by Dani Kollin
When she entered the room all nineteen of her captains and her command staff rose to attention. “As you were,” she said as she went to her seat at the head of the table. They waited until she sat down, then found their seats.
“What’s the latest report on the enemy?” she barked to no one in particular.
Lieutenant Pollard, her intelligence officer, activated the holo-tank in the middle of the conference table and waited for the images to appear.
“Admiral, this is the latest on the Belter fleet—”
“Lieutenant Pollard,” she interrupted, “please refer to it as ‘the Alliance fleet’ or ‘those damn rebels.’”
That, Admiral Diep saw, brought a round of chuckles from the assembled officers.
“The enemy we face comes from more than just the belt, Lieutenant. J. D. Black and Justin Cord are of Earth, Joshua Sinclair is of Saturn, and Christina Sadma is of Eris.”
“That Sadma bitch never even had a corporate job or training,” offered one of the captains Diep had had to prevent from running at the height of the battle.
“The bitch you refer to,” seethed Diep, “ran down a ship practically to the or-bats and destroyed it in our front yard. Her title is ‘Captain’ Sadma and she comes from Eris. All of us must be accurate in how we refer to the enemy. If we’re not clear on who they are, we will be unclear on how to fight them. Continue, Lieutenant.”
“Yes, ma’am. The ‘Alliance’ fleet has twenty-four ships participating in maneuvers and four others retrieving asteroids and apparently mining the approaches to the shipyard. All except one path that seems conspicuously clear. High-definition scans show that most of the ships on maneuvers seem to be in very bad shape. Some of them literally have pieces falling off.”
“Have you been able to determine what they have in those asteroids?”
“No, ma’am. The consensus is they’re decoys, just rocks.”
“What about Black?”
Lieutenant Pollard fiddled with the holo-tank. An image of the battle-scarred J. D. Black appeared inspecting a group of assault miners. They looked tough and battle ready. It was now becoming a doctrine to prevent the Alliance miners from boarding UHF ships at all costs or risk losing those ships for good. Seeing the look of total devotion that was almost palpable even through the thirty-second holographic loop made each captain nervous about his or her own marine contingents.
“We picked this up from a civilian channel. Apparently some spacers in the Alliance were able to contact relatives off the civilian Neuro and pass messages back and forth for a day. The communication was cut off abruptly, which leads us to suspect that their intelligence officers found out about the leak. Of course this image appearing on the Martian Neuro net news did not help keep that channel of information open. This image did give us a very interesting clue, though. We’ve been able to identify this cargo hold as belonging to the War Prize. From outside images the ship looks like she’s ready for the junkyard, but this interior ship area is in remarkably good condition. We must conclude that the War Prize is not in as bad a condition as we have been led to believe.”
Diep took stock of the assessment but kept looking at the ghastly but compelling image of J. D. Black. In modern society there was almost no such thing as deformity outside of specialty clubs and Mardi Gras. If someone was hurt badly, they simply stayed inside until they healed. For someone to appear in public in the condition of J. D. Black was incomprehensible. But there she was. Diep realized that Black didn’t care. That the Alliance admiral was concerned with one thing and one thing only—a single-minded devotion to killing her enemies.
At that moment Diep knew her decision. “We hold here until the next twenty ships from Earth arrive next month.”
This brought a firestorm of protest. She let them bellow for a bit but then cut them off.
“Captains, let me make this clear.” She only had to wait a moment for them to respond to the iron in her voice. “If we go out there and fight that fleet, a fleet which outnumbers ours, a fleet that might not be as damaged as they are letting on. A fleet that will have the advantage of having prepared the space for battle with asteroids containing nothing or containing something so horrendous it could end the battle all on its own. If we go out and fight this battle and lose, the war is over. J. D. Black will come forward with the remains of her fleet and isolate each battery and destroy it in place. Then without our fleet to stop her she could take Mars and with it win the war. She may even capture the President as he achieves orbit around the newly lost core world.”
Diep rose, glaring down at her captains. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but J. D. Black is better at this than you are. I have another bit of news for you. Regardless of what 3N says about it in their idiotically fawning reports, she is better at this than me. The only difference between us is that I know it. She’s planning something. I can feel it. But in order for it to work we have to go to her. As long as we stay here she loses. When the new ships arrive we’ll be able to integrate them into our command and then attack with the knowledge that Mars is secure behind us. My guess is she’ll realize we’re not playing her game and return to the belt long before that happens. Does anyone wish to go on the record opposing my decision?”
No one did.
“Alright,” she said, “is there anything else we need to cover today?”
Lieutenant Pollard raised his hand.
“Yes, Lieutenant?”
“We have another communication from Captain Trang—”
Admiral Diep rubbed her temples. “Oh, for the love of Damsah.”
Three weeks after the second Battle of the Martian Gates the Alliance fleet pulled out of Martian space, having covered the complete removal of the Martian shipyards and all the war material to be found. The UHF credited it as a great victory. The Alliance credited it as a very successful draw. J. D. Black would forever refer to it as her painful lesson.
