The fighter’s captain ran down the ramp, catching them before they left. “You forgot something, sir.” He handed Trexler his assault rifle, and the transport set off.
Seeton gave him a strange look. “I have a lot of catching up to do.”
“I think you can consider the planet yours again, sir. Our focus will be outward now.”
Seeton nodded. “I have the feeling I’ll be calling you sir before we’re done.”
“Look, we really didn’t have much chance to get to know each other.” Trexler stuck out his hand. “Ray Trexler.”
Seeton took the hand in both of his own and shook. “Harry Seeton. You’re pretty beat up, Ray, and what’s with all the dust? You’re coated in it.”
“It’s whatever your building was made of. You won’t be using your headquarters for a while, but your guys are okay, as far as I know. The Chessori never got in. The medic said this foot was going to be a distraction, and he’s right. I’m definitely going to have to do something about it. How are you?”
“The scree is much worse than I ever imagined. Thankfully, you’ll never know.”
Trexler nodded and frowned. “Too many others have been through it, and there will be many more in the upcoming weeks.”
“Weeks. You think it will take that long?”
“We won’t know until we see the big picture. I think we’re about to find out. I’d appreciate it if you’d stick with me during this. We’ll need all the help we can get.”
“Where else would I go?”
“You have a planet that needs your attention.”
“I have a sector that needs it a lot more.”
“And the future of an empire rests in the balance. In my mind, I’ve envisioned a battle here that will defy management. If it develops the way I’ve imagined, we’ll have over a thousand squadrons fighting each other. That’s something like thirteen or fourteen thousand ships.”
“I’ve managed a fleet for a number of years, but this is beyond my reckoning.”
“Let me tell you the first thing we learned when we started working on battles of this scale, Harry. We’ve all managed fleets, but in comparison to what could develop here, we were really only managing individual squadrons, squadrons in which we spent careers. When you think on the level of the squadron, you live and breathe the death and destruction, the tactics of ship against ship, the positioning of ships and their firepower, all of that. That’s all going to take place a thousand times over during the coming weeks, but it’s not our job. We’re not going to focus on individual fights and how frightening and horrible and exhilarating they can be. The squadron and battle group commanders will, but we won’t. Ours is a numbers problem, nothing more. We set the harshness aside. We deal only with capabilities, speed and firepower, positioning. To us, every squadron commander is as good as every other squadron commander, even when they’re not. They’re just numbers, not friends or competitors or strong or weak. They’re pieces of a 3-dimensional puzzle that we will move around to make perfect fits. And some of the fits won’t be perfect. Some will die. Others we’ll pull back. We cannot focus on the suffering and death, only the numbers. Our goal is to achieve a number of zero remaining for the enemy while retaining some positive number for ourselves.”
“That’s pretty harsh. Can you do that?”
“I have to. You have to. Our friends commanding those squadrons are relying on us to do it, and they’re relying on us to be right.”
The vehicle came to a stop. “We’re here, Harry. Let’s get to work.”
Steve Brinson, a senior Terran admiral, turned to greet them as they entered the operations center. “Boy, are you a sight for . . . what happened to you, Ray?”
“The infantry is what happened to me.” He laid his assault weapon on the deck against the wall where no one would stumble over it. “What’s the situation?”
“You want to dust yourself off first?”
“No.”
“Well, it’s grim, just like we anticipated. Do you want Chandrajuski to brief you?”
“He’s here?”
“In another ship.”
Trexler considered. “No, not yet. You brief me, and don’t neglect whatever else you were doing. I don’t mind interruptions.”
“You want to sit here with me and see the big picture?”
“No. I don’t want to get tied up in details yet, and I will if I look at it. Paint a picture for me, Steve, and use a broad brush.”
“Okay, the enemy first. They started showing up about the time Waverly started his operation. They’ve come in from every direction, sort of like an exploding 4th of July fireworks. They’re still coming in, though the rate is tapering off. My guess is we’ll be up against some 500 Rebel squadrons.”
