Battleship Indomitable

by B. V. Larson

  Straker returned the salute. “I hope you didn’t just call me an asshole.”

  “No, Herr Kommodore. It means, ‘Heat up Hell for them.’”

  “I’ll do that, Aldrik. Take care of yourself. And your family.”

  Aldrik Ritter nodded, turned on his heel, and marched out.

  Engels mumbled something vile, and Straker warned her with his eyes. “Back to this battleship. Where is she?” he said.

  “She could be anywhere,” said Engels. “She was being built in the Baikonur system.”

  Straker gazed longingly at the hologram, rubbing his hands together as if he could seize the thing. “I want her. She’s the key to winning. With Indomitable, nothing can stand in our way.”

  “Now I know why they call ships ‘she,’ boss,” said Loco.

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because you’re lusting after a new woman.”

  Engels barked a laugh. “He’s not wrong, Derek. I can see it in your eyes. But we don’t even know she exists.”

  “We have to find out. Zaxby, form a team and go through all the databases we’ve captured—those off the battlecruisers, too. We need more information. Carla, transfer your flag to the lead BC—what’s her name?”

  “Wolverine.”

  “Right. We’ll keep that. Conrad, you’re now a lieutenant. Find some insignia somewhere. Recruit Sachsens with ship experience. Work with Engels to form crews for our captured warships—and make sure none of them have problems taking orders from a female fleet commander. Loco, find Aldrik before he leaves and tell him we need a thousand good infantry. Not thugs: soldiers, already in units if possible. You and Heiser get them organized and parceled out. Hop to it, people. I want to leave for Baikonur in thirty-six hours.”

  Part 2: Crusader

  Chapter 16

  Sachsen Fortress, Command Center

  Only six hours after the meeting ended, in the midst of trying to recruit and organize new Breakers to crew the squadron they’d captured, a comtech waved at Straker from her position within the spacious fortress command center. “Sir, I have a message coming in for you.”

  Straker was still strolling to look over her shoulder when the watchstander at Sensors interrupted, “Sir, multiple inbound sidespace transits detected.”

  “Tactical. Let’s see them.”

  The holo-table blazed with an oversized representation of the Sachsen system. At least a hundred icons blinked at the edge of flatspace, in optimum positions for approach to Sachsen-3…and the fortress.

  Concern gripped Straker’s guts. “There’s no way enemy reinforcements are here already. Is this a stroke of bad luck? Did a Mutuality fleet just happen to get here, right now?”

  The comtech had been trying to get his attention. “Sir, the message. It’s from those ships.”

  Straker turned to her. “Play it.”

  One of the larger vidscreens lit with a picture of a female Ruxin. It began to speak. “Greetings, Liberator! This is Premier Vuxana. By the time this message reaches you, you will be victorious or dead. If you are not dead, I offer ten thousand more trained personnel to refurbish and crew the fortress and any ships you have captured. I also have trade goods to exchange with the people of the Sachsen system. Please respond with affirmation of your status.”

  Straker turned away from the vidscreen, thinking. “Contact Zaxby. If he’s still aboard the fortress, tell him to get his rubbery ass here ASAP. If not, get me a good secure comlink.”

  A pause. “He’s on his way, sir.”

  A moment later Zaxby entered the command center. “I am very busy carrying out your previous instructions, Commodore. What’s this about?”

  Straker gestured at the screen. “Play it again.” Once Zaxby had viewed the message, Straker raised his eyebrows. “Well?”

  “Are you asking the meaning of the Premier’s message? It seems straightforward enough. She’s here to help.”

  “Really? The Premier? She’s left three million Ruxins behind shortly after she inherited the title, and without telling me her plans, shows up here with ten thousand Ruxins to ‘help.’ What’s her game?”

  Zaxby’s eyes crossed briefly, and he sidled over to an empty console. “I am not sure what to tell you.”

  “You don’t know what’s going on?”

  “I did not misspeak. I am not certain how much I should tell you, especially as it’s mostly conjecture.”

