Leon shook his head. “No. Not without something to encourage their people to fight. They got hit hard enough the last time they grabbed for us that even their most die-hard militarists are going to think twice before coming in a second time.”
Jacob frowned. “Of course, they already have something they could use, Captain Nivrosky.” He tapped a control, and the projection shifted along the border to another system. This one was full of ships racing to and fro. Unlike Al-Nasser, several of those ships were military vessels, with at least one cruiser and a squadron of corvettes huddled together near the single cold, habitable world.
He saw the others’ shift uneasily in their seats when they recognized the space around Tiredel. The reaction was understandable; even Jacob had to shake off an echo of grief and pain at seeing the former battleground. Those feelings lingered as he gestured to the projection. “We still have the former President Banks and all his friends at Tiredel. If President Sessor decides to make an issue of the asylum the Union has granted them, then she’ll have all the political capital she needs to bring the military against us.”
Al-shira studied the image intently. “Jacob, I’m not sure that’s true.” When Jacob looked at her, she shrugged. “The Oathbound might have been a sore spot, and I won’t doubt the Odurans would love to kill every last one of them, but I haven’t read anything that suggests President Sessor has the kind of influence Representative Gates had among the Oduran cultural elite. Several of Gates’ primary advisors were actually some of her first targets, and she has made a point of criticizing the decision to rush after Banks and his followers without adequate preparation.”
Jacob turned his attention back to the swarm of activity around Tiredel. “So you’re saying she won’t make an issue out of the situation for a while then.”
“If ever. By the time she could revive it, the entire insult might have faded from the minds of her people. She’d need something fresh to stir it all up again.”
Leon nodded. “True enough, but I doubt she’ll have to look far. The Odurans have already become experts at generating ‘provocative incidents’ whenever they need to get at us. They’ll come for us right when they want to.”
“Which brings us back to the question of how to be ready for them.” Jacob drummed a knuckle on the tabletop, his mind working away at the problem. “A full offensive campaign is probably out of the question as long as we don’t have the support of the Board. How has the funding problem been going?”
Al-shira winced. “Not well. The Council of Lower Seats has once again decided to put a hold on any votes meant to increase the defensive budget, while the House has more or less united in opposition to any bill allowing us to spend more than we already have.”
Jacob felt a spark of anger dance within him. “So the refits are going to stall. How much have we already gotten done?”
She looked down at her personal reader. “We’ve managed to push through the refit program for over seventy percent of the Defender-class destroyers, which means most of them are now Hunter-class ships. The second refit program for Crown-class cruisers has only gone through about twenty percent of the ships assigned to it.” Al-shira set the reader down on the table. “The refit for this ship alone cost us well more than we had projected too, so we’ve cut into the budget for operational expenses to finish the job. If the Council and the House don’t manage to put some support behind us, then we are going to be dead in the water long before the Odurans come around to put us there.”
Jacob’s headache was getting worse. He turned to Leon. “How are the supplies holding up? Lieutenant Burns said something about Tiredel.”
Leon shook his head. “We’re running short of time on that front as well, Sir. A lot of our suppliers are running short of stock or being forced to increase their prices. Even in the best situation, we’d be facing shortages soon—and we aren’t at our best by a long shot.”
Al-shira raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying we’re facing war profiteers? Can’t the High Seat look into that sort of thing?”
A dissatisfied expression fixed itself on Leon’s face. “He can, but it doesn’t seem to be the source of the problem.” He gestured toward the general direction of the conference room. “It actually looks like it is the result of stockpiling by a few prominent local militias. They’ve taken the losses at Tiredel as a sign they need to start stockpiling weapons, and the contractors who normally supply us are being pressured into selling to those groups as well. They aren’t able to keep up with demand, and as a result a lot of our most isolated patrols are running short of material.”
“Patrols like Tiredel you mean.” Jacob grimaced when Leon nodded, and put a hand over his eyes. “How bad is it there?”
