by Jay Allan
And, the enemy that had driven straight through to the heart of the Confederation and seized its capital, might be forced to withdraw along their enormously long supply lines.
With only sixteen stealth units, there had been no room to waste generators on scouts, or even escorts or cruisers. Admiral Winters needed all the firepower—and all the fighters—he could get.
That meant sending a battleship through as a scout. A single ship to confirm that the enemy didn’t have warships sitting in wait just on the other side of the point, and to check for mines or any other traps or weapons that might interfere with the fleet’s transit.
To go through and see if the transit itself gave away the ship’s position, to determine if the fleet could actually get through without being detected.
Eugene sat stone still as his ship slipped into the still-poorly understood tube of the transit point, and traveled through the strange alternate reality of whatever lay between the departure point and the destination. In normal space, 5.5 lightyears separated the stars Alvion and Olyus, a distance that would take a lifetime for a vessel to traverse in normal space. In the strange otherness of the transit point, that journey took less than a minute.
Even as he was still thinking about the network of transit points, and imagining the amazing technology that had gone into their construction, the blackness of regular space reappeared. There were stars again on his screen, and gradually, the display updated, showing the familiar stellar geography of the Olyus system.
“Passive scanners only. Thrust at 1g.” Eugene knew the transit was the most vulnerable moment, the instance when enemy scanners, ineffective against the stealth field protecting his ship, could pick up the energy spike at the point. He’d almost expected to be detected, or at least for the enemy to know something had come through. But, there was nothing. No reaction at all.
At first, he thought the enemy might be laying some kind of trap for him. But, then, as the data from his scans continued to flow in, he understood. His people had been fortunate. They’d slipped through while the enemy was distracted.
He stared at the display, at the great columns of small circles, the icons representing enemy ships. The main Hegemony battlefleet, clear across the system, moving steadily through another transit point, the very one Tenacity had traversed months before, along with the rest of the fleet…in the ignominious retreat from Olyus.
My God…
He watched, and though he’d known the enemy would almost certainly advance on Craydon and engage the fleet again, the reality of watching it hit him hard. Enthusiasm, patriotism…such things could alter thought, overwhelm analysis. But, as he watched the enormity of the fleet moving out of the system, all hope that Admirals Nguyen and Barron could hold Craydon vanished. The enemy had repaired massive numbers of ships, and the force now on the way to fight the climactic battle was even stronger than had been feared. The fleet was doomed. The Confederation was finished.
Unless Admiral Winters and the other battleships could destroy the supply and support ships.
For an instant, he felt a wave of panic, a sudden fear that the logistics train would move out with the battlefleet, that it would reposition itself somewhere along the line to Craydon. That hadn’t been the Hegemony’s prior methodology, but the concern gave Eugene an unpleasant few minutes.
But, the supply ships were not moving. They were positioned in the middle of the system, not too far from his current position. The mining vessels were clustered around the system’s middle planets and their moons, and the refinery ships were strung out nearby, no doubt processing the ores as quickly as they were mined.
And, deeper out, between the orbits of the seventh and eight planets, sat the great mobile shipyards, each one of them surrounded by damaged ships, those still remaining unrepaired after the last battle.
Eugene was glad to see that even the Hegemony had ships still backed up and waiting for repair. The fleet at Craydon certainly did, and he knew no small number of his comrades would go into battle in battered and partially operational vessels.
If we can keep the surprise, hit them hard before they can react…
Eugene knew the fleet escaping had never been a major part of the plan. It would be good, of course, certainly from his point of view, but also from the navy’s. The fleet didn’t need to lose more battleships or seasoned crew, but Tenacity’s captain knew the primary mission was to destroy those enemy support ships…whatever the cost. Even if it meant every ship in the fleet was blasted to atoms.
He understood that, and it scared him, at least in ephemeral sort of way. But, his mind was focused on the mission, and he’d been ready for death for months now. He knew his duty, as he was sure Admiral Winters did, and every other spacer in the fleet.
