Triumph's Ashes (The Cassidy Chronicles Volume 5)

by Adam Gaffen

  He wasn’t the most senior Admiral in the 18-ship Martian fleet, nor was he the most qualified or experienced. He was, however, the highest ranking in the semi-feudal aristocracy which controlled the Red Planet, and so he’d been selected from an admittedly shallow pool. Still, if he could succeed he’d cement his claim as fourth in line for the throne of the Grand Tsar.

  Shepherding the fleet across the millions of kilometers was, frankly, a simple matter. Most of it was handled by the computers and each ship’s command team. It was the final and hopefully decisive actions which would come down to him and his personal staff, and he’d drilled them relentlessly.

  Rather, he’d ordered them to drill relentlessly. It wasn’t his role to order the actual firing of missiles or any other such common tasks.

  His flag captain, Aleksandr Lazutkin, had faithfully reported to him daily. Yes, indeed, his men were improving. Certainly, Admiral, they would be ready. Naturally he, Lazutkin, was fully confident in their abilities to execute their assigned duties.

  Beregovoi wasn’t stupid.

  He knew Lazutkin was exaggerating if he was being charitable about it. Lying would be accurate. Weaving the tale from whole cloth? Wouldn’t be a stretch. They were who he had, though, and for better or worse he was stuck with them.

  At least if they fail I am unlikely to survive to face the Tsar’s wrath. He had no illusion at his fleet’s ability to stand up to the Federation starships in any sort of toe-to-toe battle. His flagship was barely 75 meters in length and was the largest in the fleet, and none mounted anything more powerful than a 150 kW laser. Popguns, by comparison.

  With that cheering thought he addressed the junior officer again.

  “Очень хорошо.”

  Very good.

  “Товарищ капитан флага, выполняйте операцию удара молнии.”

  Comrade Flag Captain, execute operation Lightning Strike.

  “Сразу же, товарищ адмирал!”

  At once, Comrade Admiral!

  What a stupid name. Lightning Strike! Should have been something more noble, more fitting. Operation Vindication. Operation Vengeance. Operation Ascend the Throne...

  As Admiral Beregovoi daydreamed, the ships of the Martian fleet released the missiles they’d carried clamped to their hulls all the way from Mars. Each missile gave a single burst from its thrusters to gain separation on their new trajectory. The missiles, all 180 of them, would now coast for another half-day before acquiring their target and igniting their engines for their final plunge directly at the heart of the Federation.

  Book 4:

  The Triumph

  Of Hope

  CHAPTER ONE

  TFS Enterprise

  Stardate 12009.14

  “Lieutenant Kay, anything on sensors?”

  “Negative, Lieutenant. The ship must have drifted.”

  Datu considered this. They’d dropped out of warp near the coordinates Defiant had provided for the location of the al-Battani, corrected for the relative motions of the stars, only to discover the ship was missing. Normally this would be a problem for the Captain and XO, but for this mission the job of XO was hers. Commander Cassidy had been left behind for her role in the drop on Artemis, and Captain Martinez insisted on letting Datu find her own solutions. With her usual crew, the Mid Shift, it wouldn’t have warranted a second thought; she’d worked with them, bonded with them, become a cohesive team.

  The Day Shift, though, were used to Cass’s hand. Filling her shoes was proving interesting.

  “Suggestions?”

  Kay tapped at his console. “I may be able to get something if we reduce the sensitivity to increase the range.”

  “Reduce sensitivity? Won’t that make it more difficult?”

  “I don’t think so,” he answered. “Think of it as switching from a narrow focus to a broad one. Right now we need anything we can track down.”

  “Not bad. Anyone else?”

  “Can we track the warp trail left by Defiant?” asked Sebesta from Engineering. “We know the course they took returning home, so we ought to be able to work backwards.”

  “It will have degraded,” Seabolt said. “Already thought of it and tried.”

  “Damn. Minna? Any luck on communications?”

  “No, Lieutenant, but I have a suggestion.”

  “Please. Never thought it would be so difficult to find a broken starship. You’d guess they didn’t want to be found.”

