by Jay Allan
“Enemy missile launches detected, sir.” Luigi Tomasino’s voice was loud and coarse. Like Mondragon, Tomasino was an unlikely candidate for an officer’s commission in the Europan navy, though he owed his position to the generosity of his father’s employer and not to his own initiative and ability. He’d been a poorly educated member of the Pleb class, roughly comparable to the Alliance’s Cogs. He’d have spent his life as a servant, working for the same Senatorial family as his father, but the elder Tomasino saved one of the Senator’s young granddaughters from a fire, losing his own life in the process. The grateful employer offered Luigi his patronage in a new career, and the young man chose to attend the Ecole Navale. Becoming a naval officer would significantly increase his social standing, and he would be allowed to retire to the colonial world of his choice, where he would have substantially better prospects than on Earth.
He’d worked hard, and made the most of his opportunity. He was a solid officer, and while he showed no spark of tactical brilliance, he was diligent and reliable. “It’s a ragged volley, sir.” He paused, muttering softly to himself as he reviewed the data coming in. “Looks like fewer than 40 missiles, captain.”
Mondragon let out a long sigh of relief. At least the missile barrage was manageable. The particle accelerators might be a different story, but if the enemy’s launchers are that badly hurt, he thought, maybe the energy weapons are too. “Keep me advised on anti-missile efforts.” The attack boats had fairly strong point defense systems. He knew his ships could handle 40 missiles. Something would probably slip through, but they wouldn’t take crippling losses.
Mondragon sat quietly, listening to the occasional update from his tactical officer. Tomasino was on top of things, scanning the incoming data and feeding the captain the information he needed. Alliance commanders tended to be more hands on, often following the data on their own workstations even as their subordinates made their reports. Europan captains and flag officers tended to be more elitist, feeling it was somewhat beneath them to scan workstations themselves, and they utilized the chain of subordinates to relay them information.
The task force’s point defense took out most of the missiles, only four getting through. Two of those detonated at extreme range, causing only minor damage to two of the vessels. The other missiles bracketed one of the attack ships at close range, completely destroying it. Mondragon winced when he got the report, but this was war, and he knew his people had gotten off lightly.
The attack ships were thrusting hard, moving in at 0.07c and accelerating. The faster they could get through the enemy’s fire zone and launch their torpedoes the better. Mondragon sat quietly, watching and hoping the enemy ships had lost all their particle accelerators. He felt his stomach tighten when three of his ships were hit within seconds of entering the effective fire zone.
Shit, he thought. If that fire keeps up it’s going to be a bloody day. He watched, staring directly at the screen, too impatient to wait for Tomasino’s updates. He watched for the other enemy ships to fire, but none of them did. Each second passed slowly, and Mondragon was tense, waiting for more of the energy beams to lash out at his ships. Finally he sighed and thought, it looks three is all they have. As the seconds passed he realized even those three weapons weren’t firing again. The chronometer went well past the recharge time for First Imperium particle accelerators, but still no shots came. Eventually, minutes after he’d expected, one of the batteries fired, then another. Even the functional weapons – or their power supplies – were damaged. They were shooting slowly, significantly below half their normal rate of fire. It was good news, better than he could have hoped.
The attacking force blasted toward the enemy, altering their vectors slightly, splitting into six attacking groups. They lost another two ships before they were in range, but the surviving 17 sent 34 plasma torpedoes into the guts of the damaged Gremlins.
They streaked by, turning to madly decelerate, and in their wake they left nothing. Nothing at all.
Chapter 8
AS Midway
In Sandoval Orbit
Delta Leonis IV
“The Line”
“I’m leaving in three days, four tops. Just as soon as we can finish loading and fueling the last of the ships.” Terrance Compton stood almost motionless, his voice calm and relaxed despite the seriousness of the discussion. “I’d like you to come with me.” He’d known just where to find Cain. The grim Marine general had all his people running around in a frenzy, but he had everything so well under control there was nothing else for him to do. Compton knew he’d be here, staring off into the blackness of space, one of the few things that soothed his nerves and relaxed him. He almost felt bad about cornering him here…Erik Cain didn’t have many refuges.
Compton stood behind Cain and stared out at the bluish-white disk filling the lower half of the observation portal. Sandoval, looking beautiful and peaceful from 18,000 kilometers. You can’t even tell how we savaged her, he thought sadly as he looked. The teams were still assessing the ecological damage the two armies had done to the planet, and each report Compton saw was worse than the last.
Cain didn’t turn, and he didn’t answer right away either. He was carefully considering Compton’s words, and trying to decide what to do. His gut, as always, wanted to charge right in. That was always an easy choice to make. But he was here covering for Holm, standing in as overall ground forces commander, and the Commandant wasn’t quite as recklessly aggressive as he was. He wanted to say yes, but he just wasn’t sure. “I don’t know, Terrance.” Cain’s voice was soft, distracted. He was still trying to think of what Holm would say.
