by Eric Thomson
“I am indeed satisfied,” Lauzier replied, gesturing toward the table. “Shall we sit and formalize the armistice agreement?”
Brakal listened to Surgh, then laboriously pronounced the Anglic word ‘yes.’ But when Lauzier, Januzaj, Kaalak, and Surgh headed for their seats, he remained rooted to the spot and turned his unnerving stare on her.
“Dunmoore. I knew it was you who destroyed Khorsan Base, Tyva Base, chased my strike group across the sector, and attacked my home system,” he said slowly in Shrehari, allowing her time to translate mentally. “We met many times after the battle at the planet of the lost humans without knowing. I owe you my thanks for having been an efficient enemy. Without your boldness, I would not have lost my command and found myself on Shrehari Prime where thanks to your daring raid I was able to seize power and end the war.”
She inclined her head in acknowledgment, then replied in rough, badly accented Shrehari, “I did my duty as best I could, Kho’sahra.”
“Your best was good enough. If more of your commanders resembled you, the war might have ended earlier. I am honored to have fought a foe of your ability.” He raised his fist to his chest again.
“I am equally honored I faced you in battle.” This time, saluting her former enemy didn’t seem strange, it felt right, as if their brief, private exchange made the armistice a reality between combatants in a way diplomats could never manage.
After one last long stare into each other’s eyes, both made their way to the table. Brakal sat across from Lauzier while Dunmoore stood behind the latter, imitating Kaalak who loomed over his leader.
Januzaj opened his attaché case and withdrew two sheets of what appeared to be paper but were copies of the agreement printed in Shrehari and Anglic on an almost indestructible polymer. He placed one before Brakal and one before Lauzier.
The actual signing of the armistice instruments took only a few moments because the agreement hammered out between Surgh and Januzaj over the previous days was simplicity itself and its words were by now well known to everyone.
The Shrehari Empire evacuates all occupied star systems, returns to its prewar borders and enters into a perpetual and mutual non-aggression pact with the Commonwealth. In return, the Commonwealth agrees to waive reparation claims.
The parties agree they will negotiate a formal treaty and deal with trade agreements, resolution of disputes, and the future of the unclaimed star systems in the area adjoining both spheres of control. They shall sign said treaty within one Earth year on the imperial border world of Ulufan.
The leaders made their marks on both copies of the armistice agreement after which Surgh and Januzaj each took one.
Lauzier and Brakal stood, exchanged farewells, and, with their respective ambassadors and escort commanders in tow, left the table. Dunmoore wondered whether she would ever meet the mysterious Shrehari kho’sahra again or whether this was indeed the last time their paths would cross. When they approached the cluster of VIPs, Grand Admiral Shkadov gave her a significant look, promising questions about her private interaction with Brakal at a later time.
Dunmoore led the escort back to the cargo hangar with due formality, gave Secretary-General Lauzier another general salute and, once the VIPs vanished into the passenger hangar, placed the spacers and soldiers at ease.
“That was a splendid showing,” she said in a voice which carried to the farthest corners of the vast chamber. “You did our species honor. And I know you’ll always remember the day we stood facing our mortal enemies and made peace with them so that no one else dies in the name of vain ambition. Thank you. You are dismissed to your ships. Guard officers take over.”
After a final exchange of salutes, Dunmoore, followed by Chief Guthren, left the cargo hangar to rejoin Iolanthe’s pinnace. Grand Admiral Shkadov intercepted her on the other side.
“What was that with Brakal, Commodore?” After she repeated the conversation, if not word for word, then close enough, he grunted. “Interesting fellow. In any case, well done, both for apparently being the catalyst that propelled him to power and for giving our SecGen a finer escort than the Palace Guard could have managed. I’ll let Armand Xi know.”
“Thank you, sir.”
They saluted each other, then Shkadov hurried aboard Terra’s imposing and luxurious VIP shuttle while Dunmoore and Guthren joined Petty Officer Knowles in the pinnace.