“Are they holding back reserves?”
“I don’t know. Everyone we see is heading inbound at the moment. If it keeps up much longer, it will be difficult for them to reinforce from the rear. They won’t be able to catch up.”
“They might turn around.”
“I hope they do. It would let us focus on fewer ships for a while.”
“Good point. How many squadrons do we have?”
“When they all get here, 160. A lot of them are partial squadrons.”
“How are the Rebels deployed?”
“In what I’m calling ‘units’ of four squadrons. It’s a little early to say, but I’m starting to see some consolidation. One group of twelve squadrons has formed into what I’m calling a ‘wing,’ and I suspect others might do the same, but I’m not certain.”
Always trying to simplify, Trexler did the math in his head, but because of his foot, now crying out for attention, the simple math took a couple of tries. If all the attacking Rebels formed into wings, there would be roughly 40 wings. His eyes lit up at the implications. “You think the others are forming into wings?”
“Too early to say. I’ve been plotting trajectories, but it’s slow work, and I don’t have enough plots yet.”
“This is critical, Steve. If you’re right, if they all form into wings, you’ve defined a whole strategy for us. Put every resource you can spare to working on plots.”
Trexler closed his eyes while Brinson went back to work. Seeton woke him an hour later. He held out a large cup of coffee to him, which he accepted gratefully.
“How’s it going?”
Seeton pulled Brinson from his display. Brinson spoke. “I’m not a hundred percent certain, Ray, but I think they’ll all be in wings within the next week. They’re definitely not making it obvious, and no other wings have formed yet, but my predictive plots point to the possibility of wing formations for a fair number of them.”
“Why would they do that?”
“For the same reason we might: ease of management. Someone has to call the shots for them, and you can’t do it for 500 individual squadrons. It’s not a bad idea, Ray.”
“How many Terran-manned squadrons do we have?”
“Fifty-three slow squadrons from Buskin, and the 10 slow squadrons you converted to minimal crews at Orion III, though they don’t have Waverly’s gunners back aboard yet. That adds up to 63 cruisers, all without support ships. Then there are the 21 original squadrons we put together at Parsons’ World. All 21 are fast ships with full complements of frigates and fighters. So out of our 160 squadrons, 84 are manned by Terrans.”
“Have there been any engagements yet?”
“No. Chandrajuski is working with Sam Taylor. They’re putting a plan together for fast squadrons to probe individual units for Chessori. Each of our fast squadrons will be trailed by two Empire fast squadrons, at least initially. If Chessori are encountered, the Rebel units will be marked, and everyone will withdraw and head for another unit. Slow Terran squadrons will go back to engage the Chessori, and slow Empire squadrons will be sent to the purely Rebel units.”
“Slow and tedious.”
“But it will be effective. Planning time spent now, up front, will pay dividends in the lo
ng run. We have to locate the Chessori before Empire ships can go it alone. It’s a numbers game. I think the goal of the Rebels is to break through to Aldebaran I, though what they’ll do with it once they get there, I have no idea.”
“It’s political, Steve. They want to claim the sector for themselves, and whoever controls the planet controls the sector. You know all that. I know you do.”
“Well, like I said, it’s a numbers game, and it’s looking real grim.”
“Actually, if you’re right about the wing formations, I think we’ve won. And in spite of all the hard work us Terrans have done, it’s the Empire that’s going to win this battle for us. You’ve met Harry Seeton. He’s Sector Commander here, and he’s been planning this battle for a long time. Tell him, Harry.”
“The short and sweet of it is that I have 673 squadrons nearby, just waiting for my call.”
Steve Brinson’s face lost all expression as he considered, then his gaze met Seeton’s. “Oh, well done, sir.”
There was silence for a time. Brinson broke it, saying, “We still have to identify which units have Chessori. It will take a while.”