  “You may be correct, Lieutenant; I have calculated their capability for movement based on the damage inflicted by Defiant.” The exterior view was replaced by a chart of the area, centered on a large red sphere.

  “Captain Resler was careful to disable only the warp drive, no other systems. Her sensors indicated all other systems were functional, and Captain Olesen confirmed this in his last message to her.” She replayed the final conversation between Resler and Olesen.

  “You think he set course for home?”

  “Theoretically he could be anywhere within the red-shaded area, but yes, I believe Captain Olesen is heading home. To do so would be both logical and defiant; while humans are sometimes lacking in the former, the latter is often a primary motivating factor. Fascinating behavior.”

  “It gives us a starting point, at least. Mr. Hanby, plot a least-time course for Earth from al-Battani’s point of origin, warp three. Lieutenant Kay, do what you need to calibrate the sensors.”

  After receiving the acknowledgements, she sent a quick summary to the Captain via her ‘plant. Then Datu sat back to consider what other options might be open to her.

  “PICKING UP A SHIP ON the sensors,” Kay reported fifty minutes later. “Close match for the specs on the al-Battani.”

  “Excellent. Prepare to raise shields. Mr. Hanby, drop us out of warp a couple million kilometers distance. Captain to the bridge,” Datu finished.

  Alley emerged from her Ready Room, Hunter padding at her heels. Datu summarized her actions and prepared to relinquish the conn but Alley didn’t take it back.

  “Run the intercept,” she said instead.

  “Aye, Captain.”

  “Five seconds to warp emergence,” Hanby said.

  “Shields ready.”

  “And emergence.”

  “Shields are up,” Kay reported almost as soon as they were clear of the warp field. The al-Battani appeared on the screen, dutifully chugging towards home at his apparent maximum sublight acceleration of five gravities. Five gravities for ten days, though, equaled his current speed of over 42,300 KPS, a pace the Enterprise easily matched.

  “Minna, open a channel.”

  “Channel open.”

  “This is the TFS Enterprise, Lieutenant Datu, for Captain Olesen of the al-Battani.”

  She waited for the light-speed lag.

  “Enterprise, al-Battani. Commander Cantillo commanding. State your purpose.”

  “Commander, we intend to bring your people aboard and return you to Luna.”

  “Surrender? Is that what you mean?”

  “Let’s say instead a negotiated, temporary, loss of status.”

  “Nicely phrased,” Alley said in the inevitable gap.

  “Thanks. Picked it up somewhere.”

  “Temporary? Until you decide to release us?” Cantillo sounded more resigned than annoyed, belying his words.

  “That’s above my pay grade, Commander. But let’s face facts. I can get you and your people home in a day and a half. Or you can keep accelerating until you fall apart or you start hitting some real relativistic velocities. What do you think, point eight c for your max? That’s a 1.6 to 1 time dilation. So forty plus years for you, sixty-five for your families? Compared to that, hell, I’d be jumping at the offer even if I had to spend five years tucked away somewhere.”

  The silence went on for longer than the lag could explain, and soon Datu couldn’t restrain herself. “Dammit, Cantillo, what is your problem? And where is Ole
sen?”

  “Captain Olesen? He sealed himself into his suit after we’d recovered all the life pods. When he went off watch, he turned the oxygen down to zero. I found him at watch change.”

  “I’m sorry, Commander,” Datu sympathized.

  “So am I. Sixty-six years, by the way.”

  “Beg pardon?”

  “Engineer Miners calculated our flight time at sixty-six years back home on Luna.”

  “Ah, I see. I apologize for my error.” She paused for a second before speaking again. “Commander? Thirty-six hours beats sixty-six years all to hell.”

  “You’re right, Lieutenant. I accept your terms. Um. What are your terms?”

  “Shut down your drive.”

  “Done.”

  “We’re going to take position above you. If we detect any fire control emissions we will leave you to your fate.”

  “Understood.”

  “Mr. Hanby, close the gap to a thousand kilometers directly above their hull.”

  “Aye, Ma’am.”