“Impressive ceremony,” the noncom said over her shoulder from the cockpit as they settled in. “You and the top bonehead seem to have a past, sir, if I may inquire.”
“You may.” She sat back and closed her eyes. “I spoke with Brakal for the first time minutes after taking over as acting captain of Victoria Regina, the Fleet’s last true battleship, a little over six years ago, when Captain Prighte was killed by one of Brakal’s gun volleys...”
**
“The Shrehari left without even saying farewell,” Holt reported when Dunmoore joined him in his day cabin after shedding her ceremonial finery. “As Yens would say, good riddance. You made us proud, Skipper. Everyone up here was watching. We even saw you and Brakal skip down memory lane. What did he say?”
For the second time in less than two hours, she recounted their conversation.
“You should have recorded his statement for your service record, sir. It would have done wonders to convince the promotion board you’re more than fit to be an admiral.”
She served herself a cup of coffee and dropped into the chair facing Holt’s desk.
“The video of us having a sidebar will have to suffice. Has anyone sent us instructions about what happens now?”
He nodded.
“I just got word from Terra. We’re paying Cimmeria a visit. The SecGen wants to meet with the provisional government that sprang up hours after the last Shrehari shuttle lifted off and see the damage left by the occupation with his own eyes. After that, Equinox Nova is heading back to Earth solo on a long jump while we’re staying here with Terra until HQ sends a permanent battle group to set up a new garrison.”
“Makes sense. If some rogue Shrehari commander decides on a revenge strike, we’ll fend him off. It’s not as if Task Force Luckner has any other missions lined up anyway.”
“You think they’ll keep us together as a formation? There are plenty of pirates needing a speedy death in the badlands.”
Dunmoore gave him a sad smile.
“Do you think they’ll keep us together? We’re not on the permanent order of battle.”
“We can always hope, considering the grand admiral gave us a snazzy crest.”
“Mostly for propaganda purposes, Zeke.”
He sighed.
“True.”
“Deliberately changing the subject, did Astrid compute the jump to Cimmeria?”
“On it as we speak. She’ll let me know when everyone is synced and we can break out of orbit.” He looked into his coffee mug and exhaled noisily
“What?”
“Now that they signed the armistice, I feel exactly as I do when my adrenaline crashes after a battle.”
“Getting the blues, eh? For what it’s worth, I’m about to crash as well, now that I’ve done my job. We face major adjustments, Zeke, especially those who never served in a peacetime navy, or those who have forgotten what it was like — such as us two.”
“Or those who lived for the thrill of danger and the relief that comes with the realization they were still alive and the boneheads were dead.”
He looked up at her.
“Can I interest you in a few rounds of chess?”
— Forty-Six —
They remained in the Cimmeria system for almost a month before a regular battle group showed up and took over. Fittingly, it included the Reconquista class cruiser Cimmeria, allowing Dunmoore to reconnect with a few more old Stingrays, such as Kathryn Kowalski.
But a day after she handed control of the system to the battle group’s commander, Dunmoore received the message from SOCOM HQ she’d been both expecting and d
reading.
It was for Dunmoore’s eyes only, and after digesting its contents, she sat on the news a little longer so she could regain full control of her inner turmoil. Too many changes, too much on the verge of becoming nothing more than memories. Dunmoore eventually summoned Holt to her quarters, and when the door chime rang, she prepared herself for what would inevitably happen.
“Enter.”
The cabin door slid aside with a sigh. Captain Ezekiel Holt took one step in and came to a sudden halt when he caught sight of her uniform collar.
“What—”
She held up a restraining hand. “Before you say a word, you’d better listen to the orders from SOCOM. Sit.”
Surprised at her harsh tone, Holt obeyed out of reflex although his eye never left her face. “I’m listening, sir.”
