by David Weber
"Third, they haven't been massing them opposite Cimmaron, as we might expect. They could cut off this whole quarter of the Republic from there," she gestured at a glowing snake's nest of green warp lines "or go straight for Novaya Rodina. But where the analysis teams finally found them is over here, at a totally new Fleet base at Avalon--a system we've never even threatened.
"Fourth, and finally, we know how the Rim gets its messages. They come through Orion space, via Rehfrak." Magda waved a hand at Han's sharp glance.
"I know, vei-y un-neutral of them. However, we haven't objected because we wanted to see who goes where along that warp line, and it turns out the errand boy is none other than one Kevin Sanders. Does that ring any bells?" ""The Fox,"" Han said softly.
"Exactly. The best chief of ONI in two centuries, and currently a cabinet minister without portfolio. Obviously they need a top man for a hot potato like this, but they're sending Sanders-- probably the one person in the Galaxy who knows where athe Federation's bodies are buried--through Orion space whenever he goes to Zephrain. And the Orions only permit him to go as far as Rehfrak; the Governor-General comes to him." "I'm sure all of this is headed somewhere?" "It is indeed. Six months ago, Sanders was in Avalon. Then they rushed him back to Old Terra so fast they burned out a destroyer's main drive converters. Why?
Because he's already gone again, making another trip.
.. and this time he's going all the way to Xanadu--and staying." "What?" Hah stood straighter and frowned.
"Exactly. It took a lot of work--and luck -comffpiece his itinerary together, but it's solid. Now why would the Rump separate itself from its foremost spook?
Unless, of course, the separation isn't permanent?" "I see your point," Han mused.
"I thought you would," Magda said grimly.
"They're sending him because they need someone with his authority, brains, and experience to coordinate their plan to hit us before we can react to the new weaponry. If they can hammer a bridge between the Rump and Rim--ff the Rump's industrial plant gets the data and working models it needs-- we're in deep, deep trouble." "I see," Han murmured once more, searching the red and amber warp mes with her eyes. "They're assembling the Rump pincer at Avalon, so they're not going for any finesse beyond their hope for surprise." "That's what we think," Magda encouraged her.
"I'here's their route, Magda Avalon to Lomax to Hyerdahl to Thor to Thule to Osterman's Star to Thybold to Juarez to Iphigena to Zapata to Sagebrush to Purdah.
From there they might go Rousseau to Ney to Bonaparte to Zephrain, or New India to Zvoboda to Zephrain. I'd bet on the New India Route--not even Ian Trevayne wants to tangle with the defenses here." "What makes you so certain?" Magda asked, not chal- lengingly but as ff she merely wanted confirmation of her own thoughts.
"Only a fool tries to be clever when he can't completely orchestrate a complex operation, Magda. We learned that watching the Orions in the first two interstellar wars... and relearned it at First Zephrain. So if you can't be fancy, you be direct as possible, and that route--was she nodded at the one she'd traced out his-comis the shortest distance between two points: Avalon and Zephrain." "I think you're right," Magda acknowledged, "and you might like to know that it took the Strategy Board a month to reach your conclusions." She smiled. "But there's still a billion-credit question, Hah. We don't have the Fleet units to oppose both forces at once.
We have to stop one of them, then turn to deal with the other in detail, using our advantage of the interior position. So which do we oppose?" Han blinked at her.
"You're asking me? Magda, I've been out of circulation for a year!" "But you're also the senior commander who's really seen the Rim's weapons in action, so you can give us the best gut reaction on them, Should we worry more about quantity or quality? Because---was Magda grinned crookedly was for our sins, you and I are going to be the Fleet commanders who do the stopping. So who do we stop, Hah? The Rump or the Rim?" Hah dropped into a chair and thought long, hard and furiously.
"I'he Rump doesn't have any of the new technology? Just numbers?" Magda nodded.
"And have we come through with any of those 'wonder weapons" people were muttering about before Second Zephrain? Do we have any surprises of our own?" "A few," Windrider said.
"Then we have to block the Rump with secondary forces and go for the Rim with eve disrything we have," Hah said, suddenly decisive. "No matter how many hulls the Rump has, we can tangle them up in the frontier forts, mines, and local fighter bases.