  Straker bit back his temper. “Look, I asked you here to give me insight into this situation. You’re Ruxin, but you’ve lived with humans for decades. So, speculate.”

  Zaxby tapped at the console aimlessly, as if still uncertain. “Frankly, Commodore, I am not sure where my loyalties should lie.”

  “Should lie, or do?”

  Zaxby straightened. “Should. I endeavor to act ethically in all situations.”

  “Oh, like when you proposed euthanizing a bunch of refugees?”

  “I did not say my ethics are human.”

  “Or humane.”

  “You have killed many humans, Commodore Straker. The fact that we disagree about whom should be killed and when only makes us more alike than you seem to believe.”

  Straker took a deep breath. There was no point in arguing with a brainiac on the finer points of morality. He had to stick to simple, straightforward things. “Let me help you decide, then. You’re under my command. I gave you your rank, and you accepted it. As long as I’m not directly damaging your people, you need to help me reach our common goals, and that means helping me figure out what the hell Vuxana is up to. So, speculate.”

  “Awkwardly put, but I accept your reasoning. I believe she is ‘keeping her hand in,’ you would say. By offering you much-needed personnel, she maintains influence on what you do, and creates political capital.”

  “Political capital?”

  Zaxby continued to play restlessly with the console. “Yes. In simple terms, you will ‘owe her.’ Or so she hopes.”

  “But why come personally?”

  “I suspect it is to forge political ties with Sachsen and to bring back a hundred ships bursting with trade goods, so she can distribute them to her allies and friends in order to solidify her support.”

  “Support? So she has opposition back home?”

  Zaxby opened his eyes wide and tilted his head forward. If he were human, this would be a look of mild disbelief. “All politicians generate opposition. It is in their nature. And all societies generate politicians. She’s the designated heir to the Premiership, but she is young, and her mother is aging. I believe this is a calculated risk, and she hopes she can count on you to support her in case of future difficulty. In short, she has thrown her lot in with you. I suggest you do not undercut her.”

  Straker paced, rubbing the back of his head where a headache had sprung into being. Politics, he thought. What a pain in the ass. Nobody in absolute command, everybody deciding individually whether to follow orders. He couldn’t imagine a life lived like that.

  “All right. I’ll cooperate with her. But Zaxby… if you sense anything off, if you think she’s going to backstab me, you’ll tell me, right?”

  “I will not allow either of you to betray the other, but I do not think she shall. At worst, she will do what all politicians do: push her advantages to help her constituency.”

  “Meaning Ruxins.”

  “Just so.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, Zaxby.”

  “You are welcome. Would you like me to relay a response?”

  “Sure. Tell her to come on in, and since you’re here, you can assign her Ruxin reinforcements as crew where they’re needed. And put her in touch with the right Sachsens to do her trading.”

  Zaxby brightened. “That will be an interesting challenge. Thank you, sir.”

  “Glad to dump the work on you.”

  “Did you know that in Ruxin, the word for ‘work’ and the word for ‘fun’ is the same? You humans are odd in thinking they are different things.”
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  “I don’t think we’re all that different. Nobody’s forcing the Breakers to work on liberating the galaxy. Any of us could opt out and hide.”

  “And yet you have delineated ‘duty time’ and ‘time off.’ If you were truly mature, responsible creatures, nobody would have to mandate when you work and when you relax.”

  Straker shrugged and half-smiled. “That’s a discussion for our time off. You’re on duty, so get to work.”

  ***

  On schedule, thirty hours later, the Breakers fleet transited into sidespace for Baikonur. Straker felt proud, and frankly, amazed at the size of his force. Where he once believed himself fortunate to command a handful of warships, now he had twenty-one, plus an auxiliary squadron of eight Ruxin transports and captain Gibson’s Lockstep, which had joined them as planned.

  Thanks to capturing the Sachsen fortress nearly whole, all the ships were fully supplied with everything from fuel to shipkiller missiles. They were also fully crewed with a mix of original Breakers, Ruxin technicians, and volunteer Sachsens.

