Then the Ursine carrier—Kodiak, Roberts’s ship—would arrive, followed almost immediately by the rest of the convoy. Location estimates wouldn’t be perfect, but there was more than enough data to execute a perfect ambush, separating the freighters from the warships and sneaking the corsairs into range of at least Kodiak.
The data was complete, comprehensive, and dangerous.
“It’s a trap,” he told Coati. “Data this complete? There’s no way it leaked by accident. Roberts isn’t an intelligence officer, but he has them to hand and we know the Federation and Imperium have solid networks out here.”
“Doesn’t matter if he’s expecting us if he follows this pattern,” Coati pointed out. “Physics says he can only have drones and fighters in so many places from those vectors, so we won’t be in those places. If they break the arrival pattern, we can abort. Be careful, as you’re so determined to be!”
James shook his head.
“You need to leave in less than three hours to get there in time,” he pointed out. “You don’t have time to prepare, time to make sure your numbers are right. You’re going after him on his own terms, in a place where he knows you’ll be coming.”
“With Poseidon along, how clever do we need to be?” the pirate demanded. “You outgun either of his ships now.”
“I’m not taking Poseidon into a trap,” James told him. “Once Chariot is back and we’ve had a chance to analyze the pattern of Roberts’s convoys, I’ll go after him. We’ll hit him when he isn’t expecting us, with overwhelming force, and we will crush him.
“Anything less careful is risking everything for very little gain. We’re in no hurry here, Coati,” he pointed out. “If you want to build your little kingdom out here, you’ll need patience.”
The truth, James knew, was that Coati was already doomed. Once the Alliance actually moved to remove the Commonwealth task group he’d brought, he would return to Terran space—and leave the pirate to face a fleet.
A fleet that would not care if Coati had made himself king of any of these worlds—but more important from the Commonwealth’s perspective, a fleet that wouldn’t be available to defend the Rimward Marches.
“Roberts isn’t a god, isn’t some magical tactician,” Coati snapped. “He’s just a soldier, same as you. Even if he’s got a trick up his sleeve, the laws of physics are the same for him as us. We can do this.”
“Then you don’t need Poseidon,” James told him mildly. “If everything works perfectly, you can blow Kodiak apart at close range, then steal most of the freighters before Thoth can reverse course to meet you.
“If your data is accurate and there’s no trap, Commodore, you don’t need me at all.”
“Really, Commodore?” Coati snarled. “You want me to think you’re unnecessary? I’m not sure you want to convince me of that!”
“No, I don’t,” James agreed. “But I’m not going back to Salvatore and walking into a trap.”
“I don’t think our Federation friend understands just what his ‘trap’ is going to catch,” the pirate told him. “You’re right, Commodore Tecumseh. I don’t need you for this. But trust me…if this goes wrong because you aren’t there, there will be a price to be paid.”
“If you walk into the lion’s den after being warned, that’s your own damn problem.”
#
James watched as the twelve corsair ships in KDX-6657 accelerated toward the edge of the gravity well, slowly and carefully matching vectors and combing into three much larger, Alcubierre-capable constructs that eventually vanished into FTL.
Two of the corsairs remained, orbiting above l’Estación de Muerte to keep on eye on the two Terran ships. The precaution was almost funny, to a degree. l’Estación was armed as well, but Poseidon could wipe out both ships and the station in a single volley. They were close enough, in fact, that they could do it with positron lances, lightspeed weapons the pirates would never see coming.
Not that Commodore James Tecumseh was considering an unprovoked massacre of his allies.
Well. Not very seriously.
“You asked to see me, sir?” Colonel Barbados said softly behind him.
“I did,” James confirmed without turning around, his gaze still on the screen where l’Estación de Muerte orbited. “Have a seat.”
“Sir.”
The shuffling sound behind him told him the Marine had obeyed, and the Navy Commodore sighed and turned around.
