Virtues of War

by Bennett R. Coles

  The memory of her was already being overshadowed by the now-familiar self-loathing, and he focused instead on how best to propose his alternative to Chandler’s suicide plan. He called up the notes that he had been frantically compiling, grateful for the lucky find that his old friend Sean and Kristiansand had uncovered. He knew that he only had one chance at this.

  Once Chandler announced the orders, there would be no turning back.

  The other members of the senior staff were taking their seats. Korolev and Vici stood grimly behind the seated Fleet officers. Chandler arrived last, as always, and sat down in his chair without ceremony. As was his habit, he intended to discuss his plans with this small group of advisors before moving forward.

  “By now you’ve all read this message from the Centauris,” he said. “We don’t have a lot of time, but I want to hear your thoughts.”

  Thomas knew it was a sham. Chandler had already made up his mind. But it was little gestures like this that so endeared the commodore to his subordinates. The operations officer, Commander Erikson, was the first to speak up.

  “The key question is,” he said, “are the Centauris telling the truth?”

  Glances passed around the conference table—tired faces half-lit from below by the personal screens embedded in the tabletop. All around them, the starry backdrop projected on Normandy’s bridge gave silent reminder of the absolute isolation they endured.

  “There still hasn’t been any word from Terra,” Breeze said, “and right now I don’t trust anything the Sirian news channels say.”

  “Trust them or don’t,” Vici responded. “They’re pretty unanimous in condemning us and cheering for Centauria. Part of the Centauri message is true, at least. How much, I can’t say.”

  “I don’t care about the Sirians,” Chandler said. “We don’t have the strength to retake control—no offence to the Corps—and frankly, our priorities have shifted. Holding Sirius is meaningless if we don’t have access to our home star system.”

  “What are you suggesting, Commodore?” Korolev asked.

  Chandler looked around the table, daring anyone to argue with what he was about to say. Thomas had seen that expression many times before during the Dog Watch.

  “Whether this message is true or not, the fact that the Centauris control the jump gate says enough,” Chandler said. “Terra is in serious trouble, and we need to open the road back home. We have a tough fight ahead of us, and need to act now—before even more hostiles arrive.” He turned to Erikson. “How long for us to reach the jump gate at maximum cruising speed?”

  “Ten hours, sir.”

  “They’ll know we’re coming, but there won’t be time for them to get reinforcements to the gate. We’ll smash our way through, and jump back to Terra.”

  “Sir,” the ASW controller said, “at that speed we’ll be vulnerable to stealth attack.”

  “We’re vulnerable no matter what. Six hours before we reach the gate, I want the entire EF at battle stations with every Hawk on patrol and every star fighter ready for launch.” He looked around the room. “We have one chance at this, so we don’t hold anything in reserve. I want the strike fighters launched, as well—they don’t have great weapons, but they’ll create three hundred more targets to keep the enemy busy.”

  “That’s three hundred dead pilots,” Vici said, “guaranteed. And us with no air support.”

  From his expression, it was clear that Chandler was more than tired of her criticisms.

  “You don’t need air support in a space battle,” he said. “You don’t need troopers, either, Commander… so shut up!”

  Vici fumed, but held her tongue. Breeze, sitting next to Chandler, leaned forward. She was trying to hide it, but her fear was beginning to show through. Thomas looked around the table. No one looked eager.

  Except Chandler.

  “Every one of us swore an oath to protect Terra,” Chandler said, his voice rising. “That means a lot more than just leaving home for a few months, or working long hours until we’re exhausted. It means that we’re willing to die.” His glare passed over every member of the senior staff. “Understand this—I will take issue with anyone who I have to remind of that again.”

  Thomas had expected this. Recent events had revealed to him a certain predictability in his mentor. Chandler didn’t just pay lip service to the ethos of the Astral Force, like so many people did—he genuinely believed it. It had been that certainty that had enabled the young XO to inspire a ship to rise to the occasion during the Dog Watch. It had no doubt been that certainty of belief that had driven Eric Chandler to work so hard, and to rise so fast in the ranks.