“No, it won’t,” Trexler replied. “We’re not going to identify units. We’re going to pull back and let them finish consolidating into wings. Each wing will be Chessori or pure Rebel. They can’t function together, so they won’t be mixed. If your guess is right about them consolidating into wings, they’ll have 41 wings. We have 84 Terran-manned squadrons, and 21 of them are fast.”
Brinson turned completely away from the display, imagining in his mind the picture Trexler painted. “We have won.”
“I need to get Chandrajuski, M’Coda, and Sam Taylor here for a conference. We can’t discuss this over the radio, and a little extra time taken now will pay dividends in a few days. Steve, your job is to put a tag on every Rebel unit. Every Rebel squadron if you can. We have to figure they’ll discern our strategy. When they do, they might break up the wings, and maybe the units. We need to keep track of which ones are Chessori. That will be key to the whole battle.”
“Understood, sir. Uh, wouldn’t it be more appropriate for you to go to Chandrajuski?”
“It would, if I didn’t have to go to sick bay. The meeting can’t wait, and I need some pain relief or I won’t be any good to anyone.”
He turned to Seeton. “Harry, this is Chandrajuski’s show, but getting these slow ships positioned is extremely time critical. We have to get started now. Here’s the strategy: we were fighting defensively, just trying to hold the sector, but now we’re going on the offense. Your squadrons will make all the difference. We want to force the Rebels to pull in their reserves so we can take them out along with everyone else. They won’t pull them in unless they think they can win, so we can’t show our whole hand just yet or we’ll scare them off. I’m thinking that maybe two hundred of your ships should come in now. I think that will get the Rebels thinking about those reserves. They might even commit them. When they do, we can pull in the rest of your guys. What do you think?”
“I think you were wrong when you said this battle could not be managed, sir. Where will Chandrajuski want my ships?”
Trexler turned to Brinson. “Steve?”
“Look at the display, Ray. We’re scattered, but not nearly as scattered as the Rebels.”
“I’m not ready to look at the display yet. This is nice and simple in my mind, and I don’t want to lose the big picture. This foot is a real attention-getter.”
Steve Brinson went back to his display, and Seeton joined him. They considered options for a time while Trexler sat back with his eyes closed. His foot was on fire, completely overshadowing the throbbing along his jaw. “We’ve decided, Ray,” Brinson finally said.
“Then do it. I’m calling the conference together. I hope they’ll listen.”
Seeton got up and came to him, resting a hand on his shoulder. “If he doesn’t listen to you, he’ll listen to me. We go back a long way together.”
Trexler struggled to his feet and limped to the tight beam station. “Link me to Admiral Chandrajuski, and have Admiral Taylor standing by.”
It was hard to tell when a Gamordian was stressed, but Chandrajuski looked stressed when he appeared. “Welcome back, Ray,” he said. “Can this wait?”
“No, sir. I want you to pull back all your assets for a few hours and come here for a conference. I promise you it will be worth your while.”
“Time is of the essence. Can you come here?”
“No, sir. I’m on the way to sick bay.”
“You’re sick? This is not the best of times for that, my friend.”
“Not sick. Wounded. It’s not bad, and I’m functional, but I badly need some pain relief. I can get started on that while you’re enroute.”
The great eyes blinked, and Trexler could tell Chandrajuski was on the point of refusing his request.
“Sir, if you’ll do as I ask, I guarantee a win.”
“There are no guarantees in warfare, Ray. We face a monumental uphill struggle.”
“You’re looking up at the problem. How would you like to look down on it from a position of superiority? I can’t discuss the particulars over the air. If you would, sir, keep all your ships headed inbound, whether they’re in front of or behind the Rebels. That way you won’t lose position, just a little time. And bring M’Coda.”
Chandrajuski was still on the verge of refusing. From everything he knew, he was, indeed, wasting time.
Seeton stepped into the pick-up. “Do it, sir. I beg you.”
Gamordians might move slowly most of the time, but they could make decisions quickly when it mattered. “We’re on our way.”
Trexler’s next call was to Sam Taylor.