“Erik, I don’t like changing the plan any more than you do.” Their orders – both Cain’s and Compton’s – were to assemble and prepare the entire Grand Fleet to move out as soon as Garret and Holm returned. From the earliest whispers that an invasion was being planned, the strategy had been to move the entire fleet together. That’s why Jacobs’ Scouting Fleet had been created in the first place, to screen the way for the massed strength of all the Superpowers. Now Compton wanted to take half that force – the newest and fastest ships – and blast off full for the frontier, leaving Garret and Holm to follow with the rest of the fleet, mostly the older and slower hulls. “But Mike Jacobs ran into a lot of enemy resistance at Newton, and he went through half his ordnance taking it out.” He took a step forward, standing directly next to Cain, still staring out into space. “You know we need intel from him, so he’s got to keep going. His force is crucial, and if he runs into much more resistance, there isn’t going to be a Scouting Fleet…and Grand Fleet will be blind. We need to get some strength up there.” He paused, finally turning to face Cain. “Now.”
Erik sighed loudly and turned his head slowly toward Compton. His eyes fixed on the admiral’s for a few seconds before he spoke. “You know I agree with you, Terrance.” His faced constricted into a frown - he was troubled, conflicted. “But General Holm has been telling me I’m too reckless for years. This is the biggest thing he’s ever trusted me to handle. What’s he going to say if he gets back here and sees I’ve taken off for the frontier with the cream of the Corps?”
Compton didn’t answer right away, giving Cain a few seconds to think it through and formulate his own answer. No one was going to convince Erik Cain to do something unless he decided for himself it was the right thing. Finally, he put his hand on Cain’s shoulder and said, “Erik, don’t you think I’ve had the same thoughts about Augustus? Can you imagine I would do anything I wasn’t sure he’d approve of?” He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “But Garret and Holm are buttoned up in one of Vance’s transports, and we can’t reach them, not without considerable delay. Unacceptable delay.” He paused again before adding, “Have you thought about what Elias is going to say if we sit here and let Jacobs and his people go up against the enemy alone? If we let Scouting Fleet get hunted down and torn to shreds for lack of our own initiative?” Compton saw the change in Cain’s expres
sion, and he knew he had him. He moved in for the kill. “When has Elias Holm ever left any of our people unsupported when they needed help?
Cain smiled grudgingly, and he forced back a small laugh. He knew he was being played, but that didn’t matter. He also realized Compton was right. Holm would be the first to back up any of his people who were catching hell, and he’d do it no matter the risk and regardless of what effect it had on his plans. Cain knew what Holm would want him to do. “Alright, alright. Enough. I’m with you.” Cain saw the self-satisfied smile on Compton’s face, and the laugh he’d been holding back finally burst free. “So what’s the plan?”
“It was nice of Terry and Erik to leave us every rust bucket in the fleet to deal with.” Garret was trying not to laugh, at least not too hard. He’d gotten the message from Compton through the Commnet system when their transport briefly stopped at Armstrong on its way to Sandoval. He’d been expecting the fleet to be nearly assembled when he got there, but instead he found out that Compton and Cain had taken the fastest ships – which also happened to be the newest and strongest – and took off for the frontier.
“Yes, it was very thoughtless of them.” Holm had an odd smile on his face. He knew Garret approved of what his number two had done, just as he supported Erik Cain’s decision. If Jacobs’ fleet was running into trouble, they had to get support to him…and every minute counted. The whole point of the invasion was to shake things up and find some sort of weakness they could use against the enemy. Unless they found something, they’d never win this war. They’d hold out as long as they could, but once the First Imperium destroyed the last of the military, it would only be a matter of time before the enemy swept through human space, slaughtering everyone they found. “They didn’t even leave you one of the new battlewagons for your flagship, did they?”
Garret gave up trying to control himself, and he let out a hard laugh. He agreed completely with Compton had done. He’d have made the same decision himself, and he’d have ordered Compton to take precisely the action he did. In fact, he’d have scolded his friend if he’d sat around and done nothing to aid Jacobs. But none of that would stop him from giving Compton a good-natured hard time when he was finally able to catch up with him. Which, from the looks of the ships left behind at Sandoval, would be a while.
“I have it easier than you. Erik took all the elite veterans with him, but the rest of the troops can march onto transports just as easily as the old salts.” Holm’s voice had become serious. “I don’t mean to piss in your pool, but you’re going to have to do some serious triage on some of these ships. The Imperial tubs don’t look like they’ve seen a maintenance crew since I was a boot. And some of the RIC ships aren’t much better.” Holm looked like he’d tasted something bad. “And I hate to say it, but a lot of ours are in pretty rough shape. I know your people repaired what they could, but the last few years have been hard on the fleet.” The shipyards had been working around the clock, but there just wasn’t enough time to complete all the repairs and upgrades. A lot of ships would have to go to war half-prepared. The alternative would be to postpone the invasion…and give the First Imperium time to launch their own renewed attack.
Garret stared back, the grin clinging to his face, but drained of all its sincerity. “Thanks for the update. Let me know when you want help digging a trench.” They both chuckled for a few seconds, but it didn’t last. There was a lot of work to do and not much time, and they both knew it. “The problem is, we need to get going…and soon.” He rubbed the back of his neck as he spoke. “A lot of these ships may have problems, but they’re still a significant percentage of our firepower. I’m glad Terry’s on the way to back up Jacobs, but I wouldn’t want him to run into a too big of a fight either. Not without the rest of the fleet.” He took a breath, and looked right at Holm. “It’s not like we know what’s waiting for us out there.”
