The Red Admiral, page 18
“Do it,” Em ordered as he turned his gaze onto the big projection of near space.
You will discover, my friend, that you have a tiger by the tail, and not a mouse.
A dozen other men came on duty at a run in response to the alert. Em didn’t need such a big crew, since they were out here without a battleship’s normal compliment of frigates and cruisers as escorts, but a good crew does what they were trained to do immediately, and then figures out how to go beyond that.
After all, Em had never deputized an armed freighter and taken his flag aboard it during an emergency evacuation of a station suffering a critical failure. As far as he knew, they still had a tiny Imperial flag hand-painted on the seedy bridge of that little ship, from when they had commanded a chunk of the Imperial fleet for a few hours.
Minutes passed like a glacier melting, rather than sands racing through a glass. Tifft intercepted most of the traffic headed his way, just as Hendrik always had.
Em stared at the slowly-growing image of whatever was out there beeping. It could be anything, which was part of the reason he was going to engage it from as far away as possible. Explosives in a mine or missiles suddenly accelerating would be distant enough to deal with. And nobody would set a captor mine to fire a primary at this range.
Hopefully, whoever it was would be paying attention to the middle of the circle where Jessica was slated to appear, sometime today, and not to a dark spot possibly occluding distant stars as Firehawk swooped.
“Confirmed, Admiral,” Tifft said, looking up from whatever screen had his attention. “Artificial transmissions on a strange frequency. Apparently encoded and exhibiting a strange linguistic cadence.”
That last brought Em’s face around to stare quizzically at the man.
Tifft’s face flushed for a second, expecting the sharp edge of the Admiral’s temper. When none was forthcoming, he relaxed.
“Military transmissions tend to be staccato, sir,” Tifft tried to explain. “The minimum and no more. Even in Arabic or Spanish, which both tend to be smoother languages. This is a fairly constant signal, and it appears and disappears on a regular pattern.”
Tifft’s eyes grew clouded. His brow knit and he suddenly looked down, furiously typing and clicking.
Em waited, able to recognize a man deep in proving a suspicion. Or disproving it.
Tifft looked up, still concerned, but more puzzled.
“Bridge,” he called. “Range and bearing on target?”
“No change,” Provst replied, apparently acting as Tactical while Kistler flew the ship. “Acceptable firing range now. Optimum in twelve minutes.”
Tifft’s face grew angry.
“Speak, Commander,” Em said. “I’d rather have all options on the table.”
Tifft nodded, almost grinding his teeth.
“I have an image in my head of a low-powered transmitter, Admiral,” he replied quietly. “On the face of a slowly-tumbling asteroid. The breaks might be us falling below the rotational terminus, and then rising again twenty-seven minutes later, while it transmits a constant signal. Imagine a radio mast on automatic, playing music.”
“Why?”
Tifft shrugged, unwilling to commit further.
It was Em’s turn to look puzzled, but he had asked.
And it fit the profile better than a stealthy frigate or small pirate boat laying in wait.
One way to be sure.
“Sensors, this is the Flag Bridge,” Em ordered loudly. “Ping the target hard once. Gunnery, prepare to fire, on my order only.”
Acknowledgements echoed.
A ring of ripples appeared on the command board, racing outwards, striking the target, and bouncing back. Computer programs washed out the noise and displayed an image.
From a distance, with his eyes squinted and his head turned a little, it might be mistaken for a frigate, being longer than it was tall, and somewhat organic looking. Cargo carriers tended to be more boxy, if only for efficient use of space.
But it was definitely a rock, tumbling slowly through space like a bent finger.
“All hands, secure from general quarters,” Em ordered a moment later. “That appears to be a lone asteroid.”
Tifft was grinning. Em joined him.
Provst’s voice broke in.
“I’m pretty sure we can take him, Grand Admiral,” he said in a voice barely containing the laughter.
“I’ll let you know if I change my mind, Tom,” Em replied.
