She slipped in among the subbies.
A tactical brief was projected in the air at the front of the room, and Katja immediately recognized the orbital battle she had just survived, the opposing lines located in the center and the Terran main body moving slowly away. A female voice that sounded vaguely familiar was narrating the action.
“…At this point Normandy is struggling to pull out of the gravity well, having lost three of her eight generators in the missile attack. One of the hostile frigates breaks away from the main battle line to pursue her, but this attack is thwarted by Rapier in a diving engagement.”
Katja watched as a single blue symbol moved swiftly across the tactical space. The display paused from time to time, manipulated by the speaker.
“The attack is successful. It forces the hostile to draw back and gives Normandy time to scramble FACs Cutlass and Sabre.” Admiring murmurs rippled through the collected officers. “Unfortunately, Rapier has taken heavy fire from the hostile, so the angle and speed of the dive are such that Rapier is unable to pull up. We lose tracking on her at this point.”
The brief continued, showing the continual pounding between the two battle lines and the slow escape of the Terran capital ships.
“For reasons we have yet to understand,” the speaker continued, “the hostile battle cruiser stops firing and seems to go inactive. Having lost their heavy fire support, the hostile frigates quickly lose their advantage and are beaten back by the Terran battle line. The hostiles withdraw and are not pursued. Command at this point is unsure if there are other threats elsewhere in the system, and wisely decides to keep the battle line close to the main body.”
The wardroom lights brightened amidst a flurry of low comments. A new female voice spoke, and all others silenced.
“Thank you, Lieutenant. And you were in Normandy during the attack?”
“No, ma’am,” the original speaker replied, “I was in Rapier.”
Breeze. The crowd stirred with new interest, and Katja watched in surprise as she pushed up out of her seat to face her audience.
“That was quite a maneuver you pulled,” a man commented. Katja recognized him as Thomas’s friend, the XO of Kristiansand.
Breeze assumed a look of suitable humility. “Thank you. I wish we could have done it better, but there was no time to think. I wish it was Lieutenant Commander Kane who was standing here giving this brief.”
The XO nodded. Breeze held his gaze for an extra moment.
“Why isn’t he here?” the other woman asked. “Why did only some of you get off the ship?”
Breeze took a slow breath, looking pained. “We’re still trying to piece together the sequence of events—forgive me, ma’am, but at this point I only know what I saw. I think our captain was killed before everyone could get to the escape pods. He stayed on the bridge to make sure we were all clear, and it seems as if we just ran out of time.”
Katja’s mouth fell open, but before she could find her voice the XO spoke again.
“I understand only about half of you were recovered,” he said. “What happened to the rest of the crew?”
“The pods were separated soon after ejection, and by the time both made it to Normandy we were only twelve of eighteen. As senior surviving officer, I’ll be conducting an investigation—”
“Thirteen, apparently,” Katja said, pushing forward slightly to get a clear view. “And I guess I’ll take over the investigation.”
She had the distinct satisfaction of witnessing something she had never seen before. Breeze was speechless. The intelligence officer’s mouth dropped open. Her blue eyes blinked several times.
All of Kristiansand’s officers turned and stared at Katja, including the captain and XO.
She nodded to the captain. “Thank you to your pilot, Jack, for bringing me on board, ma’am,” she said. “Lieutenant Emmes, Rapier’s strike officer.”
The captain met her gaze with interest. “Commander Avernell, Kristiansand. Welcome aboard, Lieutenant.”
“Yes,” Katja heard Breeze say quietly. “Thank God you’re alive.”
“Good to see you made it to safety,” Katja replied, turning. Breeze swallowed, but quickly composed herself.
“Likewise. If by a slightly roundabout route.”
“Lieutenant Emmes,” Avernell said, “I’m curious to know how your strike pod made it to Normandy without you.” She glanced at her watch. “But that’ll have to wait. We have a call with the commodore.”
Avernell rose, and the officers instinctively tried to stand to attention. In zero-g it was an amusing show of acrobatics. The captain pushed off for the forward door, her XO in tow.