“Captain Kimonov reported that unless he was resupplied soon, he would be forced to withdraw to the supply base at Richland in the next week.” Leon delivered the information in a flat, neutral tone. “I took the liberty of ordering a freighter out his way as soon as possible, but he’ll most likely meet it on his way back to the base. Hopefully he won’t be absent from his post for long.”
Ashford snorted again, and Jacob found himself in complete agreement. He closed his eyes for a moment. “Okay. Get orders out to nearby units to cover the area Kimonov has left open as much as they can. Is there any other situation I need to know about immediately?”
Leon shrugged. “None I am aware of, but as long as the Independents continue to stockpile for their militias, we are probably going to keep running into these kinds of issues.”
Al-shira caught Jacob’s eye and grinned. Leon had a few ideological blind spots—the man was a staunch Federalist, despite his good points—but he had a valid concern nonetheless.
Frustrated, Jacob rubbed at his temples with both hands. “So we’re running out of resources for the refits, our patrols are running low on supplies, and the rest of the Navy wants to wait until the Odurans come to burn us from the stars before they will do anything to stop them. Is that an accurate summary?”
Al-shira and Leon both nodded, and Jacob sighed again.
“Why does it seem like it would have been easier if I just let the pirates shoot me back in Reefhome?”
The other two chuckled, and even Ashford cracked a hint of a smile. Jacob leaned forward and smiled when an idea came to him. “All right, here’s what we could do. My operational authority includes the yards here at New Vermont, the Eagle, and a few other areas like Tiredel and Reefhome along the border, right?” The others nodded again, uncertain, and Jacob grinned at them. “Then we are going to have to work with what we have instead of wishing for more.” Al-shira shifted in her seat, and Jacob looked over at her. “Yes, Captain?”
She smiled. “If you don’t object, Sir, I think I might be able to gather a few more assets. The other admirals haven’t exactly embraced the refitted designs, right?” When Jacob made sour sound of agreement, Al-shira continued. “Well, if they don’t have confidence in them, they might be willing to part with them. If I could trade for those ships, we might be able to increase our available firepower.”
“Do it.” If his fellow admirals were blind to the advantages those refits could bring, Jacob would feel no guilt about using their ignorance to his advantage. “Just be careful. Don’t do anything that might alert the other officers on the Admiralty Board about what you’re doing.”
Al-shira raised one eyebrow in a way that made Jacob feel as if he was standing on very thin ice. “I think I can manage that, Admiral. You just make sure my work gets put to good use.”
Leon looked back and forth between them. “I see how more ships can be useful, but what exactly are you planning on using them for, if I might ask?”
“That’s actually going to relate to what I’m going to ask you to do, Captain Nivrosky.” Jacob paused, trying to organize his thoughts carefully. “The first chance you get, I need you to return to Celostia and meet with the High Seat. Try and organize your visit to be timed with some other minor task so you don’t
attract attention.”
Leon studied Jacob with a wary expression on his face. “And may I ask what the topic of my conversation will be when I meet with High Seat Smithson?”
Jacob gave Leon a hard-edged smile. “I want you to convince him to authorize an offensive operation by the units under my command against the Oduran League. If possible, I want that authorization within the month.”
Leon’s jaw dropped. It took a few moments for him to recover sufficiently. “Jacob, the other admirals—”
“Have expressed their disagreement, yes.” Jacob shrugged. “They aren’t going to approve a general attack, and that is within their authority. What the ships under my command do, however, is none of their business as long as I get the approval of the High Seat.” He sat back and looked from Leon to Al-shira and back. “We may not be able to launch a strike on all of the Oduran bases, but we can make up for it by hitting at least one target in their territory. If we can hit them hard enough in a good spot, we might be able to stall their assault long enough to give us time to recover. Especially if we take out the base closest to Tiredel.”
Al-shira leaned back and her smile grew. “At the same time, you could prove the effectiveness of the refitted ships, as well as securing a solid victory for the Navy. That might help out with our funding problems.”