  But now, Thomas knew, that certainty of belief was clouding the judgment of a senior officer responsible for the lives of thousands of men and women. Perhaps it was just because he knew Chandler so well, but it was no surprise to Thomas that Chandler would choose a suicidal charge. Perhaps, before this war started, he would have chosen the same.

  But now no one—not even Colonel Korolev—could overrule the commodore. Their only hope, Thomas realized, was for Chandler to change his own mind. With a little bit of help.

  He rolled the dice.

  “With all respect, sir,” Thomas said, “there may be another way.”

  The glare focused on him, and Thomas felt like a young subbie again. He searched for his voice.

  “Yes, Lieutenant?” the commodore said.

  All eyes were on him. He chose his words carefully.

  “Sir, it’s true that our primary objective now is to defend Terra, and to do that we have to get back. A frontal assault on the enemy position at the jump gate would seriously impede our ability to fight. But there’s another route we can take—through the secret Centauri jump gate.”

  To Thomas’s surprise, Chandler had actually listened. Now his expression turned to the disappointment a teacher might reserve for a bright student who has said something profoundly stupid.

  “Lieutenant,” he said, “that jump gate leads right to Centauria. How is that a better plan?”

  “Because they’re not expecting it. Sir, the enemy holds the high ground in Sirius. They’re waiting for us at the jump gate, and are expecting us to attack. Statistically speaking, we might win the fight, but then we’d be jumping back to Terra in a seriously weakened state, and no good against what might be waiting for us there.” He paused for effect. “Based on the tactical ingenuity we’ve seen so far, frankly I expect the Centauris to whip our asses before we even reach the Terran jump gate.”

  Chandler looked ready to speak. Thomas knew he would never get another chance, and he pressed on.

  “However, the enemy has no idea that we’ve discovered their secret gate. The number of ships they must have dedicated to the battle over the Terran gates has probably spread them thin, which means their secret gate will be lightly guarded, if at all. And their home star system is probably pretty empty—because most of their ships will be at the front.”

  No one stopped him, so he kept talking.

  “Sir, this is what I recommend,” he said. “Douse the artificial gravity on all ships, and go silent. The Centauris will see this, and prepare for a sneak attack on the Terran gate. They’ll focus their search for us at that end of the system. Meanwhile, we fade away in the other direction and slip through their secret gate. We get through Centauri space, punch through their defenses at the Terran gate in Centauria—where we’ll have the advantage because they’ll never expect us to be there—and then jump through to join the real battle for Terra.

  “It’s the long way round, but they’ll never see us coming and we’ll join the main battle with substantially greater strength.”

  Chandler’s expression was unreadable. “And what if we’re discovered transiting Centauria, Lieutenant? That’s a long way to go, through the heart of enemy territory, without being seen.”

  Thomas had anticipated the question.

  “Then our presence will create a huge distraction for Centauria, as th
ey scramble to figure out how the hell a Terran expeditionary force got into the heart of their home system. They’ll have to pull back forces from the front. That might give Fleet the chance to seize the initiative and regain control of the jump gates.”

  He looked around the table, trying to read the faces watching him in the dim light. No one spoke.

  “Either way,” he concluded, “we’ll be of much greater help to Terra, hitting Centauria from behind, than if we walk into their trap and try and fight our way out of Sirius. Respectfully, sir.”

  All eyes shifted from Thomas to Chandler. The commodore sat back, his gaze focusing out on some distant point. He remained still for a long moment. Then a wry smile curled his lips as he looked at Thomas.

  “For a moment there, Mr. Kane, I lost faith in you. But you’re as devious as I’d ever hoped. But you didn’t think your plan through to its logical conclusion. We’ll sneak away and jump to Centauria, as you suggest. But they’ll be guarding their side of the Terran jump gate in Centauria, too.

