Virtues of War

by Bennett R. Coles

  Thomas Kane

  Lt(C)

  CO Rapier

  He stared at her. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

  She stared right back. “No. Sign this letter and deliver it to Chandler. I am not going to risk my life in this fucking tin can—not again.”

  “You’re insane,” he said. “Why in the worlds do you think I’d do this?”

  She shook her head, her expression turning dangerous.

  “Your career is over, Thomas. Don’t make me destroy your life, as well.” Her matter-of-fact tone only added to the surreal nature of her words. He struggled to grasp what she was trying to do.

  “Why?”

  “How can I ascend if your star continues to shine?”

  He couldn’t reply. There were no more words to say. She was destroying him for her own advancement.

  “Sign the letter,” she said, “and nothing else needs be said. You and I can just agree that what happened on deployment stays on deployment.”

  His anger turned to rage.

  “Fuck you.”

  “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m going to tell Chandler you did. Although, I might actually portray it more as a rape. I’ll see how the conversation goes. Either way, I doubt the good commodore will long hide the news from his goddaughter or her wealthy family.”

  He desperately tried to think of a counterstrike.

  “But… you’re just as involved as I am.”

  “Yes,” she explained patiently, “but I’m not engaged to the daughter of one of Ganymede’s richest men.” She batted her bright blue eyes. “I’m the victim, Thomas, taken advantage of by an aggressive, egotistical captain.” She smiled. “And I’m not quite sure, but I have a sneaky suspicion that if I ask young Katja about her relationship to you, I might uncover some more dirt.

  “I’d do it as a public inquiry, of course, so that she’d be duty-bound to tell the truth in front of a tribunal. And I think the media would enjoy hearing about it, too.”

  Thomas felt sick.

  “Sign the letter, Thomas. Then none of this needs to happen.”

  He stared down at the hand-held, noticing a pen conveniently fastened to it.

  “Sign it, and you’re rid of me forever. When we get home you can marry sweet Soma and live a life of leisure as a decorated war hero. I’ll even get Chandler to recommend you for an honorary promotion upon retirement.”

  Her honeyed words scraped over him like gravel. He wanted to throttle her, smash his fist into her perfect white teeth. Instead, he picked up the pen and electronically signed the letter. She held all the cards, and he considered himself human enough to want to keep his public dignity.

  She took the hand-held, uploaded the file to Thomas’s computer and sent it from his address. He watched wordlessly. Then she gave him a wink and left the cabin. He thought perhaps he should move, but his limbs didn’t respond, and he just floated.

  He floated in silence. In utter defeat.

  58

  “Commander Brisebois, briefing in ten minutes.”

  Breeze nodded to the chief petty officer, and smiled. She did enjoy hearing those words. A quick glance around to make sure no one was looking, and she snuck another peek at her shoulders—at the three gold bars on each. Then she took a long look around at the compartment she stood in, filled with consoles and highly classified equipment. It wasn’t Astral Intelligence HQ or anything, but it was hers. She now stood on a par with the commanding officers of destroyers and cruisers. Even Commodore Chandler was really only a captain, just one rank above her.

  What once had seemed an almost god-like level of authority was practically within her grasp.

  Chandler had seemed so pleased with himself when he promoted her, talking it up like it was his idea. In front of the entire command staff he’d praised her excellent work throughout the war, and said he thought it only right and fitting that she wear the rank of the position she’d been effectively filling so well.

  The other commanders on staff had congratulated her warmly, but that lieutenant ASW controller had kept to himself. He probably felt pretty lonely, now that he was the only lieutenant left. Breeze figured he should feel lucky to still be allowed on staff. She was surprised that, with all the destroyed ships recently, there wasn’t some spare three-ringer hanging around to take the ASW position.

  In all the ships that remained, there were a grand total of twelve commanders, including her. And with only two full captains, that put her pretty close to the top of the pile. Oh sure, the two surviving regiments had their share of senior officers, but the Corps had served its usefulness already—as far as Breeze was concerned, they might as well stay in their bunks.

  Nothing was hidden from the Chief Intelligence Officer of an expeditionary force. She’d called up the personnel lists and confirmed that, just a few months shy of her thirty-fourth birthday, she was the youngest commander in the Astral Force. And she hadn’t even joined until she was twenty-seven. What was that old navy toast?

  A bloody war and a sickly season. This bloody war had served Charity Brisebois very well indeed.

  She’d always intended her military career to be short, ending it as a lieutenant. That kind of experience would easily land her a high-profile, middle-management job in big business. But now that she was a commander… starting her business career in upper management looked pretty likely.

  More money, better contacts, better chance of marrying right and having her twins before she turned forty. When the kids were old enough for pre-school she’d have to switch back to a more prestigious position—teacher, she figured—before getting into journalism and media to build her public image. And then, politics.

  She glanced at her new rank insignia again. What a stroke of luck. She applauded herself for seeing the opening and grabbing it.

  Of course, none of this really mattered if she didn’t make it through that damn jump gate to get home alive. So for the past three days she’d been driving her team to find a solution to the rather large Centauri battle force that was sitting between her and her future.

