by Blaze Ward
Pops eyed him with a snort.
“Not sure I’d call it that,” Pops said.
Summer laughed easily.
“You just don’t want Bedrov having all the fun,” she said.
He and Galen laughed as well.
“Maybe,” Pops allowed.
There was something to that. Bedrov had gone off and had all sorts of adventures, while Pops had stayed back in Corynthe, designing better ways for people to kill each other.
And now he was answering his Queen’s siren call, one last time. Maybe.
Jessica had sent a message, asking for Vice Admiral David Rodriguez, her Regent, to send help, clear out on the far side of Fribourg, where she was engaged in a war with hopefully the last of the destroyers, a being called Buran.
They followed Galen forward while Pops eyed every weld and every frame critically. Yan had designed the Expeditionary Cruisers and Carriers to be overpowered monsters capable of fighting older dreadnaughts on even terms. Wasn’t anything like that in Corynthe, where a 4-ring Mothership was as close to a capital ship as anybody got.
Pops, in turn, had taken that design and brought it down in price and increased the reliability, on the assumption that, unlike Aquitaine or Fribourg, Corynthe vessels needed to stay at sea for a long time, without carrying around a stripper/repair boat everywhere they went.
Hell, it wasn’t even a mothership, Galen’s new Patrol Cruiser. Technically, Pops figured he would rate it as a light battlecruiser. Qin Lun only had space for two shuttles, and both of those docked internally; currently the transport Badger and the scout Rabbit. All the other things they would need for a flight like this were aboard their upgraded consort, Marco Polo, which Pops had extended into a 2-ring Mothership at Galen’s request, so he could sail to the far end of the galaxy in one go. Or whatever craziness the kid was up to now.
The bridge took all of Bedrov’s ideas for design and made them even better. Maybe he was looking forward to showing the punk a few things. Let him know the old dog still had a little fight left in him.
Like Aquitaine, the bridge held a captain and a tactical officer, but seated at either end of the small oval space, facing in. Rest of the bridge crew sat between them in two rows, facing each other, so peripheral vision could pick up both commanders as the situation warranted. Enough extra workstations that new crew could sit with experienced officers and crew while learning.
The room was replicated forward, like a mirror of this bridge, itself aft over the engines. Motherships looked like geese in flight, with a bulbous head and a big butt, but every other ship had the bridge forward, and usually didn’t even include a proper emergency bridge.
“You two here,” Galen said, taking over the captain’s station and smiling as he pointed to the stations closest.
Pops saw Summer in, and then joined her. Old school manners, but they had always served him well.
“Marco Polo, this is Qin Lun,” Galen said aloud as he opened a comm channel. “Stand by for departure.”
Pops smiled as everyone settled in. He hadn’t been on the bridge of a warship going into combat since he sold Castlegar off to Uly thirty years ago so he could be home to help raise a suddenly-motherless daughter, who subsequently turned herself into one of the baddest pilots of her generation.
And now, he was about to plunge into battle again.
Part Two
Call to Arms
Chapter I
Date of the Republic August 10, 402 IFV Vanguard, Forward Base Delta
“All hands to battle stations,” the words poured from the speakers and had Jessica in motion before she even woke up.
It was the dead of night, relative to her sleep schedule, but war never waited for the sun to come up. Legs into baggy sweats. Pull a tunic over the old, green t-shirt she liked to sleep in. Stuff feet into shoes. Hit the door at a dead run, elapsed time four seconds.
The flag bridge wasn’t far away. She got there a whole step ahead of Enej, who looked like he had been sleeping in those pajamas when the siren went off.
She got to her seat and slapped a hand at the button that brought the main projection live. Her flag staff always had someone on duty, but it was a smaller crew than back on her old Star Controller, and more bodies were pouring in behind her.
Jessica snickered and made a note to have more fleet alerts in the dead of night. Apparently, her people were getting a little sloppy, with too much time in dry-dock and station. She would have to burn a little of the fat off of them and get folks hungry again.
