When the Guns Roar

by Eric Thomson

  Yet Petras read more than understanding in his flag captain’s eyes. He saw her carefully hidden resentment at Dunmoore surface for a few seconds before she brought her feelings under control. That brief flash made him belatedly wonder whether Corto’s advice he send Iolanthe to reconnoiter the Shrehari FOB instead of taking her on the convoy hunt stemmed from sound tactical acumen or something more personal. Dunmoore rejoining the task force with a victory of her own must not be sitting well with Corto.

  Petras owed her for the loyalty she’d shown him since reporting for duty at SOCOM HQ. Task Force Luckner would not be a reality without her efforts to help build the case for its creation. The ideal solution, of course, would have been to appoint someone with Q-ship experience as his flag captain, but Dunmoore was the only officer at the right rank since Iolanthe was the first of her kind. Besides, he couldn’t see her as anyone’s chief of staff. She lacked the temperament.

  It was bad luck Fleet Operations gave him Iolanthe rather than a few of her smaller siblings as he’d requested. But he was now saddled with a resentful flag captain and a starship commander of the same rank chafing at the chains tying her to an admiral. Or could it have been deliberate? If so, why?

  “Is something wrong, sir?”

  He waved away her question.

  “An idle thought just crossed my mind, Lena. Nothing important. Please read Captain Dunmoore’s report and pay particular attention to her ammunition expenditure. Find out whether she still carries enough to balance holdings across the task force once we issue Skua’s remaining stocks. Based on what Rooikat’s recon drone saw of the Atsang star system, it seems to be a major hub. That could mean supply convoys for the entire sector’s forward operating bases originate there, not to mention Atsang receiving even larger convoys from the empire’s core worlds. The longer we can spend raiding their shipping before we return home, the better. That first hunt merely whetted my appetite.”

  “Of course, sir. If there’s nothing else, I‘ll get on it now, before the after-action review.”

  “Thank you, Lena.”

  When he was alone, Petras called up a visual of Iolanthe on his day cabin display and gazed at it. Task Force Luckner’s partial victory at the Atsang heliopause along with Dunmoore’s daring and entirely successful attack on the enemy FOB was finally opening his eyes to an undeniable fact. Iolanthe’s captain knew more about raiding behind enemy lines than all of Luckner’s other starship commanders put together.

  Worse yet, if Petras was honest with himself, he’d acknowledge Dunmoore had tried counseling him. But he didn’t listen, in part because he’d succumbed to Lena’s influence. And that was on him.

  Petras needed Luckner to prove itself — fast. This was his last command in space as a rear admiral. Either Luckner put him on the vice admirals’ list, or he would spend the rest of the war as a two-star working staff jobs before retiring once the hostilities were over. Just like Lena Corto, Petras would soon face the dreaded limit imposed on senior officers who were passed over for promotion year after year.

  **

  “Thank you for your candid views.” Petras met the eyes of each starship commander in turn, or rather the eyes of their holograms sitting around the conference table, except for Hawkwood’s captain, Commander Kirti Midura, who was present in the flesh along with Lena Corto. “You’ve given me much to ponder. We will reconvene once I’ve digested everything. Until then. Captain Dunmoore, please stay on the link. I want to speak with you and Captain Corto.”

  Every hologram save for one winked out of existence while Midura excused herself.

  “Thoughts, Dunmoore?” When she hesitated, Petras added, “No need for diplomacy. I want — no, I need your honest opinion.”

  Dunmoore gazed at him warily as if searching for a trap.

  “I believe the crux of the matter,” she replied in a measured tone, “is that we’re thinking of Task Force Luckner as a conventional formation which fights the enemy in conventional ways. Before hearing my colleagues speak, I had my suspicions based on the results of our battle drills but never could put my finger on the cause because I’m used to operating alone. Listening just now as someone who wasn’t present brought it into focus.”

  “So what’s your solution?” Corto asked.

  “I don’t know that I can offer an answer as such. My assessment is we face a mindset issue rather than a tactical or doctrinal one. Perhaps captains trained to sail and fight in formation around a flagship don’t possess the predatory instincts of commerce raiders.”

