The Red Admiral, page 12
The other three men nodded. They had been the ones that had failed, even during Keller’s Raid, but nobody could have predicted Jessica Keller. Even today, the models were barely better than a coin toss. Em knew Jessica liked it that way. Worked at it.
Something else they shared.
“No,” Emmerich replied. “And if you don’t plan to eat the egg afterwards, a sledgehammer is just as effective as the edge of the pan.”
He took a deep breath and nodded.
“Thank you, gentlemen,” he continued. “I’ll take it from here. Dismissed.”
Em rose and left the mess on the table, along with the men. Nothing would depart that room except under strict guard and the watchful eyes of the four men with guns that were waiting in the hallway outside.
Even he didn’t do more than have the papers available during his weekly briefing, so that arcane and obscure points could be looked at more specifically, when questions inevitably arose.
At least the messages from Ladaux had been promising.
Jessica and her people would be leaving soon. And he would travel to meet them, rather than risk all the spies and leaks at St. Legier.
Would it be enough to save the Empire from Buran?
Chapter XVIII
Date of the Republic January 1, 400 Departing Fleet Headquarters, Ladaux
Nils didn’t like it. Not one damned bit. But he also knew there wasn’t a single thing he would have done differently had they done it over. He looked around the shuttle’s small conference room and thought about the necessity for secrecy that had him sneaking across deep space, rather than holding the big ceremony in the traditional way.
For luck, he touched the bulkhead closest to him. Jessica happened to glance up from her reading at the moment. She grinned at him.
Nils had read her many reports. Emmerich Wachturm had a vessel just like this, designed as a compact flag transport, built specifically to get fleet lords or admirals rapidly between systems without tying up a larger vessel. Wachturm’s was newer and apparently much faster.
Nils had confiscated the one originally outfitted by Bogdan Loncar before the man had been cashiered for treason. Nothing wrong with the vessel itself other than the utter decadence of the fittings. The gold plating everywhere. The deep carpets halfway up the green walls.
But it shouldn’t be necessary. It offended Nils that he had to sneak around.
Jessica had insisted. And she had been the commander on the ground long enough to know how to fight this particular battle.
She sat at the far end of the cabin, facing him. Petia was closer, turned sideways, reading. Arott Whughy had the apparent ability to fall asleep the instant his butt hit a comfortable chair. At least he didn’t snore. More like soft purrs.
Nobody else.
Or rather, everyone else had already snuck off, or been consumed in the various Builder’s Trials that would precede Acceptance Into The Fleet. Even Mendocino and Duncan, First Expeditionary’s normal Fleet Transports, had been loaded up and sent off with sealed orders, only to be opened in deep space.
Nils suppressed a sigh. Or thought he did.
Maybe Jessica was reading his mind. Again.
She did that.
“2218 Svati Prime,” she said in a low voice. “Xi-Shi. C’Xindo. Surat Thani.”
Nils knew the names.
He knew she preferred a different nomenclature, but he also knew she was going to lose that argument with the historians.
Keller’s Raid.
Her signature move, the sudden explosion out of JumpSpace onto an enemy system that was unprepared, overwhelming all local opposition before it had a chance to do anything. At Thuringwell, she had added the twist.
Staying put and fortifying.
Strategic offense. Tactical defense.
Petia was paying attention now. She closed her reading slab and prodded Arott awake with a toe, aware that perhaps it was time for that conversation.
After all, it was just the four of them right now, the inner core of participants in the crazy adventure set in motion by a distant Fribourg Emperor. Only two of them of actual importance, when push came to shove.
The others had retired to their own, aft section of the small ship: Marcelle Travere, Willow Dolan, Kamil Miloslav, and the dozen or so officers and crew who supported their commanders with the daily paperwork. Not even Enej Zivkovic and Cheng Yin Dominguez, respectively the Flag Centurions for Jessica and Arott, were present.
No, this was just the principals.
Arott squared and stretched his shoulders like a bear awakened mid-winter. Nils and Jessica both grinned at him at the same time.
