Stockwell stood in silence for a moment before beginning to chuckle. “Please tell me, Admiral, that you are joking?”
“I never joke on matters such as these, Mr Stockwell.”
“Exactly what could be gained from shipping those stragglers out of Imperial space?”
“Any member of the Imperial race is useful to the Enemy.”
Stockwell scoffed once more at the comment, his laughter now ceased. “I hardly think that a bunch of grannies could be useful to anyone—”
The man stopped speaking abruptly as the words left his mouth, looking as though he had suffered a momentary loss of control over his tongue. Parks studied Jenkins for a moment, wondering how she might respond to Stockwell’s faux pas. Jenkins said nothing, but locked Stockwell with a piercing stare.
At fifty-eight years of age, Amanda Jenkins could be considered to be within the category of what Stockwell saw to be ‘an old woman’. Whilst Parks was certain that Stockwell hadn’t meant it as a direct attack on the admiral – the man did in fact know where to draw the line – it wasn’t helped by the fact that in the early weeks of her new position, much of the tabloid press had carried either derogatory or unfavourable pieces about the woman – the title Captain Granny was popular, as were digitally enhanced photographs of Jenkins with either a walking stick or support frame. She had, for the most part, risen above such comments, though there had been occasions when they had caused her temper to flare. She was, after all, only human.
Stockwell seemed to struggle with his inappropriate remark for a time, before he managed to find his tongue. “Please excuse my comment,” he said in a more subdued manner. “It was not meant to cause offence. We have done our very best to comply with the evacuation in an efficient and timely fashion. But we are talking about picking up an entire planet and attempting to rehouse the population in a matter of only a few months. Whilst some of my good friends here have enjoyed the relative ease of moving just a few million people—”
A number of loud, unsubtle coughs came from various seats within the gathered assembly, to suggest that it hadn’t, in fact, been all that easy. Stockwell ignored them.
“—we have certainly struggled and are in desperate need of assistance, if we are to meet our target deadlines.” He then went on to list a number of other factors that had contributed to Oracle IX’s woes. Out of all the planets that had been evacuated from the Independent frontier systems, Oracle IX had been the most densely populated. Of the remaining systems, there were only small colonies to be considered, mostly made up of industrial sites and research stations. The total number of those to be evacuated was just over four hundred million. It could easily be seen why Stockwell was so very frustrated with the entire effort.
As Stockwell went on, Parks scanned the other seated representatives. Most eyes were focused on Stockwell. Others appeared to have heard it all before and were taking the time out to discuss other issues with those around them. Parks’ eyes were drawn to one face, sat close to the front, whose own eyes were focused on the three Confederate delegates. Sima Mandeep caught Parks with her irresistible smile, red lips complimenting her near-flawless olive skin. He smiled back at her.
His gaze was broken by a commotion in one of the aisles. Security seemed to be detaining a young man in formal CSN naval dress. He was very animated, talking quickly and excitedly, and pointing towards where Parks was sitting. Urgency was written all across his face. The security team marking the doors began to pat the man down and then took something from him, examining it closely. It looked like a small white envelope. As more of those within the assembly became aware of the young man’s presence, heads turning to face him, Parks noticed that the young man kept looking directly at him. He was suddenly unable to shake a sinking feeling.
One of the security team raised a hand to his ear and began speaking. The same moment, Parks leaned back in his chair to receive the security member behind him, who he knew was moving forward to speak. It was all too clear in his mind that the messenger had come for him.
“Commodore, I’m afraid we appear to have a situation,” the security member said, speaking low and directly into his ear. “A message has arrived that demands your immediate attention.”
Parks nodded, noticing a number of eyes upon him. Stockwell had stopped talking. “Please excuse me,” Parks said into his microphone, before rising from his seat and making his way towards the entrance, where the messenger waited. A great deal of security stood both inside and outside the doors. It appeared as though the messenger had been granted a considerable escort. This didn’t look good.