  Dunmoore paused while a vaguely remembered historical tidbit surfaced from the depths of her memory.

  “And you do?”

  “Yes. I’ve been operating far from a flagship for years,” she replied absently as an idea swam into focus. “Please give me a second.”

  Corto and Petras exchanged puzzled glances.

  “That’s it.” Dunmoore’s face lit up. “Are either of you familiar with the wars of Earth’s twentieth century? Specifically, the mid-century global war?”

  When neither reacted, she said, “In those days opposing nations fought with ocean-based navies as well as on land. One of those nations used underwater ships to raid convoys. They would send dozens of them out on separate patrols. When one of these submersibles spotted an enemy convoy, it signaled its home base. That home base would warn other submersibles in the general area so they could converge to form what was called a wolf pack which would sink as many ships as it could.”

  Petras tilted his head to one side and frowned.

  “How does this apply to our situation? You said we faced a mindset challenge, not a tactical one.”

  “Sorry, sir, I’m trying to find the right words. I’ve only thought of this now.”

  “Fair enough. Take your time.”

  Dunmoore nibbled on the inside of her lower lip, eyes narrowed.

  “There are two aspects we should consider. One, although we know Atsang is a major shipping hub, locking onto and tracking enemy convoys is more a matter of luck than planning, even if we can keep the planet itself under continuous surveillance by using scout ships’ drones. The more dispersed our task force, the more luck we can create.”

  After a moment, Petras inclined his head.

  “Granted, for the sake of discussion.”

  “Second, operating in a dispersed fashion and grouping only for the kill would force Luckner’s starship captains to shed their baked-in notions of how a naval formation operates.” She thought for a moment. “As a bonus, they might be more inclined to attack targets of opportunity on their own initiative. That can create interesting second and third-order effects on the enemy’s ability to wage war, even though it might only be locally.”

  “As you did with that FOB?”

  Dunmoore allowed herself a faint smile.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “So you’re advocating what?” Corto asked in an icy tone. “Controlled anarchy?”

  Dunmoore could almost feel her disdain as if it were a living thing.

  “Controlled predation of enemy shipping. Luckner’s starship commanders need to think like wolves, not well-trained sheepdogs. Become the sort who can smell blood and call their pack mates in for the kill.”

  She ignored the scornful expression on Corto’s face, concentrating instead on an obviously curious Petras.

  “How would you create such a wolf pack?” He asked.

  “Divide the task force into balanced packets of perhaps two or three ships. Or even single vessels, if you prefer. Jan Sobieski and Iolanthe are more than capable of operating alone until the wolf pack forms. When I mean balanced, it’s on capabilities such as sensor range, speed, subspace radio reach, that sort of thing, not necessarily tonnage or firepower. Seed the packets around a hub such as the Atsang system and wait. When one of them, or perhaps a scout drone spots a convoy heading outward, confirm its course, and call the pack to form. Whichever ships are nearest take the lead to keep watch on the target until everyone catc
hes up. Shrehari convoy doctrine favors cohesion over speed, and that means we will catch them before they reach their destination system. Once they drop out at the heliopause for instance, whichever wolf pack ships get there first attack without waiting for the rest.”

  “What if only a singleton such as your Iolanthe or Jan Sobieski gets there in time?” Petras asked. “And for argument’s sake, the convoy is ten freighters with five escorts?”

  “Then they use the element of surprise to strike as hard as possible before evading retaliation. Even a partial sweep by a single ship can entail consequences on enemy morale and planning beyond the mere loss of hulls and cargo.”

  “Deploying our ships in penny packets is risky, sir,” Corto said. “We stand a chance of being wiped out piecemeal.”

  “May I send you a historical write-up of the wet navy wolf pack tactics I mentioned?” Dunmoore kept her focus on Petras, acting as if she hadn’t heard Corto’s objection.

  “Please do. Your suggestion is unconventional, to be sure. But I confess I’m intrigued.”

  “That’s because commerce raiding comes under the heading of unconventional warfare, sir. Hit and run rather than set-piece battles. Apparently, it drives the Shrehari insane, and angry sophonts of any species make mistakes.”