“Bridge, Flag here,” she said, opening the general comm. “What do we have?”
“Signal from a light-hour or so out,” Senior Centurion Tobias Brewster replied. He must have had the night watch from the Emergency Bridge. “RAN Arad and escorts, asking for a docking assignment.”
“Everybody rousted?” she asked, keying things live the way she wanted them.
Station in the center of the display, parked in the middle of nowhere. Big star for Vanguard. Smaller stars for VI Victrix, VI Ferrata, and II Augusta. Angry motes for her corvettes, pulled around in a strange, hexagonal box without CS-405 at the front.
“Affirmative, Flag,” Brewster nodded into the display. “Just waiting for you to take command.”
“All vessels, this is Jessica Keller, aboard RAN Vanguard, I have the flag,” she said formally.
Inside, she was almost cackling with glee. They had been waiting for Iskra to arrive with another carrier and three corvettes. It gave Jessica a whole other raiding party, or the option to engage someone with a flanking maneuver they would never expect, even from her.
She did a quick inventory of the signal. Iskra, aboard another whole new concept in warfare. CA-410, a younger sibling of CA-264 with all the capabilities and probably as much attitude as Kigali brought. Two more escorts, CE-411 and CE-417. Two California-class Fleet Replenishment freighters in RAN Leggett and RAN Redding. With the two she already had, all sorts of mischief was possible.
“All warships, conform to this formation,” Jessica said, sending a file to everyone within earshot. “Execute Jump in forty-five seconds from mark.”
That should give everyone time to get their A-crews in place. If not, she needed to have more drills and possibly a dressing down or two, just to get people back in line.
It had been a hard year, running down targets deep in Buran and forcing that bastard onto the defensive in a number of places. Hadn’t stopped him from striking St. Legier, but no other targets had faced a mass fleet like that.
Jessica had been half expecting a strike at Osynth B’Udan by now. Maybe Wachturm and Provst had done more damage than expected, and The Holding was only now rebuilding from the damage she had done. She knew that scouts had managed to blip into space at Samara a few times, just long enough to take a good scan and then run like hell.
Space was huge, even in the relatively small confines of a single solar system. Not even a robot wargod could keep guns on all approaches at all times, especially if Fribourg wasn’t going to come down hard into the warzone close to the planet itself.
You didn’t have to, if all you wanted to do was watch.
Jump.
Emergence.
One big signal. Five little ones, patiently awaiting like ducklings.
“RAN Arad, this is RAN Vanguard,” Jessica called to them formally. “This is a restricted zone.”
She had known they were coming, but not when. And had a pretty good idea what mail Iskra was bringing from home.
“I come bearing orders,” Iskra replied obliquely, using the audio channel, wonder of wonders.
Jessica grinned. Now things were going to get interesting.
Chapter II
Date of the Republic August 11, 402 Forward Base Delta
Normally, Denis would have been just another one of the command centurions down in the audience today, but both Iskra and Arott had put their feet down and ordered him to wear his white Imperial Admiral’s uniform and join them, sea
ted on the stage. Arott had done the same. And Iskra looked good in white herself, although she was wearing the tunic of a Fleet Centurion with four green stripes, with command tag prominent.
In that, Iskra matched Jessica, at least for a bit longer.
Below the little stage, a representative sampling of officers and crew from the full squadron, plus all the command centurions and most of the tactical officers. Standing room only, and Denis knew that many vessels had organized lotteries for tickets to this show.
Others might have their suspicions, but Denis knew in his soul that this was the last time Jessica would be promoted by the Senate. There were formal ranks above this, but those were the civilians and Lords of the Fleet. The men and women in control of the various departments, back home on Ladaux.
Jessica wouldn’t be going there. At most, maybe Casey would promote her out of red into blue at some point, but never black. Or he could see the woman making Jessica a Duke as well.