“What is it?” Parks said, stopping before the group.
“Commodore Parks, I was told to bring this to you with the utmost urgency,” the man said, saluting and handing over the envelope.
It was plain white, lacking in any kind of formal markings. It didn’t even have Parks’ name anywhere on it. The feeling of dread grew, and Parks tore the envelope open, finding only a single sheet of folded paper within. The page was almost as sparse as the envelope had been, containing few words, barely a paragraph. Parks read quickly, feeling the colour draining from his face as he did so. “Oh dear God,” he heard himself breathe.
“Commodore?”
Parks turned around to see Jenkins standing behind him. His pale exterior and the slackness of his jaw must’ve been having an effect on the usually calm and collected woman, as she appeared genuinely concerned.
“What’s happened?” she said.
Parks swallowed. “CSN Ifrit has been shot down at Coyote.”
*
The afternoon that Parks had been dreading had taken a completely different spin and he couldn’t help wishing that he could be back listening to the bickering delegates and drawling of world representatives. Even the thought of listening to the words being spouted from the unfathomable dictionary that was Parsons’ mouth was far more appealing right now.
Instead of being sat before the general assembly, he now found himself in a conference room with a number of other senior command. Following the news that Ifrit had been shot down, Parks and Jenkins had suspended their involvement in the assembly and quickly made their way from the hall, both refusing to go into details about the matter. They were joined by Mandeep, who had made her own excuses, left her place and hurried after the two Confederation officers. Owing to her history of participation and good relationship with the CSN, neither Parks nor Jenkins had objected to her joining them. They had made their way down the hallways of the IWC headquarters, to a lift that had whisked them away to an appropriate meeting room, set aside for any such emergencies.
The room was fairly large, containing an oval wooden table and a sizeable video screen, fixed to the wall at one end. It was currently displaying the Confederation insignia.
Jenkins paced just in front of it, not wanting to sit, preferring to stand. “We’re just waiting for CSN Headquarters to join us,” she informed the eyes that were following her pacing. Presently, the connection was made and the screen was filled with the scene of a boardroom, showing several seats occupied by seven men and women in full naval dress. Ordinarily, Jenkins would have occupied one of the seats herself.
“Admiral Jenkins,” one of the men on the screen greeted. “We’re ready to begin.”
“Thank you for joining us so quickly,” Jenkins greeted the board, stopping her pacing. “If you could bring us up to speed, Mr Storm?”
Storm, the same man who had first spoken, cleared his throat. “Within the last hour we have received news that CSN Ifrit, whilst en route to the Solaris system, was intercepted and boarded by hostile forces. It was brought down in the Coyote system, where it ditched on Mythos. According to Hail’s final communication, he intended to put down in the Tanis Sea, off the east coast of New Malaga.” The faces on the screen remained serious, but with obvious traces of deep concern.
Parks looked around the table to see shock written all over the faces of those he shared it with. “Coyote is a
considerable distance from Ifrit’s original intended destination,” he said to the boardroom.
Storm nodded. “Hail’s SOS broadcast suggested that the Enemy intercepted the carrier in jump, took over control of the vessel’s navigational systems and forced it back to normal space. Unfortunately, Hail didn’t say whether or not he believed this was a spontaneous or premeditated attack. However, given that they were met by an Enemy strike force upon disengagement from jump space, we believe that quite likely it was planned.”
“Premeditated or not, the attack happened,” Jenkins said, brushing aside any upcoming discussion of the Enemy’s attack strategy.
“How is that possible?” a man sat close to Parks interrupted. “I thought that attacks in jump space were extremely risky.”
“They are,” Parks said. “However, that does not mean they’re not possible. Whilst we’ve never been able to prove it, we do believe that Dragon was hijacked in exactly the same way.” Why was it that with every single week that passed, they were yet again reminded of the grim reality that they faced against those blasted Pandorans? Damn the Imperial Senate.
