Jacob watched the image disappear, feeling anger burn inside him. He hit the controls to contact the bridge. “Captain, did you hear all of that?”
Martino answered smoothly. “Yes, Sir. The signal was on a broad beam; the entire system heard it.”
“Order our squadrons to speed up; I want them to have a Navy task force to worry about, sooner rather than later.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Jacob turned his attention back to the projection and growled. The separatists were far closer to their targets than his forces. He was forced to watch as the armed ships moved in, closing the distance as the refugees ran for the relative safety of the planet. Then the refugee formation shifted, and Jacob sat up straight. “What are those Oathbound ships doing?”
No one spoke up, but they didn’t need to. Several of the Oathbound ships broke away from the orbit around Tiredel and shot out toward the refugee ships. There hadn’t been many of them at first, but more and more of them started to move toward the ancient colony ships. One ship, which had been much further out to begin with, had nearly reached the refugee craft and seemed to intend to join their formation. Why a bunch of unarmed ships would try to run straight into a combat zone was beyond Jaocb, but he knew one thing for sure. It wasn’t going to help the situation.
He looked at Lieutenant Urschel. “Contact the people in charge of those Oathbound craft. I want them out of there; we already might have enough casualties if those idiots open fire on their own people. If you can, put me in touch with the ship that’s already in the middle of that mess.”
The officer nodded, and her fingers flew as she worked. A moment later, a light glowed on Jacob’s console, and he pressed it to open the channel. “This is High Admiral Jacob Hull. Who am I talking to?”
“This is Ship Handler Tsokashi, of the Oathbound vessel Fresh Hope. I do believe we’ve met.”
Jacob leaned forward, temporarily stunned. He remembered the old Oduran ship captain, and it was hard to reconcile the battered image of the former Oduran officer with the reckless disregard the freighter was showing for its own survival. “Tsokashi? What are you—never mind. You need to get your ship out of there now.”
“I am sorry to disappoint you, High Admiral.” Tsokashi’s voice was utterly and completely calm. “I cannot agree. The refugees are still in need of an escort.”
“Your ship isn’t going to do much good in that respect, Ship Handler.” Jacob watched the San Marcos ships continue to accelerate. “Unless you’ve managed to hide away a few weapons where I couldn’t see them?”
“Negative, High Admiral.” Tsokashi’s tone was solemn. “We hold to the Oath. You should know that.”
The words held a mild rebuke, but Jacob clenched his fists and continued. The former Oduran had to see sense before time ran out. “Ship Handler, the separatists are not joking. They could open fire any minute, and if they do, there is a very good chance your ship will be targeted and destroyed. If you do not change your course to avoid the situation out there, I cannot be responsible for your safety.”
“Nor would we ask you to feel such responsibility, High Admiral, though we do appreciate your concern.” Tsokashi’s words held the firm resolve of a man used to braving enemy fire. There was no hint of reluctance or hesitation. “Nevertheless, we will continue to escort our new brethren until they reach the safety of the planet. May your journey be pleasant.”
With that farewell, the Oduran terminated the connection. Jacob let out a string of curses that raised a few eyebrows among his staff. Carmichael’s ships were nearly within missile range now, with the destroyers clawing to intercept them. He felt the tension of the room skyrocket as Urschel spoke up again. “Sir, we have a transmission from the planet.”
Dread shot through Jacob. “Let me hear it.” The lieutenant touched a control, and as Jacob had feared, the calm, unruffled tones of Paz Banks came through the speakers.
“This is Paz Banks, leader of the Oathbound. We acknowledge the transmission of Governor Carmichael, and extend to him every assurance we do not mean him or his people any harm. We are a people of peace; none of our ships are armed, and we do not permit any among us to carry weapons, so long as they enjoy our hospitality.”
“We welcome you to our new home, and promise to extend you every courtesy. It is our policy to do so with all who need our help—and we have not, and will never, see fit to change that policy. Those you have cast out from your world are in great need of care, and we will provide them our help and our home for as long as they need. They may leave when they choose, and we will wish them well. Paz Banks, out.”