He watched as the enemy ships continued to transit. His orders were clear. Report back at once. Winters had the fleet on alert, ready to come through the instant Tenacity came back through and transmitted the situation.
“Captain? Should we return to the transit point?”
Eugene was silent for a moment. Then he answered, his voice like a hammer on an anvil. “No.”
“Sir?”
“We got lucky coming through, Commander. It doesn’t look like anyone picked up our transit. But, we can’t count on that if we go back, and any drone we launch will be outside the stealth envelope.” He turned and looked again at the enemy ships transiting. “No, we’ve got to let that battlefleet finish moving out of here…or they just may turn around and come after us.” The fleet had a chance of hitting the supply ships, but not if a massive force of enemy battleships turned around and remained in the system.
No, Tenacity couldn’t go back. Not yet. They would stay right where they were.
Eugene wasn’t going to move. He wasn’t going to take any risk of being detected, not while there were still masses of enemy warships in the system. He could be patient, when he had to be, at least.
He just hoped Clint Winters was just as patient, and that the admiral trusted his captain enough to wait. Because if another ship came through too soon, it might not be as lucky as Tenacity. And, any tip off at all to the Hegemony forces would probably unleash those queued up battleships in the rearmost columns back into the system.
And right after Winters’s entire attack force.
Chapter Thirty-Two
CFS Dauntless
Orbiting Craydon
Calvus System
Year 318 AC
“Admiral Denisov, I intend to be blunt in our conversations, as I do not believe diplomatic niceties serve us in any useful way.” Barron looked across the table at the Union admiral, and though he was still driven by his hatred of the Union, Denisov’s condition disarmed him considerably. The officer was ghostly pale, and Barron could see it was a struggle for him even to sit upright.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way, Admiral. I am a blunt man myself.” Denisov was clearly trying to look as strong as possible, but it was obvious with every word he forced out that he was exhausted, and in almost constant pain.
Barron had remembered the admiral’s name when he’d heard it, though the man he’d recalled from the fight against the Pulsar had been a captain, one who’d come close to thwarting his efforts to destroy the deadly imperial relic. The officer he’d remembered had been dynamic and aggressive, not inflexible and bureaucratic, as most Union commanders were. But, when he’d seen the size of the admiral’s entourage in the landing bay, he’d been ready to revise that analysis.
Until a moment later, when he realized the crowd consisted of doctors and medical technicians, and not superfluous guards and clusters of personal aides. Then, he saw Denisov. The admiral had been in a power chair in the shuttle, but Barron had watched as he waved off his attendants and rose painfully on his own, walking forward, slowly but steadily, with only a cane to help stabilize him. Barron could see his legs shaking from the exertion, even as he extended his hand, first to Admiral Nguyen, and then to Barron himself.
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br /> A showing of personal stamina, even grit, was always something Barron respected, but it was far from enough to overcome his deep seeded hatred for the Union. Still, he found it difficult to direct that animosity at Denisov himself…and even harder to maintain his intense suspicion and cynicism toward the officer. In spite of himself, Barron found the Union admiral to be credible from the start. As a man, at least. He was still far from comfortable accepting help from Union ‘allies.’ Not only did he not trust them, but Andi’s ordeal had forged his rage into something far more intractable and powerful than it had been before. For all his softened feelings toward Denisov himself, he could never forgive the Union for what their murderous agents had done to her.
On some level that existed apart from his reasoned mind, he wasn’t even sure he wouldn’t rather die fighting an overwhelming enemy attack than accept the Union as allies, as comrades to fight at his side.
“If I might ask, Admiral Denisov, how were you wounded?” It was a direct question, and one Barron thought was perfectly relevant concerning an officer who’d led his ships on a trek across Confederation space, supposedly without engaging in any combat.