“Terrance left Camille Harmon in command, didn’t he?” Holm’s question hadn’t really demanded an answer, but Garret nodded one anyway. Compton had taken Erica West with him as his exec. She had more experience fighting the First Imperium forces, and besides, Harmon was senior of the two, which made her the logical choice to leave in charge until Garret returned. “I’m sure she’s been kicking every ass she can reach to get these ships ready for action.” Holm smiled. He felt a little out of his depth discussing naval matters, but he’d always liked Camille Harmon. She seemed like an independent thinker who still knew when to play things “by the book.” His own top subordinates were a little wilder. Catherine Gilson was a rogue who had little use for conventional rules. And Cain was even worse…Holm wasn’t sure he even knew what the book was. “Harmon’s got a better handle than you on what shape these ships are in. Sit down with her and just go through them all and give each one a quick yea or nay. There’s no point prolonging things, wishing you had more time.”
Garret stood quietly for a moment. Holm was right. He didn’t have time to study things in detail. He knew the Alliance ships backward and forward, but he had forces here from nine Superpowers, and he realized he had nowhere to begin in evaluating them. Not in the amount of time he was willing to delay their departure. “You’re right, Elias.” His face relaxed slightly as he felt the relief of having chosen a course of action. He tapped the comlink on his collar. “Control, this is Admiral Garret. Please have Admiral Harmon report to me immediately.”
“Do you think they can be ready in six days?” Garret stared intently at Camille Harmon. “Really ready?” Garret had put his foot down; the fleet was leaving in less than one Earth week. No changes, no excuses, no delays. It had been three weeks since Garret and Holm had returned, and there had always been a good reason to push things back. A new shipment of laser buoys, a capital ship that could be ready in just a few more days, more repairs that could be completed. Garret realized there would always be a good reason to wait. All mankind was mobilizing, activating mothballed ships and producing new weapons. But the war wasn’t going to be decided at Sandoval…that battle had already been fought, and if they gave the enemy time to come back, he knew his people would lose the return engagement. No, he couldn’t allow that to happen. The war would be decided in First Imperium space. If the enemy ended up back at Sandoval, it would be over the shattered debris of the human fleet…over Augustus Garret’s dead body.
She looked back, her expression focused and intense. “I do, sir.” Camille Harmon was one of the toughest flag officers in the Alliance navy. If she said she was sure of something, Garret took it as a given. “I had a…mmm…a talk with their captain.” Shanghai had suffered considerable damage during the fighting at Samvar, and Harmon had been less than impressed with the CAC repair efforts.
“I bet that was something to see.” Garret allowed himself a fleeting smile. Harmon was a well-known hardass in the Alliance navy, but he didn’t know how much of her rep had made it to the CAC. Though, whatever had been known before, he suspected that word had spread by now.
“I just asked him how he’d like to go back to Hong Kong and explain how I replaced him with an Alliance captain because he couldn’t get his ship ready on time.” Her voice was deadpan, serious.
Garret hesitated. He wanted her pushing everyone hard, but not tearing apart the Grand Pact. They couldn’t afford infighting now. Garret already had his Alliance personnel greatly over-represented in command positions. He risked it because he knew them, and he trusted them…and because the Alliance navy was far and away the best of any of the Powers. But the last thing he needed was one of his officers deliberately provoking the CAC. “Camille, we need to tread lightly with the other Powers…especially the CAC and the Caliphate.” The Alliance’s two bitter enemies had reluctantly agreed to follow Admiral Garret in the war against the First Imperium, but the relationship was still a fragile one.
“I wasn’t going to actually do it, sir.” Harmon’s gaze was stone cold. “I just told him I would. A little bluff is useful now and again, wouldn’t you agree?”
Garret stared for a second, looking right into Harmon’s unchanging gaze. Then he erupted into laughter. “Remind me never to play poker with you.”
She finally allowed herself a smile. “I know my way around an ace, sir. I used to do pretty well back at the Academy.”
Garret himself had always been a middling poker player, despite Terrance Compton’s best efforts to teach him. Garret was too aggressive; he always went for the throat, and he lacked the patience a great player needed. Compton, on the other hand, was widely considered the best card player ever to have served in the Alliance navy. Rumors in the bars of Armstrong and Arcadia held that he had secret accounts stashed on a dozen worlds, a lifetime’s winnings. Whatever the truth about Compton’s alleged secret wealth, he’d largely stopped playing years before, when his rising rank made it impractical to find opponents who weren’t under his command.
“Well, admiral, just remember when you are bluffing and when you have a hand.” His voice was more serious. He trusted Harmon’s judgment, but he wanted to reinforce the point anyway. “You can go a little harder on our own people, but I need you to be diplomatic with the other services.” He paused, just for a second. “Remember, we need their help to win this war. Don’t assume the political leaders on Earth aren’t stupid enough to trash our war effort over some internal argument.” He looked right at her. “They are.”