by Terry Mixon
“How long, Admiral Buckley?” he asked gently.
“Fifty to sixty days before the first is ready for deployment,” Buckley admitted. “They’ll be crude, too. No mobility except for targeting. They’re orbital defense guns, not ships.”
“Everything we can throw at making Jupiter more defensible is worth it,” Brad told them. “But the Phoenix isn’t going to give us fifty days. We can be confident that we have been penetrated completely. If we might have a battleship killer online in two months, then either he’ll make sure it gets sabotaged—or he’ll simply make sure he’s here before it’s ready.”
“We are not defeated yet,” Bailey snarled. “We can win this, Madrid. I’ll stack our Fleet crews up against their pirates and conscripts any day of the week!”
“And if we were facing a remotely even battle, I’d take that risk,” Brad agreed. “But Immortal makes this beyond uneven.
“Which leaves us no choice: Immortal must be removed from the equation.” He met Falcone’s eyes across the table and gestured for her to begin.
“The Agency has spent the entire time since Immortal defected looking for a solution,” she said quietly.
From the way heads turned to look at her, many of the officers ignoring the spy as a matter of course.
“We found one. It’s…risky. It’s uncertain…but it’s the only chance we have.”
“Everything discussed in this room is classified at the highest levels,” Brad told his officers. “It cannot be shared with your military subordinates or your political superiors. If you can’t keep that promise, leave.”
He smiled.
“I won’t hold it against you, I promise. You’re in this room because I think you need to know what we’re planning, but that plan needs to stay completely dark.”
No one moved.
“What kind of damned stupid plan are we in for?” Bailey finally asked. “I’m guessing, given Madrid’s history, that it’s going to involve our Admiral shoving his head into a meat grinder?”
Falcone sighed.
“You’re not far off,” she admitted. “You were a battleship commander, Admiral Bailey. If your crew had attempted to defect and you didn’t think you’d be able to stop them, what would you have done?”
“Triggered the lockdown,” Bailey said instantly, then froze. “You can’t be serious!”
“The anti-mutiny lockdown override on a Fleet battleship is a genetically locked system that shuts down everything,” Falcone said calmly. “It is linked to the captain and the admiral, if there’s one aboard.
“We know both of those officers from Immortal’s original crew are dead. They were murdered before they could even consider triggering an override.”
“Then what are you planning?” Buckley asked.
“We have reliable intelligence to suggest that Jack Mantruso is using Immortal as his flagship,” Falcone reminded them. “He will have put himself in the system as the Admiral, especially given that the presence of his Praetorians as the only armed personnel aboard the ship suggests he does not trust her crew.”
“How does that help…”
Michelle trailed off and turned to face Brad.
“No,” she told him. “You can’t be serious.”
“We’re serious,” he said gently. “Kate?”
“There is a roughly fifty percent chance that Brad Madrid’s DNA will trigger his brother’s access,” Falcone told the others. “We have assembled a hardware system that will link into the override sensor and increase that chance to approximately ninety-nine percent.
“If Brad can reach the Admiral’s office or flag deck of Immortal, that device will allow him to shut down Immortal. Completely.”
“The override can be turned back off by the same person who turns it on,” Bailey pointed out. “You’ll need to make sure that the Phoenix doesn’t get to a console.”
“If at all possible, I don’t plan on leaving him alive to disagree with me,” Brad said grimly. “Everlit knows, he’s earned that fate!”
“Brilliant as this sounds, there is no way you can successfully infiltrate a battleship at the heart of a fleet to get Brad to the flag deck,” Michelle objected.
“The Agency has always needed ways to get agents and personnel into places they aren’t wanted,” Falcone said in a tired voice. “We have a stealthed boarding vessel that we believe can infiltrate Admiral Madrid and a handpicked assault team of perhaps a dozen soldiers aboard Immortal.
“The Phoenix’s paranoia means there are only a handful of his elite Praetorians aboard the battleship. His lack of trust in the crew leads us to believe that they should be the only resistance we face.”
“That sounds like a one-way trip to me,” Buckley noted. “Is that the best use of Admiral Madrid?”
“No one else can do it, Admiral Buckley,” Brad reminded him. “It has to be someone closely related to Jack Mantruso, and frankly, the rest of our family is dead.” He grimaced. “Usually at the hands of other members of our family.”
Including him, though he wasn’t going to bring that up. He’d killed his own uncle—though he hadn’t known the Terror was his uncle or that the man had killed his other uncle.
“It has to be me. No one else can do it—and if I don’t do it, we can’t win this battle.”
Brad looked around the room. Michelle still looked argumentative, and he knew he was going to hear a lot before the mission actually launched, but he could trust her to raise it in private.
“We’ve transferred the boarding vessel to Incredible,” he told them. “We can no longer allow this battle to unfold on Jack Mantruso’s terms.
“We will take forty-eight hours to make sure every ship is fully restocked and repaired. After that, First Fleet will deploy forward in an attempt to retake Saturn.”
He gestured around the room.
“The entire attack is a cover for getting Incredible close enough to launch the boarding ship. We should be able to deploy approximately one day before the battle, allowing us to make contact with Immortal shortly before battle is engaged.”