8 Bowels of the Belt
Given the events of the past six months it’s unlikely that there will be sufficient activity by the newly named UHF to warrant concern. Our fleet actions have caused them to reassess and hold off on any large-scale attacks without their having overwhelming superiority in ships and personnel. The primary point of concern is the Martian/Ceres front. As this junction is considered to be the main front of the war, that is where the greatest concentration of force is expected when the UHF has fully recovered.
Given that the UHF government will have to firmly establish itself in its new capital, it should not be able to muster the ability to attack for at least a year, being more concerned with securing the new capital.
The rest of the Alliance is secure from UHF attack as long as we hold the belt and the UHF is not threatening. Besides the Mars/Ceres junction and a minuscule force harassing Eros on the other side of the belt, all’s quiet on the Alliance front.
Regarding Eros: It’s guarded by a small force of ships, a well-placed minefield, and some rudimentary orbats (orbital batteries). For the UHF to attempt an attack, with at most fifteen ships, almost all of them prewar vessels refurbished for ser vice, would be the height of boldness and folly—a trait that the UHF has thankfully had in little supply in the first and abundance in the second.
—Confidential summary of security report
Kirk Olmstead to President Justin Cord
UHFS Strident—Erosian skirmish line
Captain Samuel Trang looked at the information off the Neuro News Now and saw that the “spin” on the Alliance fleet leaving was that it meant a victory and Admiral Diep was being hailed as the greatest military leader since Alexander. The reports were endless about how many lives had been saved by her not being as reckless and untrained as J. D. Black, almost always preceded by the moniker “the treacherous.” No one was commenting on the fact that the war could have been over. It would have been daring and it would have entailed risk, but Mars still had the orbital batteries. Any combat that even resulted in a draw would have left the Allia
nce without a fleet and, just as important, without that top-of-the-line, state-of-the-art shipyard. Why that wasn’t destroyed, even at the loss of half of Diep’s remaining ships during the first Battle of the Martian Gates, was beyond comprehension. Didn’t anyone understand the nature of this war and what it would take to end it?
Further adding to Trang’s frustration was his placement on a picket line with ten other UHF ships. Everyone seemed perfectly content to just watch the Alliance ships sail in and out of Eros and make use of its port and infrastructure. If Trang’s fleet waited any longer, Eros would be able to assemble real orbital batteries and that would make the cost of assaulting it almost unthinkable: by Trang’s estimate fifty thousand lives, and that with a fleet of a hundred top-of-the-line cruisers. And even that estimate assumed that the Alliance didn’t actually have enough intelligence to put a squadron of ships around the second most populous and important settlement in the belt. However, if that was to happen then the cost would surely rise.
But it didn’t matter what Trang wanted. He was only one captain among eleven. The last order the squadron commander had given before departing for Earth—so he could receive what he felt to be a well-deserved promotion for the skillful way he did nothing with his ships—was to continue to do nothing with his ships.
The problem was that most of the officers now in the Federation fleet were corporate executives who understood how to advance careers, not perimeters. If risk and daring were called for, they could be risky. But if they could get promotions without risk, then it was in their self-interest to risk nothing. With so many ships being built so quickly and the UHF needing captains and first and second officers, all that was needed was a spotless record and they’d get their promotions soon enough. It didn’t help that the officers in this particular “fleet” were considered so useless they were put on the other end of the war, where it was thought they could do little harm.
But that, bristled Trang, is not how wars are won. So far the Alliance had achieved incredible things and all the UHF had managed was not to lose while fighting behind an almost impregnable position; once. If that pattern was to continue, the war would be lost simply because the Alliance would risk more and therefore ultimately win more. And Samuel Trang knew that the Alliance must not win this war. If humanity was to be sundered now, it would never again be united. Sadly, he thought as he watched a large defenseless Alliance hauler slowly make her way past his impotent armada, there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it.
On the bridge of his fast frigate, Captain Trang was reviewing the tactical data yet again and found that the situation had remained exactly the same … yet again. The only exception being that it looked like the Alliance had sent through four ships large enough to carry the components for some truly effective orbital defense–grade rail guns. He could only hope that they contained a thousand-year supply of condoms. The thought brought a smile to Trang given the Erosians’ reputation for all things lascivious. He then allowed himself a moment of levity thinking that four large supply carriers might not even supply enough for a year.
Trang surveyed the bridge. Good soldiers, each and every one, he thought to himself. Although he was not well regarded by the rest of the captains in the squadron, Trang knew that his own crew had come to truly appreciate him. They’d heard his commentary on recent events and, unlike personnel of most of the other ships around them, concurred with his thinking. It didn’t hurt that out of the original grand fleet that was supposed to end the war with ease their ship was one of the only ones left—at present. This had made Trang’s life on the ship much easier. It also helped that he hadn’t insisted on being treated like royalty, the modus operandi of most of the other captains in the squadron. The spacers on board all knew that if they did their jobs and maintained a minimum of decorum Trang would treat them like majority stockholders.