We can slow them up, at least, but you've never seen an left-brace tthing like Trevayne's new battle-line. We have to stop him, and stop him hard.
If at all possible, we have to cut him up badly enough to move in and take Zephrain away from him.
Even if we lose a dozen systems--comor twice that many!--to the Rump, we've still got a good chance to win this war in the end stf we can keep them away from Zephrain." "And where do we stop them?" Magda asked tonelessly. "Zapata," Hah said crisply. "It's a critical choke point, and we can move stuff in from Bonaparte for the big engagement. Use commerce raiders on the flanks as they advance..
Something in her voice caught Han's attention, and she stared at her friend suspiciously. No! She couldn't mean... to ""Yhat's right, Hah," Magda said ahnost compassionately@u "One of the reasons I was ordered to have this little chat with you was to be certain you did understand the priorities. You got your second star while you were still a POW--THE sae day I got mine.
And that means you're still senior." She held out the luminous pointer.
"Welcome to supreme command of Operation Actium, Admiral Li." OPERATION REUNION Operation Reunion began with an irruption of SBMHAWK carrier pods into the Zvoboda System. One moment the Republican Navy's detection screens were blank: the next a multitude of unmanned pods warped into the teeth of the forts guarding this gateway to the Terran Republic. A few came to grief in the warp point minefields; a few more emerged in overlapping volumes of space and died with the violence the gods of physics reserve for phenomena which violate their laws. But most survived to fling their missiles at the forts, announcing the arrival of the Federation's warriors in fire and death.
Probes of the Zvoboda System had been limited to avoid alarming its defenders, but Ian Trevayne had a fairly good notion of what he would face. The Republic had erected a formidable shell of big Wpe four OWP'S around the Zephrain warp point and another around the warp point to New India, but Lavrenti Kirilenko was convinced there would be few mobile units. The forts were typical of the Republic's designs, each incorporating two squadrons of fighters; that fighter strength, coupled with the forts' own weapons, needed no support to decimate any conventional assault.
Trevayne and Genji Yoshinaka agreed with Kirilenko's assessments; hence the lavish SBMHAWK bombardment that preceded their ships through the warp point. Such a heavy employment of SBM'S would seriously deplete their stores for the next assault, but there was no point planning for the next battle ff they lost this one. Besides, everything 346 seemed to suggest that Zvoboda had been so heavily fortified that the Republic could have spared little for the defense of New India.
Missiles leapt from their carrier pods, but the Republican gunners hadn't been asleep. The Rim's decreased probe traffic hadn't lulled them; rather it had confirmed their suspicions, and they'd gone on round-the-clock alert. Still, no one could be a hundred percent alert at every instant, and ff point defense stopped a lot of missiles; nothing could have stopped them all.
Antimatter warheads flared against shields.
Tremendous fireballs wracked the space around them. Armor glowed, vaporized, flared away.
Atmosphere whuffed outward, water vapor sparkling, as the missiles savaged the forts. Yet for all their savagery, all their violence, they couldn't prevent the Republic from launching the majority of its fighter* But Trevayne had antipated that, and he had no inten-Uon of offering up his strictly limited carrier strength for target practice, even if The Book did call for fighters as the be
st defense against fighters. Instead, the ships that followed the carrier pods into Zvoboda used a tactic which was new, one so unorthodox it took the defenders totally by surprise, yet so simple they wondered why no one else had ever thought of it.
Simultaneously, da Silva cut her own ropulsion, maintaining just sufficient drive field to interdict missile fire, and rolled on attitude control to place herself stern-to-stern with Nelson--an unheard of position. Then another supermonitorstmonitor pair emerged, and another.
All strikefighter pilots knew to attack battle-line units by maneuvering into the sternward "blind zone" created by the slow and clumsy ship's drive field, where its tracking systems were useless and its weapons could not be brought to bear. But the rebel pilots, racing to implement their fundamental tactical doctrine, were slaughtered by defensive fire from the supermonitors and monitors while searching for blind zones that were, in effect, not there!
