Dyachenko chortled as he followed Jerry to the Admiral’s office. The look of horror on their faces had been something to see. He smiled and wondered if Paul knew his ensigns were afraid of him. Fancy anyone being afraid of Paul Rawlins.
“Hello Joseph, is he in?”
“Yes sir, Mister President. You’ll be needing this,” Joseph said and handed him a headset.
“I will?”
“Yes sir. I was told to make sure you put it on before entering.”
“I had better do that then.”
Dyachenko smiled, put on the device, and then nodded to Joseph before going through into Rawlins’ office. He stopped abruptly on the threshold as he realised there was not one but two aliens present. This was a great day for him. Just think, he was meeting an alien representative of an alien race, perhaps the first such race to join the Alliance.
Rawlins stood. “Mister President, may I introduce ambassador Tei’Varyk and his mate Tarjei?”
Dyachenko closed the door separating himself from the distractions he had brought with him. He would catch hell for it later, but he didn’t want Andrew trying to search the aliens.
“This is a very great honour,” Dyachenko said, bowing in the most formal greeting he knew. It seemed the right thing.
Tei’Varyk and Tarjei bowed and then held up their right palms.
“Press your right palm to theirs, Mister President,” a man in the uniform of a Fleet Captain said.
“Ah, a handshake?”
“Similar, Mister President.”
Dyachenko pressed his palm to Tei’Varyk’s and then Tarjei’s palm… paw? He noted the claws and the pads. The pads felt rough like the paw of a dog. Did they go on all fours sometimes? It was fascinating.
“I greet you on behalf of the elders,” Tei’Varyk said formally.
The translation came through the headset clearer than Dyachenko had imagined it would. “Thank you. Welcome to the Alliance. Let us be seated so we may discuss your news.”
Rawlins introduced him to Captain Colgan and they shook hands. “Well done, Captain. I’m sorry for the loss of your crewmen. You and yours have done a very great service for the Alliance.”
“Thank you, Mister President. It will mean a lot to them.”
Dyachenko took a seat. Colgan had not said it meant a lot to him, only his crew. It was always hard losing people you cared for, but it was worse when they died because they had followed your orders. How well he knew that.
“I received your message, Paul. The Red-One is in effect?”
Rawlins nodded. “Throughout the system, yes sir. The rest of the Alliance will receive the order as the couriers arrive. The effect will ripple out from the centre and gain momentum. A month or so will see every ship and world on Red-One alert. Movement orders will go out no later than today. I must consolidate my assets in key locations.”
“I understand, but I trust you will not uncover our worlds.”
“I can’t guarantee that. I must plan for an incursion within the year, two at the outside. I have already ordered the shipyards to ramp up production of our Washington class cruisers as well as our production of cap ship missiles. We’re going to need them.”
Dyachenko nodded. Such things were within the First Space Lord’s authority, though his budget would not cover the cost. It was the Council’s job to provide the Navy Department with the necessary funds and it would be high on the agenda for tomorrow’s meeting.
“We need to plan for an increase in fuel expenditure and attrition in ground forces,” Rawlins went on. “Recruiting has never been a problem for us, but we need to treble it if we can. I’ll need your permission to raise the age limit.”
“Why my permission? You have the authority, though I should think lowering it would be in your interest not the other way.”
Rawlins shook his head. “Twenty is as low as I will ever go, but that has nothing to do with the Merkiaari. I just think the kids of today are too immature below that age. They live their lives in luxury filling their heads with Zelda and the Spaceways and think that’s all there is to life. I would like to send them to live on the Border Worlds for a while. Might wake them up.”
Dyachenko snorted. “So you want to re-activate the old-timers?”
Old-timers were ex-army and ex-Marine. They were not truly in service any longer, but they played a role as a territorial army or what used to be called a national guard. They trained together for the sense of comradeship and liked to play soldier on weekends. It would take much less time to bring them up to speed than a batch of green recruits.