“Because I simply don’t know how much Buran has penetrated the Republic’s political apparatus,” Jessica began. “In that, Loncar did us a favor, because you’ve spent several years now aggressively digging out moles and spies when you might not otherwise have put that much effort into it. But Buran is coming. Fribourg is utterly riddled, or was when I left. I suspect Em’s unleashed the hounds of hell on Imperial Security.”
“Em?” Arott asked.
“Grand Admiral Emmerich Wachturm,” Petia interjected in a disinterested-sounding voice. “Casey and Jessica both refer to him as Em.”
Jessica turned a surprised look on the woman, got a grin in return.
Arott nodded confirmation. “Go ahead.”
“So the Senate vote for a massive construction program wasn’t exactly a private affair,” Jessica continued. “And all the various shipyards suddenly ramping up to spit out a dozen new ships will make the news. I want to keep our capabilities as quiet as I can. As long as I can.”
“But a secret commissioning?” Nils asked. “Vanishing like a thief in the night?”
“You agreed with me then that it was the best way to do it,” Jessica replied carefully. “What’s changed?”
“I’ve gotten old and grumpy,” Nils realized, feeling a weight suddenly heavy on his shoulders. “Set in my ways. What you are doing overturns every tradition I’ve spent my whole career upholding.”
Nils stopped and considered his next words. What he needed to say.
Like so many other things about Jessica, it would be an important footnote argued histrionically by historians, probably for centuries.
But now, more than ever, it felt right.
“When this thing is done,” Nils said, gesturing to include Arott as well as Jessica. “When I’ve blessed the two of you and sent you into battle, I intend to resign as First Lord of the Fleet. I have spoken in vague terms with both Judit and Tad, and they are in agreement. Petia will most likely replace me as First Lord. As you’ve reminded me countless times, the Great War is over. I got to be the lucky bastard who was in office, so I’ll get the credit for being a genius, but the three of you are about to start a new Great War. I just don’t have the energy to pursue it, certainly not if you’re right about it taking decades to complete. No, this is a good place to round it off.”
It was hard to say whose face had grown the palest of the three. Which mouth had fallen the farthest open.
Intellectually, all of them had known this day had to be coming.
Eventually.
Nobody lived forever, except the very Sentiences they were going to be fighting, or the one they had fought so hard to protect, once upon a time.
Nils suddenly felt lighter. As if a great weight had been pressing him down, and now it was gone.
He smiled, looking forward to being that grumpy, ex-Navy Senator on the end of the first row, bitching about kids these days.
Petia was closest to him, both historically and emotionally. The other two had been his prize pupils, but Pet had been a close and dear friend for many years.
She reached out and put a comforting hand on his knee. Jessica and Arott were still in shock.
Good. That meant it was going to catch everyone off-guard, both Fribourg and Buran.
He could promote Kamil to Senior Centurion and leave him with Petia to retain continuity until she figured out how she wanted to run her office. And two of the most dangerous Fleet Centurions in the galaxy would be steaming to the far horizon of the Fribourg Empire at the head of the most formidable fleet in memory.
“Senator Kasum?” Jessica finally managed to get out past a mouth that looked like it had gone dry.
“Eventually,” he said. “I know the trip to St. Legier was supposed to be a vacation for you, in spite of what happened. I need a break. Hopefully nothing so exciting happens to me.”
Nils accepted congratulations and condolences in equal amounts. It wouldn’t be official for a few weeks, but in his mind, he was already gone. The hard part would be keeping the grin off his face.
Let Petia handle things for a while. Nils didn’t see Jessica ever taking his spot at the top, but Arott might, one of these days.
That was as good a legacy as he could imagine.
Chapter XIX
Date of the Republic December 16, 400 RAN Bellerophon, Kismayo System
It had started here, looking back. Just over seven years ago, Jessica had first boarded the old Strike Carrier Auberon at Kismayo, taking command in prelude to The Long Raid. The first step in ending the Great War with Fribourg.