Katja turned to Jack. “What commodore?”
Jack shrugged. “I dunno.”
One of the other subbies leaned in. “Admiral Macbeth was killed in the attack, so the senior surviving ship captain took command of the Expeditionary Force. Naturally, he assumed the rank of commodore.”
“Who is it?” Katja asked.
“Captain Chandler of Normandy.”
“Is the brigadier alive?”
The subbie shook his head. “Colonel Korolev, also Normandy, is in command of the brigade.”
Katja felt hollow inside as she grasped just how badly the EF had been hit by this attack. Normandy was incredibly lucky to have survived—with the entire Levantine Regiment aboard. She thought of her old friend Scott Lahko, and hoped he was still alive.
She motioned Jack in. “How quickly could you fly me back to Normandy?”
His expression was blank for a moment. “Uhh, as soon as it fits the opsked, I guess,” he said. “Are you in a hurry?”
Before she could answer, Breeze came gliding over through the crowd, her usual smile firmly in place. Katja barely had time to react as she was drawn into a sisterly embrace—held steady, but not too tight. She reflexively placed her hands against Breeze’s back, returning the gesture stiffly.
Breeze held her for another moment, then backed off.
“I’m so happy to see you,” she said. “We all thought you were dead. You’ll have to tell me all about it when we get back to Normandy.”
“I can tell you all about it right now.”
Breeze’s smile shifted into one of pained regret. “I can’t wait—but I have to sit in on the captain’s call with Commodore Chandler. I’ve been assigned to Normandy’s intelligence team for now.”
Jack floated up beside them. “Hey, Breeze, good to see you.”
Breeze glanced absently at the pilot, then looked back with sudden recognition. “Oh my God, Jack! I barely recognized you.”
He tried to smile. “Yeah, my mug’s a little ugly right now. But it’s nothing good drugs won’t cure. You look great, though.”
She gave him a radiant smile, and turned back to Katja.
“We’ll talk soon,” she said. “Gotta go.” With that she sidled past and exited the wardroom through the aft door.
Katja floated in place as Kristiansand’s officers filed out. She frowned, wondering who was looking after her surviving crew, struggling against a sudden feeling of helplessness. She needed more information, and she wasn’t going to get it standing around here.
“Hey, Lieutenant.”
She turned and saw Jack beckoning to her. He was floating next to another officer, somewhat older, who also sported pilot wings on his chest. She pushed her way over.
“I asked Stripes when we’re planning a run to Normandy,” Jack said, “and he says we’re scheduled to fly Breeze back in about thirty minutes. If you’re up to it, you can hitch a ride then.”
“Thanks,” she replied, and she smiled wryly. “It won’t take me long to pack—all I brought was my suit and my weapon.” She thought for a moment, then added, “Where is my weapon?”
Jack’s expression went blank, and he looked at Stripes.
The older pilot thought for a moment. “Probably in the small arms locker. I can take you there while Jack gets the bird ready to fly.”
/> He gave Jack a pointed look. The subbie stared blankly back for a moment, then seemed to realize something.
“Right. I have to get the bird ready. See you in the hangar.”
26
The next thirty minutes passed quickly as Katja went to one end of Kristiansand and back. Her assault rifle had been serviced and stored properly, she was pleased to see, and the sailor who was the weapons custodian seemed to know his stuff.
She earned more than a few glances as she followed Stripes through various passageways with her rifle in hand. After she had donned her armored suit, in sickbay, crewmembers pressed themselves against bulkheads, wide-eyed, as she passed. Eventually she found herself in the hangar and floating up into the Hawk.
Jack was seated in the cockpit, running through his checklist. He noticed her approach and gave her a smile before turning back to his work. She settled into the port-side seat of the pair behind him.
She heard another person enter the craft, and moments later Breeze pulled herself into the starboard seat. She, like Jack, was dressed in a standard Astral spacesuit.
Jack looked back. “Hey Breeze, glad to have you on board.”