“What do we know about the state of the ATAFs and the White Knights?” Jenkins prompted.
“The ATAFs have been locked securely in the hold and the White Knights themselves left the ship via escape pod,” a woman next to Storm said. “It was Commodore Hail’s decision to evacuate the crew to the surface, before bringing Ifrit down. However, I regret to say that we are now entirely in the dark as to what happened next, since we have received no word from any survivors. Having said that, it was very clear from the report that the planet itself has been attacked, and therefore the White Knights and the ATAFs are at terrible risk.”
Jenkins nodded. “Then we must act sooner, rather than later. The very success of Operation Sudarberg hinges on the decisions we make here, right now. Our first objective should be to put together a task force, to travel to Mythos and salvage the ATAFs and rescue the White Knights. Do we have any idea of how strong the Enemy forces are?”
“Negative,” Storm said. “All we know is that, at the time, Ifrit was attacked by one Imperial starfighter carrier, with the support of a frigate. But Hail reported more forces jumping into the area as he began to commence evacuation procedures. As far as Mythos itself is concerned, we believe the scale of attack is near-global. If the Enemy have not yet resorted to nuclear attacks, then we could be looking at several hundred thousand soldiers on the ground—”
“Good Lord!” a voice came from across the table.
“—saying nothing about any hardware they may have taken down there with them.”
Or any that they may have acquired since, Parks thought.
“Did Hail report the Imperial carrier’s designation?” Jenkins said.
“INF Chimera—” Storm confirmed.
Damn. That was a big ship.
“—commanded by Commodore Anthony Hawke.”
For a moment, Parks was unable to breathe. He felt as though Storm had just reached out of the screen and punched him in the gut, hard. He saw Jenkins’ eyes turn towards him. Her expression was deadpan; he knew his was anything but.
“What about the identity of the frigate?”
“Longbow, as well as an unconfirmed report of the Evening Star.”
“Is that a yes or a no to Evening Star?”
“We can’t be any more certain than that I’m afraid, Admiral.”
“Very well. Pull up all the data we have on all those vessels, immediately.”
“Already on it, Admiral.”
Parks heard the voices speaking, but was paying them little attention. Hawke was alive! He recalled the last time he had seen the man, several months ago, after he had been ejected from Ifrit’s bridge, his body tumbling over and over in the vacuum of space in the Phylent system. How had … No. Blank it, forget it! Now wasn’t the time to contemplate the whys and where-ofs of Hawke’s survival.
He composed himself and cleared his throat. “Why aren’t we able to ascertain a more accurate picture of the Enemy forces?” he asked.
“Unfortunately, we’ve been unable to establish any kind of communication with the Coyote system since Hail’s SOS came in. It appears that all subspace relay points within the system have been rendered inoperable.”
Parks sat back in his seat and swore. “That’s of no use to us. We can’t very well just go charging in there blind.”
“The commodore’s right,” Jenkins said. “We need to gain a better overview of the situation before we can make any moves. Do we have any forces of our own close by?”
Those on the screen conversed for a moment. “The closest vessel is CSN Leviathan, commanded by Captain Aiden Meyers,” was the response. “They are, however, still several hundred light years away from the system and it will take them a good few hours to get there yet.”
“They will still get there quicker than any of the rest of us,” remarked Jenkins. “Very well; order Meyers to approach the system, but tell him to exercise extreme caution. If he is engaged alone by the Enemy, then the results will likely be disastrous. We simply can’t afford to lose two carriers in one day. He is to survey the area only.”
A woman on the screen began tapping away at a handheld device, her fingers working fast.
“I will put together a rescue team for immediate departure, once we have Meyers’ report,” Parks added. “As soon as this meeting is concluded, I will have Griffin and as many frigates and landers as we can prep in time to leave for the Coyote system.” He caught Jenkins’ expression as he finished speaking, for a brief second seeing a flicker of displeasure cross her features.