“An officer on my flagship shot me, Admiral.” Denisov’s answer was direct, disarmingly so. No hesitation, no attempts at obfuscation. It took Barron by surprise. It was the last thing he’d expected from anyone wearing a Union uniform. “You must know that Union ships are usually seeded with political officers and Sector Nine operatives. Certainly, no admiral is dispatched without being accompanied by minders, both openly, and under cover. As I disclosed in my initial communique, I speak only for my fleet, and not for the Union. My presence here is not only unauthorized, it is, to many, treasonous.”
Barron was silent for a moment. If Denisov was trying to craft some kind of deception, it was the strangest one he’d ever heard. Somewhere inside, he knew almost immediately that the Union officer was telling the unvarnished truth.
“You were so moved by our plight in battling the Hegemony, you decided to commit mutiny and bring your fleet on a desperate run to our aid?”
“No, Admiral Barron. Certainly not at first. My orders were to form up along the border and prepare to invade the Confederation…as an ally of the Hegemony.”
The tension level in the room ratcheted up, the officers all around Barron shifting edgily in their chairs. But Barron himself was like a statue. Denisov’s statement had seeds in it to grow anger and rage, but it was also almost certainly the truth. And, that’s what mattered to Barron.
“How did you transition from preparing for invasion, for violating the treaty your nation signed only three years ago, to coming to our aid?”
“We were attacked by the Hegemony, Admiral. Nothing came of Gaston Villieneuve’s efforts to arrange a treaty, save a surprise attack from Hegemony forces, an attempt to eradicate our defensive capabilities in a single fight. I’d guess our ambassador is dead, or a prisoner. I was able to extricate my fleet by transiting toward Confederation space instead of back toward Montmirail. Our maneuver caught the enemy by surprise, and gave us enough time to make the transit. They chased us for a time, but we were able to escape…mostly because they ceased pursuit.”
“So, this idea of an alliance with us is very convenient for you, isn’t it? You can’t go home, not without the Hegemony forces blasting you to dust. And, even if you did manage to evade them and return to Montmirail, you’d be very likely to trade your command chair for a Sector Nine cell somewhere. So, suddenly, joining with the Confederation navy seemed like a better idea than attacking it.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say, Admiral Barron. I was against any hostilities against your people, if for no other reason than we were far from ready for such a conflict.” Denisov had been very calm, but now there was a touch of anger in his tone. “But, I won’t lie to you. I don’t like the Confederation. You have been my enemy since I was a cadet, as I have been yours. I have lost friends, more than I can count, in battles against your forces. I am not here because I crave your friendship, or your forgiveness for what you perceive as my sins, or those of the Union. I am here because I do not believe we can win alone. Survive alone.” He paused, gasping for air and steadying himself in the chair. “And, I don’t think you can either.”
Barron felt a flush of anger, but he clamped down on it. He’d wanted blunt talk, and Denisov couldn’t have been blunter. And, for all Barron’s hatred for the Union tried to color his view, he knew the officer was right. The Confederation didn’t have a chance alone.
“How many ships do you have?” Barron and Nguyen had insisted that the bulk of the Union fleet remain on the other side of the transit point pending the conference. Denisov had agreed, and he’d come through in his flagship alone.
There was a short pause. Barron suspected it came no easier to Denisov to trust him than it did for him to rely on the Union officer. There was something in that, maybe. A path to, certainly not friendship, but maybe to a way to work together.
“I have one hundred eight ships, Admiral. Including twenty-eight battleships.”
Barron was stunned. First by Denisov’s willingness to answer. And, then by just how weak the Union fleet was. He knew they’d been hit hard in the war, and in the disruptions that followed, but if Denisov had been telling the truth earlier, the ships with him were essentially the entire Union navy.
Another thought quickly formed. It might not be enough to make a difference. Even with everything Denisov had brought, even if they fought alongside the Confederation ships, steadfast and without treachery, Barron’s gut told him the Hegemony could still win.