“Glad to be here,” she replied brightly. “I think we’re ready to go when you are.”
“Just another minute or so.”
The cargo door behind them began to close, and Katja felt the slight shift in inertia as the Hawk was towed into the airlock.
She turned to Breeze. “Who survived?”
“Excuse me?”
“From Rapier, who survived?”
Breeze seemed surprised at the question. She thought for a moment.
“All of the Fleet crew, although Oyenuga is looking pretty bad. Of the strike team, all of Chang’s team except Lu.” Her expression changed to sympathy. “None of your team, I’m afraid.”
“Not Cohen?”
“Oh, yes—Cohen. Was she on your team?”
Katja fought down the urge to scream. She forced her words out slowly, steadily, and in the most civil tone she could manage.
“Yes,” she said. “The strike team took Alpha pod. You were on Bravo pod, piloted by Alayan, who is the Bravo Team pilot. Cohen is the Alpha Team pilot.”
“Of course. Sorry, I’ve had a lot on my mind. Astral Intelligence has been working non-stop trying to figure how and why this attack occurred.”
Katja felt the temperature in her suit rising. “And has our crew been reassigned?”
“What? Uhh, I don’t know.” Breeze shrugged. “Probably.”
“I just would have thought that as ‘senior surviving officer’ you’d be more concerned with seeing to our crew than giving briefings.”
Breeze’s expression hardened. “Katja, in case you haven’t noticed, we’re at war. Several thousand people died yesterday, including our captain. We need to find out why we were attacked and whether it will happen again. The crew will just have to sort themselves out.”
A hundred things swirled up in Katja’s mind, but she kept her mouth tightly shut. There was no point wasting words. Instead she turned toward their pilot.
“Jack, how long to reach Normandy?”
The Hawk had lifted free from Kristiansand, and the blackness of space filled the forward windows. The stars appeared to shift as the vessel banked to starboard.
“About ten minutes,” Jack said. “I’ve checked in with Normandy control and they’re squeezing us into their landing pattern, so we have to go a little faster than normal.”
“Good,” she replied. “Thanks.”
For several moments the silence in the Hawk was undercut only by the usual background hum omnipresent on any small spaceship. Katja ignored Breeze, wondering how long it would take for her to ask what had happened after the pods split.
As the silence stretched on, there were no questions.
“Hey, Breeze,” Jack said, “are you going to be visiting Kristiansand again soon?”
“I don’t know—probably not. I’ll probably be staying in Normandy, with the rest of the Intel team.”
He glanced back, again trying to grin through his injuries. “I guess I’ll just have to find more reasons to make shuttle trips to Normandy, then.”
She smiled blankly. “Yeah, I guess so.”
Another moment of silence passed.
“So,” Jack said, “any theories from Intel on how the Centauris snuck a battle force through the jump gate?”
Breeze shook her head. “Nothing concrete.”
“Could they have snuck through by hiding close to a Centauri merchant?”
“No, because we have visual inspection of all ships coming through.”
“Maybe they were hidden inside large cargo ships. Are there cargo ships big enough to do that?”
“Maybe.” Breeze rubbed her eyes and stretched.
“Or maybe they’ve built their own jump gate.”
“Jack, come on,” she said, snapping at him. “One of the fastest ways to make mistakes is to spread crazy rumors that send everybody down the wrong path.” She sighed heavily. “Intelligence is working on it, okay?”
“Sure,” he said, but her words didn’t seem to take any wind out of his sails. “If I can help at all just let me know.” He glanced back again. “I do fly ASW, you know.”
She forced a smile. “Thanks, Jack. I’ll keep it in mind.”
Katja had listened with vague interest, but something Jack said caught her attention. “Hey Jack, were you on ASW patrol that day when we boarded the mystery merchant?”
“Damn right I was,” he said. “I had a loose track on the stealth ship before it attacked, but that skipper was good. Thank God he was just trying to scare us.”