  “Give me time to discuss it with Lena. I’ll make my decision by tomorrow. In the meantime, do you have any ideas about how to, as you put it, split Task Force Luckner into balanced packets?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “We can discuss that tomorrow. You may return to your duties.”

  — Six —

  A morose Brakal sat in the spare command chair bolted to the deck beside Urag’s on Tol Vehar’s bridge, watching as Atsang Base grew on the main screen. He knew his fate awaited him in an office at the heart of the large cylinder festooned with countless docking arms. It would not be pleasant for Admiral of the Fifth Rank Brakal, whose naval career was surely over, but he had already resolved to take a different path.

  Seconds after the thought crossed his mind, a communication from base operations seemed to confirm it.

  “Incoming message for Admiral of the Fifth Rank Brakal from Admiral of the Third Rank Kerhasi, commanding officer of Assault Division Atsang. Admiral Brakal shall report to Admiral Kerhasi’s office the moment Tol Vehar docks so he might account for his command of Strike Group Khorsan.”

  The stilted formality of the order conveyed everything he needed to know.

  “Send my reply as follows. Admiral of the Fifth Rank Brakal hears and obeys.”

  Urag turned his head to star at his commanding officer.

  “That was not a friendly greeting between old comrades, Lord.”

  “It was not meant to. I suppose I should pack my belongings before we dock. If my prediction is correct, Toralk can bring them when he joins me for our voyage home.”

  “You expect to leave Strike Group Khorsan?”

  “Since there no longer is a Khorsan Base, I expect Kerhasi will disband the strike group and reassign its ships to other units.”

  “Your pardon, Lord, but are you not giving up too quickly?”

  Brakal made a dismissive gesture.

  “Kerhasi will have received orders from the admiralty. Senior officers who fail may not redeem themselves these days, and I am the first who lost an orbital base because of enemy action. That will be considered an enormous dishonor, especially by those who do not understand this war.”

  “Besides, at this juncture, I might be able to do more if I hang up my admiral’s robes and don those of the imperial lord representing Clan Makkar in the Kraal,” he added after a momentary pause.

  The Kraal, a legislative assembly where the empire’s highest-ranking nobles from ancient families met, existed to keep the governing council and the emperor, or in this case the regent in check. At least theoretically.

  “In that case, may I ask something of you, Admiral,” a voice said from the shadows behind the command chairs.

  Brakal glanced over his shoulder at Regar, the Tai Kan political officer assigned to watch for disloyalty aboard Tol Vehar. But instead of reporting the crew’s disaffection with the imperial government and its handling of the war, Regar had become Brakal’s adviser on all matters concerning politics and the empire’s secret police, especially its pervasive surveillance network.

  “Speak.”

  “Let me swear an oath of fealty to the Lord of Clan Makkar, then take me with you. I can serve the empire better by staying at your side instead of pretending to spy on Commander Urag’s crew. My experience as a Tai Kan operative and my contacts in low places will be useful, should you pursue political avenues.”

  Brakal and Urag exchanged a glance. The latter made a small gesture of assent, encouraging Brakal to accept.

  “Do you think an oath of fealty to a clan lord will release you from the Tai Kan?”

  “No, and I do not, as yet, wish to resign my commission. But Admiral Kerhasi will surely allow you a few personal retainers. He may be in receipt of orders relieving you, but he remains a friend and Warrior Caste brother.”

  “You know this how?”

  “He couched his summons in a way that announces your fate, so you may prepare since an officer relieved of his command is not allowed back aboard his ship.”

  “And that is why you need Regar,” Urag said. “He can read evil signs and dark portents. You might be a superb tactician and naval officer, but in Shredar’s darkest corners, especially around the government precinct, you are only a mewling cub. Unless, of course, you intend to retire and manage the Clan Makkar estates while becoming an old man who no longer cares about those who rally behind him.”

  Brakal jumped to his feet with surprising vigor and pointed at the deck in front of him.

