EMPIRE: Warlord (EMPIRE SERIES Book 5)

by Richard F. Weyand

  “Well, let’s see how fast we can do that.”

  Leicester had met Jared Denny, and knew his organization had designed the ECM systems. It was early morning at Denny’s location, but not too early, so Leicester sent Denny an invitation to join their meeting. Within a minute, the young engineer appeared in a third chair at the small conference table.

  “Yes, Admiral Leicester. How may I help you?”

  Cernik’s eyebrows went up at the young engineer’s appearance, then his eyes narrowed as he spotted the laurel wreath of the Gratitude of the Throne on Denny’s lapel.

  “Jared Denny’s engineering team designed the ECM systems, Stepan. Mr. Denny, Fleet Admiral Cernik is the head of the Imperial Navy tactical department.”

  “Good to meet you, Admiral Cernik.”

  “And you, Mr. Denny.”

  “Stepan, tell Mr. Denny what we’re after.”

  Cernik explained Espinoza’s plan, and the question about what system settings would prove most effective in masking the other ships as well as the ECM-equipped picket ship in the lead. He also stressed the importance of the timeliness of the information.

  “I see. I think I can have an answer to your question relatively quickly, Admiral Cernik. I think that was one of the scenarios we gamed for the system. Would forty-eight hours be soon enough? To make sure we nail it down properly?”

  Cernik, used to Navy bureaucracy, was visibly surprised at that answer, and Denny picked up on it.

  “We know what’s at stake, Admiral. No one will sleep much for the next forty-eight hours, but that’s OK. We all know what’s at stake.”

  “Actually, Mr. Denny,” Cernik said with respect, “you can have ninety-six hours if it helps you get the best settings for us. More than that, though, and it could be a problem.”

  “Understood, Admiral.”

  Denny turned toward Admiral Leicester and nodded.

  “Admiral Leicester.”

  And with that he disappeared.

  “He’s become the Emperor’s secret weapon, Stepan,” Leicester said.

  Cernik turned his gaze to Leicester from the empty spot where Denny had been and nodded his head.

  “I can believe that, Sir. I can certainly believe that.”

  It had been five days since Espinoza had sent out her tactical plan to the other attack commanders – and her apology to Admiral Leicester for violating the chain of command in distributing it. She had gotten replies back from some of the other commanders, but had not received a peep from Admiral Leicester or anyone in her chain of command.

  “Ma’am, we’ve received several communications from Sintar,” Vice Admiral Kim said.

  “What have we got, Jay?”

  “The first is a write-up of what they are calling the Espinoza Maneuver from tactical department, Ma’am. It’s the plan of using an ECM picket ship to guide in three non-ECM picket ships. They’ve added some flourishes we didn’t think of, mostly in how to peel them off for attack to keep them masked as long as possible. The second is a technical bulletin, also from the tactical department, giving the optimum system settings for the ECM systems on the lead picket ships when employing the Espinoza Maneuver. The third is from Imperial Admiral Leicester, Ma’am. It’s very short.”

  “Well, don’t keep it a secret, Jay. What does it say?”

  “’Apology accepted. And thank you.’ That’s it, Ma’am. And it’s copied to your chain of command.”

  “I’ll be damned. You know, Jay, I like Emperor Trajan’s Navy more and more the longer he’s in command of it.”

  “Yes, Ma’am. Me, too.”

  “All right, then. Let’s get all that distributed throughout the attack group. Have crew commanders get those settings dialed in as an option on their ECM panels so they can just punch it up. Oh, and find out who in Vice Admiral Schansky’s staff came up with that idea in the first place and put them in for a Distinguished Service ribbon. My authority.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “All right, you guys, listen up. I got good news and bad news. The bad news is we won’t be in the first attack wave.”

  There was some grumbling in the Goat Locker, the Chief’s Mess within the HMS Raptor’s deployment building on Imperial Fleet Base Osaka, when Senior Chief Robert ‘Fitz’ Fitzhugh made that announcement.

