The Red Admiral, page 39
In which case, she just might annihilate the planet as a warning to future generations.
Aquitaine might cashier her for doing that. Karl VII would hang another medal on her chest. Buran would most certainly never forget the lesson.
The primary display over her command table was pulled back at a tremendous scale. Trusski’s star, the planet itself, the iceball normally used as a shield. And the squadron’s current hiding place, two hundred AU out. Everything was all visible. Everyone was at duty stations, but none of the vessels were at combat alert. Except maybe Alber’. That man was always one twitch from war, as was his crew.
“Confirmed, Fleet Centurion,” Casey answered the previous question. “RAN Ballard is not currently on station, but we’re not picking up any debris and there do not appear to be any warships in orbit of Trusski.”
“Enej, send CS-405 down quietly to see if she left us a note,” Jessica ordered, pausing to sip from her coffee.
He nodded and got to work.
With a campaign this big and this messy, there were always going to be complexities that she had to account for.
Friction.
Being able to plan accurately for that level of uncertainty had been one of the reasons she had advanced as fast and as far as she had. The ability to guess right.
“Casey, order all vessels to prepare for insertion,” Jessica continued. “Our next hop is likely to be assembly point six, on the way to Trusski orbit, once we hear from Kosnett. All vessels maintain silence for now.”
“Acknowledged, Fleet Centurion,” the young woman said.
Jessica kept a stoic face, as much as she was grinning inside. One of these days, she could see Command Centurion zu Wiegand in a similar situation. What would the fussy old matrons of St. Legier think then?
There were many different ways to win a war.
* * *
Phil Kosnett always laughed to himself when he considered how he had ended up in command of CS-405, attached to Keller’s Expedition. First Centurion Naoumov had told him she had him slotted for his own command as soon as a light cruiser opened up, but that the Peace had disrupted everyone’s plans.
If you suddenly weren’t fighting your mortal foe to the death on a daily basis, how many ships did you need? Trust the civilians to start reducing military budgets before they were sure of the future.
And then Fribourg, of all people, came along and initiated a new construction frenzy. But all the command slots of Keller’s cruisers were spoken for, and he didn’t have the seniority to step into Robbie Aeliaes’s spot commanding RAN Nyamboya.
Would he be interested in commanding a Scout Corvette?
No, thank you. Except that ship was going to war with Keller, and everybody else was going to stay home and patrol and train, and maybe hope that Fribourg broke the treaty, or pirates got out of hand. Good luck with the latter, with so many more warships available to chase them.
So here he was, standing finally on his own bridge, a man destined to be a great warrior commander, like all kids were when they hit the Academy. And he was commanding the single least-armed warship in the squadron.
Even the Corvette/Escort hull had a Type-3-Tuned at either end, to go with four Type-1-Pulse mounts in between. Hell, CM-404 at least kept one of the Type-3’s. CS-405 had the four Type-1-Pulse turrets, and sacrificed both bigger guns for a pair of monstrous sensor arrays, one bow and one stern.
He could count the hairs on a fly from one hell of a distance, but couldn’t shoot one. No, his job was to fly in the van, at the head of the column, where his short-range firepower could kill missiles and fighters, rake bigger vessels while blinding them with static, or cut through any counter-measures they thought they could throw up.
Fribourg still hadn’t gotten their heads wrapped around having a scout in a combat formation. But nothing a cruiser could do was within an order of magnitude of his little gunboat, as far as electronic warfare capability went.
So he was here. On the war front. Hopefully, making a good impression on the one person who really counted. Or maybe the three people, since Keller relied on Zivkovic and Lady Casey so heavily. One of these days, he would have his own cruiser.
Although, if he turned into an expert on scouts, that might be Ballard, or one of her sisters.
Phil Kosnett, Explorer Extraordinaire?
Tom Kigali had certainly built his own legend that way.
“First Officer Lau, call the clock,” Phil said, turning to look at her image on his screen.
Unlike other vessels, Phil Kosnett felt the place for the First Officer was forward, on the Emergency Bridge, where she could immediately take command if something happened to him aft on the Main Bridge. Too many times he had heard horror stories about ships that were suddenly crippled by a bridge hit taking out the entire command staff, or at least cutting off all communications, leaving command to devolve to a poor, junior Centurion who had been relegated to the posting equivalent of Siberia.
Phil juggled his officers and team around, moving someone every week so that everyone got a chance to work with everyone else. A ship this small needed to be a single family, trained and prepared. And that included serving with every officer and every enlisted until you could intuit how they were going to jump.
“Emergence in thirty seconds,” Heather Lau replied. “All gun crews report ready. Forward sensor array set for maximum jamming on command. Aft array will perform a scanning arc on the planetoid.”
Phil nodded at her image on his screen. She would be up for her own command soon, especially if the Fleet was set to start building furiously again. He would take as much advantage of her amazing skill and professionalism as he could.
“Nav, we’ll be coming out at almost a dead stop, relative to everything around us,” Phil continued. “If something looks wrong, get us clear without waiting for any order.”
Centurion Siobhan Skokomish was facing him from her station. As the ship’s Pilot, she was among the best. And his Second Officer.