She made no comment, but looked to Mandeep. “Commodore, will you find out what level of support, if any, the UNF are willing to commit to us?”
“As soon as we are done here, Admiral,” Mandeep said.
There was little doubt in Parks’ mind that the UNF would provide any less than their full support, now that the Enemy were making incursions into populated portions of Independent World space.
“Please keep us well informed on that matter, Commodore,” Jenkins said. “You all have your tasks, so let’s not waste any more time.” She looked to the screen. “I will be returning to CSN HQ immediately. Expect my arrival within the next five or six hours.”
“We will await your return, Admiral,” Storm said.
“Please liaise with Commodore Parks in the meantime,” she added, “especially if you receive any further information that would be useful to the rescue teams.”
Parks nodded. The long journey through jump space would mean that Jenkins would be unreachable for the duration, and he would be the next best point of contact. Those on the screen acknowledged Jenkins before signing off, the display returning to show the CSN insignia. With that, chairs were pushed back, salutes were made and people began to exit.
“Commodore Parks,” Jenkins said.
From the tone of her voice, Parks could tell that something said during the meeting had greatly displeased her. “Admiral?”
“I need a quick word with you.”
Parks waited for the others to depart, catching Mandeep’s eye just before she disappeared from the room, leaving the two alone. Jenkins folded her arms once the door was closed, a serious look on her face.
“I don’t think I should need to remind you that Griffin was only cleared for service last week,” Jenkins said.
No, not at all, Parks thought. A reminder of the carrier’s previous outing was something that he didn’t need, the events of Operation Menelaus ones he would never forget. Most strongly, he recalled the time he had spent in the Phylent system, sat in the captain’s chair, his knuckles white from clutching the armrests as Griffin was shredded by Ifrit’s assault. The memory still sometimes crept into his dreams at night and forced him awake. He would open his eyes to find himself, not on the carrier’s bridge, but wrapped in his bed sheets. He would lie awake for hours afterwards, covered in sweat, his heart thumping hard. W
hilst all three carriers had incurred a lot of damage that day, Griffin had by far suffered the worst. After limping back to Confederation space, it had spent the next half-year in dry-dock, undergoing a frightful amount of repair work. It sounded as if almost the entire ship was being replaced.
But Griffin was his ship, Parks having served as captain aboard the vessel for many years. He had felt for it after its last failed outing, and seeing it undergoing repairs for months on end was like waiting for a loved one to come out of a long coma. He wasn’t about to let that happen again.
“I will take good care of her, Admiral,” he said.
“I hope so, Commodore,” Jenkins said, a trace of reluctant acceptance detectable in her voice. “We simply cannot afford to have that ship out of commission again for so long. We would have to fall back on the likes of Trajan, Augustus and Julius.”
Parks nearly shuddered at the thought. Last generation carriers, almost so inferior to the technological advances that had been made since that the difference was like night and day. Every single aspect of them, from crew capacity, to fighter complement, engine efficiency, jump drive capability, shielding, and weapons systems, had been surpassed by Griffin, Leviathan and Ifrit. Constructed a number of decades ago, taking them into an intense combat situation today was almost unthinkable. It would be almost like pitching a bow and arrow against a gun.
“I’ll bring her home in one piece, Amanda; along with the ATAFs and the White Knights,” Parks attempted to reassure the admiral once more.
A small scowl appeared on Jenkins’ face. “I will be expecting the ATAFs at the very least, Commodore. The Knights, as you’re well aware, are a secondary consideration.”
“I understand,” Parks said.
“And in future, would you please address me as Admiral.”
“My apologies, Admiral,” he said. He had meant no slight or disrespect against the woman by using her first name. He used it as only a personal promise to keep his word.
“Right, get going,” Jenkins said. “If we stall any longer, there might not be anything to bring home.”
The Battle for the Solar System (Complete Trilogy) Page 52