  “There’s a good chance we’ll be detected, so I say let’s go right into the lion’s den.” He sat forward and addressed the assembled staff. “Get the ship captains on the line. We’re not sneaking through Centauria—we’re invading Centauria.”

  Thomas tried to speak, but no words came out. All around him, jaws fell open, and glances were exchanged.

  Breeze was white.

  “Commodore,” Korolev said slowly, “I’m afraid I’m having a bit of trouble keeping up with your thinking. If the EF is outclassed here in Sirius, why would we fare any better in the heart of Centauri space?”

  Chandler had a gleam in his eye. One which Thomas knew well.

  “I’m not saying we’ll fare any better. But by taking the fight to Centauria we can make a difference in this war. Kane’s right—smashing ourselves against their ships here in Sirius won’t help Terra. But if we can hit our enemy where it hurts the most, we can steal the initiative and turn the tide.”

  Korolev nodded slowly. “And we all die glorious deaths for Terra.”

  There was no sarcasm in the colonel’s tone, but Thomas sensed a subtle lack of conviction.

  Chandler appeared to take the words at face value. He nodded curtly, and turned to Erikson. “How long to reach the Centauri gate at maximum stealth speed?”

  “With AG disabled, we can make better time,” the operations officer said, sounding anything but convinced. “So… forty hours.”

  “At which point they’ll still be waiting for our attack at the Terran gate. They’ll spend days trying to locate us in the Sirian system.” Chandler smiled. “Spread out the force to maximum dispersion. Stealth is the only thing that matters now.”

  Thomas listened as Chandler discussed various aspects of stealth warfare with the ASW controller. He caught a wide-eyed glance from Breeze, and an ambiguous look from Colonel Korolev. He dropped his eyes, and tried to shake off the cobwebs in his head.

  Breeze had been right—he did know Chandler best. And knowing Chandler, he should have realized that the commodore had one driving motivation, above all others: one thing he sought with single-minded focus.

  Glory.

  To die in Sirius would have sufficed, since the cause was noble. But to die striking at the heart of the enemy, to save Terra from afar, a lone commander with his rag-tag fleet making the ultimate sacrifice…

  Thomas had unwittingly dangled the ultimate prize in front of his mentor, and in doing so, he had condemned them all.

  42

  The remnants of the EF moved south through the huge Sirian star system, spread out to avoid any unnecessary curvature of spacetime caused by their combined masses.

  The five destroyers fanned out in an anti-stealth detection net millions of kilometers across, slowly clearing the path southward and across the Sirian ecliptic. The four stealth ships formed a second line of defense over a smaller area. The three invasion ships and three supply ships formed the main body of the force, with the sole surviving battleship serving as point defense.

  The three cruisers and the remaining carrier served as rearguard against brane-based attacks, safe in the knowledge that no stealth ship could catch up to the force without giving its position away.

  As they approached the coordinates of the gate, the EF moved into a much tighter formation, lining up in single column so the ships would pass through the gate in rapid succession. Normandy was far back in the column, behind all the fighting ships that would pave the way for her and her high-value sisters.

  Kristiansand’s Hawk managed to pinpoint the exact location of the jump gate, and a detailed ASW sweep revealed it to be unguarded on this side. The Hawk offered to jump through alone, to clear the other side, but direct orders from Commodore Chandler stopped such recklessness. While a Hawk was certainly small enough to avoid detection, the passage of a ship through the gate would stand out like a beacon to anyone in the vicinity.

  No, Chandler had decided that the first Terran incursion into Centauri space would be a knockout punch.

  * * *

  The last two days had felt like the longest in Thomas’s life. He served his hours on watch as AVW controller, then tried to sleep the rest of the time.

  Zero-g in an invasion ship took some getting used to, and many crew members suffered from space sickness during the first twenty-four hours. Thomas even contemplated sleeping in Rapier’s broken hulk in the hangar—at least within that little hull, zero-g was familiar. Mostly, though, he just existed from moment to moment, sharing the discomfort and unease of the crew around him.