But, the arrival of another hundred ships was a very welcome development, even if he had to take Union crews and officers with them. He turned toward Admiral Nguyen. The old officer nodded, almost imperceptibly. A signal for Barron to proceed.
“Admiral Denisov, you have been honest, brutally so even, so I will return that courtesy. I do not trust you. More specifically, I do not trust the Union, or any of its people. I will admit, I do find you, yourself, credible, far more so than I expected.” He stared across the table at the admiral, trying to find a way to accept the officer, but his mind was full of screams. Andi’s screams, his imaginings of her experiences when she fell into the clutches of Sector Nine. She’d never told him much about it. Not once had she described what happened to her, and he had never asked. But, he’d seen what it had done to her, the single-minded creature it had made her, willing to sacrifice all for the vengeance she’d convinced herself was the only way to wash it all away. He knew Denisov had nothing to do with Sector Nine, or with Ricard Lille. Indeed, the Union officer seemed to be yet another victim of the deadly spy agency. Still, it took all Barron had to continue.
“Let us get to the heart of this, Admiral. It really doesn’t matter if I want you as an ally, or if I believe all you have told me. There is only one factor that matters, and that is indisputable. We can’t win on our own. I speak differently to my spacers every day—lie to them—struggle to give them hope where I know there is none. I don’t know that I can trust you. I am not sure you will not betray us at the first chance you get, or that you will even be able to control your fleet, protect it from those who see you as a mutineer. But, whatever chance there is that your forces fight honorably at our side—and whatever power the added force provides—is better than nothing.”
It wasn’t a ringing endorsement of Denisov or the Union, and it was a caustic, brutally honest response that would have sent career diplomats into epileptic fits. But, it was clear, and it was truthful. And, that was the best Barron had to give.
Denisov winced. Not from his words, Barron suspected, but from the exertion it took for him to sit upright for so long, as he’d been doing. Any concern the expression was related to Barron’s hard-edged response vanished a few seconds later.
“I feel very much the same way, Admiral Barron. We have long been enemies, and it is difficult for me to envision a future where we are friends
. But, we share an enemy now, one that is stronger than either of us, and one that seems intent on conquering the entire Rim. You are my enemy’s enemy, as I am yours. I believe we can forge a useful partnership on that basis. I will not offer you promises of great futures of cooperation and peace. But, I will give you my word, if you will take it, that until the menace of the Hegemony is defeated, I will fight at your side, along with all my ships and spacers.” Denisov gripped the sides of his chair and pushed himself up to his feet, his face twisted into a scowl of pain as he did it. He looked across the table at Barron, and he extended his hand.
Barron sat for a few seconds, and then he, too, stood up. He looked across the table, his eyes locked on Denisov’s, and then he reached out and took his old enemy’s—and now, for a time at least, his ally’s—hand.
“I will take your word, Admiral. And, I will offer mine. The Hegemony threatens both of us. Let us fight them together.”
The two men stood, gripping each other’s hands for a long moment. Then, just as Barron began to pull his arm back, the klaxons began to sound.
It was an alert, and that could mean only one thing.
The Hegemony was there.
Chapter Thirty-Three
CFS Constitution
Alvion System, About to Transit into Olyus
Year 318 AC
“Transit in twenty seconds, Admiral.”
“Very well, Commander. All ships at battlestations…ready for action as soon as we emerge.”
Clint Winters was tight. No, he was twisted into knots, struggling to stay focused even as his body began to show the strain of enormous tension. He’d waited, doing nothing for hours, while Tenacity was in the Olyus system. He trusted Jim Eugene, as he did most of his people, but it had become increasingly difficult not to believe Tenacity had somehow been destroyed or crippled the instant it transited. He’d come close to ordering another move through the point, but he’d been torn between committing a new scout…or just blasting through with his whole fleet. It didn’t really matter if there were a hundred Hegemony warships waiting just beyond the transit point. He’d come to try to destroy the support fleet, and he was going to go through with it, regardless of the odds.