“What can I do for you, Commodore?” the pale-skinned Marine asked as he met James’s gaze. “I see that we are suddenly short of pirate friends.”
“I’m sure all of our hearts ache for their absence,” James told him. “They’re off to try and ambush a Federation-defended convoy based on data Serengeti leaked them.”
Barbados winced.
“Coati isn’t that stupid, isn’t he?”
“No, he knows it’s a trap,” the Commodore confirmed. “He’s just convinced he can turn the trap on the Federation, steal half a dozen freighters in one strike, and punch out a carrier for good measure.”
“I’ve fought the Federation, sir,” Barbados said slowly. “I’m not under the impression that their capital ship commanders are more incompetent than their Marines, and their Marines are a match for our best.”
“Exactly.”
“He’s going to get reamed.”
“I agree. And he has already implied he will take out his displeasure on us,” James told the Marine. “I want you to go over all of our security plans for Poseidon, Chariot, and Stormcloud. Consult with Commodore Sherazi, Captain Colton, and Major Petrovsky—and Captain Modesitt when she gets back. I want to know our ships are secure.”
The oddities of Commonwealth ranking structure meant that, depending on how you looked at it, there were either two Commodores or two Captains aboard Poseidon. Commodore Sherazi was the battlecruiser’s captain, while Captain Petrovsky was his XO. To avoid confusion, an O-6 Captain who wasn’t a ship’s commander was often given the courtesy title of Major.
James figured that given, oh, another hundred years of grinding down tradition, the title of Captain would just be dropped from the Navy table in favor of Major to avoid the confusion.
“Stormcloud has two thousand Marines aboard, sir,” Barbados pointed out. “I think Captain Colton would laugh in my face if I raised security concerns.”
“Then let her get it out of her system, and then go over the security plans,” James said flatly. “I don’t trust Coati, and since he’s taken the opportunity to make threats, let’s make sure he doesn’t have the capacity to follow through.”
Barbados nodded thoughtfully.
“Sir, does it count as failing our mission if we kill the pirate warlord we’re trying to get the Alliance to chase?”
“At the point he turns on us, he is fair prey,” James replied. “And at that point, I will burn this hive of scum to the goddamn ground.”
#
Chapter 30
Deep Space en route to Salvatore System
22:00 November 9, 2736 Earth Standard Meridian Date/Time
Antioch-Registry Freighter Satie Dun
The crew of the freighter Satie Dun—Golden Dawn, if Michelle’s translation was correct—had been more than willing to accommodate the crew of the half-squadron of bombers they’d bolted onto the freighter’s airlocks.
There was only so much they could do to make them comfortable, sadly, as Dun was built for exactly the number of crew she carried and had no passenger facilities. The cots and couches they’d set up for Michelle and her people in their secondary mess were still infinitely more comfortable than sleeping on the bombers would be though.
That was something the Federation redesign was going to fix, Michelle was certain. A Falcon was reasonably comfortable for the crew to live aboard, designed for independent in-system deployments of up to two weeks.
The prototype Vultures were not. There was a set of folding-down bunks, but the closest thing it had to a kitchen was a coffe
emaker. Ration bars would keep Michelle’s people alive regardless of whether or not they could cook, but it wouldn’t keep them happy.
The one thing the freighter’s crew couldn’t provide the bomber crews was any significant degree of privacy for secure coms, which left Michele back on her bomber tonight, caressing the image of Angela Alvarez’s face her implant projected onto her optic nerve.
It would have looked silly to anyone there, but Angela’s smile confirmed that the thought was appreciated.
“And what daring adventure is my dashing pilot up to tonight?” the nurse asked.
“Ha! You know I can’t tell you anything,” Michelle pointed out. “I can tell you, though, that it almost involved living out of a starfighter for a few weeks. We came up with a better plan, but that was a near-run thing.”
“I’ve been inside a starfighter,” her lover replied. “Is that even possible?”