  The Sachsens had also provided units of infantry. He couldn’t exactly call them companies or platoons; each varied in size, depending on the freehold that sent them. They also varied in weaponry and equipment. Some had only old slugthrowers that soldiers from the Old Earth of eight hundred years ago would have recognized, and some had body armor and lasers or blasters.

  One group of twenty-five had even arrived with modern, if fancifully decorated, battlesuits that they must have hidden from their occupiers, and was commanded by one Major Friedrich Wagner, the eldest son of a Sachsen nobleman.

  Straker let Wagner keep his title of rank, and promoted Loco to Commander in charge of the ground units, now that there were so many. He also made sure that Wagner’s battlesuiters were berthed aboard Wolverine. From what Sergeant Ritter had said, these Sachsen nobles were proud, prickly men, and needed a firm hand.

  In fact, now that his flagship was in sidespace for the next few days, it was time to have his first real chat with the man.

  Straker pecked Carla on the lips as he left the Wolverine’s bridge, receiving a smile in return. Once, he’d never have considered such a public display of affection, but she’d convinced him it was a good idea. The Breakers and the Galactic Liberation movement, no longer completely synonymous, had to have symbols at the top, and the couple’s obvious affection for each other strengthened their mystique.

  Fortunately, that affection seemed on firmer ground now that Tachina had been left behind on Freiheit. As Straker headed for the battlecruiser’s flight deck, the largest interior space on the ship, he reminded himself of a saying from his Kung-Jiu instructor at Academy: it is not the mountain that defeats you, but the rock in your shoe.

  “Major Wagner,” Straker said as he strode up to the short, dour man dressed in jet-black creased trousers and an ornate dress military jacket, large fringed epaulets making his shoulders seem oddly broad. He made sure to pronounce the man’s name as the Sachsens did, vagh-nair.

  “Herr Kommodore,” Wagner said, snapping a sharp salute. His men leaped to their feet and stood at attention.

  Straker returned the salute more casually. “At ease.” He held out his hand.

  After hesitating, Wagner took it, squeezing it over-hard, as if testing his new commander.

  Aha, one of those, Straker thought. He smiled and clamped down, but carefully, until Wagner’s eyes widened as his bones began to creak. Straker’s biotech-induced strength hadn’t faded, especially as he made sure to keep up his weight-training regimen.

  Straker let go. “You’re settling in all right, Major?”

  Wagner turned to run his eyes over the cots where his men bedded down, each one’s battlesuit standing at the head of his bunk. “Frankly, no, sir. These quarters are unsuitable for elite soldiers of our rank and status. Considering we are assigned to your flagship, I had hoped for better.”

  Straker noted the man’s stiff, sour expression. “We’re full to bursting with crew and troops, Major. If you had cabins or even bunk bays, there wouldn’t be room for your battlesuits, and I understood you refuse to put them in crates.”

  “No knight leaves his armor in a box, Commodore.”

  “Then you’ve made your own bed, and now you must lie in it, Major. You’re a soldier on field campaign, so you’ll have to suck it up. And, as soon as we win our first battle, there will probably be some extra room—unless we fill it with coffins.” He raised his eyebrows. “Any more complaints?”

  Straker put steel into his question, and anyone else might have picked up on his disapproval of Wagner’s fussiness, but the man seemed oblivious. “Yes, sir. These creatures… do they really have to be quartered here?” Wagner jerked his head in the direction of a group of octopoids on the far side of the flight deck.

  “They’re our allies, Major Wagner. Get used to it. I wouldn’t have thought such noble Sachsens would be thrown off by the presence of a few aliens, hmm?”

  Wagner reddened. “I know Ruxins make good technicians, but these have weapons and armor. I was given to understand we would have the glory of the assault.”

  Straker was tempted to mock the odd little martinet, but reminded himself that the man came from a semi-feudal society, where—unlike the consolidated Sachsen Free Navy—the vast majority of soldiers were household troops like these, not professional soldiers. “I promise you’ll have first crack at any glory, Major Wagner. Beyond that, I expect you to remember we’re all in this together, under my command, and you volunteered. The time to back out is past. You don’t get to pick and choose your missions or your brothers in arms—or tentacles. Understood?”

