, and I’m convinced you’re out of supplies. How long has it been since your crew has had a decent meal? And how are your power supplies? Life-support reserves? Are your weapons at full capacity? Your fuel levels must be very low.”
“After we take over this planet in the name of the Diadem,” Escobar said, struggling to find his defiance, “we’ll confiscate what we need from your stockpiles.”
“You are welcome to try,” Adolphus said with a shrug. “Although I’d rather you saw reason. You may have a handful more ships, but my well-armed fleet is more than a match for yours. We have plenty of weapons, all systems fully powered, and we’re on our home territory.” He smiled again, twisting the verbal knife. “And my people are well fed, well rested, and well trained, at the peak of their abilities. Can you say the same for your crew?”
He raised his eyebrows. When his rival fumbled for words, Adolphus continued, “I promise we’ll put up a hell of a fight, and we’ll wear you down. We can hold you off, and it’ll be a stalemate for at least a week or two. Are your crewmembers prepared to wait that long?”
Adolphus picked up a wedge of trimmed melon, took a bite, then tossed aside the half-finished slice. “I was a military officer in the Constellation, Redcom—just like you. I went through the Aeroc Academy, excelled in my training. I only turned against the corrupt government when they cheated me out of my rank and tried to kill me and other second-string nobles, just so someone could steal our holdings. How is my family estate on Qiorfu, by the way, Redcom? I hope the Hallholmes are taking good care of it for me.”
“The Hallholme estate is doing well, General, and I look forward to returning to it after we wrap up this matter. You are a traitor to the Diadem, a condemned rebel.”
“Actually, I’m a man of honor,” Adolphus said, calmly. “No matter how Constellation propaganda distorts what happened during the rebellion, the most inept historian can study my pattern of decisions and the ethical basis on which I made them. I gave my word, and I abided by it, and now I have an obligation to my people. Allow me to extend a generous offer to your crew. We will feed all of you and keep you safe. Those who need medical attention will receive it. You will be accorded fair treatment as prisoners of war until we resolve this conflict with the Constellation.”
Escobar’s angry laugh held an undertone of anxiety. “If you won’t surrender, General, I’ll order my forces to destroy you.”
“Go ahead and try if you think you can pull it off,” Adolphus said as he ate another pastry. “All of our ships have full larders, and we can wait you out. In a week or two I might extend my offer of food and shelter again.”
He switched off the codecall.
* * *
Escobar was shocked when two of his Constellation frigates, the most desperate warships with the most unruly crews, surged past his flagship. They opened fire without orders, strafing the General’s defensive vessels in orbit. The attack was sudden and unplanned, but vigorous.
“Hold your fire! Return to position!” Escobar shouted. “I gave no command—”
Two of the Hellhole defenders were damaged in the initial flurry, but the rest opened fire on the advancing frigates. Within minutes, the impetuous Constellation ships were gutted, leaking air into space. Their fuel chambers reached critical levels, and engines detonated in chain reactions, destroying both vessels.
Carrington snapped, “The die is cast, Redcom. Are you going to just stare at the screen?”
Escobar lurched to his feet. “Advance! Full attack formation! We need to cripple the General’s defenses.”
His fleet spread out to engage independent targets, but it was a pell-mell effort, following none of the plans they had reviewed. Fighter craft dropped out of the warship launching bays and swept like tiny hornets in frantic attack sorties.
Carrington watched with sour displeasure on her face. “This is sloppy, Redcom. Very sloppy.”
The DZ Defense Force formed a neat line to face them and opened fire, concentrating their weapons on one incoming ship after another. A dozen previously unnoticed automated weapons platforms targeted the Constellation vessels. As the front lines surged forward in a chaotic scramble, two more of Escobar’s ships were ripped apart in space.
The Constellation soldiers had suffered months of deprivation, and most of them had just been revived from induced comas; they’d had little time to assess their situation. Five of the Constellation ships raced forward, and they suddenly began transmitting messages—to the planet. “We accept your offer, General Adolphus. We will not fire on your ships, if you accept our surrender and provide food to our crews.”
In shock, Escobar called to the rest of his ships.
“Stop those vessels! Cripple them, destroy them if you must! We can’t let the General seize any portion of our fleet!”
