In the Stormy Red Sky

by David Drake

  And speaking of the Arcona, where the bloody hell was she? Had her computer—

  Space-time rippled as a ship began to extract into sidereal space only two thousand miles away from the Milton. Both the dorsal and ventral turrets groaned to bear on the potential target; Chazanoff—and doubtless Chief Borries in the BDC—bent to plotting courses. Their launch tubes had been reloaded, and they were perfectly willing to expend their missiles on a target even if it happened to be barely beyond knife distance as space battles went.

  The disruption was the Arcona rejoining the squadron. And about time! Daniel thought, till he glanced, then stared, at the visuals of the old cruiser. Eight of her port and dorsal antennas stood like lightning-stripped trees, and there was heavy damage to the rigging of the other antennas of those rows. Tags of sail fabric and cable dangled from the yards.

  cdr kiesche offers his apologies read Adele's crawl across the bottom of his display. She—correctly—didn't believe the information was worth connecting the Arcona's commander with Daniel, but she thought he should know about it.

  "Signals," said Daniel, "convey my regards to Commander Kiesche and my congratulations on being able to rendezvous after such severe damage, over."

  Plasma expended its energy on the first object the ion touched. Thus even a very powerful plasma cannon was a short-range weapon in an atmosphere, and a starship's sails protected her hull from bolts. The Arcona's plating hadn't received so much as a sunburn from the short-range hits by an Alliance destroyer in the moments before the destroyer herself was crushed by RCN gunfire.

  Two bolts had by bad luck hit antennas rather than sails, Dorsal Four and Port Three, reducing them to stubs. A 10-centimeter plasma cannon might gouge a divot from a cruiser's hull, but the thick plating would absorb the charge without structural damage. Antenna tubing had vaporized into shock waves of gaseous steel which acted as secondary missiles.

  The fireballs had stripped sails away like scythes on grass and had plated the antennas and yards. The rig couldn't be adjusted until each welded joint had been laboriously knocked free. Commander Kiesche had indeed done well to rejoin the rest of the squadron so quickly, since all of his prepared astrogation programs would have to be redone. It also explained why the Arcona's turrets, sealed in molten sail fabric, hadn't engaged the S152 during the few seconds that were available.

  Daniel switched to a brief close-up of the base on Inner, which V67 and T63 had raked on Cory's suggestion. Adele's software had adjusted the image: the Insidioso had only a flat slant angle on the polar crater, so it was a computer's best guess or nothing.

  T63 had been built on Zuiderdamm before that world had grudgingly joined the Alliance; she mounted five 5-inch guns in single turrets. Daniel disagreed with the design philosophy, but under the present unusual circumstances—firing at extreme range at very flimsy targets—the heavy guns had been ideal. The three launchers and most of the reload pallets had been destroyed by their own missiles. The crater wall had shielded the fourth battery, but alone it couldn't protect the base from most low-level attacks.

  "Cory," Daniel ordered on the command channel, "report, over."

  "No ships damaged," Cory said, referring to the five destroyers for which he was responsible. He piped the first syllables, but his voice settled quickly into normal range. "Thirteen of twenty-two missiles launched, that's none at all from Z12. TA14 hit the City of Hoboken, or anyway a missile passed through the debris cloud, over."

  "Cazelet?" said Daniel, "over."

  If there'd been more time, he would have taken reports from his captains. It was only human for those officers to want, to need, either to brag about success or justify their failure. Filtering the information, both verbal and visual, through his own officers was much quicker and possibly more accurate.

  "Twelve of eighteen launched," Cazelet said. "The Z44 had a missile light without ejecting so both tubes of that set are gone. Captain Grief says there's no structural damage, though. Ah, and no hits, over."

  Half of the destroyers in Admiral Petersen's fleet—including those of Captain Varnell's captured squadron—were either old or foreign-built. Their gun and missile armament was likely to be lighter than that of new Fleet elements, as well as being in a poor state of repair.

  "Else, over?" Daniel said.

  "Sir!" Else said. Her image looked tense and her voice was noticeably high-pitched. "Twenty-four of twenty-eight rounds launched, two hits each on Kiaouchow and Helgowelt. Many gunfire hits on battleship Helgoland. Sir!"

  "Fink, over?" said Daniel. Else had glided over the fact the Eckernferde hadn't engaged the S152 as directed, but he already understood the situation.

  "Treasurer Johann launched twenty-one of thirty-two missiles!" the midshipman said. "A near miss on the Helgowelt, and two very near misses on the City of Hoboken! Over!"

  A bit too much enthusiasm, Daniel thought. Fink sounds as though he were the cruiser's real captain instead of his proxy.

  He grinned. Given how poor Commander Rowland's astrogation has been, that might not be a bad choice.

  "Barrett, over?" said Daniel.

  "Sir, the Arcona made a perfect one light-hour extraction," Barrett said, his jaw muscles bulging with determination. "She was in the process of launching when two plasma bolts from the Pigott struck her. Nonetheless she got away twenty-seven missiles and scored a hit on the Helgowelt."

  He cleared his throat. "Despite extensive rigging damage," he resumed, "she can navigate over short distances without a significant time penalty, over."