“Not necessarily. I want to offer them positions in their old branch of the military whether Navy or regular army, but I especially want as many trained people with rifles in their hands as I can get. You know we can’t stop them making landings if they’re determined. Remember Garnet?”
“How could I forget?”
“I would hate to see that kind of thing happen again.”
Garnet was a core world. Its population had nearly been wiped out, but the resistance had taken a great toll on the Merkiaari and had survived long enough for the Alliance to bring enough ships to the system to annihilate the aliens. Garnet was re-taken, but the cost in lives had been astronomical.
“I could increase the available ground forces by almost twenty-five percent if I use the old timers in a guard position. They will free up a good many of my men for redeployment,” Rawlins said.
“Do it,” he said but then added a qualifier, “Quietly.”
“The media will find out, sir, you know that.”
“I know, but I need time to arrange matters before they start asking questions I can’t answer.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Now,” Dyachenko said. “You want me to sign off on you sending the task force to help?”
“Not just that. I want to send the 501st.”
“Hmmm, Jerry mentioned it.”
Rawlins leaned forward. “If we can kick their butts out of the system and hold them out long enough to establish a strong defence, Tei’Varyk assures me the elders will join the Alliance.”
“That is so,” Tei’Varyk said. He had been following the conversation with interest. “I am the eyes and ears of the elders—you say ambassador. My voice is theirs.”
“You have that kind of authority?” Dyachenko asked, surprised but glad to hear it.
“To be the eyes and ears for the elders is a great honour,” Tei’Varyk said and his mate flicked her ears in agreement. “The elders will never leave our system. I am their representative to the Alliance. The elders are bound—as I am bound—by my word.”
“Have you discussed joining the Alliance with them?”
“I had many meetings with them. We discussed the future and the past. It was decided to join your Alliance if certain things came to pass.”
“What things?” he asked, still felling a little sceptical—an ambassador with power to bind his entire race?
“We were not sure of humans. It was decided we would be friends, but no more than that. We would not join you until we saw for ourselves that what we were told by James was true.”
“James?”
“Professor Wilder, Mister President,” Colgan said. “He more or less led the contact team after the first few months.”
“I see. James told you of us then, he told you of the Alliance?”
“We spoke for many cycles—days,” Tarjei said.
“He is a good friend,” Tei’Varyk agreed. “He spoke of the Merkiaari attacking humans, of uncountable millions of humans inhabiting over two hundred worlds, of vast fleets of ships, of… of many things. We did not believe all, but I have come to see the truth. If I could, I would tell the elders what I know, but that is not possible. If they still live, they would order me to join the Alliance and free our worlds. I know this as I know my clan name.”
“Tei’Varyk speaks truth,” Tarjei said. “He is elder for all our people here.”
Tei’Var
yk’s ears flattened. “My mate does not speak my words.”
Dyachenko cocked his head. What was happening now? Tei’Varyk seemed upset by his mate’s support. Colgan had a look of speculation on his face as if he had an idea and was waiting to see it borne out. Dyachenko listened to his translator and concentrated on making sense of what he heard.
“I speak the words of those here with us. We all agree, Tei,” Tarjei said.
“But I do not want this!” Tei’Varyk protested. “I want a ship, a crew, and a mate who loves me as I love her. Nothing else.”
“You will have all these things again. You have me already, but now you must be elder. For the good of our people, you must be elder. Who else sees the future so clearly—Kajika?”
Tei’Varyk dropped his jaw in a laugh. “I do not think so!”
Tarjei flipped her ears in amusement.
Tei’Varyk turned back to his audience. “The twin worlds of harmony will join the Alliance.”
Dyachenko nodded. “And we will take care of the Merkiaari,” he said and turned to Rawlins. “Send in the vipers.”
* * *
Chapter 19
On route to TF19, Northcliff system
“Rawlins did this on purpose,” Alice Meyers, one time Admiral of Fifth Fleet’s third squadron, said as she surveyed her new command.