“Captain,” said his lieutenant, “we’re receiving a fleet-grade communication.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant. Let’s hear what pearls Command has to impart to us today.”
“Sir,” answered the lieutenant, not once looking up from his holo-screen, “Admiral Pearson has resigned his commission to take over as CEO of Toshiba.”
“Most unfortunate,” Trang said with little sympathy. “So who’s our new boss, pray tell?”
The lieutenant’s head popped up, the glow highlighting the perplexed look on his face. “Um … there isn’t one, sir.”
“What?”
“No one’s been assigned.”
“Very well. What’s the protocol?”
‘One moment, sir.” The lieutenant dived back into the screen.
“Ah,” said the lieutenant, looking back up. “As Pearson tendered his resignation before Fleet could designate a replacement, according to Fleet CC&Rs the officer on station with the highest rank shall assume temporary command.”
Trang’s first officer, Commander Liddel, spoke up. “That’s not very helpful, Lieutenant. We have eleven captains out here.”
“Right. Um … well, let’s see here,” continued the lieutenant, working his way through the legal morass. “OK, Commander, if two or more officers are of the same rank the command will go to the one who has had the rank the longest.”
“Captain Trang,” asked the commander, “exactly who is in command of the squadron?”
“Hell if I know, Liddel. It might actually be me. Check your rec ords.”
Liddel called up the ser vice rec ords database, then started laughing. “Captain, you’re not going to believe this, but you and Captain Umbatu both received your commissions on the same exact day, before any of the other captains.”
Trang tilted his head and fixed his even gaze on the young commander. “I swear by Damsah’s ghost, Lawrence, if you make me wait a second longer I’ll tell your wife you’ve been sneaking onto Eros for less than virtuous reasons.”
Liddel shot him back an equally even glance. “My wife would ask for pictures and would only be angry ’cause she couldn’t join in.” He then held up his hand to forestall the comment that he knew would be on the tip of Trang’s tongue. “But I wouldn’t want to make the new squadron commander angry now, would I?”
Flabbergasted, Trang stood for a moment and put both hands on the rails.
“By four hours, twelve minutes, and six seconds, but you have it, sir … or should I say, ‘Commodore’?”
Trang didn’t have a huge grin on his face, nor did he appear to be celebrating in any concievable way. His gaze was fixed and determined.
“Oh crap,” Liddel said. “We’re breaking orders, aren’t we?”
Trang shot Liddel a tepid smile. “Got some new ones, Commander. Call a squadron meeting of all captains. We’ll meet aboard the Peregrine; she has a larger briefing room.”
“Smooth seas don’t make better sailors,” said Liddel, quoting an ancient African proverb.
Trang nodded and smiled.
UHFS Peregrine
The briefing room, noticed Trang, was so old it didn’t actually have an integrated holo-tank. Of course, he also realized, the ship itself might be even older. He’d reckoned her age at least a century, if not more, and had he been told it was closer to two he wouldn’t have been surprised. But beggars can’t be choosers and besides, technically it was his ship now and damned if that didn’t make her look a little better in his eyes.
“Captains,” he said when all the officers had arrived and had taken their seats in the small amphitheater-designed room.
“Commodore,” interrupted one before Trang could continue. “It’s still ‘Captain,’ Kevin. That is, until Fleet Command makes it official … which I sincerely doubt they will. Still … you were saying?”
“Captain then,” continued Kevin Umbatu. “I find it hard to believe that I have to take orders from you just because some bureaucrat went to lunch before filing my commission!”
“Captain Umbatu,” answered Trang calmly, “if it was the other way around I’d be the one saluting you. Now
is this going to be a major problem,” he said with a grin that took all the sting out of the rebuke, “or do you feel the need to bitch some more?”
“Well, to be honest, Sam, I think I deserve to bitch some more.”
“To be equally honest, Kevin,” answered Trang, “if it were me I’d have been cursing loud enough to vibrate the bulkheads.”
“Well, now that you mention it …,” answered his friend, eliciting a smattering of laughter.
“OK,” said Trang, bringing the meeting to order, “it might just be some crazy fluke and an old regulation, combined with a miscue from Fleet Command, but however it happened, I’m in command. That means that what ever happens up here is up to me.”
“What are you worried about?” asked one of the captains from the gallery. “Nothing’s going to happen up here for a long time … never does.”
Trang activated the portable holo-tank set up on the stage of the briefing room. It showed the basic layout of Eros, listing all known Alliance and UHF military resources. “Captains, something is going to happen, it’s going to happen soon, and it’s going to happen because we’re going to make it happen.”
Trang noticed the look his small audience was giving him. He’d expected resentment and condescension, but what he saw made him realize he’d made a big mistake. The women and men he now faced didn’t think they were better than him. They didn’t think they were better than anybody. They’d been tossed into the bowels of the belt in order to do the least amount of harm, and to a captain they all knew it. What Trang saw was resignation, and he found it intolerable.