  “Now for the good news. We’re in the second wave. The first wave is gonna drop into the system without knowing where the enemy is. They could be right on top of ‘em or clear on the other side of the system. But they’re gonna map the system for us – give us the locations of all the enemy ships – and then we’re gonna go in with the second wave, the big attack, drop in right on top of ‘em, and kick some serious ass. And we’re gonna have four birds to do it with.

  “Now somebody’s finally come up with a plan that makes some sense for how this is going to work. This whole four birds at a time thing. We have one ECM bird, and three non-ECM birds as parasites. We’re gonna space ‘em all as one formation, and let the ECM bird punch a hole in the defense sensors for the rest. Then we peel ‘em off one at a time and hit four enemy ships instead of just one.

  “We even got some special settings for the ECM suite that will help hide the three non-ECM birds.

  “Now we still got some time before all this kicks off, and the XO wants us spending that time drilling. So we’re gonna be spending a lot of time in VR making attack runs with virtual birds against virtual enemies. He wants us trained up enough that when we actually go in against these guys, it’s all just ‘ho-hum, another attack drill.’

  “So that’s our job. Learn these new maneuvers, drill ‘em to death, and be ready to go when the ball drops. Any questions?”

  It was Sunday brunch in the dining room of the Co-Consul’s apartment on the top floor of the Imperial Palace. It was a beautiful day in Imperial City, and the drapes, sheers, and glass were all drawn back, giving a splendid view down Imperial Mall. The lifelike statue of Ilithyia II looked benevolently back at them from atop its pedestal in the middle of the Mall.

  Sunday brunch was buffet style, set up on the sideboard of the dining room. Blintzes, Eggs Benedict, sausages, bacon, ham, various breads and muffins, bowls of fruit, pitchers of orange juice and water and coffee.

  By Suzanne Saaret’s standing orders, serious conversation waited until breakfast was over, the plates cleared, and staff and Imperial Guard out of the room, as they sat and lingered over coffee.

  “So, Bobby, what is our status now? Do we know the war warnings are correct?” Suzanne asked.

  “Yes. They are mustering their navies for the attack. That is all the confirmation of the previous intelligence we need.”

  “Damn. I guess I was hoping the intelligence was wrong. So what now, Bobby? When is this all going to happen? Are we close?”

  “Yes. A week. Maybe two.”

  “We attack them as they muster? Then what?”

  “We have various plans in place, Suzanne. It depends. On how the initial attacks go. On what their response to those attacks are.”

  “But you remain confident Sintar prevails in the end?”

  “Yes. Absolutely.”

  Suzanne looked at Geoffrey, then Peters. Both nodded.

  “Good. I hope you’re not being too confident.”

  Rear Admiral Dorothy Conroy stood in front of the big hyperspace map. She was actually on the sofa in the living room of her townhouse in flag country on Imperial Fleet Base Pannia, but the hyperspace map project was completely implemented in VR. There was no physical location for the project.

  Conroy stood and repeatedly watched the map in time-lapse over the last month. She didn’t focus on anything – not the Alliance warships heading for their mustering points, not the Sintaran warships moving into their pre-attack locations, not the DP warships moving to reinforce their border with Annalia – but just took the whole thing in. Toward the end, all the Sintaran and DP ships were gone from the display, having reached their destinations and dropped out of hyperspace,
and the Alliance ships were converging into nine separate locations, the locations she had projected earlier. In time-lapse, they looked like fireworks in reverse, the individual sparks flowing together rather than flying apart.

  She projected the tracks of the converging Alliance warships forward, watched as they all reached their destinations, and noted the timestamp. She added two days to let the last arrivals take up their positions with their fleets and get refueling and restocking operations under way.

  And then she sent a mail to Admiral Leicester.

  Conroy to Leicester: Time Zero in 248 hours.