“And what happens if you fail?” Bailey asked. “There’s no breaking off at that point.”
“If this goes to plan, Immortal will never fire her guns,” Brad told her. “If she does, the Fleet will maneuver to reduce the engagement time…but the command will be yours, Admiral Bailey. If anyone can carry the day at that point, it’s you.”
“There will also be other measures in place,” Falcone said. “We haven’t established all the details of that yet, but I can promise this: we are almost guaranteed to at least reach Immortal…and if we do, she will not emerge unscathed.”
“In any case”—Brad cut off further debate—“for all of its flaws, this is the best plan we have. We move out in forty-eight hours. Make sure your people are ready.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Michelle followed Brad back to his quarters in companionable silence. He knew he was going to get a lecture of some kind from his wife—the mission he’d taken on was suicidal—but for now, he simply enjoyed her company.
“Sit down,” she told him as the door closed behind him. “You’ve got two days to poke at guns and blades and bullets, but I have to get back to the Vikings quickly if we’re going to attack.”
“We have to attack,” Brad said quietly. “Every day we wait gives the Phoenix more time to come up with dirty plans to stab us in the back.”
“I know,” Michelle agreed. “Now stop arguing and sit down, my love.”
He obeyed, starting to feel more than a little confused.
“I meant to tell you what was going on when we met outside the Trojan cluster but, well…” She shrugged. “Everything went to hell pretty quickly after that. It just hasn’t been the time, but now…now we’re running out of time.”
“What’s going on?” Brad demanded. Now he was worried as well as confused.
“I don’t expect to change your mind about this mission,” Michelle said quietly. �
��But you need to know.
“I’m pregnant.”
It was a good thing Brad was sitting. The world seemed to give way beneath him and reality shifted as he stared at his wife in shock.
They’d talked about children, but—like Michelle had said about telling him—it had never seemed the right time. A child had always been in their plans, but the answer was always “not right now.”
“That’s…amazing,” he said in a rush. “And terrifying. And…how?”
“I’m not sure,” Michelle admitted. “My implant came up for the biannual renewal while we were in Earth orbit and I got it swapped out at a Fleet clinic. According to the implant’s data feed, it’s still working perfectly, but…”
She cupped her hands protectively over her stomach, looking at him hesitantly.
“Come here,” he said gently, holding out his arms to her. A moment later, he was holding her.
“You had to know before you left,” she whispered in his ear.
“I did,” he agreed, fighting back tears and trying not to audibly choke. “And you’re right. It can’t change anything about mission. I have to go, love. For everyone…and for our child.”
He wasn’t winning the fight against tears and neither was Michelle.
“Are you going to be safe aboard Oath?” he finally asked.
“Angelica insisted on me wearing a weird protective garter/corset thing,” Michelle replied, referencing Oath of Vengeance’s medic. “It’s supposed to shield the baby from any potential rads or similar.”
She shivered.
“Oath is as safe as anything in the line of battle, but I’m not leaving our people to fight alone. I have a job to do, the same as you.”
“I know,” he agreed. Part of him wanted to insist that she stay on Io—possibly even Ganymede—behind the fixed defenses of the Jupiter System. Michelle alone was the most precious thing in the Solar System to him…Michelle and their child was beyond any value he could imagine.
But while he’d made Michelle Hunt a mercenary, she’d been a ship’s captain long before they met. He couldn’t ask her to stay behind—and she couldn’t do it if he did.
“I have to go,” he repeated.
“I know,” she agreed. “I wish you didn’t. I wish that your family hadn’t turned out to be the source of all of this…”
“So do I,” he admitted. “But it gives us a chance we wouldn’t have otherwise. If Jack Mantruso wasn’t my brother, we’d have to fight Immortal head-on. This is the only way.”
“But you have to come back; do you understand me?” Michelle demanded. She took his hand and pressed it against her belly. The baby was far from developed enough for Brad to even feel a noticeable bump, let alone any kicking, but he could feel the warmth of her through everything.
“This baby is going to have a father,” she told him fiercely. “Remember that. No matter what.”
“I’ll do everything I can,” he promised. “I already had plenty to come back for, my love. Our child…” He shook his head in wonder. “I’m coming back, I promise you.
“Both of you.”
Brad had enough self-control and respect for his wife not to make stupid demands or insistences, but he still took time he couldn’t necessarily spare to walk her down to the shuttle bay.
From the smile Michelle wore the entire trip, she understood completely. He suspected she’d been worried about how he’d react to finding out about her pregnancy—since they’d kept agreeing to delay children, after all!—and his actual reaction had been good news.
They kissed fiercely at the edge of the shuttle bay, gathering a smattering of gently teasing applause.
“Go,” he told her when she let him go. “We’ll see each other soon enough.”
“We will,” Michelle agreed.
She stepped onto the mercenary shuttle, the ramp rising up behind her. Brad stepped back to clear the safety radius—and almost collided with Bailey.
“Do I get a kiss too?” the newly promoted Vice Admiral asked with an arched eyebrow.
“You should probably talk to whoever you married,” Brad told her with a chuckle.