A few of the officers looked at Jacob, their eyes wide, and he tried to reign in his feelings. He wished that message would have calmed the situation, but he suspected Carmichael was not going to be turned away by a few well-placed turns of phrase. His eyes went to the timer marking when the San Marcos ships would be in missile range, and his breath caught when it hit zero.
Yet no volley of missiles sprayed out for the refugee ship. Carmichael’s squadron continued to close, but they were holding their fire for the moment. Just beyond the refugee craft, Tsokashi’s vessel began a broad turn meant to bring it around on one side of the fleeing refugees. Jacob wondered, for an instant, if Tsokashi meant to evacuate some of the the refugees onto his own ship, then discarded the notion. A docking operation in these conditions would only invite a disaster if the San Marcos ships decided to open fire.
A moment later, a signal from the Griffon, Carmichael’s ship, reached the Eagle, and Jacob blinked as another full image transmission appeared. “This is Governor Joseph Carmichael. I do not believe your professed pacifism, nor am I taken in by your malicious schemes. You pretend to be neutral and unarmed, yet you give aid to those who hate us and supply those who would oppress us. You preach all manner of lies about your intentions and are surprised when we do not believe you. Your continued defiance even proves you liars, fools, or both; if you had no hidden plots, no secret weapons, why would you try to resist our demands?
“You seek to undermine everything we stand for, and I will not allow you to continue your plans. Either you turn away your newfound friends and cease your treachery, or the penalty for your actions will be severe. If you do not heed my words and obey, then we will kill you to the last man, woman, and child. Your so-called homes will burn until there is no place left for you to harbor traitors or threaten us with your schemes. Governor Carmichael, honored of San Marcos, out.”
Tension filled the room as the officers gave up all pretense of performing their duties. Every gaze was locked on the display. It showed the San Marcos ships closing the distance to Tsokashi’s ship and the refugees around it. The destroyers were nearly there, and Jacob felt his heart beating fast as he began to hope the delay might allow the refugees to reach safety after all.
Then another transmission came in, and the officer put it onto the speakers the moment Jacob looked in his direction. Paz Banks’ voice showed no sign of intimidation; she seemed as determined as she always had, though Jacob’s heart ached to hear it.
“We will not stop our efforts to relieve the suffering of these refugees. You have heard our welcome and our pledge to do no harm. If you do not believe us, then there is nothing we can do about it. I invite you to test us, to visit us. See for yourself, with your own eyes, if we are lying or not. There is no threat to San Marcos or her people here, and there are no secret plots against you.”
Steel filled her voice, and Jacob felt his spine stiffen when he heard her next words.
“Do not mistake our peaceful intent for weakness. We have faced more dangerous things than you, and we are willing to die for our beliefs. Your threats cause no fear in us, and though it cost every one of our lives, we will hold to our Oath. Paz Banks, out.”
The refugee ships and Tsokashi’s vessel had nearly reached the safety of the destroyers when Carmichael’s response came. It was once again a full-image transmission, and Carmichael’s face darkened in fury a
s he bit out his words. “Your stubbornness will do you no good against our strength. Perhaps a taste of the cost for your pride will turn you from your course. Be grateful I choose to spare your misguided followers, and witness this demonstration of what the future may hold for you and your people if you do not yield. Governer Carmichael, out.”
“Missile launch! Multiple tracks!” Lieutenant Urschel’s voice was strained as a flurry of specks representing projectiles sprayed from Carmichael’s ship. All of them curved toward one of the largest of the fleeing refugee craft, coming in at angles that would take them past where Tsokashi’s ship was still completing its turn. Jacob glanced at the computer’s estimate and felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. There were too many coming in too fast. Even if the destroyers launched countermeasures, even if the ancient colony ship managed to dodge one or two of the attacks, the remaining missiles would still destroy the ship.