They inflicted damage, of course--quite a lot, in fact. But monitors were designed to absorb and survive damage, and supermonitors even more so.
The fighters were cut down before their short-ranged weapons could take decisive effect, and the big ships lumbered towards the fortresses, contemptuous alike of the fighters and mines that sought to hinder them.
The fortress crews knew what their fighters' failure meant. They'd seen the reports on Second Zephrain, and they knew all about the improved force beams Trevayne's ships mounted, but they stood to their weapons, pouring in defensive fire against the oncoming ships. Damage control parties aboard the supermonitors and monitors found their services in high demand, but not critically so, and the capital ships riddled the forts with primary-mode fire and then reduced them to tangled wreckage with "wide-angled" fire even as Sean Remko's battle-cruisers savagely hunted down the few mobile rebel units.
Fourth Fleet reformed into a more conventional order of battle, complete with escort destroyers, and lumbered into a hyperbolic course across the system.
Ian Trevayne sat in his command chair, listening to the reports as his crews worked frenziedly on the damage. It wasn't quite as bad as he'd anticipated, he thought. Bad enough, certainly-- especially in terms of human life--comb no internal damage his repair crews couldn't put right in the seventy-eight hour trip across the system.
It was a case of slapdash repairs, of course, but aside frown the damage to his ships' armor, virtually full combat efficiency had been restored between the first engagement and the moment the New India warp point fortifications hove into range.
Not that he had any intention of exposing those repairs to fresh damage ff he could help it. And he could help it, for the Terran Republic still had no counterweight for the HBM.
The rebel commander knew it, too, and he launched his fighters before the supermonitors came into HBM range. That saved them from destruction in their bays but exposed them to extended-range AFHAWK fire from Trevayne's screen and interception by Carl Stoner's fighters. A few broke through both missiles and defending fighters, displaying the skill and determination which were the haffful- marks of Republican fighter pilots, but they were a spent force. The escort destroyers and capital ships blasted them apart in return for trifling damage, and shortly thereafter the HBM'S began to batter the fortresses.
His surrender was followed four hours later by another, rendered to the cruiser screen as Remko cleaned up the pieces. Occupation of the domed mining colony on the largest satellite of Zvoboda IV, a "brown dwarf' so massive as to be almost self-luminous, completed the conquest, and Trevayne called a halt. It was time to garrison the domes and send prisoners back to Zephrain, in addition to the usual post-battle chores.
He remained pn the bridge while his ships carried out the most urgent of thesethe replenishment of their magazines from the fleet train beginning to emerge from the warp point--and waited until the repair ships moved alongside to make good his most critical damage. Then he called a meeting of all ship captains aboard Nelson and finally left his flag bridge.
Trevayne couldn't help feeling amused by Yoshinaka's morose expression as they rode the intraship car toward the wardroom. The chief of staff was a natural worrier, ad he seemed to feel duty bound to compensate for everyone else's euphoria.
"Well," he grumbled, "at least you followed my advice to hold this skippers' meeting after the first battle." "Why, Genji-san, I always follow your advice," Trevayne said in the bantering tone he affected when Yoshinaka was in one of his moods. "Didn't I give the second Nelson the name you wanted?" Yoshinaka refused to be mollified.
"Right. You named her Togo... which," he added pointedly, "you would'ye had to do eventually anyway, having decided to name the class after wet-navy admirals. After all, he was the greatest fighting admiral in the entire history of Old Terr" He waited, but Trevayne declined to rise to the bait. "And you couldn't have ignored him for hmg, either--not after copping the first ship in the class bar bt your precious Nelson! Bnt then you named ships three and' four after Raymond Spruance and Yi Sun-Sin, both of whom made their reputations swabbing the decks with the Japanese! Has anvone ever told you you've got a strange sense of humor?" "The Grand Councilor for Internal Security has mentioned it once or twice," Trevavne admitted airily.
Yoshinaka's scowl dissolved into a grin.
Trevayne had been practically whistling as he was piped aboard Nelson on the eve of Operation Reunion, when many others had had an understandable case of dry-mouth. Yoshinaka had no idea what had passed between his admiral and Miriam Ortega, but he was grateful for it--and not just because Trevayne's cheerfulness in the face of a frontal assault through a fortified warp point had been a shot in the arm for everyone's morale.