“I doubt the First Space Lord shook you loose of Fifth Fleet on a whim ma’am,” Lieutenant Pike, her flag Lieutenant, said with a straight face.
She snorted, but Joshua was right. Paul Rawlins might be many things, but one thing he wasn’t was an alarmist. Her orders to go in ready for bear meant he believed shooting was in the offing. She looked forward to it, but how much action was she likely to see when he deemed a scratch built task force like TF19 was suitable for the mission?
“I ought to be getting the squadron ready for the war games, not dicking about with this pitiful excuse for a task force. Why am I in the back and beyond? There are other admirals he could have sent.”
Joshua wisely remained silent.
“Sorry,” Meyers said. She really shouldn’t put him in a position where he either agreed with her thereby showing disloyalty to the First Space Lord, or disagreeing with her and pissing off his CO.
“No problem, ma’am,” Joshua said. “If you’ve seen enough, I’ll make ready to dock—” he broke off as he received a transmission over his headset.
“Problems?” she asked, already expecting some kind of trouble.
“Victorious just went to Red One, ma’am!”
Red One! “What reason did they give?”
“None, ma’am. I was receiving docking instructions when I heard the announcement, but nothing since then.”
“Take us in, Joshua, quick as you can.”
“Aye, ma’am. Victorious this is Bravo-two-four requesting immediate docking.”
“Cleared to dock Bravo-two-four; bay four.”
“Roger, bay four.”
Joshua handled the shuttle with the finesse she had come to expect of him, but she could still admire his skill. He pushed the throttle through the stops and the shuttle surged ahead pressing her into her acceleration couch. She grunted, but said nothing as he manoeuvred between ASN Neptune and ASN Vigilant. Both destroyers were at station keeping, making the manoeuvre look easy, though of course it wasn’t. Joshua’s course—laid down by eye she noted—threaded the needle as if he did this every day.
Destroyers were not large by Fleet standards, but a shuttle was still tiny in comparison. Meyers watched the armoured hull of ASN Vigilant passing a few metres to starboard and leaned forward against the accel trying to see the top of the huge letter G of her name as it receded rearward. A stupendous letter I took its place quickly followed by the V.
Destroyers were small ships, but still vast in comparison to a tiny Admiral gaping out the window like a tourist. She shivered in delight as the shuttle shot passed Vigilant’s forward batteries. She noted the maintenance work ongoing inside one of her two forward firing missile tubes.
“Hmmm, remind me to get an update on ship’s readiness when we’ve settled in, Joshua. Looks like Vigilant might have rail problems,” she said, noting a new section of launch rail being manoeuvred into place through the open outer door of her number two launch tube.
“Aye, aye ma’am,” Joshua said, keeping his eyes glued to his instruments.
ASN Victorious loomed up ahead of them broadside on to their approach, which gave Meyers a wonderful view of her white painted and armoured hide. Any heavy cruiser was an awesome weapon, but the Washington class cruiser was the pinnacle of current cruiser development. Armoured to take punishment from any ship up to and including a Merki dreadnaught, she had enough firepower to take out ships double her mass while retaining the speed and manoeuvrability of cruisers half her size.
Dreadnoughts of course, were superior to battle cruisers at soaking up enemy fire while dishing out horrendous storms of missiles, but for all of that they were still too slow for anything but system defence, which is what they were used for in the main. Defending was fine by her, but she liked to hit hard and first if possible. A heavy cruiser squadron was perfect for the job, more than one and she was in heaven. A fleet would come to her in time, but for now, she had other concerns to think about.
Although she had left ten heavy cruisers behind at her last posting in Forestal, it was impossible to be blasé about having this one under her command. A Washington class heavy cruiser like Victorious in her task force made up for a hell of a lot. Rawlins had probably given her the ship as a kind of apology for boosting her out of Fifth Fleet. Whatever it had taken to get Victorious here, she was here and Meyers thanked God and Paul Rawlins for it.