Not that Imperial rewards would matter all that much to Jessica. Denis and she had talked at least weekly for more than a decade, frequently more often. He probably knew her better than anyone alive, including Torsten Wald. Maybe not Marcelle, come to think of it, but Marcelle had been with her for damned near forever, it felt like. And would take those secrets to the grave with her.
The crowd was quietly buzzing as the last of the audience filed in and got settled. No potty breaks from here.
Arott rose from his chair and walked forward to the lectern, standing a meter above the front row. The room fell silent slowly as he did. After all this time, it was still weird to see someone in Imperial uniform addressing a crowd of Aquitaine officers, but Denis was wearing an identical outfit himself, so who was he to complain?
“The room will come to order,” Arott said unnecessarily.
Denis smiled, in spite of himself. Partly, because he was included in Jessica’s legend, so he could be here for her celebration as well. She had never hesitated to remind anyone and everyone that she had never been alone, while undertaking her mighty feats.
“Some of you already know Fleet Centurion Iskra Vlahovic,” Arott continued in a voice picking up steam and warmth. “Last seen as Flight Deck Commander on our own Star Controller, Auberon. The Lords of the Fleet have happily returned her to us, bringing a whole other task squadron. But before I introduce her, I would like to also acknowledge our new comrades in the audience today. Command Centurion Asha Robins, Arad. Command Centurion Lucretia Lomidze, CA-410. Command Centurion Yan Victorica, CE-411. Command Centurion Willem Fabacher, CE-417. Command Centurion Yesenia Groehler, Leggett. Command Centurion Daren Alliance, Redding.”
The crowd applauded politely as each officer raised a hand or nodded.
“Fleet Centurion Vlahovic,” Arott turned almost all the way back to face the three of them, so he could nod at her. “You have the flag.”
Denis had known Iskra much longer than he had known Jessica. He could almost smell the sarcastic eyeroll she would be suppressing right now. Iskra had never been one for formal ceremonies like this. Still, she would find pleasure today, another one of Jessica’s people that had gotten some of that magic rubbed off on them.
Denis had always expected that he would have to track Iskra down after she retired, and see the woman once she had become a civilian. Probably an instructor somewhere, teaching another generation of flight engineers not to take any shit from pilots or line commanders.
She rose slowly and stepped to the front, carrying with her a small scroll tube from where it had stood upright between them on the floor of the stage. Opening it, she pulled out a piece of paper and took a moment to carefully lay the empty tube out of the way inside the lectern itself.
“Fleet Centurion Keller, would you join me?” Iskra said formally, glancing back.
Jessica rose and stepped to stand beside her.
Iskra’s voice took on a stentorian tone, pitched so that everyone in the chamber would hear her, regardless of the amplification.
“By order of the Senate of Aquitaine, on this day signed by Senator Tadej Horvat, Premier, and Petia Naoumov, First Lord of the Fleet, we declare to all that Jessica Keller of the planet Ladaux is hereby promoted to the rank of First Centurion of the Fleet. May she exercise this responsibility with authority, intellect, and care, for she is our representative in all things.
* * *
Signed on the Date of The Republic March 1, 402 by First Lord Petia Naoumov, and countersigned August 11, 402 by Jessica Keller.”
She handed the document to Jessica, along with a pen. Jessica signed it, in front of about two hundred cheering witnesses and even hugged Iskra before the woman could escape.
Finally, Jessica was standing alone before the entire group. She just watched them as they cheered, letting it stretch for several minutes before she raised a hand.
It was like a sword had dropped. Instant silence.
“My friends, we have known that Iskra was coming for a bit, so I have had time to prepare some plans,” Jessica said simply. “Our friends will need a little time to organize themselves here and offload supplies, before Leggett and Redding run home for fresh cream. We have been taking the war to Buran for some time. Now we’re going to step it up. Expect maneuver orders to start hitting your boards in about seventy-two hours, and then we’re going sailing.”