The car hummed to a stop, and they emerged into a crowded wardroom filled with an uproar of shoptalk as the battle was refought. The monitor skippers-- already dubbed the "bass-akwards brigade" by their disrespectful fellows--were the butt of the occasion.
"Attention on deck!" Mujabfs basso profundo cut through the hubbub with ease, and all talk subsided as Trevayne and Yoshinaka mounted the improvised dais where Sandoval waited. Standing at the podium, Trevayne looked down at the army of faces, faces of every color and cast of features in which honw sapiecame. Outside himself and Yoshinaka, no one in the room wore the broad stripe; he wanted these men and women to be able to speak their minds freely and openly. His own deep baritone filled the room.
"The reason for this captains" meeting," he went on, s that we've now seen at first hand what we're up against.
INSU-NBECTION
You're here becahse I want to directly answer any questions you may have, and because Commodore Yoshinaka, Commander Sandoval, and I need your feedback. So let's hear any questions or comments." Numerous hands went up, and Trevayne recognized what looked to have been the first of them.
"Captain Waldeck?" Sean Remko's flag captain rose. He had the Waldeck look burly, with a jowly, florid face bq. asting a big nose and massive chin oddly at variance with the small, pursed mouth.
"A comment, Admiral. If what we've encountered here is any indication, this operation should be a walkover. I refer specifically to the cowardice of the rebel commander. He surrendered when he still had the (mtggability to do us some damage or at least force us to expend a lot of our HBM'S on his fgreats.
I think the inference is clear: all the rebels ever had'going for them was the elan of their initial successes. Now that that's worn off, they're reverting to their natural star--rabble!" Mujabfs face got, ff possible, a bit darker, even though Waldeck had been careful to refer to "rebels" and not to "Fringers." His eyes flashed dangerously, but he was saved from the need to speak by an anonymous voice.
"Sure," it piped up from the back of the wardroom. "Just like the rabble on Novaya Rodinal" Waldeek flushed, and his massive jaw clenched as a sound swept the wardroom. It wasn't--quite--a chuckle, but rather an inarticulate amusement too great to be entirely suppressed. For a moment he seemed about to snarl a response, but thought better of it at the last moment.
&nbs
p; Trevayne himself was torn by several conflicting emotions. The remark was well-taken (ff unkind), and he couldn't help sharing the assembled captains" amusement just a bit. Yet at the same time, the whole Novaya Rodina episode left a bad taste in his mouth.
But as far as Waldeck himself was concerned, Trevayne had tried to keep an open mind. He was born of the close-knit world of the TFN'S "dynasties," with few illusions about its inhabitants, and he'd never liked Captain Cyrus Waldeek. And that, he thought, was unfortunate in a way, because for all his abrasive arrogance and snobbery, i there was no question of Waldeck's competence. It was because of that competence that he'd assigned Waldeck to command the Arquebus, Remko's flagship. Yet he couldn't help chortling to himself just a bit whenever he thought of Waldeck, the embodiment of that clan of Corporate World magnates, directly under Sean Remko's command.
Could it be that Miriam and Genji were right about his sense of humor?
"Let's not get carried away by our own elan, Captain Waldeck," he said calmly. "It would be the height of recklessness to assume on the basis of one battle that the rebels have lost their edge--and I remind you that the first fortress commander we engaged most certainly hadn't lost hsts. That's an attitude we'll have to be particularly wary of in the next few weeks; now that we've broken the rebel frontier, we're likely to be passing through lightly defended systems until we reach Zapata. The rebels will have to offer battle there.
Waldeck surveyed his fellow captains with hidden couldn-tempt. These people's attitude towards lan Trevayne ran the gamut from deep respect through awe all the way to idolatry., he thought. But, of course, he hadn't assigned them to be flag captain to a jumped-up prole from the slums of New Detroit--the cesspool of the Corporate Worlds!
He thought bitterly of Trevayne's reputation for being above social prejudice. For Waldeck's money, that only meant he didn't feel any more superior to Fringe Worlders than he did to everyone else!