  “Come here and drop to one knee, Regar.” Once the Tai Kan officer did so, Brakal held out his right arm. Regar grasped it just below the elbow while Brakal did the same. “Do you swear to serve Clan Makkar with your body and spirit now and always, lest you forfeit your undying honor?”

  “Upon my honor, I swear I will serve the Lords of Clan Makkar until my last breath.”

  “Arise, Regar, Liegeman of the Makkar.” Brakal pulled Regar to his feet. “You might as well pack your belongings too.”

  **

  “Brakal, you sad old rogue.” Admiral of the Third Rank Kerhasi rose from behind his desk and reached out to grasp his old friend’s forearms in greeting. “Those humans are becoming a true plague. Khorsan Base was not their only victim. They ambushed convoy Haqqa One Five at the Atsang heliopause as it returned from Khorsan. Literally on my doorstep. Not your phantom battleship, of course, but a swarm of smaller vessels. We were fortunate two freighters and one Ptar escaped destruction. What is happening to us?”

  They released each other’s arms, and Kerhasi indicated a chair.

  “Sit.”

  “What is happening?” Brakal let loose a bark of humorless laughter as he complied. “We are losing the war.”

  “Surely it cannot be that bad.” Kerhasi nodded toward a sideboard. “Tvass?”

  “Unless you have something stronger on offer.”

  “Perhaps later, when what needs saying has been said.”

  “Then a cup of tvass will be fine.”

  “We can talk about the war after I carry out my orders, unpleasant as they are.” Kerhasi served them then sat across from Brakal. “There is no easy way around this. The admiralty has directed that I relieve you of your command and send you back to Shrehari Prime. As of this moment, you are placed in the reserve of officers and no longer hold any appointment in the Deep Space Fleet, nor do you wield any sort of authority. Once on the homeworld, you will report to Admiral of the Second Rank Zakit. He will no doubt send you to tend your estates.”

  An amused smile twisted Brakal’s ridged face.

  “Tend my estates? No. I will take Clan Makkar’s seat in the Kraal and see if my peers and I can revive its authority. The council has done enough
to damage the empire and jeopardize its future. Our enemy runs rampant deep within our sphere. We should take it as a sign from the gods that we urgently need a course correction before we face collapse.”

  Kerhasi slapped his knee with delight.

  “I feared you might dispute me and we would part as enemies, yet here you are, ready to take on the sclerotic idiots ruining us. You may count on my support if ever I can do anything to help.”

  “Excellent! Perhaps you could send word to relatives and friends on the homeworld who are acquainted with members of the Kraal and tell them about my intentions.”

  “Consider it done.”

  “How will I travel to the homeworld?”

  “Aboard the regular courier run. It leaves tomorrow.”

  “I shall bring two retainers with me. My bodyguard Toralk and Sub-Commander Regar.”

  Kerhasi tilted his massive head to one side in question.

  “Toralk, I remember well. Loyal as the day is long and able to frighten the most savage of miscreants. Who is Regar?”

  “Task Force Khorsan’s chief Tai Kan spy. Since I assume you plan to disband Khorsan and reassign its ships, his departure will not be felt.”

  “You assume correctly. But a Tai Kan officer as a retainer? The universe is truly upside down. Dare I ask?”

  “Regar, just as many if not most of us, is unhappy with the conduct of the war. And he feels no great loyalty for his masters. I find him useful.”

  “I will not stop you from taking him, but you might attract the Tai Kan’s wrath when they notice his presence on the homeworld.”

  “Bugger the Tai Kan. They are as much a part of the problem as the council and the admiralty. They also need a good reaming out.”

  Kerhasi drained his tvass mug. “Enough of this swill. We must celebrate. What would you say to a bottle of chilled Zahkar vintage ale?”

  “Does a kroorath shit in the woods?”

  **

  “Urag asked that I remind you of his and the crew’s loyalty, Lord,” Regar said when Brakal entered the guest suite set aside for them in Atsang Base’s VIP quarters. “If at a future date, you should call on Tol Vehar, they will do their best to respond. Toralk placed your bags in the primary bedroom.” Regar pointed at an open door. “Your friendship with Admiral Kerhasi appears as strong as ever.”