She nodded fiercely and turned away from the crowd before they could start cheering again. Arott nodded to Denis with a smile as they both rose.
Normally, Arott would have gotten this honor, but again, he had demanded that Denis do it.
Jessica stepped up to him and then turned sideways, so everyone could see her right arm as Denis stepped close enough to smell the wintermint drop she had chewed up earlier. He reached out and added that mighty fifth ring at the top, signifying to all that their commander was a First Centurion.
Ten years ago, she would have been called a First Fleet Lord, but the world had changed. Shortly, the entire galaxy was going to change.
Chapter III
Date of the Republic August 11, 402 Forward Base Delta
As she sat alone in her cabin, finally quiet after the party ended, Jessica could reflect.
She had always hoped she would reach the very top of the fleet, from the first time she had seen the uniform of a command centurion introducing herself to a new class of thirteen-year-old prospects. But even then, Jessica had known some level of doubt. Most officers never made it even as far as Command Centurion. Fewer still became what was still known in those days as Fleet Lord.
Jessica remembered dedicating herself to the dream of First Fleet Lord, during that tumultuous first semester of classes away from her parents and brother. Doing the math and realizing that it wasn’t enough to be good at everything, as she had been. No, Jessica was going to have to be the very best, and then do so by such a wide margin over second place that nobody could dispute her.
There were never going to be more than two slots available for that kind of career, and frequently only one. She would have to take it, rather than relying on others to gift it to her.
So she had been the best.
Even when politics intruded on her.
Somewhere, the official records were probably an abject embarrassment to someone. Jessica had eventually graduated fifth in her class, rather than the first she had earned. In her Senior year, she had been taken aside by the First Fleet Lord who commanded the Academy, who patiently explained that she would end her time at his school Behind Important People. Two of them were Senators, last time she had been home, and the other two probably would have been, but for being killed in action when they were still Centurions.
Jessica hadn’t let that stop her.
Youngest-ever commander of a Destroyer, the old, worn, and much-loved Resolute.
Youngest-ever commander of a Destroyer squadron, on the deck of the Destroyer-Leader Brightoak with her consorts Vigilant and Rubicon.
And now, youngest First Centurion in nearly tw
o centuries.
Sitting there in the dimness, letting the day wash off her, Jessica traveled back in her mind to the Hall of Heroes, a long arcade at headquarters with oil portraits of famous commanders. Membership on those walls was by accolade of the Navy, not command of the Senate.
She had not been back to see the picture hung there, but she knew that Nils Kasum had caused an official portrait of Jessica Marie Keller to be painted when she made Fleet Centurion. And today it hung in that hall.
She wondered if Petia Naoumov, the First Lord who replaced Nils, would leave it as is, or perhaps have a new one done, now that she had a fifth stripe and grayer hair. There were several First Centurions she would share space with, but the rest of them had been dead for at least two hundred years.
It was only the new generation, coming up behind her, that had reverted to the Fleet Centurion rank, rather than Fleet Lord. The warriors that had remained in harness, after Nils Kasum had managed to break the hold of the nobles on the highest ranks, where friendship with the right set of politicians had frequently advanced men and women past their point of competence.
Bogdan Loncar had supposedly been a pretty good command centurion in his time. He should have never been given a flag. Today, he would not have, but that was today. The warriors were in charge of the fleet. At least for this generation.
Jessica could see the way that pendulum had swung back and forth over the four centuries of the Republic. She could not stop it, but she could push it harder in one direction. But that just engendered a harder push back when the time came.
And to do even that much would require her to go someplace that had stopped being exciting, or even interesting, nearly a decade ago.
She supposed, sitting there in the quiet, that she could blame Nils for everything. It had been him sending her to Lincolnshire that had set that train in motion. A diplomatic mission, the sort of thing that was used to groom command centurions for greater responsibilities.