Fitting that she would return here to do something even bigger.
The First Lord’s transport had eventually docked with the dreadnaught RAN Bellerophon after the hard run to this system. The first time, Jessica had been headed on to Simeon with Denis and the new crew to see if she could break them, or forge them.
A lifetime ago. Several lifetimes.
She looked around the small office she had claimed, down and aft from the ship’s flag bridge. A standard metal desk with old dings that probably told many interesting stories. Oak sidebar for beverages that was currently empty. Two chairs lurked across from her awaiting their next victims.
She still had six minutes until her next meeting. Possibly the most complex of them all. Certainly one of the riskiest. With commensurate potential rewards.
Jessica turned her shoulders past ninety degrees to the right first, and then the left. Pretty good for forty-two years old and working at a desk so much. At least the fighting robot kept her sharp and trim, even if she wasn’t running it above Six very often. Probably needed to change that, going forward. Things were going to get sharp. She would need that killing edge honed.
She rose from the seat and turned to the port on the outer bulkhead, at her left hand. She had left the armored panel closed earlier, to reduce distraction, but she keyed it open now and stared into near space separated only by a hand span of transparent metal, and catching her own reflection in white from the glass as she did.
It took her a moment to locate them all, parked at rest in relation to one another and to Bellerophon, the whole group hiding more than a light hour away from the planet itself. Again secrecy.
Closest was Auberon. SC-006. The Star Controller for First Expeditionary Fleet. Looming like a tremendous whale more than twice Bellerophon’s size. Enormous and powerful, and already out of date, a new-born dinosaur that would eventually need to be retired to a distant, less-dangerous frontier, away from the one she must first challenge.
Needs must, and we had to balance time against secrecy. Certainly, we could have rebuilt her, or built a new one, but not without telling everyone in the galaxy what we were up to. We’ll just have to be better than them, and I’ve got Denis for that.
Below and further away, side by side like two attack dogs on a single leash, VI Ferrata and VI Victrix. Ironclad and Victorious. Robbie Aeliaes and Alber d’Maine, Command Centurions in charge of vessels that could possibly each take on a dangerous dreadnaught like Bellerophon, even though they were barely bigger than battlecruisers.
Below them, forming the point of the triangle, II Augusta. Majestic. Tamara Strnad finally given her opportunity to shine aboard history’s first Expeditionary Carrier, a cold-built variant of her sisters, the Expeditionary Cruisers. Smaller than a Fleet Carrier, but still much more than a Strike Carrier, able to walk right into the middle of battle with Buran and fight as well as any ship in the fleet.
The others were too far away to be more than points of light to the naked eye, but she had no doubt they were out there. Gone were the six destroyers that had been Auberon’s boon companions since launch. In their place, a pack of smaller vessels. Sleeker, faster. Able to achieve sailing feats that would make Tomas Kigali’s mouth water with envy, were he not here now, leading the way.
It had taken the forcible retirement of an obstinate Fourth Lord, but the Republic of Aquitaine Navy was building corvettes again. The first such craft in generations, after the long experiment with cutters and destroyers in their stead.
CA-264. Corvette/Assault. Tomas Kigali in a chariot that killed things, while still being able to easily sail for six months without stopping for food or directions.
Three CE models: 401, 402, and 403. Corvette/Escort. The backbone of the new fleet, the new war with Buran. Armed with a pair of Type-3-Tuned beams, capable of long range sniping or short range hammering, as decided by the commander before the battle began. Further protected by four Type-1-Pulse beams, the variant Moirrey had dreamed up after watching Buran shred the skin of Amsel with a similar weapon. The old Type-1, but with bigger capacitors and more generators in-line behind it. A lethal woodpecker, on defense.
CM-404. Corvette/Minehunter. She didn’t carry any mines herself, but was tuned to detect and shoot them from a very long ways off. No Imperial intelligence had suggested Buran used mines. What good would a net of explosives be, against a vessel that could make impossible leaps from inside a gravity well? But they would learn, soon enough. Moirrey had spent a year studying the logs of St. Legier. And a decade dreaming.