“Alert,” another voice suddenly called out sharply. “New target just appeared out of JumpSpace. Stand by for transponder.”
“Belay the order to stand down,” Em called. It would save a few minutes for him to make the change, rather than routing it properly. Things might be risky again.
Butts stayed glued to chairs. Fingers were poised to unleash all the hell a modern battleship had on call.
“Target identifies as CA-264,” the man said a moment later.
“CA-264?” Em queried aloud. “Are you sure it’s not CR?”
“Affirmative, Admiral,” the sensors officer confirmed. “CA. And…blood and martyrs!”
“What?”
“Sorry, sir. New target on same bearing,” the call came. “Size registers her as a cruiser, but she’s broadcasting a higher power curve than we are. Stand by. Transponder identifies her as RAN VI Victrix. We’re being hailed.”
“All guns track on 6 Victrix,” Em ordered the room. “Ignore the escort for now. Route the call here. Tom, Albert, listen in.”
Em turned to a different screen and waited for the message to appear.
“This is RAN VI Victrix,” a familiar, intense face appeared on the screen, the voice hard and heavy. “You are in a secured zone.”
Impressive. Dominant. Fierce.
Short, dark hair coming in gray in most places these days. Clean shaven. Dark, green eyes that seemed to signal a black fire, deep within. Lines that might have been etched with a chisel and a sledgehammer.
Alber’ d’Maine was a warrior to the bone.
And if that was Kigali accompanying him in a new hull, the two of them probably could have seriously damaged Firehawk, had this been an accidental meeting during the now-concluded war.
Especially those two.
“This is IFV Feuerfalke,” Em replied in a bored, aristocratic tone. “Grand Admiral Emmerich Wachturm commanding. You’re in my space, d’Maine. Nice of you to finally join us.”
That got a savage smile from the man.
“Good to see you again, Grand Admiral,” Jessica’s mighty sword hand said. “First Expeditionary reporting for duty. Fleet Centurion is right behind us with the rest of the team.”
“Good,” Em noted. “What the hell are you flying?”
“You told Bedrov to design a better blade,” d’Maine said with a tone approaching glee. “VI Victrix and VI Ferrata are unlike anything anyone has ever seen. II Augusta is even worse.”
Em had spent some time around the man, years ago, during the events concerning Corynthe that culminated in Jessica saving an allied crown by taking it herself. Another time he had badly underestimated the woman.
If Alber’ d’Maine drew that much happiness from a ship, any ship, it must be something revolutionary. And dangerous. Em had read the reports from Thuringwell. Had personally watched how far d’Maine and his crew were willing to push the margins of survivability at Ballard.
The ancient term berserker had been originally invented to describe the likes of Alber’ d’Maine.
“Acknowledged,” Em said. “Find yourself a defensive parking orbit and we’ll come to rest nearby. I’ve been flying blind on the off-chance someone else was going to be here, so we have velocity to kill. And I want to scan the area.”
“Roger that.”
And he was gone.
Em knew better than to be offended. He had given the man an order and d’Maine was executing it. Without any jockeying or dominance games.
Just another reason he had asked Joh to authorize letting Keller in on their darkest secrets and asking for her help solving them.
“Sensors Officer,” Em ordered loudly, causing every head to bob, albeit unconsciously. “Pulse the system hard enough that you can count the comets. Find me anything and everything that does not belong, so we can decide if we have to kill something.”
He turned to Tifft with a wry smile.
“And since we have the assault team ready, go ahead and have Tom capture that rock, whatever that is, so you can satisfy my curiosity. I’m going to eat an early dinner and have a nap so we can stay up well past our bedtimes meeting with Keller. You do the same.”
Em turned at Tifft’s nod and headed for the hatch.
Keller was here, finally, and had apparently brought a revolution with her.
Another revolution.
But this one, he got to drop on someone else.
Em smiled wickedly as he exited the room.