Like the wind shifting abruptly in a sudden squall, four more Constellation warships broadcast their surrender and raced toward the DZ Defense ships, their own weapons systems shut down. A few loyal Constellation vessels opened fire on the deserters, who shot back. The General’s well-disciplined defenders were careful to target only the aggressors while protecting the surrendering enemy vessels with their own shields.
Escobar yelled across the fleet-wide channel, “Remain at your posts! Anyone who communicates with the enemy will be court-martialed and executed in the name of the Diadem.”
The General responded over the open codecall. “Any member of the invasion fleet who surrenders to me will be given amnesty and sanctuary in the Deep Zone. Under our protection, you have nothing to fear from the Crown Jewels.”
“They need to fear me,” Escobar said.
On the bridge, Bolton said privately, “Our crew is mad with hunger, Redcom. They’ve waited too long and can’t stomach the possibility of a long siege, if that’s what it takes for victory.”
In arrogant response to Escobar’s threat, one of the deserting frigates took a potshot at the Diadem’s Glory, penetrating the hull and venting one deck to space. Then the frigate accelerated away, broadcasting its surrender.
Escobar watched his ships desert, one after another. His commands sounded desperate and pathetic to his own ears. No one even seemed to be listening to him. Ship after ship deactivated their weapons and accepted the General’s offer. His fleet was crumbling!
Standing next to him on the flagship’s bridge, Bolton stated the obvious. “There is no way we can win this engagement, Redcom. It’s your job to salvage the situation and save as many of us as you can. Perhaps Keana can help with the negotiations?”
Escobar glared at him, sputtered, “I will never surrender, Major! I have orders from—”
“We’ve lost, Redcom.”
Gail Carrington pushed Bolton’s comment even further. She spoke in a withering, disgusted voice. “It’s worse than a loss. You’ve failed.”
76
When the secondary attack group finally reached Buktu after a painstaking progression, the old Commodore was impressed with what the remote colony had accomplished.
The stringline hauler decelerated at the end of the last verified segment of the fading iperion path. Scouts had already informed Percival that this next jump would be the final one, and they would reach the frozen planetoid.
Percival’s recon pilots had delivered surveillance images of Buktu’s industrial facilities, the strip-mining operations on the small frozen moon, the fuel stations, the ice-extraction factories, and the storage depots in orbit. Such intelligence allowed the experienced Commodore to develop an attack plan, which he distributed to every subcommander. His warships were ready to move; the fighter pilots drilled in their simulators, anxious to launch as soon as they arrived at the terminus ring of the long-abandoned iperion path. It was going to be a textbook operation.
As the hauler slowed at the end of the line, the battleships detached from their docking clamps; launching bays disgorged two hundred small fighters, which soared like angry wasps toward the Buktu facilities.
Duff Adkins stood next to the Commodore, shaking his head at the screen. “If I were stuck trying to eke out a living in a squalid place like that, I’d welcome an invasion from the Crown Jewels. I would have been on the first ship back home—but these people stayed.”
“Buktu is no man’s idea of a paradise,” Percival admitted. “That’s why the Diadem decommissioned the stringline. But that doesn’t mean they’re happy to see us.”
The old warrior stared at the extensive operations, the half-repaired ships in spacedock, the giant orbiting cylinders filled with spacedrive fuel extracted from the isotope-rich glacier fields.
Very little information about Buktu had been available over the past several years. The Diadem had expected the icy settlement to be no more than a ghost town, a desperate tragedy of colonists who could never survive in such an inhospitable place. But he realized that Diadem Michella had been oblivious to the unorthodox and illegal methods that pioneers would utilize under harsh enough circumstances.
“One must admire what they accomplished, Duff. It seems a shame that we have to ruin everything they’ve built over the years.”
Adkins frowned. “But we have our mission, sir! You’re not having second thoughts?”
“Regrets, Duff. Not second thoughts. This is just a stepping-stone on our way to General Adolphus, and a victory we are obligated to achieve.” He scratched his muttonchop whiskers and gave orders for the operation to commence.
Comm chatter from the Buktu facilities erupted in surprise and panic as soon as the military hauler arrived at the long-abandoned terminus. By then, Percival’s warships were already en route to their designated targets. Thirty small attack craft arrowed toward the strip-mining operations on the small moon, buzzing the giant machinery on the lunar surface. Another twenty fighters seized the orbiting fuel depots and the construction spacedocks full of half-finished spaceships.