  The solution, in one of life’s sweet ironies, had come from none other than Thomas Kane. One of her warrants brought her a memo Thomas had submitted outlining the interesting implications of Bulk physics and the use of torpedoes. Breeze gave up after three paragraphs but her warrant assured her that the science was sound—at least theoretically.

  She’d summoned young Jack Mallory to interpret for her. This had proved prescient, because he was the brains behind the whole idea.

  So Thomas was trying to take credit for his subordinate’s work. Breeze had to admire him for the attempt.

  The chief petty officer approached her again.

  “Ma’am?”

  She followed him out into the flats, pulling herself along the handholds toward the main briefing room. When they got back to Terra, she decided, she was getting herself posted ashore and never going into zero-g again.

  The briefing room looked the same as always, with the three large screens on the wall behind the speaking platform and the central projector for the 3-D display. Her staff had prepared her visuals and her notes were ready on the display screen at the podium. Some of the audience had already arrived, various junior officers she didn’t recognize.

  Every ship was sending its XO for this briefing, and most of them were lieutenants, but she didn’t try to guess who was who. She recognized one of the loud ones as Kristiansand’s XO—what was his name, Shane?—but he’d been pretty annoying the last time she’d had a drink with him, and she kept her distance.

  When Thomas Kane arrived he went and sat with the man, confirming her instincts. He studiously refused to look at Breeze.

  As the other members of the command staff began arriving she found a seat at the end of the front row, close to the podium. Colonel Korolev arrived without ceremony, as always, but everyone floated to attention when the great one finally made his entrance.

  Chandler made some opening remarks, then
called on the new AVW commander, formerly the CO of Miami, to deliver a brief on the orders of battle. These details Breeze already knew.

  The Centauris had a battle cruiser and five frigates guarding the jump gate, pretty much the same size force that had attacked the EF over Laika. The EF had three destroyers and a stealth ship guarding the main body of Normandy, Troy, and the two supply ships. About a hundred star fighters were still serviceable, housed in the four ships of the main body. The hundred or more strike fighters were also being prepped for combat. Add in five surviving fast-attack craft and a handful of Hawks, and it all added up to having their ass kicked.

  And then Breeze was invited to the stage to present the plan. She smiled warmly at the AVW controller as they passed—pleasant, name of Karen, post-traumatic struggles at losing her ship, family connections in Terra—and pulled herself in behind the podium. The assembled crowd stared expectantly, and as she looked back she was shocked at how empty the theater seemed. Nevertheless, she put on an expression of suitably grave professionalism and began to speak.

  “As Commander Holmes has made clear, the EF is seriously out-matched in a direct confrontation with the enemy force. However, we have science on our side. Through the diligent efforts of our personnel, we have determined how we can use a modified version of our standard torpedo to disrupt and distract the Centauri force.”

  The large 3-D display activated beside her, configured to give a 4-D representation of space, and Breeze gave her viewers a few moments to adapt their thinking to include the added spatial dimension.

  “I’ll save you the equations, but very briefly the theory is this: the Bulk extends to infinity in the fourth dimension, but the region we are generally familiar with only extends for sixteen peets. Beyond this, the characteristics of the fundamental forces take a radical shift, perhaps due to the existence of a strongbrane, commonly referred to as the Erebos Layer.”

  She checked her notes to ensure she’d said that right, then scanned ahead for the next dose of multidimensional physics.

  “Beyond the Erebos Layer lies the Chthonian Deep, into which scientists have been able to make only a few direct observations. It is theorized, however, that this region of the Bulk is dense in dark energy which, if properly manipulated, can undergo a…” She checked her notes. “…tenebral implosion and transform into dark matter.

  “At this extreme range into the Bulk, the force of gravity starts to increase exponentially and is so strong that objects in the Chthonian Deep can have a direct effect on objects here on the brane. It’s theorized that we never see this phenomenon in reality due to the extremely homogenous density of dark energy that far into the Bulk.”

  She gauged her audience, noting an awful lot of blank stares and one or two approving nods. She didn’t even pretend to guess whether the theory was valid or not, but it was solidly backed by the brightest of Astral minds.

  “Basically, we’re going to drop a modified torpedo right into the center of the Centauri force, seventeen peets in, and yank up some dark energy. The resultant massive object far in the Bulk is going to seriously mess with them. This will give us the chance we need to race past them and jump for Terra.”

  More nods. Korolev leaned over and said something quietly to Chandler, glancing at Breeze. The commodore nodded and turned his attention back to her presentation.

  “Are there any questions?” she asked.

  Scattered laughter rippled through the uncertain crowd.

  “Who’s delivering the torpedo?” someone in the second row asked.

  This was the part of the plan Breeze liked the most.

  “The modified fast-attack craft Rapier is the ideal insertion vehicle. She’s well-armed and fast enough to do the insertion, and she’s equipped with ASW gear and the ability to fire torpedoes.”

  And it’s pretty likely she’ll never make it back. Breeze was willing to have Thomas and Katja both be remembered as heroes, if it gave her the assurance that she’d never have to worry about them stealing her limelight again.