Jacob closed his eyes and tried not to think of all the people who would die along with the craft. The refugee ship was likely packed full of civilians, straining the life support to fit as many people as possible. There could be as many as ten thousand casualties aboard that one craft—men, women, children. All of them murdered just to prove a point.
Then he heard a gasp from one of the other officers, and Jacob’s eyes snapped open. Tsokashi’s freighter had changed course, coming around in a much tighter turn that had to be straining the structure of the craft. The projected course of the freighter curved in a much smaller arc, and Jacob’s jaw dropped open as he realized where it was headed. “No.”
Tsokashi’s ship continued its turn and rotated as well, deliberately placing the broad hull of the craft between the refugees and the missiles. Its heat signature flared, as if the Oathbound aboard her were disabling her heat sinks to draw the targeting computers of the missiles toward them. The gamble worked. First one, then two, then all of the projectiles changed course slightly, tracking the Oathbound craft. A few twitched as if operators onboard the San Marcos ships were trying to correct the mistake, but there was too little time.
A transmission came in, and Jacob acknowledged it without taking his eyes from the image. He heard Tsokashi’s voice, calm and without regret. It was a sharp contrast to the missile warning alerts pulsing in the background. “Tsokashi to High Admiral Hull. Tell my son how I lived. Tell him what I gave my life for.” The Ship Handler paused, and he raised his voice, as if addressing the rest of the universe. “We kept the Oath. Our guns lay silent. To the end!”
The first missile bored in from above the freighter. It exploded at ideal range, spraying the entire craft with fragments that chewed the light armor of the ship to tattered shreds. The impact alone was enough to kill everyone aboard; atmosphere and fire leaked from a dozen breaches, and no merchant craft had the kind of damage control a warship would need to survive a similar hit. Unless someone had managed to reach an escape pod or shuttle, they would all be dead or dying. Still, some part of Jacob grasped at the hope he might see a pod launch, or someone, anyone might still cling to life amid the ruined corridors of the ship. That somehow, someone might survive to be rescued by the destroyers were just barely out of reach.
Then a second missile arrived and obliterated that hope. It struck directly amidships from much closer in, and the explosion ripped a terrible hole through the craft. Plasma from the ship’s fusion reactor fountained out in a stream of light. Two more missiles hit a heartbeat later, breaking the ship into a spreading wave of wreckage and fire. What had once been a vessel full of people, a ship that had carried them through the stars and brought them to a new, safe home in the Celostian Union, became a cloud of debris engulfed the remaining missiles. None of the projectiles survived the chaotic barrier, and their blasts only fed the flames for a few more moments before the atmosphere was finally spent.
Jacob didn’t know how long he stared at those flickering, dying fires. The entire command center was utterly silent, with most of the officers staring at the tactical display. One or two of them turned away in horror; Jacob could see at least one older officer with tears running down his face. Then a young lieutenant whispered into the silence, half to herself. “Why? Why the hell would they do that?”
Then the speakers crackled as the destroyers reported in. “This is the Bulldog, we are now in position to screen the refugees. Reading no survivors, repeat, no survivors from Fresh Hope. Beginning holding pattern.” On the display, a second burst of missiles streamed out and were met by countermeasures from the Celostian warships. Flechettes sped to intercept missiles as they curved; flares and jamming befuddled their sensors.
Jacob’s shock finally faded, and in its place he felt an anger that filled him with an ice like he’d never known. His voice was cold when he spoke. “High Admiral to Bulldog. Negative. Engage the enemy and destroy them before they riftjump out of the system.”
“Sir? We’re to engage?”
There was another silence, but this time the officers turned to stare at Jacob. He could see the disbelief in some of their expressions, but others looked as if they were coming out of the shock and discovering the same, feral need to fight. His eyes went back to where Tsokashi had died, and his voice was firm. “Confirmed, Bulldog. Engage and destroy.”