  “Admiral Conroy has made the call, Sire. She has set Time Zero, the time of our attack, at ten days out. Our ships need to space within the next three days to meet her schedule.”

  “Your plans are approved, Admiral Leicester,” Dunham said. “You may proceed with the attack.”

  “Yes, Sire. Thank you, Sire.”

  The Alliance Prepares

  Commander Robert Murphy, Garland Space Navy, prepared his space bag as his wife Anita sat and watched. The kids were off at school at the moment. They had said their good-byes to their father earlier.

  “You seem more nervous this time than a normal deployment, Rob.”

  “I don’t like this one, Anita. There’s something going on, something we haven’t been told yet. All leaves are canceled, and all ships are being spaced. There’s normally some ships just sitting in orbit, their crews on leave. Not anymore. Everything – every ship – is being called to active status.”

  “What do you think it means?”

  “I think King James is going to war.”

  “With who?”

  “Sintar.”

  “Oh, my God. Rob, be careful.”

  “I’ll do what I can, but I only have so much control over my situation.”

  She stood up and came to him, and he held her, there in their bedroom in the cute little house in the suburbs of Flower, Garland’s capital city.

  “There are times I wish you were a plumber,” she said into his shoulder.

  “I know. I know.”

  She pried herself away from him by sheer force of will. She didn’t want to be the whiny service wife, to send him off with anything other than a smile and a brave face on things.

  “I can’t believe the king would go to war against Sintar, Rob. That would be suicide.”

  “It depends on who his allies are.”

  Murphy didn’t want to unnecessarily worry his wife, either. But some part of his brain was screaming a warning at him, and he finally brought up what he’d been thinking about.

  “Look. You’re probably right. He may be saber rattling with Wingard or something. Still, I want you to take the kids out to your folks for a while.”

  “Out to the farm?”

  “Yes. I’d feel a lot better about you all if you weren’t in the capital. Three hundred miles ought to be far enough.”

  “You think Sintar will violate the Earth Treaty?”

  “Not if King James doesn’t do it first. About him, though, I’m not so sure.”

  “They’ve got finals next week.”

  “That’ll be fine, Anita. After finals, though, take them out to the farm. Spend the summer out there. Just because.”

  “OK, Rob. I’ll do that. And that’s where you’ll find us when you come home.”

  IF I come home, Murphy thought.

  “OK, Anita. It’s a deal,” is what he said.

  Murphy took a shuttle from Fleet Base Garland up to the GSN space station in orbit. His ship – the ship of which he was the executive officer – was docked to a service ring of the space station. The ring rotated just quickly enough to give 0.2g apparent gravity aboard ship.

  Murphy made his way through the station to the service ring and out to the GNS Predator, a Garland-built heavy cruiser that antedated Garland’s purchase of DP warships. The watch officer at the boarding hatch saluted him.

  “Has the captain come aboard yet, Mr. Leahy?”

  “No, Sir. He’s expected soon.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Leahy.”

  A petty officer second class and his crew stood by inside the hatch to take Murphy’s space bag to his quarters.

  Murphy went on up to the physical bridge. Unlike the newer and more modern DP warships Garland had purchased, the Garland-built ships didn’t have the bridge implemented in VR. Probably because not everyone coming into the Garland Navy had VR implants.

  Lieutenant Commander Adam Stephan, Predator’s second officer, was officer of the watch.

  “Status, Mr. Stephan?”

  “All systems nominal, Sir. We haven’t yet lit up the drive. The captain is expected aboard by 18:00.”

  “Very good. I’ll be in the captain’s day room.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Murphy went back into the captain’s day room behind the bridge and called up their orders, available to him only once aboard ship.

  Their orders were simple. Prepare to space by 06:00 three days hence. No idea of to where, or for what purpose.

  The two girls fairly bounced to the house from the bus stop, with Matt following more sedately behind. The fourteen-year-old was growing up, but the two girls – Samantha, age ten, and Agatha, age eight – were still reveling in being children.