She gazed at the ship, ignoring the mountainous carrier in the background that made even a heavy cruiser look puny by comparison. She had a great deal of respect for battle group carriers and those who crewed them, but she still found their weak armour and lack of offensive punch a turn off. Carriers could be effective if used correctly, but they needed to be constantly protected by sufficient force to see off an aggressor. That kind of thing was a serious handicap to an admiral with very few ships to begin with and a penchant for offensive tactics.
“What a beauty,” Joshua said, meaning Victorious. “Shame we haven’t got a few more, ma’am.”
“Give us time, give us time. Her class is still new. I don’t think we’ve reached double figures as yet, but we will.”
“I heard they have a new battleship in the works,” Joshua said.
“I doubt that. There’s really no need for another class. We have everything pretty much covered. Destroyers and frigates for hard-hitting quick actions, light cruisers to screen the heavier units and safeguard the carriers, heavy cruisers for striking at the enemy, and dreadnaughts for when the enemy won’t take no for an answer. Battleships can’t provide anything we don’t already have.”
“It was a pretty solid rumour, ma’am.”
“From where, from whom?” she asked with a frown developing between her eyes. Building battleships was fine with her, but what need? Surely the money was better spent on improving current designs.
“I’d rather not say, ma’am,” Joshua said uncomfortably.
Meyers considered her flag lieutenant, debating whether to order him to speak, when they finally arrived and began docking procedures.
“Saved by the bell,” she whispered and Joshua flushed as he worked to bring the shuttle into the docking cradle smoothly. Gravity resumed as they crossed the threshold and Joshua, ever the perfectionist, lowered the shuttle with nary a bump.
As the bay pressurised, Meyers stood and straightened her tunic. Taking command of a new squadron, or task force in this case, was something of an event. Already she could see her captains entering the bay accompanied by one or two officers from their ships.
“I hope they left someone in charge when they decided to bring all that lot to meet me,” she muttered under her breath.
“I’m sure they left someone aboard to turn the lights out, ma’am.”
She smiled and made her way out of the cockpit and into the main cabin. Joshua preceded her and keyed the hatch open so that she might descend without waiting.
“How do I look?” she asked.
“Like a very important admiral, Admiral.”
“That’s good,” she whispered and stepped through the hatch.
As soon as she appeared at the top of the ramp, the side party snapped to attention and saluted. She returned the salute and began to descend even as the computer-generated boson’s pipes sounded her arrival.
“Honour guard, attennnnnn-hut!” the Marine gunnery sergeant barked, as she set foot on the deck of Victorious’s bay. The Marine detachment snapped to attention slapping their rifles in perfect synch. The pipes faded and the ship’s computer announced her arrival.
“Admiral Meyers arriving,” the feminine contralto said.
Meyers turned to face a Commander she didn’t know and returned his salute with one of her own. “Permission to come aboard?”
“Permission granted, Admiral,” he said and introduced himself. “I’m Commander Hanson, Victorious’ XO. If you will permit me?”
Meyers nodded. “Certainly, Commander,” she said, going through the motions that courtesy dictated at such times, but all the while wondering where her flag captain might be.
Commander Hanson walked on her left and introduced her to the officers standing at attention waiting to meet her. She had been correct in her assessment; they were her Captains. As she moved along the line, she itched to know where Thomas Fernandez—Victorious’ Captain—was keeping himself. What was he doing that was more important than greeting his Admiral?
Meyers moved along the line memorising faces and names, all the while wishing she knew what was happening. The courtesies were soon over and she could be herself. The Marine detachment was dismissed leaving her to speak with the Captains of TF19.
“Commander Hanson, where is my flag captain and why isn’t he here?”
“He’s decoding the Red-One message, ma’am. He asked me to apologise for his absence, but he felt it necessary to read the news as soon as possible.”
Merkiaari Wars: 02 - What Price Honour Page 30