Katja remembered the otherworldly feeling of the gravi-torpedo, and how she had been yanked sideways through that cargo space by the artificial singularity. Just another reminder of how much the Astral Force seemed to have underestimated the Centauris.
“How did you track the merchant before the boarding?”
“Well, after I spotted it visually, Kristiansand took over gravimetrically. It was tough, but we kept track most of the way.”
“So could you trace its route back to its origin?”
“Way ahead of you,” he replied. “I did a mission the next day where I picked up its gravimetric wake and ran backward.” He shrugged. “It doesn’t last long, but it gave me enough of a bearing to locate the remnants of their exhaust stream. That ship had come from Kuiper Base Charlie.”
Katja nodded. “Just like they told me when we boarded. How long does an exhaust stream stay intact?”
“Depends on how much thrust they’re putting out, and how much gravity works to diffuse the stream. Out in deep space like that, it could last for months.”
Katja thought hard. “The merchant captain told me that they’d rendezvoused with another ship, and that’s how they got their weapons cargo.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah…” Then her heart sank. “But my copy of their flight log was still aboard Rapier. Dammit.”
Jack glanced back. “Oh, man, that sucks. I bet we could have tracked that ship’s trajectory, if we knew where to start. Did you send a backup to Command?”
She shook her head. “We took over tracking duties right after the boarding. We didn’t get a chance to upload before…” she stopped, and Jack continued to look at her curiously with his broken, bruised face. “Before the incident on Cerberus.”
His lips pursed, but he quickly stretched them into a crooked smile. “Ah. Sorry about that.”
She shook her head and glanced away, regretting bringing it up.
“And hey,” he said, “I never got the chance to thank you.”
She looked back at him. Beneath the injuries his eyes were bright and sincere.
“Seriously,” he said. “Thanks for saving my life.”
“Well,” she said, “thanks for saving mine. I don’t know how much longer my suit would have held up.”
He grinned back. “I g
uess we’re even.” He reached back his gloved hand. Katja shook it as best she could through her armor.
“I gotta ask, though,” he said. “What’s your first name again?”
“Katja.”
“Ohhh, yeah, right.” He withdrew his hand. “But I’ve learned my lesson about strike officers. I won’t ever call you that.”
She laughed. “Good thinking, Subbie.”
“Yeah,” Breeze said, “you’ve really gotta watch those Corps folks.”
Her comment fell flat in the silence.
Then the radio squawked, and Jack exchanged quick words with Normandy control. He maneuvered the Hawk again.
“Almost there, ladies.”
Up ahead, the stars were blotted out by a vast, familiar shape. The invasion ship was still in one piece, but even with her limited view Katja could see evidence of battle scarring on the hull. The Hawk descended toward the long, flat topside, landed on one of the hangar doors, then began to lower into the hangar. Metal bulkheads rolled past as they descended through the airlock system.
Moments later the view opened up, revealing the giant hangar with two rows of strike fighters lined up, noses outward, ready for launch. Feeling the effects of an artificial gravity well, she unstrapped and stepped forward to look over Jack’s shoulder. There was a cluster of people near the two fast-attack craft, next to a conspicuously empty area that used to be Rapier’s parking spot.
“Bit of a crowd,” Jack said.
Breeze joined them. “That’s odd.”
The Hawk bumped slightly as the platform it had been riding touched down on the deck. A crewman motioned for Jack to roll forward, and indicated an open spot at the near end of one of the fighter lines. Jack steered the little ship as directed, came to a stop without incident, and flicked a switch to open the cargo door.
“Welcome home, ladies.”
Breeze pressed a hand against his suited shoulder.
“Thanks, Jack,” she said. “I hope you get better soon.” She turned and departed before he could reply.
Katja heard him unstrapping himself as she walked down the ramp of the Hawk. The crowd of onlookers was gathered at the far end of the hangar, and seemed to pay no attention to the arrival of the Hawk. Breeze, she could see, was already halfway down the fighter line and headed with purpose for the group, no doubt determined to take credit for something or other.
Virtues of War Page 20