  The Enterprise slid into position. Datu quickly ran through the conditions they were imposing on the al-Battani’s crew with Cantillo, and within ten minutes the first crew member was transported aboard. One by one the dreadnought was emptied until Cantillo and Miners were the only two remaining.

  “Lieutenant,” Cantillo commed.

  “Yes?”

  “What are you planning to do about him?”

  “Who?”

  “My ship.”

  Datu looked to Alley for guidance.

  “Commander Cantillo, this is Captain Martinez. At this point we have no plans regarding your ship, one way or another. As Lieutenant Datu said earlier, it’s above my pay grade. My intention is to leave him on course, pending a further determination.”

  “Thank you, Captain. We’ll be ready to go in just a moment.”

  True to his words, Cantillo signaled Miners’ readiness, then his own, in short order. When he stepped off the portal, a small bag in his hand, he was immediately intercepted by two security officers. Gigluk took an involuntary step back from the controls.

  “Please!” he said to Gigluk, his arms held by the officers. “I must pass a message to your Captain.”

  Gigluk nodded at the officers who relaxed their grip slightly.

  “Captain, Commander Cantillo is aboard and he wants to talk to you,” she said.

  “Commander?” came Alley’s quizzical voice.

  “Captain, the al-Battani’s antimatter reactor will explode in five minutes!’

  “Hanby, get us away from here!” they heard her order. Then: “Gigluk, get him up to the bridge!”

  “Right away, Ma’am.”

  Cantillo was marched up, through the ship to face Alley. They were a full light-second away now, though the dreadnought was still centered on the screen.

  “Commander Cantillo. Explain.”

  “Standing orders from the Empress through the Councilor of Defense. All Union ships are to be destroyed rather than allowed to fall into Federation hands.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since the Averroes, Bean, Young, and Roosa transferred their allegiance. The Empress didn’t take it well,” he added with a wintry grin.

  “I imagine she didn’t,” Alley agreed.

  Cantillo seemed to stand a little straighter. “Truth be told, Captain, my orders were to destroy him with all personnel aboard, as I’m sure Captain Olesen would have. I’m not in any hurry to play martyr, however. I’m sure you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all, Commander. I will admit to being somewhat disappointed at not getting your records, though.”

  “Our records?”

  “Well, you and Defiant were doing some great deep space exploration, if inadvertently. Comparing datasets might have been useful.”

  “Ah.” He patted the bag he was carrying. “I can certainly help. Full logs from launch to –”

  The screen flared white then black as Minna adjusted.

  “End of service. Well, nearly.”

  He handed the bag to Alley and turned to the guards. “If you’ll escort me to my cell?”

  Alley glanced sharply up. “Not a cell. You and your officers have quarters, though you have to share, and your crew is in as near to a dormitory space as we could arrange. Not cells. Not prisoners. ‘Involuntary guests,’ perhaps, at most. I do have a question, though.”

  “Certainly.”

  “Based on the Averroes, we were expecting more personnel. Two hundred, roughly, yet you had barely fifty aboard. Did you lose life pods? Should we return and search? Some may have survived.”

  “No, Captain, that won’t be necessary. Our crew was reduced for this mission.”

  Cantillo didn’t say more but Alley could tell he was holding something back. She decided not to press for now. She’d take another run at him tonight, at an informal dinner. Maybe when he was more at ease his tongue would loosen. And if not? Time enough when he was aboard Njord with all of Montana’s, no, Jordan’s specialists in information extraction.

  “Very good. Please show Commander Cantillo to his quarters. Ms. Datu, let’s go home.”

  “Aye, Ma’am.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Artemis-Tycho Tunnels; Tycho Under; Habitat Njord

  Stardate 12009.14

  “It’s all gone rather well, hasn’t it?”

  “Bunch of fuckin’ idiots, you ask me. Sir.”

  He had a point, Nordstrom reflected. The 500 kilometer march hadn’t exactly been easy, but it hadn’t been particularly strenuous, either. Part of that had been their total disregard for any attempt at stealth, relying instead on the electronic interference Mac and Harpo created as well as a good dose of old-fashioned luck. Another part was the loose discipline which applied to the new-recruited troops, if you could call it such. In fairness, none had been part of any organized militia for more than two lunars. Still...!