CS-405. Corvette/Scout. The weakest hull of them all, sacrificing both of her Type-3’s for giant sensor arrays, like those off of RAN Ballard, but intended for combat on day one, rather than as a side gig while exploring.
All of those vessels would fit into the array Jessica had built in her head. Battle plans, strategic calculus, logistics trains. Buran could jump right on top of her fleet and attack, but she and Yan would guarantee them a savage mauling in the process, especially when the two Expeditionary Cruisers carried Type-4 beams, in the hands of people who knew how to use them in battle.
No, it was her last meeting today that left Jessica…not concerned, but focused.
Ballard would be joining the mission. There was so little data available, in the way of surveyed routes, that the big Survey Cruiser would be necessary, just to leave a trail of breadcrumbs for future fleets.
But Yan hadn’t limited himself to only thinking about fleet maneuvers and warfare. He’d managed to convince Tad to fund an experiment that Yan eventually wanted to build back home. Jessica, too, perhaps.
CP-406. Corvette/Patrol. A survey carrier, or pocket strike carrier, depending on how you wanted to think about these things. A corvette that kept the forward and aft Type-3-Tuned turrets: Anna and Zebra, and the rear two Type-1-Pulse turrets: Wiley and Yalu. Up front, where Boren and Chester turrets would have resided, a trio of fighter craft perched on external launch rails. It was the smallest mothership Jessica had ever seen, not even a full 1-ring like Petron’s merchants and pirates flew, which usually carried six to eight fighters.
Jessica remembered the conversations with Yan and Nils, when the subject had first come up.
“What kind of a Command Centurion would even know what to do with something like this?” Nils had asked.
“Gimme a pirate,” had been Yan’s grinning response.
Aquitaine didn’t have pirate commanders. Petron did, but none she could recruit and train in the time available. Maybe tomorrow.
So Nils had gone to Third Lord Philips with a vague set of requirements from Yan, and the four of them had culled the resulting list down to a set of candidates.
Nils had selected a rough dozen. Yan had read the stack of files once, pulled one, and handed it to Jessica.
“Her,” was all Yan said, voice registering the sort of intransigence she rarely heard from the man. The kind where he was actually willing to argue with her in public, something he rarely did, generally happy to close the door before voices were raised.
Jessica had flipped the document open and quickly scanned the contents.
Nothing that immediately jumped out at her, but she read closer. Family: check. Education: normal. Scholarship student, but so many were. Academy notes: exceptional, but within normal range. Good ratings from commanders and subordinates both.
“Okay,” Jessica finally had said, unable to identify anything that would move Yan like it did. “Why her?”
“She’s you, ten years ago,” he had said smugly.
“You’ve only known me six,” Jessica had retorted, flipping the file open and reading again.
She quickly gave up and handed the file on to Nils. “I can’t tell. Your opinion?”
Nils had smiled frostily himself, until he started reading. Silent minutes passed before he looked up.
“What are you seeing, Bedrov?” Nils asked in a sharp tone.
“Jess is aggressiveness incarnate,” Yan had said. “That’s good, but a Half-ring Mothership like this needs to balance that with an understanding that sometimes the odds are too long, and you don’t have to win the war with one shot. Sneak up on the bastard and study him. Pounce from an odd angle if you can. Run like hell if you can’t. Our Fleet Centurion here runs just far enough to turn and ambush you, again and again. But this one will find someone, fix them, and then go get the big boys and girls to come in and hammer the guy into the mud. Pirate-think.”
And he had crossed his arms, like the decision was already made.
Ten years ago.
Jessica thought back to when she had just taken command of her first destroyer squadron from the bridge of Brightoak. Had been obliged to surf the politics, spending too much of her time answering to a dilettante Noble Lord, rather than to one of the Fighting Lords. At least until after Third Iger, when that idiot Loncar had finally decided that he had had enough and that Jessica Keller needed to be broken.