She glanced up at him now for a long second, face inscrutable with an eyebrow up, and then nodded once.
He had never gotten her whole story, and hadn’t had a chance to hunt down a previous commander to fill in the gaps. Her first name was Irish and her last Amerind, and yet her ethnicity said African, back when that was a place and not just a cultural reference.
Her curly hair was usually right up against regulations for length if she didn’t keep it in tight braids. Siobhan’s eyes were dark, but her skin was such a deep brown that it was almost the color of coal. She didn’t speak much, nor loudly, but there was never a wasted movement, either when she walked or especially when she flew.
If there was a Buran warship there, he wanted her to just throw them back into JumpSpace. Keller could bring Aeliaes and d’Maine down at that point.
“Ten seconds to RealSpace,” Heather’s voice came over the ship-wide. “Five seconds. Emergence.”
All the electronic eyeballs on a sensor-heavy corvette went into overdrive at the same instant. Fortunately, they were alone in the bolthole’s shadow, unless someone was hiding over the horizon from them, on the Trusski-side.
“Triggering the data relays now,” his First Officer continued.
This wasn’t combat, but she still had Tactical Command right now. That had been the hardest part for Phil, giving up that war-making aspect of the job when he stepped into the big chair. And letting someone else fight his battles while he sat and directed.
“Commander, we have a log buoy in orbit of the snowball,” Heather said. “It’s from Ballard. No debris at this time, so it looks like she had to leave, rather than being ambushed.”
“Roger that,” he said. “Download it, but keep a watch inward. If Ballard’s not here, we don’t know what has been happening on the planet. Gun teams, maintain maximum vigilance until we know why Ballard’s gone.”
They were as quiet as mice hiding in the cupboard, as far as Phil could tell. Now if only he could determine whether the rest of the universe believed that, too.
“Update from Ballard,” Heather’s voice broke into his reverie. “They believe that Amala Bhattacharya departed the system in a local freighter for reasons unknown, so Ballard departed in pursuit.”
“So there’s nothing we can do at this point?” Phil fired back. “Except return to base or wait here?”
“Looks like,” Heather agreed.
Sometimes, that was the way things went.
“Nav, prepare to…” Phil started to say.
“Stand by,” Siobhan called loudly, overriding his voice. “Incoming signal. Looks like somebody just came out of jump, deeper in. Buran vessel.”
Trust her to be paying extra-special attention, since she would need to maneuver them in tight quarters if something went wrong. She would make a great First Officer, when he lost Heather, one of these days.
“Heather?” Phil asked, stepping back mentally, when he really wanted to wade into the situation and take charge.
“Signal’s about three hours old, Commander,” his First Officer said, looking down at her boards. “Looks big.”
“How big?” he asked.
There hadn’t been anyone around the system earlier. He knew Keller wanted to ambush one of Buran’s ships, if she could catch them. Hopefully, they had lucked into something.
Of course, with Keller, it probably wasn’t luck, but hopefully some of it would rub off on him, too.
“According to the signals intelligence Ballard left us, it looks like the JumpCarrier Steadfast at Dawn is back,” Heather replied. “She was briefly on station three weeks ago, and then left quickly.”
“Round trip to Samara?” Phil asked. “Assuming JumpDrives instead of sails?”
“Yeah, maybe,” she said. “Timing sounds right for an average run.”
He paused to run through the options. Bad, bad, and bad, but nothing would make them much better, at least not short-term.
“So let’s assume they would have already hit us, if she knew we were here,” Phil said. “Look for a longer-lagging signal where she went deeper, into orbit of Trusski, and then open a communications laser backwards to where Auberon should be sitting. They won’t be able to reply, but feed them everything we know, working backwards in time. Keller needs to know about that ship first, about her Ambassador later.”
“Roger that,” Heather said, hitting the mute button on her end so she could work without interrupting him.
“Nav, find me an orbit where we can see Trusski, and remain hidden behind the snowball’s horizon,” Lau ordered. “If Keller comes, she’ll need to know everything that’s going on down there. And keep us silent up here.”
“Yes, sir,” Siobhan answered.
Phil leaned back and clenched his teeth to keep his mouth shut. They were experts. They could do the job better without him barging in and interrupting.
He watched the screen and kept telling himself that.
Chapter LXIV
Orbital: Trusski. Status: In Transit
Kier knew she should take no pleasure in the act, but there was a grand difference between diplomatic precedent and welcoming a spy into your home.
Fortunately, both the Director at Ural and the Khan of Samara had agreed with her position that the Fribourg agent should be in custody, Red Admiral Keller or Khan Ul be damned. Kier had been forced to waste time going back and forth to get that official sanction. That would make it that much more pleasant when she was able to invoke censure on this pipsqueak Khan from the back of beyond for daring to thwart her.
The man on the screen staring back at her did not improve her humor.
“What do you mean, he left?” she demanded, feeling her fury grow another notch. “He’s the Khan of Trusski. Unless he was recalled by the Eldest, he had no business departing this planet.”