“Oh, it’s possible,” Michelle confirmed. “It’s just not any fun. Though”—she grinned at Angela—“I can certainly think of people I wouldn’t mind being trapped in a confined space with for a week.”
“I like this plan,” Angela said with a giggle, “but can we pick somewhere more comfortable than a starfighter? A hotel room, an apartment, something like that?”
“Does either of us even have an apartment?” the fighter pilot asked hesitantly, and Angela shook her head.
“No, I’m never home long enough,” she admitted. “And you don’t either, do you?”
“No,” Michelle confirmed, hesitating again and letting a silence drag out for several seconds. “Do you…want to get one together when we’re next both home?”
“My dear, are you asking me to move in with you?” Angela asked, her voice suddenly pitching higher and leaning in to the camera.
“Um. Yes? Maybe? Sort of…”
“I think that’s a great idea! I…wasn’t sure if you wanted to move much forward, with us both in the fleet,” Angela told her. “Things could happen…”
“But they also may not,” Michelle said, echoing the Captain’s words to her. “And while we have to accept that the worst-case scenario is a thing, we can’t plan for it. There’s a lot of steps ahead of us, love, but I think we should start on some of them.”
“Be careful, Commander Williams,” the other woman said with a smile. “If you don’t slow down, I might make you meet my parents!”
Michelle laughed.
“I’d like that,” she admitted. “My folks would want to meet you too.”
“Well, then, it looks like we’re going to have a busy leave when you get back from your mission to the boonies,” Angela told her. “I look forward to it.”
“Me too.”
DSC-052 Kodiak
“Are you sure this will work?” Song asked as she took a sip of her beer in Kyle’s office. “This is risky.”
“It is,” Kyle agreed. “But not as much as it looks on the surface. It’s a standard deployment pattern for running into an ambush, with just one tiny vulnerability added.”
“One vulnerability,” Taggart said slowly, “that might allow the Terrans to get a battlecruiser into range of us with the freighters for a backdrop. That could hurt, sir.”
“But to get there, they’ll pass well inside Williams’s range before ranging on us,” Kyle pointed out calmly. “Even a Hercules is going to feel it when she sends a hundred torpedoes at them from only a million klicks.”
“We’re putting a lot of risk on the freighters, too,” Taggart pointed out. “At the point they see the bombers, they may open fire on them.”
“That’s the part I really don’t like,” Kyle admitted. “I’m honestly trusting to the fact that the pirates want those ships intact and, well, most Commonwealth officers are at least familiar with the rules of war.”
“Their past record suggests otherwise,” Song grumbled.
“Their past record says they’ve got a bunch of fanatic idiots amongst their ranks whose political reliability gets them promoted,” the Captain said grimly. “Most Commonwealth officers realize that those fanatics are a problem.”
He sighed.
“But how do you tell the difference between someone thoroughly committed to unifying the rest of the human race and someone who’s going to snap and bomb a world?” he asked rhetorically. “We try to avoid having fanatics in charge of warships, but the Commonwealth finds it convenient.”
“And every so often, one of their fanatics blows up and a world goes with them,” Song said bitterly. “I had friends on Kematian. I know that bastard burned, but that doesn’t bring back the half a planet he wrecked.”
“I know.” Kyle sipped from his beer without saying more, unpleasant memories flashing before his mental eye. Song might have had friends on Kematian, but Kyle had been there when a Terran officer bombed the planet.
Kyle had also been the one to pursue that officer halfway across the Alliance and blow him to hell.
“To be fair, though, there were Commonwealth ships there when we caught up with that bastard, and they stood aside,” he pointed out. “I wouldn’t have expected that of our own officers in the same place. Somebody has a stick of iron up his ass.”
“If I was picking for this mission, I’d take the biggest fanatic true believer I could find,” Taggart replied. “Commerce raiding is an ugly, ugly business.”
“I’ll hope for one with some honor,” Kyle told them. “But you’re right, I’m not expecting one with much. Fortunately, it doesn’t take much not to blow away a bunch of freighters.”