  Thomas’s expression was grim but determined. His reaction had been her one worry, but it turned out she knew him well after all. He so desperately wanted to regain Chandler’s respect that he’d take on whatever suicide mission she thrust at him.

  “Rapier will launch from Normandy six hours prior to our approach on the jump gate,” she continued, “displacing herself so that she can attack from a different bearing and seek to avoid detection until she’s within torpedo firing range. To help her, every ship in the EF will switch on AG and start radiating as if for battle, hopefully capturing the full attention of the enemy.”

  “What happens if the magic torpedo doesn’t work?” someone else asked.

  She knew Chandler wanted to answer this question. Plan B had been his main contribution to the strategy. He was already pushing off from his seat and turning to face the audience. By the time he reached the podium, Breeze had switched the display to tactical.

  She half listened as she retook her seat, amused how much Chandler enjoyed the spotlight when he knew what he was talking about. With great dramatic effect he laid out the backup plan, in which the sole remaining stealth ship, Viper, would be hiding in the gravimetric signature of Normandy and Troy until the Centauris got within range. Then she would strike out as only a stealth ship could.

  By the end of the briefing, everyone was fired up and ready to go. It never ceased to amaze Breeze how people could convince themselves that charging in to get killed was a good idea. There were a lot of handshakes as farewells were made. She was just about to slip out when she noticed Thomas floating forward to speak to Chandler.

  She pushed off her chair to join the conversation.

  “…I’m sure you will,” Chandler was saying, shaking his hand. “Make me proud.” She saw the glimmer of a smile cross Thomas’s face, but it faded as soon as he noticed her.

  He turned back to Chandler like she wasn’t there.

  “Just in case something goes wrong, sir, please send my love to Soma. Tell her I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to the wedding, but my heart will be there.”

  Chandler gave a short laugh. “You can tell her yourself, son.”

  “Yes,” Breeze said, stopping her forward momentum with a hand on the commodore’s shoulder. “We all know you’ll make it, Thomas. That’s why the commodore chose Rapier for this mission. Not for the ship, but for the captain.” Could he tell that she was oh-so-subtly mocking him?

  She suspected so.

  He looked very tired, and much older. But he forced a smile.

  “Well, I’ll see you around, sir,” he said to Chandler. “Thank you, sir.”

  Then Thomas rejoined his friend Shane—no, Sean—as they left the briefing room.

  “It really was big of him,” Chandler commented, “recommending one of his own subordinates for promotion ahead of himself.”

  “Sir?”

  Chandler turned to her. “He recommended you for this promotion. I was already thinking it, but his letter really sealed the deal.”

  She put on her best look of surprise. “I had no idea!” She took in a fluttery breath and looked to where Thomas had disappeared. “I’m honored. Thank you for telling me, sir. Thomas would never have said anything.”

  “He’s a good man. Let’s hope he can pull it off.”

  “If anyone can, it’s Thomas Kane.” He was going to be dead within twelve hours, so she didn’t mind singing his praises. “Either way he’ll be remembered as the hero of the day.”

  Chandler nodded and moved off.

  Breeze looked around for Karen, formerly of Miami. The older woman seemed to have taken to her, and it never hurt to have more contacts. Should she lie low, sow business contacts and wait for her term of service to end next year? Or should she stick close to Chandler and ride his coattails?

  So much to plan.

  59

  Katja tried to stretch in her seat. With the shoulder straps, the bulk of her spacesuit, and her sore ri
bcage it was pretty much impossible. Which of course made her want to do it even more. She shifted slightly, wincing at the pain in her kidneys.

  Thomas looked over at her in the near-darkness of Rapier’s bridge.

  “You’re unusually restless, OpsO.”

  She sighed. “I guess it’s all that running I’ve been doing lately. Sitting here growing my ass isn’t as much fun as I thought.”

  “I’m a master at it,” Jack said from his seat in the front row. “It just takes patience.”

  But Katja’s patience was in short supply, five hours into Rapier’s flanking maneuver on the Centauri force. With most systems off, and bridge instrumentation down to the lowest possible illumination, there had been little to do but wait as the ship moved gently along her long, curved intercept path.

  It had seemed exciting at first. Rapier launched under the cover of four star fighters, the planes squawking ident codes and passing routine chatter among themselves to make sure they were visible. Then, a thousand kilometers out from the EF, the fighters had banked dramatically away, making a show of spreading out in pairs for their assigned defensive stations.

  At the same time Rapier cut her engines and coasted for fifteen minutes. The intention was for any Centauri spotters to focus on the fighters. When there was no sign of detection by the enemy, Rapier nudged forward at her minimum cruising speed and opened the bearing between herself and the EF.

  After that, absolutely nothing else happened. Internal lighting was shut down and climate control reduced to wintry levels. Air was circulated through every space, but the filters were shut down, so it would remain breathable for twelve hours at the most.

  The crew had been reduced to ten—there was no strike team, and Breeze’s seat remained conspicuously empty. The rest were scattered throughout the craft, one in each turret and four in the engine room. Two of the engineers were volunteers from Cutlass, their skills more useful to this mission than any trooper’s. There were no medics, no dedicated damage control teams.