“It would be hard for the rest of the Admiralty Board to continue to fight you on overall strategy as well.” Leon nodded slowly, but concerned expression had not faded. “Still, we’ll be going in alone, Admiral Hull. You’re risking being trapped in Oduran territory or destroyed if they know you’re coming. Worse, if you make it back, but you suffer a severe defeat…”
Jacob smiled. Leon didn’t have to finish his sentence; they all knew what kind of a gamble this plan was. Unfortunately, there wasn’t another option. If he did nothing, the Navy would be crushed—and that would be a result Jacob could never accept. Not after so much had already been sacrificed.
“It’s a risk we have to take, Captain. If you come up with a better plan, I’d be the first to want to hear it, but as things are…” Jacob shrugged, and he saw reluctant acceptance on his friend’s face. Then he stood. “Let me know if either of you hit a snag, but as for now, this will be our plan going forward. Thank you for your support.”
Leon rose as well. “Yes, Sir. You can count on us.”
Al-shira stood, her expression confidant. “Yes, Sir. We’ll get started right away.”
“Good.” Jacob glanced down at his reader and blinked when he saw the time. “I have to go; my new flag captain is waiting for me. I’ll check back with you both when I can to see how things are going.” He returned their salutes on the way to the door where Ashford was waiting. The Marine keyed the hatch and followed him out into the corridor, where his other bodyguards were waiting.
As they left the conference room behind, Jacob could feel a strategy start to take shape. He smiled to himself as he imagined how angry some of his opponents would be if they knew what he was planning. Then again, the Odurans would probably be even angrier, but he had no problem with that. No problem at all.
Chapter Four
“…And so, from what the yards were telling us, we should have all our railguns online by the end of the day.” Captain Martino’s voice remained even and professional, though Jacob was aware of the stress the man had to be facing. As commander of the flagship in the Celostian Navy, he had the burden of setting an example of discipline and readiness for the rest of the fleet—a difficult thing to accomplish when the ship in question was barely a handful of days out of the repair docks.
“I’m glad to hear it, Captain.” Jacob looked around the compartment assigned to Fire Control and restrained a whistle. Unlike the smaller destroyers where Jacob had served the majority of his time in the Navy, the Eagle had enough weaponry to require a more centralized approach to targeting. The dreadnaught still had individual railgun decks, just as Wolfhound did, but each deck communicated with the central command station to select targets and coordinate firing.
The Fire Control deck had been optimally designed for the task. The deck was arranged like a grand theater, station after targeting station set into a crew pit. Each of Eagle’s seventy-two railguns could display its targeting data here, where it could be monitored and refined by the chorus of analysts at the computers in the pit. Eagle’s twelve missile launchers could also have their targets assigned and analyzed for potential weaknesses by those computers. Above it all was a projection of the nearby area, where the officer in charge of all Eagle’s firepower could supervise the damage being wrought on the enemy forces from the stage above the crew pit.
Jacob smiled to himself as he thought of the glee Isaac would have shown at being in command of so much firepower. The lack of high-speed railguns would have disappointed him for a bit, but perhaps the sheer magnitude of the Eagle’s armament would have made up for the deficiency. If only…
Jacob’s thoughts cut off abruptly as the memories of his last meeting with Isaac came back to him. Since Laurie’s death at Tiredel, his former friend had withdrawn into himself, shutting out anyone who attempted to get close. The Navy’s psychiatrists had certified Isaac was clear to return to duty, though they’d hedged enough in their reports that Jacob had not been convinced they were sure of their diagnosis. Even now, Isaac was a grim person, not very much like the cheerful, mischievous man who had been a close companion since their first assignment together aboard the Wolfhound.
Sweeping those thoughts from his mind, Jacob turned his attention back to Captain Martino. “The ship seems to be in very good condition, Captain, and I want to thank you for all your hard work. The Navy has been without a flagship for too long. Your work has been a credit to all of us.”