“With the Fleet returning to its peacetime strength, Task Force Luckner is officially stood down. I’m sure this won’t be a surprise for anyone. The ships are reassigned to regular battle groups, except for Hawkwood. She’s headed to the Fleet reserve instead of undergoing a full refit since the powers that be plan on reducing the number of ship types. The navy’s focus will be on Voivode class frigates and Reconquista class cruisers, a bit like the Shrehari with their Tols and Ptars. Iolanthe remains under Special Operations Command and will head for the badlands to clean up a piracy problem that’s been plaguing us since the beginning of the war.”
When she saw the question in Holt’s eyes, Dunmoore nodded. “Yes, you’re keeping her. Your promotion and appointment are permanent. If Emma wishes it, she can stay on as a career naval officer instead of returning to merchant ships, keep her commander’s stripes, and remain your first officer.”
“She does.”
“You should expect individual reassignments now that we can afford to send people on longer training courses and resume the ship to shore rotation cycle, but most of the crew will stay for the next few months. However, Tatiana and E Company are going home to Scandia, and they won’t be replaced by a Marine Corps contingent unless a particular mission profile calls for infantry or Special Forces. You’ll drop them off on your way out of this sector.”
“It’s what we expected. I doubt any of them will be unhappy their tour in Iolanthe is over.”
A faint smile relaxed Dunmoore’s tense features.
“I think you might see a few requests for component transfer from the Army to the Corps cross your desk in the next few days.”
“And you?” Holt asked, unable to wait any longer for an explanation of why she once again wore a captain’s four bars on her collar. “Why did they take your star away?”
“We discussed this before, Zeke,” she replied in a gentle tone. “There’s a ceiling on the number of flag rank officers the peacetime Fleet can have on active duty at any given time. And the regulations governing a reduction in force stipulate the most recently promoted commodores will revert to their previous rank should that ceiling be breached. I’m among the most recently promoted, if not the most recent. Besides, I’ve not punched my ticket by doing staff duty tours as a commander or a captain, so my qualifications for a permanent flag position are a bit thin. Not to mention I only have three years seniority as a post captain, which isn’t quite enough time in rank.”
“That’s bloody bullshit, Siobhan.” Holt’s voice quavered with tightly controlled fury. “If Nagira wants you as a commodore, he can make it happen. Hell, even Grand Admiral Shkadov praised you in person, and he’s the guy who can give just about any legal order in this damned navy, including one to make you an exception to the rules. A fine way of rewarding the officer who, by Kho’sahra Brakal’s own admission, triggered the cascade of events that ended this war.”
Dunmoore raised both hands.
“Stop, Zeke. Think for a few moments. If Nagira or Shkadov pull strings and take another commodore’s star away, one who wore it longer than I wore mine, instead of following regulations, how do you think I’ll be perceived as the beneficiary? Or ignore the ceiling and keep me on the books as a commodore, acting, while so employed until enough flag officers retire while others ahead of me revert to captain? It would follow me for the rest of my career and pretty much make sure I never wear a second star, let alone get decent assignments because Shkadov and Nagira will retire in two or three years, leaving me exposed. We, the officers who survived the war, don’t deal well with favoritism anymore after seeing how useless a lot of the peacetime captains and admirals were when the Shrehari invaded.”
She watched Holt’s nostrils flare, then he seemed to deflate as his anger evaporated. He exhaled noisily.
“I suppose you’re right.”
“There’s no suppose about it.” She took a deep breath. “Look, the orders taking away my star were a dagger thrust to the heart, which is why I didn’t summon you until I dealt with my disappointment in private. Chances are I’m far from the only shiny new commodore to wake up as a captain this morning. I’m probably one of three or four dozen. And I won’t be the only officer to drop one rank because of the Fleet returning to its peacetime configuration. A lot of ships will be mothballed and most of those who joined up for the duration plus six months are on their way back to civilian life. This is what happens after every war. It’s just my bad luck I didn’t make it above the cut-off line before the government ordered us to demobilize.”
Holt scoffed. “We should have let the damned boneheads stew another ten or twelve months, so you were no longer among the most junior one-stars.”