Sam’s hair was in disarray, but otherwise he appeared non-plussed. “Hi, Ray. Are you ready to get back to work?”
“I need you here for a conference. It’s one of those things that is regrettable but will, in the end, have paybacks. You’ll like what you’re about to hear. You’ll shortly receive orders from Chandrajuski to pull back. Put a hustle on it, Sam.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Trexler reached a shaking hand to a chair and sat down. With his eyes closed, he said to Seeton, “I think I need a crutch.”
“Sorry, Ray. You’re going out of here on a stretcher. It’s already on the way, and sick bay is standing by.”
Just laying down and getting the weight off his foot was a tremendous relief to Trexler. He was sound asleep when he reached sick bay.
Seeton gave instructions to the medical staff. “He needs to be awake and alert in two hours. Whatever painkillers you use, he’ll need his full wits about him by then.”
A doctor was called and briefed. “We have a number of serious injuries here,” she said. “He’ll have to wait.”
“He’s not waiting. That’s an order, Doctor.”
Trexler went into an analyzer, and the doctor studied the results. “We have restoration tanks for injuries to the extremities, but I can’t leave him in there long without repairing the toes first. If I do, they’ll heal poorly. I’ll put him in for now, and I’ll get back to him later tonight, or maybe tomorrow. We have soldiers dying here, Admiral.”
“He needs to get back to the operations center.”
“He’s not going anywhere. If he does, he’ll lose some toes.”
“I’ll personally volunteer his toes to the war effort.”
A groggy voice sounded from the next bed. Colonel Waverly said, “I’ll volunteer the toes, too.”
“Is there no other way, sir?”
Seeton considered. “Actually, there might be another short-term solution. Can you clear an area for me to hold a meeting here?”
“We’re a little crowded right now.”
“That’s okay. We won’t need much room. You get started on him, and I’ll see to a work detail.”
An eyebrow ticked up on the doctor’s face, and she didn’t look happy. “Go away, sir. You can come back i
n two hours. He’ll be waiting for you.”
Seeton disappeared, and the doctor worked on the foot for a few minutes, then wrapped it up. While she worked, she had the Chief of the Boat summoned. Trexler’s lower body was going into a tank when the Chief arrived.
“I need a portable restoration tank that will hold a foot. Can you provide one?”
“How portable? They’re pretty big.”
“He’s going into the operations center with it.”
“It’s pretty crowded in there. Let me give it some thought.”
“I’ve been given two hours.”
“That will be a little tight. I’ll see what I can do.”
When Trexler woke up two hours later, his lower body was encased in a tank. He looked around and realized he was in the main bay of sick bay. Lots of beds held wounded soldiers. Waverly was beside him, his head encased in bandages. Walters was on the other side of Waverly, covered by a sheet. He was up on one arm, watching Trexler.
“Welcome back, sir. How do you feel?”
“Pretty good, actually. How about you?”
“I haven’t been looked at yet. Stevens is in the operating room right now. The doctor asked me to tell you they put a nerve block on your lower body. Nothing down there will work, so don’t try getting out of that thing.”
“I have work to do.”
“Admiral Seeton told them you’d hold the meeting right here.”
Waverly spoke without opening his eyes. “Hello, Ray.”
“Hey, how you doing?”
“Just a concussion, nothing serious. I’ll be up and around in a few days.”
Seeton came into the room, and beds and medical equipment started getting shifted around.
“Harry, I need to get out of here,” Trexler called.
“All in good time, my friend. They’re making you a portable restoration tank, but you’ll have to give them a few hours to work on your foot before they let you out. We’ll hold the meeting here. Admiral Taylor is aboard. He’s in the ops center. Chandrajuski and M’Coda will be here in twenty minutes.”
“We all need to be in the operations center.”
Seeton stopped what he was doing and stared at Trexler. “You know, Ray, I watched an amazing thing happen today. You have the whole battle mapped out in your head, and you’ve never once looked at a display.”
Knights of the Chosen (Spirit of Empire, Book Two) Page 42