Martino’s expression flickered with some unreadable emotion, and then he smiled slightly. “Thank you, Sir. Your compliments will be appreciated by our engineering crews.” He paused. “I understand one of them has served with you several times before. A Lieutenant Commander Turley?”
Jacob grinned, and some of his good mood returned. “I’m very familiar with Lieutenant Commander Turley. I hope he’s managed to behave himself?”
Amusement flashed across Captain Martino's face, quickly buried beneath his mask of professionalism. “Yes, Sir. At least, I think he’s trying, Sir.”
A chuckle broke through Jacob’s self-discipline, and he gestured helplessly. “Well, just let me know if he gives you any trouble, Captain. We may be old friends, but Turley knows better than to push the limits too far.”
A corner of Captain Martino’s mouth twitched in a half-smile. “I believe he said much the same about you, Sir.” Then he paused, his hand twitching toward his communications stub in his collar. “If you’ll excuse me, Sir.”
Martino stepped away for a moment, listening to whatever message had drawn his attention. Jacob waited patiently for the murmured conversation to end, taking the opportunity to watch the junior officers and enlisted personal at work in Fire Control. They seemed a little nervous—understandable considering a flag officer was poking his nose into their daily routine—but none of them seemed openly hostile or disruptive. It was going to be something of a change to have a crew who didn’t have discipline issues to deal with; Jacob wondered if he would be able to adapt.
Then Jacob caught himself and shook his head. The Eagle wasn’t his ship; it was Captain Martino’s. He had other things to worry about beside crew discipline. Being a flag officer was obviously going to take a bit more of an adjustment than he’d thought.
Captain Martino turned back to Jacob, his face carefully composed. “Sir, I have to return to the bridge. I’ve asked Commander Godel to continue your tour. Is there anything else I can help you with before I go?”
Jacob blinked. “No, Captain. Thank you very much for the tour of your ship.” It was rather unusual for a flag captain to excuse himself in the middle of a tour, but at the same time he had experienced the role of a ship captain enough to know
the occasional emergency popped up. Of course, some flag officers might have taken the abandonment as a sign of disrespect, but Jacob didn’t believe such was the case in Martino’s situation. Captain Martino was a veteran of half a dozen battles against Telosians and Odurans all along the border of the Union, and he was one of the few high-ranking captains who unequivocally endorsed Jacob’s position as the next High Admiral. To offer Jacob an intentional insult at the same time would have been remarkably inconsistent.
Commander Godel arrived after only a short minute, and the personnel in Fire Control visibly relaxed when Jacob followed the junior officer from the compartment. Trying to hide a smile of his own, Jacob turned to the newly arrived officer. “Thank you for your help, Commander Godel. I appreciate the guide.”
Godel showed little reaction. Her expression was very, very neutral. Jacob hoped her mood was not influenced by the need to escort her superior throughout the giant dreadnaught. “You’re welcome, Sir. I believe you wanted to see Central Countermeasures next?”
Jacob gestured for her to proceed ahead of him. “That would be fine.” He followed the morose officer through the passages of the Eagle, but his thoughts kept turning back to the emergency that had called Captain Martino away. Had there been some other issue with the dreadnaught’s systems, or was it an urgent situation related to the crew in some way? It could have even been a personal matter, though Jacob doubted the captain would commit such a breach of etiquette over something minor.
Making a mental note to check up on the situation, Jacob continued his tour of his flagship and wondered if the rest of his plans were going to have as many difficulties as the Eagle had already experienced.
Later that day, once Jacob had seen the last of the main compartments on the Eagle, Commander Godel showed him to his quarters. She left him there and returned to her duties as the chief medical officer aboard the dreadnaught. Jacob was left feeling a bit overwhelmed by the large quarters he’d been given. He soon retreated to the more comfortably functional office located conveniently nearby.
Eagle (Jacob Hull) Page 4