  Daniel kept his smile from reaching his lips. Barrett was being an advocate also, but that was fair. An RCN officer should take his duties personally . . . at least if he expected to get along with Captain Daniel Leary.

  "Blantyre?" he said. "What of our battleship, over?"

  He'd decided this time that having his officers at their stations was more important than the collegiality of gathering the council in the captain's presence. Though he knew Adele would just as soon be on another planet from the other parties to a discussion, emotionally Daniel would still rather have been sitting around a table with them.

  He glanced at the lieutenant's image on his display. Somewhat to his surprise, she was scowling.

  "Sir!" Blantyre said. "The Direktor Friedrich launched eighty-one of ninety-six missiles. Three shutters didn't open, a bank of four missiles hadn't been filled with reaction mass, and one missile appears to have been rusted solidly into its tube. B Turret didn't fire, they're not certain of the cause yet, but both gunnery targets were eliminated by the remaining turrets."

  Bloody hell! If that's the standard of a crew made up largely of spacers from Admiral Ozawa's battleships, then there may have been more involved with the New Harmony disaster than treachery and bad luck!

  Blantyre's face worked, then relapsed into a sour, "Over."

  "Say the rest, Lieutenant," Daniel said, "over."

  "Sir," said Blantyre, her voice glowing with suppressed fury, "under any other circumstances I'd recommend removing the Friedrich's captain, first lieutenant, and chief missileer. As a start. But we can't, can we? There isn't time. Because we're going right back in, over."

  How many junior lieutenants would have realized we were going to resume the attack? Daniel wondered. In truth, quite a number would; the Academy trained cadets in the traditions of the RCN as surely as it did in the technical skills an officer would need. But not all of them would be as eager as Blantyre was.

  "Yes, we're going back," Daniel said mildly. "I trust that Captain Pimental will at least be sure that her missiles are fueled this time. And I hope for her sake that her defensive armament is fully functioning."

  Several of the Alliance destroyers had launched missiles during the initial engagement, but Force Anston's hit-and-run tactics ensured that Daniel's squadron had inserted into the Matrix long before they could arrive. This time Admiral Petersen would have ample warning as his opponents started to extract. It would be a battle, not an ambush,
and the odds were heavily on the side of the Alliance.

  "And Vesey?" Daniel said, smiling again. "How did the flagship perform, over?"

  Vesey turned at the astrogator's console to face him. "Sir!" she said. "The Milton launched thirty-one of thirty-two missiles. The failure to launch resulted from a feed line which fractured during the most recent series of insertions and extractions. It's been repaired, though unfortunately not in time to launch with the remainder of the salvo."

  She coughed delicately to insert a pause, then continued, "Fortunately, the missiles which did launch scored three hits including the first one on the Helgowelt, and three more hits on the City of Hoboken, though after the cruiser had been struck head-on by a projectile from the Friedrich. This is the highest percentage of hits in the squadron and reflects great honor on the Milton's captain and company. Over."

  "Thank you, Lieutenant Vesey," Daniel said dryly. He chuckled and added, "I believe that even observers less biased than we are would agree with your sentiments."

  He hadn't excepted her reference to the Milton's captain from his endorsement. After a victory like the one just gained, false modesty would make him sound like a mealy mouthed twit. By the Gods! they'd stuck it to the Alliance.

  "Break," he said. "Ship, this is Six. Fellow spacers, we've defeated a powerful enemy. Those of you who've served with me before know what happens next: the Alliance has some ships that we didn't get the first time, so we're going back to finish the job. I expect it to be a hard fight, but we're the RCN so the fight's going to be harder for the wogs on the other side. RCN forever!"

  RCN forever/Up Cinnabar/Hurrah for Captain Leary and a score of variations on the sentiment rang through the Milton's corridors. That was as it should be.

  Daniel sighed. He had two tasks. The second and in some ways the simpler, was to defeat the remaining Alliance ships in the Cacique System. But the first—

  "Signals," Daniel said. "Link me with the rest of the squadron and I'll deliver my orders. Over."

  Adele set the link from Daniel to Force Anston as Receive Only. The other vessels could call the Milton, of course—their captains were doing so with enthusiasm. They just couldn't get through to Admiral Leary unless Signals Officer Mundy decided that they should, which hadn't happened yet.

  The lieutenant commanding T63 was particularly importunate; when Daniel didn't respond to her messages via modulated laser, she'd begun transmitting on microwave and the 20-meter band, Admiral's Eyes Only. Adele supposed that dogged determination was an asset in an RCN officer; but shouldn't it be coupled to a modicum of intelligence?

  "Fellow officers," Daniel said. Adele had wondered how he would begin this briefing. All the commanders and most of the lieutenant commanders in Force Anston had more time in service than Daniel did, and they wouldn't be human if they didn't feel at least a touch of resentment at his rapid promotion.

  "We've certainly begun well; now it's time to finish the job. I'm transmitting—"

  Adele had waited till Daniel used the words to send the packets to the rest of the squadron. She sent them as clear text; normally they'd have been in the squadron's code of the day, but the cipher equipment in the other fourteen vessels was of Alliance manufacture.