The rest of the attack craft skimmed low over the planetoid’s surface, dropping thermal incinerators that exploded on the glacial expanse, melting circular craters into silver lakes that froze quickly. Giant columns of steam rose, and the heat radiated outward in ripples like a stone thrown into a pond. The spectacular explosions were meant to intimidate the people below rather than cause casualties.
Cruising around the planetoid, his scout ships located the stringline path that led to planet Hallholme. Several desperate Buktu ships rushed in to destroy the terminus ring, but the Commodore’s fighters cut them off. His first priority was to seize the new stringline connection—his back door to the enemy.
His strike force tightened the noose around Buktu and its moon. Gunners took their stations, all weapons ports loaded with high-powered energy projectiles. Percival knew his gunners were eager to take part, but he hoped they wouldn’t have to open fire with their more devastating weapons.
He reminded them over the codecall, “Target carefully. Keep collateral damage to an absolute minimum. This is just a way station—save your firepower for the General’s stronghold.”
Adkins looked at him. “You haven’t even called the Buktu facilities to request their surrender, sir.”
Percival shook his head. “Give them another few minutes to understand their situation. It’ll be easier to negotiate once they’ve given up.”
The fighters dropped more thermal incinerators onto the lunar facilities, which cracked the rock and ice. Percival had ordered the detonations to be targeted close enough to the industrial operations for the colonists to feel them, but no one should have been killed—or so he hoped.
Finally, he activated the broad-channel codecall and made his formal announcement. Earlier in his career, Percival had worried about the precise verbiage of his surrender demands. During the initial battles against Adolphus, he had scripted his words carefully, aware that the Diadem would replay his speeches for vast audiences. Now, although he was committed to accomplishing his mission, he didn’t give a damn about advancing his career. He just wanted to get the job done, and get it done well.
“This is Commodore Percival Hallholme. I warn you to take no aggressive action. Anyone who opens fire on our forces will be destroyed—and you can see that we have the firepower to back up our threat. Please do not make this any more difficult than necessary. I now control all Buktu facilities. No one will be harmed, if you cooperate.”
A string of defiant curses and insults rippled across the codecall channels. A small mining shuttle from the lunar operations accelerated toward the Constellation battleships and dumped its cargo of ore. Momentum carried the dispersing rocks toward Percival’s ships, but their shields deflected all but the largest projectiles.
Before the Commodore could give the order, one o
f the slightly damaged battleships blasted the mining shuttle. It was overkill, like firing a nuclear warhead at a fly, but he knew the response was necessary. Still, the small explosion was not frightening enough, so he issued further instructions to his fighters. “Blow up one of the fuel depots. Maybe that will shake some sense into them.”
High-energy projectiles detonated an orbiting cluster of tanks, and the volatile spacedrive fuel erupted like a nova. Waves of light rippled outward.
He waited a few moments in silence, then said, “Now, let me speak to Administrator Walfor.”
A blond man with a rectangular face and severe Nordic features appeared on the screen. “Ian Walfor isn’t here—he’s on another run. I’m Erik Anderlos, second in command.” He puffed out his chest. “You have no claim here. We’re an independent settlement. The Constellation cut all ties with us years ago and abandoned this colony—we can show you the documentary evidence. Diadem Michella washed her hands of us. And now she sends an invasion force?”
“You are allied with the rebel General Adolphus, and as such you stand charged with treason against the Constellation. We hereby commandeer these facilities for the Diadem’s war effort. Within the hour, you will submit a full list of personnel, military assets, and industrial operations.”
Anderlos crossed his arms over his chest and lifted his chin. “I will not!”
Percival sighed. “You’re fortunate I’m a man who believes in second chances, Mr. Anderlos, so I’ll give you the opportunity to reconsider. And if you still refuse, I will instruct my ships to blow up something else. Then I’ll ask again, and again, and each time, I’ll punctuate my demands with more destruction—and the regrettable deaths that will be associated with it. The process may take a bit of time, but we both know the end result. It all depends on how much destruction and death you want to witness before you give up.”
Hellhole Awakening Page 38