The destroyers swept in at the modified freighters, who unleashed a third volley of missiles. Again, the destroyers wiped them out, and then the Celostian warships’ course must have registered with the San Marcos ships. A frantic transmission reached Eagle, not from Carmichael this time, and Jacob heard fear in the separatist officer’s voice “This is the SMS Griffon to Celostian destroyers. Do not approach any closer or we’ll fire! Repeat, do not approach.”
Jacob touched a control, waiting until just before the destroyers reached the range where their railguns could go to work. He let every bit of his anger bleed into each word. “The Celostian Navy does not take orders from murderers. Surrender your ships, or die.”
Then Jacob sat back, enjoying a vicious sense of satisfaction as both sides opened fire with railguns, missiles, torpedoes, and plasma lances. Yet even as he watched the San Marcos raiders lurch and fall back, their thin hulls torn and their weapons broken, Jacob felt heaviness fall across him. Whatever the outcome of the skirmish, and however justified, he’d just started another war, and one his nation could ill-afford. Yet he’d made his decision.
Time would tell if he would live long enough to regret it.
Chapter Twenty
“From what we are able to tell, the Collective sent these people out to die.” Paz Banks’ image flickered, as if the transmitter she was using to communicate with the Eagle was having a hard time maintaining the signal. Given the state of the rest of the equipment on the newly arrived San Marcos refugee ships, Jacob had no trouble suspecting their communication center was on the edge of complete failure.
“The supplies onboard these ships are completely unsuitable for any long journey, and they don’t have half of what they would need to set up an orbital habitat somewhere. By our best estimates they would have been running out of both food and fuel after just two days. They barely made it here as it was.”
Jacob fought to contain a flicker of anger at the report. The spacer in him found it all too easy to picture what it would have been like, trying to find some refuge while the food ran out and the reactor went cold, alone out in the dark. “Have we confirmed they are all political dissidents from San Marcos, then? I can’t imagine any of them left voluntarily on a one way trip.”
Paz nodded. “That is correct, High Admiral. All the people I’ve spoken to were forced onboard these vessels. They were given no chance to collect their own supplies, to gather personal belongings, or to say goodbye to anyone left on San Marcos. The Collective was not careful to keep families together either; we are still trying to reunite several parents with their children, and there are many family members still missing. They might have been kept on San Marcos, either placed in internment camps or otherwise kept in captivity.”
Suppressing another spike of hatred for Carmichael and his band of thugs, Jacob forced his voice to stay level. “Is there any chance more refugees are on the way, or are we looking at all of them here?”
“I believe this was the first and final wave, High Admiral.” Paz’s expression grew hard. “After what happened here, I doubt the Collective will want to repeat the gesture.”
“You’re probably right.” At least, Jacob hoped that was the case. The armed merchantmen hadn’t fared very well against the Celostian destroyers. While the SMS Griffon had managed to riftjump out of the system—frustratingly taking the vaunted Governor of San Marcos with it—several other modified freighters had not been so lucky. All in all, nearly a dozen of the Collective ships had been destroyed outright, and most of those that had managed to riftjump away had been heavily damaged.
Even if it hadn’t been an overwhelming victory for the Navy, the actions of the Oathbound during the fight had made the situation that much worse for the separatists. The former Odurans formed a barrier of sorts with their ships, guarding the slower, less capable ships of the San Marcos refugees from their former brethren. It would have been brave enough to do with armed vessels, but the Oathbound had no weapons and no real defenses. The only thing they could hope to do to protect the inbound refugees was offer themselves up as targets, and Jacob still felt his blood run cold as he remembered their determination to do just that if necessary.
As a result, people throughout the Union were embracing the former Odurans as true examples of courage, and Ship Handler Tsokashi had been elevated to the level of a national hero. At the same time, sympathy for the tyrants in San Marcos had all but vanished, leaving the separatists almost completely isolated from the rest of the Union. Descriptions of the desperate state of the refugees they had cast out would only worsen the problem, and Jacob had no doubt Carmichael was now cursing his reversal of fortune.
Eagle (Jacob Hull) Page 23