A small voice in the back of Kier’s head wondered if Ul had known what was coming and chosen to flee ahead of justice. She smiled at that. If the man had gone rogue, then he became a literal outlaw and she could deal with him any way she felt necessary.
“The Khan did not leave an explanation,” the man said. “Only a statement that he would be departing to make sure that Ambassador Bhattacharya was safely transported home, and that I should exercise his position until he returned or someone of sufficient authority interceded.”
Kier had dealt with this man, the Scholar Ve, on her previous visit. He had struck her then as a pompous, obsequious peon. She could see that nothing had changed since.
And she could tell that he would argue with her on precedence, if he were pushed. Her orders from both the Director and the Khan of Samara had been to compel Khan Ul to hand the barbarian over, into military custody. Kier therefore theoretically lacked the specific authority to order this replacement to do anything at all, if the woman were truly gone.
Still, it must be done correctly. Especially if she was going to make a point of destroying this rogue Khan and his career. And she wanted that. Badly.
“I have orders from the Khan of Samara,” she began in an angry, grinding voice. “You will produce the foreign agent immediately.”
Simple. Direct. Non-negotiable.
“Ambassador Bhattacharya is no longer on this planet,” Ve said in a supercilious voice. “She departed three days ago aboard an accredited transport. Khan Ul departed at the same time. I am unaware of their itinerary or intentions.”
The way he smiled, ever so slightly when he said it told Kier just how well the man understood. It would be a game with him, as it had been with his master.
“How else may I be of service, Director?” the man continued, slipping white-hot wires under her fingernails with his tone.
There was one other arrow in her quiver. She hadn’t planned on invoking it, but this fool and his former leader had managed to back her into a corner. She could lose face, or she could push the issue.
And she was never one to surrender any advantage.
“As the foreigner Keller has declared this an active warzone, we are compelled to defend it,” Kier said, smiling spitefully. “She has struck at several other systems already, destroying orbital platforms, but has only threatened Trusski. I hereby invoke the supremacy of Martial Law in this system. The civilian government will coordinate all activities through the military office until we can determine that the threat has been nullified.”
“Indeed, Director Xi,” the man agreed too readily. “Except that there exists no military office on the surface. You will need to establish one by sending down adequate representation.”
None? Stupid farmers.
Kier refused to scowl at the man, aware that she had just stepped into another trap laid by Ve or his master. Still, she could send down Nu Reutra Quilen Danl, the man known once as Imperial citizen Daniel St. Collins. It would be good enough for now.
Kier was aware that Ve was smirking at her.
“I will be in touch shortly,” she said curtly, cutting the channel.
She would be stuck here, but it would give Steadfast at Dawn’s crew a chance to build some proper defenses. She would deputize another freighter, as the escaped Khan had done, and send it to Samara for additional assistance, perhaps a small patrol squadron that could at least protect the region.
It would require a significant force to stop Keller, but she had been raiding with impunity, sending her little gunships hither and yon to blow things up, simply because most systems had never been defended. Fribourg had never before bothered to attack any system except Samara.
A Mako, or perhaps a squadron of Hammerheads, would put a quick end to that rash behavior.
And either Keller or Ul would be back soon.
She would enjoy greeting either of them when the time came.
Chapter LXV
Date of the Republic November 25, 400 SC Auberon, Trusski System
“Damn, that’s a big beast,” a voice intruded on Jessica’s concentration.
She looked up. Must have been Enej, from the way he blushed furiously. Jessica grinned at him in commiseration.
“Get all the Command Centurions on-line now,” she ordered. “If they’re alone, we have a golden opportunity. I want us closer.”
“Roger that,” he said.
Jessica turned to Marcelle and Willow, carefully seated off to one side, as always. Witnesses to history, they would probably still be forgotten by it.
“Marcelle, some fresh coffee for me, please?” she asked the woman. “And roust the wardroom, for something for everyone else. We’ll probably hop, listen, and then lunge. There will be time for food.”
Marcelle nodded, unbuckled herself, and rose from the chair. Jessica always wondered what went through Marcelle’s mind at times like this. She had nothing to do but run and fetch for Jessica, and whatever tasks probably shouldn’t even unofficially be handled by Enej or Casey.
Plausible deniability.
Marcelle grinned back at her from the hatch, as if she were reading Jessica’s thoughts.
Maybe.
Everyone had probably been listening to the data feed from CS-405. Even a tight laser was going to be something of a searchlight at this range. All her command centurions, including the four on Auberon, were on the link within a matter of seconds.
“We have possibly as good an opportunity as we’ll get,” Jessica addressed them all. “Battleship and four cruisers, with the ability to blink everywhere and attack from all sides. If we didn’t have forty-five fighters designed to engage Buran vessels, I probably wouldn’t try anything.”
The faces were attentive. Composed. They had spent a year or a lifetime, or both, preparing for this.
Jessica found the one face she wanted, quiet as always. Enfys El-Amin. RAN Wombat. The minesweeper she had brought along with her on several missions now.
She had almost left that ship behind with Arott Whughy and his base on this patrol round, but the temptation for delinquency and Mischief had been too great.