  As if reading his thoughts, Wulfow said, “Stupid bastards still don’t always know which end to point downrange.”

  “That’s what NCO’s are for; at least, that’s what my DI always told me.”

  “Yes, sir,” agreed Wulfow with a hint of a smile. “I wish we hadn’t lost Monaco and Crampton, though.”

  “And Gries,” agreed Nordstrom. “But we were going to lose someone, and this way at least McGee won’t get himself beaten up when he makes a pass at Maggie. Again.”

  “No, sir. Orders?”

  “Agarn!”

  The company clerk, pressed into the role as radioman for the maneuver, trotted over. His homely face was a-gleam with excitement; he’d never admit it, but he enjoyed being in the thick of the fray.

  “Sir!”

  “Any updates?”

  “No, sir, nothing over any circuit.”

  “Confirm we have a go.”

  “Yes, sir.” Agarn pulled out the encrypted comm terminal and shot the message back to Tycho Under. From there it was relayed to Newling in her headquarters; Crozier, prepping for the drop; and Whitmore in the CCIC. Any one of them could stop the attack with a word.

  None did.

  “Message from Newling,” Agarn said. “She says go. Hold on, sir, another message coming, this one from Whitmore. She’s confirming the go order as well, sir.”

  “And Crozier?”

  “Nothing yet, but she’s received the query. Do you want me to send it again?”

  “No,” Nordstrom said, checking the time. 0855; five minutes. “Get them ready to move in, Sergeant.”

  “Sir.” Wulfow’s voice kicked into Command as he started barking directions.

  ‘JIM’ WAS LONG GONE and so was the rest of his crew.

  Parry was as good as his word and found a warehouser willing to take on some short-term storage at an exorbitant rate. Jim’s only request was it needed to be placed near an air vent.

  “Why?”

  So he explained the perishable nature of the goods and the need for constant air circulation; see the holes for ve
ntilation? At which point the price doubled.

  “And the stupid git didn’t even negotiate! He just pulled out a stack of credits and started peeling them off!”

  Now the timer finally reached zero. A solenoid was tripped and the canisters of BZ started venting their contents into the air system of Tycho Under. The sensors missed it entirely, and the efficient fans and ductwork of the warren spread the toxin through every bit of the cubic.

  LOOKING AROUND THE bay, Kendra realized she hadn’t seen quite such a broad swath of Starfleet in, well, she couldn’t really remember when.

  Every branch of Starfleet was represented. Endeavour’s primary command team was there. They were to be positioned to intercept any of the remaining Union ‘heavy’ ships which might try to crash the party. The command crew of the Pioneer was also present, save Captain (designate) Van Leeuwen. They were all serving aboard Endeavour in supernumerary positions, learning on the job before the starship commissioned in two months’ time. The D2’s team was hanging in the same area, as they’d been assigned to back up Endeavour.

  Davie’s command team was represented. Njord wouldn’t be taking an active part in the upcoming battle, but they’d be coordinating the various prongs of the attack.

  Flashdance was there, checking in with all of her small craft commanders. The Wolves were all being pressed into service as a troop transport, while the Direwolves were slated for escort duties. That brought Daniela, Ashlyn, Hopalong, and Wrangler into a huddle with Shannon. Their subordinates rode herd on the pilots, who tended to clump together in their ‘home’ divisions.

  Lieutenant Gries was discreetly hovering around the small craft group. His Marine platoon would be dropping in the Wolves. Sergeant Monaco was overseeing the troops, doing an impromptu review of the plan. It wasn’t much of a plan: smash anything in their way. But they were Marines, and they needed to be kept busy. Idle hands and all that. They’d be augmented by some OutLook agents, assigned to protect the core of the mission: Cass, Kendra, Crozier, Taylor, Stone, and Mac. She’d tried to talk the Chief out of the drop but she was having none of it.