  “It’s summer,” Samantha announced as she came into the kitchen through the back door.

  “Yay!” Agatha cheered.

  Anita Murphy laughed. She well remembered the thrill of the onset of summer. She knew the kids would be terminally bored within two days. Maybe, just maybe, she had a cure for that this time around.

  “Sit down, everybody. Sit down,” Anita said as Matt came in the door. She put a plate of cookies on the table as an extra inducement.

  With everybody seated, she asked The Question.

  “And how did your final exams go? Agatha?”

  “Good!” Agatha said around a mouthful of cookie.

  Anita turned her attention to Samantha. She had more trouble in school than the other two.

  “Pretty well, I think. I was better prepared this time. With all your help. You know.”

  Anita nodded and turned to Matt.

  “Very well, I think. I didn’t really have a lot of trouble with anything except physics, and I think I got that worked out in the end.”

  “OK, good. All of you,” Anita said. “Now, I have a little announcement to make. You need to decide what things you want to take with, because we’re going to spend the summer at Gramma and Grampa’s.”

  The two girls squealed with glee, while Matt looked at his mother with a raised eyebrow. The two girls grabbed a couple cookies each, jumped up from the table, and ran down the hallway to the bedroom they shared, babbling all the way.

  Matt turned to watch them go, and then, when he was sure they were safely out of earshot, he turned to his mother.

  “Dad wants you to get us out of the capital, doesn’t he?”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because this time was different. When he said goodbye. It was like he might never see us again.”

  Anita tried to answer him, but couldn’t. She nodded her head, and a tear slid down her face.

  Matt, who was tall, like his father, got up and knelt by her chair. He took his mother into his arms.

  Anita lay her head on his shoulder and cried.

  With an hour left to go, their orders finally came in.

  “What are our orders, Sir?” Commander Murphy asked.

  “We’re to join Admiral Fortney’s force, tasked with protecting Garland space,” Captain Jonas Whitney said.

  “We’re not leaving the system?”

  “No. Not at the moment, at least. There are some details that are telling, though. I have Admiral Fortney’s table of organization. He has four times as many ships as were tasked to defend Garland space as little as five years ago. And all his squadrons are Garland-built.”

  “None of the DP-built warships, Sir?” Murphy asked.


  “None. What does that tell you, Commander?”

  “Somebody’s going to take all the DP-built ships off somewhere else and stir up trouble, and they want us to have the strength we need to protect Garland if that trouble comes here.”

  “Got it in one,” Whitney said.

  “But who are they going to cause trouble with, Sir?”

  “That is unstated. What we do have is a list of ‘friendly navies’ to whom we are to extend assistance as requested and possible.”

  “Who’s on the list of friendlies?” Murphy asked.

  “Every single star nation in existence, Commander – except the Sintaran Empire.”

  It took Anita and the kids the whole day to get to her parents’ farm on public transportation. There was no way the Murphy family could afford a ground car. Not on a commander’s salary. That was one reason they had bought the cute little house in the suburbs. It was two blocks from a bus line that ran between the Garland Fleet Headquarters and downtown Flower.

  Anita and the kids dragged their suitcases the two blocks to the bus stop. The girls had been heartbroken about not taking every one of their prized possessions under Anita’s strict rule that everything had to fit into their wheeled suitcases. Matt, though, had stepped into the gap and volunteered to carry a backpack with their extra things. Anita noticed he put the girls’ heavier things in the backpack, and the lighter things in their suitcases, so the suitcases would be easier for them to handle.

  Anita had a feeling of foreboding when she locked up the house. Like she would never see it again. Well, she had packed her own priceless treasures. The house either survived the coming storm or it didn’t.

  They took the local bus outbound, to the outskirts of the navy base, where there was a train station for the long-haul train that would take them to Sterling, the closest stop to her parents farm. From there, it was another bus to Rock Falls, the farming community where her parents lived.