“Heavens, no! I’m glad the war is over, even if it means a reduction in rank. Compared to most of my classmates, I can’t complain. I not only survived relatively unscathed, but I also held four warship commands in just over ten years, a record of sorts I suppose, even if I wrecked two of them. It’s time for others such as you to get their turn.”
A mischievous smile unexpectedly crossed Holt’s face.
“Perhaps they should stuff you into a stasis pod marked decant in case of war.”
Delighted laughter burbled up Dunmoore’s throat.
“Are you saying I’ll make a lousy peacetime staff officer? Then you can rest easy. I’m not headed for a job as flag captain or worse, sailing a desk in a large headquarters. Now that would make me go bonkers.”
“Oh?” He sat up. “What then?”
“Meet the first head of unconventional naval warfare studies at the Armed Services War College. I’m hitching a ride to Caledonia aboard Terra when she breaks out of orbit tomorrow since that’s where she’s headed.” Dunmoore gave Holt a rueful smile. “Terra will be mothballed when she gets there, meaning I can commiserate with Captain Harmel. But he’s becoming a battle group flag captain, so that’s a step up for him, and a staff ticket he can punch on the way to his first star.”
“Instructor at the Armed Services War College and setting up a new curriculum? Does Fleet HQ know what they’re about to unleash?”
“If not, they’ll find out soon enough. It’s a two-year assignment. Hopefully, I’ll return to a battle group as flag captain when I’m done, and maybe after another two years, I’ll put up my commodore’s star again.”
“It better not take the brass more than four years to return what they should never have taken away.” A thoughtful expression erased Holt’s air of indignation. “When will you leave Iolanthe?”
“Terra wants me aboard by eight bells in the afternoon watch tomorrow. If you can arrange a shuttle for, say, six bells, I’d be grateful.”
“Oh, I think Iolanthe might do better than that. When will you announce Task Force Luckner’s disbandment to the others?”
“As soon as we’re done here. I wanted you to hear it first so you could get everything out of your system while we were in private.”
“You know Gregor will have an apoplectic fit when he sees your wearing captain’s bars again.”
Dunmoore shrugged.
“There’s no way around that, though in the presence of his peers, he’ll feel more constrained
than the last time he thought Fleet HQ gave me a raw deal. In any case, it’s done, and I’m now nothing more than a guest aboard your ship, Zeke.”
“Bullshit. Until the moment you step off Iolanthe, I will consider you my flag officer commanding, orders be damned.”
“Then could you please link up the former Task Force Luckner ships and prepare your conference room?”
“Certainly.” Holt sprang to his feet. “With your permission?”
“Carry on. I’ll send the captains their ships’ assignments ahead of the meeting.”
**
“You’ll have received your orders by now and know that with the war finally over, Task Force Luckner is disbanded and its constituent ships transferred to permanent battle groups.”
Dunmoore turned her gaze on each captain in turn. Everyone except Holt was present around the conference table via holographic projection.
“Save for Hawkwood. Sorry, Kirti. I hope the additional bar on your collar makes up for the transfer to a shore assignment.”
“It does, sir. Thank you.”
“I’m sure we’ll spend the rest of our lives dining out on the fact we escorted the Commonwealth delegation to the armistice ceremonies. And if the Shrehari kho’sahra wasn’t lying, we also played a role in setting him on the path to power. No one else in the Fleet can claim anything of the sort.”
She paused for a moment so she could gather herself.
“Captains, it has been an honor and a privilege to serve with you. No flag officer in the Fleet could have wished for better crews and starship commanders. Please pass my thanks and my best wishes to your people.”
Gregor Pushkin’s hologram raised a hand.
“If I may, sir. Where is your commodore’s star?”
Dunmoore repeated what she’d told Holt earlier almost word for word.
“A damn injustice, if you ask me,” Pushkin said when she fell silent. “Captain Holt, I trust Iolanthe will see the commodore off in style.”
“Of course. And you’re invited. In fact, perhaps we can share a glass with the commodore in our wardroom before she leaves and toast her future success. Shall we say four bells in the afternoon watch tomorrow?”