“If this all goes wrong…” Taggart trailed off.
“It’s on my head. The Free Trade Zone probably wouldn’t survive losing this convoy, either,” the Captain said quietly. “We’ll keep them safe, people. One way or another.”
#
Chapter 31
Salvatore System
14:00 November 14, 2736 Earth Standard Meridian Date/Time
DSC-052 Kodiak
“Thoth has made emergence and is deploying q-probes,” Sterling announced. “Captain von Lambert reports nothing is showing up so far, but they’ve got probes sweeping toward Waterdeep.”
“Let’s drop some of those in a permanent orbit,” Kyle ordered, studying the tactical feed coming to his implant and overlaid on the bridge’s main screens. “Then give Neverwinter the q-com codes. That gas giant gives them far too much of a blind spot.”
“According to the brief, they’ve replaced their Waterdeep surveillance net four times in the last ten years,” Taggart pointed out from Secondary Control. “They’re aware of the problem—but so is this Coati bastard.”
“And for him, it’s an opportunity,” Kyle agreed. “Well, let’s give them half a dozen q-probes and hope that helps tide them over until we kill Coati.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” the XO growled. “I reviewed the Serengeti intelligence file on him. He doesn’t just give the Serengeti Fleet a bad name; he gives every Naval officer in the galaxy a bad name.”
Kyle nodded his agreement as he checked the timers. Serengeti Intelligence estimated that Coati was responsible for the loss of at least a dozen interstellar freighters, plus the destruction of five warships now and raids on dozens of outer-system platforms… They had very little information on the capabilities of his corsairs or even how many of the modular ships he had, but they had a disturbingly good idea of how many people he’d killed.
“So, do we think they actually decided not to play or just hiding really well?” he said aloud.
“We gave them enough data to make sure Thoth couldn’t see them,” Sterling pointed out. “There’s no way we can know.”
“Fair enough. Houshian; I see no reason to change the plan. We and the convoy will emerge on schedule.”
“Yes, sir. Four minutes, twenty-two seconds,” his navigator confirmed.
Kyle ran through his mental checklist and the status reports of his ship’s systems. Positron lances were charged. Missile launchers loaded, magazines
full. The ready-magazine missile warheads had been charged with antimatter, one of the final steps before launch.
“Commodore Song?” he pinged the CAG. “What’s the status of the group?”
“All fighters aboard are armed and ready,” she confirmed instantly. “Alpha Wing is in the launch tubes; the rest are crewed and fueled, ready to go. With Echo off-ship, we should have a forty-five-second Alpha launch.”
“Good. Hold most of that until we see the bastards,” he ordered. “One squadron for CSP until then.”
“I know, sir.”
He chuckled.
“Fair,” he conceded. “This is riskier than even I like, Song. Do you have a status on Williams’s people?”
“She just checked in. All of her people are aboard the bombers and are ready to deploy. Engineers have checked over the torpedo warheads; the containment fields held up surprisingly well under the flight.”
Like all starfighters, the Vulture didn’t have large-enough zero-point cells to supply the antimatter for the warheads of its own missiles. Kyle would trust the long-term containment fields of the standard fighter missile—it had been tested for years now—but the torpedoes were new. It might be the same tech, but every part of the new torpedoes remained a potential problem.
“The bombers are good to go,” Song concluded. “All of the Falcons are ready. If the Commonwealth wants to play, they’re going to get a rude surprise.”
“That, Vice Commodore, is what I wanted to hear. Emergence in thirty seconds. Hang tight.”
#
Emergence.
Eight ships shutting down their Alcubierre drives in sequence meant over thirty high-mass singularities collapsing within seconds of each other. Even with the Stetson stabilization fields, that made for a bumpy ride, and Kyle grimaced as the waves of shifting gravity rippled through his bridge.
Rimward Stars (Castle Federation Book 5) Page 22