Chapter XXIV
Date of the Republic March 5, 400 SC Auberon, Intersection Point Kasum
It pleased Jessica, watching someone like Em, the Grand Admiral, look uncomfortable as he studied the mass of Command Centurions and first officers that she had invited to dinner. There were a great many people in the room, and him, plus a young man he had apparently recruited as a Flag Aide, when he had snuck off from St. Legier.
Dinner had been superb. The wardroom had risen above their already-high standards for a memorable evening. Jessica gazed forlornly, and briefly considered licking the empty, shallow dish that had been a blueberry tart five minutes ago.
She did not appear to be the only person with such devastating feelings of loss.
Em turned his head and locked eyes with her, silently inquiring if she was ready to start. Stewards were clearing the last plates and refilling glasses and mugs. She nodded, interested in how Wachturm would handle this new group of recruits to his war. He only knew a double-handful of them personally. Tonight he was facing more than forty.
Wachturm pushed back his chair slowly and rose, bringing utter silence to the room, save for silverware coming to rest as people snapped to attention, even sitting.
“I am reminded, perhaps a touch forcefully, of Thuringwell,” he began in a slow cadence, drawing everyone, including her, to lean in as he spoke not quite loud enough to carry. “Many of you were there when the hammer dropped. Many of you were that hammer.”
She watched him turn to give Arott Whughy a significant look.
“Others I know tangentially,” he continued, showing he knew the man’s history. “From places like Ballard, the battle and not the ship.”
He nodded to Kanda Lungu and Elzbet Aukley, Command Centurion and Science Officer off the big Galactic Survey Cruiser that bore the Ballard name, acknowledging their sponsor as well as their place casting electronic sleet and blizzard at his people at Thuringwell.
“We have been foes, in the past,” he said. “And a few have become friends: Jessica Keller, zu Kermode, Colonel zu Arlo. I hope to add many of you to that list soon.”
Jessica watched Em pause, studying the crowd briefly before his eyes alighted on Yan Bedrov, seated in a corner close to da Vinci.
“At the Emperor’s request, both Emperors, in fact,” Em said, turning to nod to Casey, seated on Jessica’s right. “I asked Yan Bedrov to design a new way to fight. Something that we could take to Buran. Push that nation back from their self-appointed goal of conquering the universe and putting everyone under its electronic heel. Free the galaxy from their threat, and their people from its domination.”
He raised one hand and pointed at a distant bulkhead.
“Bedrov’s answer lies out there around us, cast in steel and dreams,” Em waxed poetic for a moment. “And my empire is riddled with traitors and fools right now, although we have begun the task of taking out the trash.”
Jessica marveled at the calm way Em paused to grab a glass of lemonade and take a sip, studying his audience before he spoke again. Silence as a weapon was something very few people knew how to use effectively.
“I must request your assistance,” Em continued in that heavy tone. “I had provided Jessica with everything we knew at the moment she left us. I have done the same now. Not because I knew that much, but because any specific question I posed might give too much away. I must ask you to step into the line of battle, as your Roman ancestors would have done, and hold that line. Fribourg is coming, but every day Buran grows stronger. Closer. In another year, it may have become impossible to dislodge them in our lifetimes.”
He stopped now. Turned to face her across the small distance. His eyes had that same, angry fire Jessica had first seen at Callumnia, discussing creatures like Buran. Madness, mixed with indomitable rage.
“I need le Beau Geste, Jessica,” he said flatly. “The Grand Gesture. The unexpected strike to the soft underbelly. I need Buran on its heels while I build Bedrov’s next fleet, knowing that the one I have now is insufficient to the task. I need a hammer.”
Jessica understood the fear behind those words.
They were here, but would it be enough? Could anything be enough to stay the avalanche?
Jessica put her own water glass down and rose, nodding grimly to Em and then taking in her whole staff and friends with a long, intense look.