  Word had spread quickly about the plan, but Thomas sensed little enthusiasm for it. Most people didn’t even believe that there was a secret jump gate, and assumed the whole exercise was a waste of time. At his most pessimistic, Thomas flipped between wondering if the EF would be able to find it at all and, if they did, what sort of hostile reception they’d encounter.

  Navigating around a corner on his way to his battle station, he bumped, literally, into Katja. Normandy’s passageways were large and difficult to navigate in zero-g, especially given the sheer number of people trying to get from place to place.

  It was the first time he’d seen her since her return from Cerberus.

  He steadied her at arm’s length with hands on her shoulders. She looked much the same as before, with big dark eyes and short blonde hair. She was wearing the Corps green instead of Fleet blue, he noticed.

  “Hey, sorry. You all right?” Despite the awkwardness he felt, he was genuinely pleased to see her.

  She pushed off his hands with surprising strength. Her glare was cool, if not angry.

  “I’ve been shot, crash-landed, showered by artillery, and had filthy genitals shoved in my face,” she snapped back. “Bumping into you is hardly enough to upset me.”

  He tried to back away slightly—difficult in zero-g.

  “I heard it was rough,” he offered. “I’m really glad to see you.”

  “Well, good,” she said as she pushed off the bulkhead to float to the far side of the passageway. “Because I’m not available if you’re ‘feeling messed up’ again. I hear you prefer fucking Breeze now, anyway.”

  Before he could reply she maneuvered off down the passageway with the stream of people. He wondered how Katja knew about him and Breeze—or, more exactly, why Breeze would compromise herself like that.

  As long as Chandler—and by extension Soma—never found out… Still, he felt bad that Katja had been hurt by the whole thing. Poor kid. He wished there was something he could say. But he had more important things to worry about.

  He made his way to the bridge and took his usual seat at the command console. Chandler was already there, eyes focused on the central display. He gave a conspiratorial wink to Thomas then turned back to his thoughts. Thomas did a quick survey of the AVW situation, and made his routine report to the operations officer, who gave him a cool stare in response.

  Relations with Commander Erikson had taken a recent
dive, Thomas had noticed. He’d wondered if this was due to the OpsO’s disagreement with the current plan—which everyone now seemed to think of as Thomas’s plan. But he was beginning to suspect there was something else at play. Perhaps envy at his easy rapport with the commodore?

  Thomas shrugged mentally. It wasn’t his fault that Chandler thought highly of him.

  Preparations for the passage through the secret jump gate were already underway. Normandy, like all the other ships, was going to battle stations in anticipation of a hostile reception.

  Through the bridge sphere, he could see the blue symbol of Artemis positioned squarely in the middle of the carrier’s visible, black hulk that eclipsed the stars. It was rare enough to be able to hold a visual on one of the other capital ships, let alone to see it blacking out a section of the sky five degrees wide. Behind them, Troy held station three kilometers astern of Normandy.

  First to transit through would be the battleship Jutland, the mightiest ship in the Expeditionary Force, and the most capable of dealing with any threat on the other side. Right behind would come a cruiser to help against brane-based vessels, and a destroyer to help against enemy stealth ships. Next the EF’s stealth ships, then more fighting ships, and ultimately the carrier, the three invasion ships, and the supply ships.

  One cruiser and one destroyer were holding back as a rear guard, to avoid leaving the main body vulnerable.

  It was a sound plan, but Thomas still felt his stomach tighten as Jutland approached the gate. The general murmur on the bridge faded to silence as all eyes watched the long line of ships swiftly approaching the invisible point in spacetime.

  Four new blips popped into existence on Thomas’s scope—the four Terran stealth ships phasing onto the brane for transit through the gate.

  “Sixty seconds to Jutland at the gate,” Erikson reported.

  “Status report,” Chandler said.

  “AAW condition white,” the commander on Thomas’s left reported. “No hostiles inbound. Go for jump.”