  “Alles klar, Herr Kommodore.” Wagner saluted once more, and then turned pointedly on his heel to return to his men, nearly a snub.

  Straker hoped the man would get with the program over the next week of travel. Sidespace travel was inherently boring. A crowded ship and an egotistical subordinate didn’t bode well. He would have to give everyone something to do.

  He walked across the flight deck toward the Ruxins, who were performing maintenance on their gear and weaponry. Vuxana had said she was providing a War Male and a number of warrior males for the first time, but he’d not had the chance to introduce himself, putting that task off until sidespace transit. Loco’s report on these Ruxin fighters had been less than enlightening as well.

  As Straker approached, one huge, royal-blue specimen detached himself from the group and locomoted rapidly to greet him, holding an ornately carved and decorated spear. “Come no farther, human!” he boomed in passable Earthan.

  Straker realized he’d made a tactical error. He should have donned his Battle Male suit and carried his bone spear for this meeting. He couldn’t really blame the Battle Male; Vuxana said he’d been revived from cryo-sleep only recently, and had been given a crash course in human language and customs.

  Not only that, the Battle Male’s last memories had been of fighting Mutuality naval forces eighty years ago, and would no doubt have a lingering impression of humans as natural enemies of his people.

  So, should he retreat to retrieve his panoply and return, or should he challenge the War Male immediately? There was always a fine line between establishing respect and creating embarrassment in a new subordinate.

  Straker chose to deal with the situation right now, especially as the surly Sachsen battlesuiters were watching from across the deck. He took out his slugthrower pistol and held it by the barrel, like a warhammer rather than a firearm, and waved it, raising both arms. “I am your commander. I am War Male Straker,” he bellowed in return. “You will greet me properly.”

  The huge Ruxin regarded him solemnly with two eyes, the other two maintaining vigilance in other directions. After a long moment’s pause, the creature spoke. “I am War Male Kraxor. Hail, War Male Straker.” He lifted his spear to touch his head in imitation of a human salute.

  Straker did the same with his pistol, pleased that the War Male was not suc
h a blowhard as he’d seemed at first. Straker kept his verbiage simple, not knowing how well the Ruxin spoke Earthan. “Hail, War Male Kraxor. You are well? You have all you need?”

  “All except combat, we have,” Kraxor replied. “But I lack one thing. I am a commander of ships and of hundreds, Commodore Straker. My rank is like your Major of troops, but I am told you bestow no such rank. Yet, I hear the small human battlesuiter holds this rank, while Commander Paloco assigns me the rank of Lieutenant. Explain this.”

  Rumors travel quickly, always about the little things, Straker thought. The rocks in my shoes. Best to clean them out right away. “I declare you both to be majors. Happy?”

  “Better. Who is greater?”

  “Senior, you mean?” Straker rubbed his jaw and thought of politics, and who was easier to read, and to understand—and to enforce his will upon, if it came to that. “You are. Technically. But you will need to work with Major Wagner, not fight with him. I don’t need two over-proud officers butting heads. Clashing wills, that is. Understand?”

  “I understand. The wise shark challenges not his equal for territory, or both may die in the fight.”

  Straker liked this War Male and his way of thinking, so different from Wagner’s. Kraxor wanted to know his place, but now that he did, seemed content to occupy it—although the Ruxin might be hiding his true intentions.

  Still, Straker had Vuxana’s backing and assurances her warriors would follow his orders. He holstered his pistol and held out his hand. “I think we’ll get along, Major Kraxor.”

  Kraxor wrapped one massive tentacle around Straker’s hand and forearm, and gripped, clearly expecting to be the stronger. The surprise he saw in Kraxor’s eyes was all the more satisfying as Straker squeezed hard enough to bruise a human hand.

  “I believe the same, Commodore Straker,” Kraxor replied, releasing his grip. “I know that human War Males grow only slightly larger than others of your species, but it is good to know they do gain strength from their role. That is proper.”