“I have said this before, many times,” she called to the room. “Let me make it clear now. The war that all of you enlisted to fight is over. Done. Fribourg needs your help to save the galaxy. It is as simple as that. As Nils Kasum told many of us, before Ballard. We must stand atop the wall and hold it against all comers. Face the darkness and, in doing so, defy it. We will not be here long, and then we will be gone, back into the darkness. Ballard and CP-406 will find them for us. VI Ferrata, VI Victrix, and II Augusta will fix them. And then, ladies and gentlemen, we will kill them.”
The sound was more like a pack of wolves than a dinner of senior officers, if there was much difference.
The look in Em’s eyes spoke volumes. Once her deadliest foe, now a friend in mortal need.
And relying on her to save humanity.
Chapter XXX
Date of the Republic March 6, 400 SC Auberon, Intersection Point Kasum
Because Grand Admiral Wachturm had specifically asked it of him, Vo wore his new Imperial Colonel’s uniform today. Not the fancy dress version Moirrey and Desianna had hand sewn for him, but field camouflage he had tweaked to fit, mostly in grays with patches of green and brown to break up the silhouette. A single, white star on each collar indicated his rank, with the unit patch for the 189th Division on his right shoulder.
Given his head, Vo would have worn his Centurion’s day uniform and been happy. But this promised to be one of those meetings.
He was last to arrive, mostly because he had the longest distance to travel, from the place where the marines lived and trained. Or, where he trained with them when he could. Vo spent a lot of time on special projects for the Fleet Centurion and others these days.
He had been told that it was one of the reasons he wasn’t the commander of the one team of marines SC Auberon normally carried. This mission, as before, they only had the one battalion, plus all of Digger’s engineers and their excavating gear.
Later, Vo expected a planetary landing force, so he’d probably be spending time on the ground again. Thuringwell, or whatever the next version would be. Ground liaison. Forward observer. Something.
Grand Admiral was there when he arrived. Fleet Centurion, too, except that today she was in her Imperial, Red Admiral day uniform instead. Moirrey. Captain Wald. Fleet Centurion Whughy. Lady Casey in her Centurion green-and-blacks.
That was it. Nobody else was here. No staff. Nothing. Not even Enej Zivkovic. Even the marines guarding the place were standing outside in the hall.
Why am I here?
Vo sat quietly, tucked into a corner of the oval-shaped conference room table. He figured his job was to listen. Grand Admiral looked mad enough to chew nails today.
Navin the Black got that look about him when someone was about get yelled at. Occasionally, Command Security Centurion Crncevic still handled the task personally, rather than delegating it. Claimed it kept him in shape.
Vo figured he just liked to keep the kids living in fear. Navin could be like that.
Another thing caught Vo’s eyes as he sat. No paper on the table. No computers. Nothing.
So everything was going to be verbal, this time.
Lovely. The only time you never wrote something down was if you were skirting regulations, or didn’t want it coming back to haunt you later.
What spell were those two conjuring this time?
Grand Admiral leaned forward, staring at Lady Casey like he wanted to start with her.
Vo would have said something, a warning perhaps, but he had seen the Princess work. Grand Admiral would probably want to count his fingers afterwards, if he got that woman riled up. Make sure he still had all of them. Especially with the rest of the team around.
Wachturm sighed angrily. Sounded just like Navin did, just before the storm erupted. They must have gone to the same command school to learn it.
Lady Casey fixed the older man with a hard stare. Thousand meter look through a sniper scope. Not unfriendly, but not budging a centimeter.
Yup, gonna be one of those days.
Give the man credit though, Grand Admiral turned his angry spotlight on Jessica next. Like that was going to get him any further. Moirrey was the only person Vo knew who was more stubborn than Jessica.
“What have you done?” Grand Admiral finally hissed.
Fleet Centurion looked like a dragon some fool dwarf had just stumbled onto in a dark, scary tunnel, too far from the entrance to escape.
“Stood aside when she decided she wanted something bad enough,” Jessica replied in a slow, angry voice. “Every king and Emperor of Fribourg was a naval officer first, Emmerich.”