Bailey snorted.
“That’s a low blow, Admiral,” she warned him. “Did your esteemed wife talk you out of your determination to get yourself killed?”
“I have no intention of getting myself killed, Bailey,” he replied. “But I really am the only one who can do this.”
She sighed.
“I know. Look…I know it’s easy to get carried away thinking that everything rides on you, that you’re the only one who can do the job.” Bailey’s smile was surprisingly self-reflective. “It’s what I built my entire career on, after all.
“In this case, though, it’s true. But…realize you have to kill him.”
“I’m not exactly bothered by that idea,” Brad replied.
“Right now,” Bailey agreed. “But he’s still your brother. The only family you have left. Do you think you can face that man blade to blade and not hesitate? You need to pull this off.”
She shook her head.
“If you do enough damage, we might be able to carry this if you fail, but even a damaged Immortal might still turn the tide. You need to trigger that override and you need to kill Jack Mantruso to make damn sure he can’t turn it off.”
“I know. And then I’m going to need you to come get me,” Brad said with a chuckle. “The plan is what it is, Bailey. Got any suggestions?”
She shook her head at him.
“I can command this fleet for you, Brad Madrid,” she said gently. “But I’m commanding it for you. I don’t lead these people. You do. You’re lending it to me, but First Fleet is yours. The wreckage orbiting Mars and the liberated stations in the trailing Trojans won you that.
“Sonja Gold died to save Ganymede, yes, but she also died for you.
“Whatever happens, if it’s at all possible, you need to come back, Brad. You’re the only thing holding this mess together.”
Brad was about to be dismissive, but her use of his first name caught him out. She did that rarely…in fact, he wasn’t even sure she’d ever done it before.
“I promised Michelle,” he told her. “And I made a promise. I’ll stop my brother. I’ll end this war. And after that, I’m coming home.”
“Good.”
To his surprise, Bailey hugged him. It wasn’t a romantic gesture in the slightest, but it was no less fierce for that.
“Remember that we’ll be right behind you, Admiral Madrid,” she said formally. “You may be the point of the spear, but First Fleet will be coming—and we’ll bring the fire of the rising sun with us!”
Brad’s apparent daily allotment of hugs from terrifying women was complete when Kate Falcone entered his office moments after him. She got the hug in before he even said hello, and he returned the embrace carefully.
“Does everyone actually think I’m going to die on this op?” he asked her.
“It’s more likely than I’d prefer,” Falcone told him. She stepped away from him and checked the tray of coffee a steward had left on the table. The carafe apparently passed her test, as she poured two coffees.
“I have a backup plan,” she told him. “It’s…not pretty.”
“Nuke and a deadman switch?” Brad asked. If that wasn’t her suggestion, they were going to have to scrabble to put it together.
Falcone paused with her coffee halfway to her lips, sighed, then took a swallow.
“Bingo,” she conceded. “The warheads on your nukes are theoretically variable-yield, you know?”
He blinked.
“Really? I thought they were fixed at thirty megatons.”
“They can be dialed down as low as a third of a megaton,” she told him. “I’m not sure why anyone even bothered, since I’ve never seen Fleet fire off a nuke at any setting less than maximum.
“On the other hand, it gave my techs some extra room to play with.”
Brad considered that for a second as th
ey both drank more coffee.
“How big?” he finally asked.
“No one has ever rigged up this kind of sequenced multi-initiator bomb out of Fleet nukes before,” she warned him. “It’s only an estimate, but…three fifty.”
“Deadman switches on you and me?” he asked.
“Just you,” Falcone said grimly. “If you go down, it’s over, Brad. You’ll have a manual initiator as well, but we’ll hook you up with a bracelet linked to the bomb. You go down, Immortal, well, fails to live up to her name.”
He nodded. The battleships were big, tough ships. Immortal could survive non-direct hits from almost any nuke, potentially even a contact explosion from the thirty-megaton warheads in First Fleet’s magazines.
She would not survive a contact explosion from a three-hundred-and-fifty-megaton hydrogen bomb.
“Good.”
Falcone shook her head.
“I don’t like setting up suicide missions, Brad. Especially not for myself and people I like. But if we fail, I want some kind of failsafe.”
“Why don’t we just use the stealth ship to plant that nuke?” he asked. “That seems less risky.”
“Three reasons,” she told him. “One, the armor on that beast is enough that at least some portion of Immortal will survive that blast. Two, without human intuition, the stealth systems lose about eighteen percent of their effectiveness, and we’ll need every scrap of sneakiness we can get to pull this off.”
“And third?” he asked.
“Third, we want that damn ship back. Plus, if the Lord Protector is as paranoid about the crew as he seems to be, that suggests we may be able to turn them during the battle.”
Brad considered that thought. The mental image of Immortal turning her fifty- and fifteen-centimeter guns on her former allies at close range was…painful.
“You can’t actually expect that,” he told her.
“I don’t,” she admitted. “It’s a nice fantasy, but really, I just want Immortal intact to be hauled back to Earth. I’m not sure what the future of the Solar System is going to look like, Brad, but I’m from Luna. I want those big guns standing guard over my home.”