  There was no reason the signals officers couldn't have learned to use the unfamiliar hardware quickly and properly in the days they'd had to practice—and perhaps all of them had. This wasn't a time to take chances, though. The risk of an Alliance scout gathering information a light-day from Cacique in time to affect the coming engagement was too small to consider.

  "—my battle orders. I'd like you all to look at your assignments, then tell me if for any reason you think your command may not be able to execute them, over."

  Eight of the captains responded immediately; Adele continued to block the transmissions. Quite obviously, if they were chattering they weren't reviewing their orders.

  Senator Forbes unlatched her seat restraints and started to get up. Hogg was holding a stocked impeller, as he generally did when the ship was about to go into action. He thrust it crossways in front of the senator like a waist-high railing, then shoved her back down.

  The jumpseat hadn't flipped back against the bulkhead because Tovera was holding it. Adele didn't imagine that Tovera's quick understanding had affected the way Hogg proceeded.

  She ought to be thankful she hadn't taken a seat on the other side of the compartment, Adele thought. Hogg still would have stopped her, but she'd have been slammed against the bulkhead from a longer distance.

  Forbes looked at Hogg, shrugged acceptance, and pointed with her left hand toward Adele. Their eyes met briefly. Adele felt her lips tighten, but—

  She nodded. For Daniel's sake and the mission's, it was desirable to humor the senator when it was possible. Hogg lifted the weapon and waved Forbes free with a mocking flourish.

  Captain Pimental of the Direktor Friedrich hadn't—somewhat to Adele's surprise—been one of those who'd wanted to jabber before she'd read the orders. When she called now, "Friedrich Six to Anston Six, over," Adele responded, "One moment, Friedrich," and transformed it to a text on Daniel's display. As she'd expected, he opened the message immediately.

  Forbes knelt beside Adele's couch. She wouldn't be able to stay here when the cruiser began maneuvering, but that wouldn't happen until they extracted above Cacique again.

  "Admiral," said Pimental, "Direktor Friedrich will carry out your orders without excuses. I've sacked the Chief Missileer and his mate and replaced them with two commissioned officers who've programmed missiles in combat on destroyers. The problems with the missiles have been corrected and we've put jumpers around the rotten wiring harness of Dorsal B. I, ah, I'm getting together jumpers for the remaining turrets, as I expect they're in a similarly bad state of repair. Over."

  Blantyre would say that was a good start, Adele thought. It did at least indicate that Pimental wasn't trying to brazen out her command's obvious deficiencies.

  "Mundy, what's going to happen now?" Forbes said. Her voice was steady and no louder than it had to be to be heard over the High Drive, but the skin across her cheekbones was tight.

  Daniel was discussing alternative targets with Captain Pimental in case the battleship extracted badly out of position in the Cacique System. It boiled down to the fact that there were no alternatives: all his heavy ships were to split their initial salvo between the two Alliance battleships regardless of circumstances.

  Pimental apparently didn't want to hear that, but for some reason Daniel was being patient with her. Perhaps the squadron had a great deal to repair, flaws which had remained hidden until the stress of the initial engagement. Certainly the saw—or perhaps a drill?—screaming on D Level wasn't a normal part of the Milton's routine.

  Satisfied that her part of the business was under control, Adele glanced at the senator and smiled faintly. "We're going to attack Admiral Petersen again," she said. "To cover the obvious: yes, we'll be outnumbered about two to one, and yes, they'll certainly be prepared for us."

  Daniel signed off with Captain Pimental, politely but firmly.

  "Break," Adele said, dropping into communications protocol though she was speaking face to face with Forbes. She kept an eye on the display but she didn't actually have to intervene: Daniel simply opened the icon for the Treasurer Johann and began speaking to its captain.

  She looked back to the senator, who sighed and said, "Those things weren't obvious to me, Lady Mundy, which I suppose shows my naivety as well as my ignorance. Will we win?"

  Adele thought about the question. There were many temporizing answers she could honestly offer, but she saw no reason not to state the flat truth.

  "There's a good chance that we'll do enough damage that Admiral Petersen will withdraw, breaking the siege of Cacique," she said. "I suppose one could call that a victory—Daniel would, certainly; that's why he's attacking. But rationally we must expect to take heavier casualties than the Alliance squadron will."

  Dani
el had switched to the captain of the Eckernferde and was delivering personal congratulations on the ship's exceptionally good missile performance. The Eckernferde was an old cruiser built on the Cinnabar ally Ghent and captured by the Alliance decades past. Her present crew had been transported almost complete from the Exeter, scuttled in harbor on New Harmony.

  "Will we survive, then?" Forbes said. "Can we survive, Mundy?"

  "We can survive . . . ," Adele said, her lips pursing as she considered the question. "I've informed the RCN authorities on Cacique, and of course they've observed what happened when we first arrived. They'll have cued the minefield to pass us through, so there'll be easy sanctuary for even badly damaged ships to flee."

  That wasn't quite as certain as she'd made it sound: it would require that the people on the ground were alert and competent. Adele would have liked to live in a universe where those traits were more general than she'd found them in the past.