Chain of Command

by Frank Chadwick

  “Jerry, I want you to reconsider your decision to resign,” Sam said once Ensign Robinette had tethered himself into one of the two zero-gee chairs in Sam’s cabin. Sam looked at him and realized there was something different in his appearance. He had shaved off his scraggly moustache.

  “Lieutenant Goldjune has admitted the sensor probe idea was yours and there will be a letter of commendation coming from Commodore Bonaventure for your personnel jacket. I’m very sorry about what happened, sorry particularly for my part in it.”

  “What’s going to happen to him?” Robinette asked.

  “Nothing. Only way I could figure out how to get him on board with your commendation was to give him my word there would be no repercussions. Maybe somebody smarter than me could have gotten everything.”

  Robinette shook his head. “No, sir, I understand. I’m very grateful for what you did, you and Lieutenant Rice. If you were typical of the officers in the Navy, maybe it would be different.”

  Sam sipped his coffee and looked at the bare gray walls of his cabin. He’d have to find something else for the smart walls to display before people started thinking he was turning into Del Huhn.

  “I don’t believe in ‘typical’ anymore,” Sam said. “It’s lazy thinking, trying to find an easy way to understand hard things. Who is typical? You think Goldjune is? Then what about Filipenko? Hennessey. Lieutenant Commander Huhn. You. Me. None of us are typical of anything. We just are who we are.”

  “Maybe so, sir, but there’s a lot more of the Navy lined up behind who Larry Goljune is than is lined up behind me. But I’d already reconsidered. I’d like to withdraw my resignation and just concentrate on doing my job.”

  “Good. What changed your mind, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “I guess I had a lot of illusions about what being a Navy officer meant. In a way Lieutenant Goldjune did me a favor—although I don’t feel one gram of gratitude. But all those illusions were about me, my pride, my ego. Once they were gone, I had to look at what was left.”

  He looked at Sam and he shrugged.

  “Duty.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  6 January 2134

  (one day later) (fifteenth day in K’tok orbit)

  Sam unlatched and removed his helmet as soon as he finished the morning holoconference with Bonaventure and the other destroyer captains. The conference had firmed up plans for the arrival of the four destroyers of DesDiv Five, due to enter orbit in about seventeen hours. The uBakai had good enough sensor platforms squirreled around the system they obviously could see the destroyers coming all the way from the gas giant Mogo so they knew when they were due to arrive as well. If the uBakai Express was going to make another run, it made sense they’d do it before the reinforcements arrived, but so far they hadn’t. Sam had put Puebla on readiness condition two last evening, which meant half the crew on duty and half resting at all times. He didn’t want to go to general quarters yet—no sense in doing it too soon and then just tiring the crew out waiting. They’d keep their edge better if they were rested.

  He pinged Chied Joyce Menzies and she answered almost immediately.

  “Where are you, Chief?”

  Portside missile room, sir, her voice with its coarse Quebecois twang answered in his head.

  “Jesus Christ, Menzies, do you live there?”

  Seems like it lately, sir. But I’m just four birds away from having every missile in our magazines refitted.

  “Good job. We may need them pretty soon. Look, how many do you have configured as sunflowers?”

  Three, sir, but I can make more. It’s a quick softward load.

  “I think three sounds like enough. But I want a sunflower loaded in the coil tunnel as our hot round, and one more in the ready rack of one of your two missile rooms.”

  Can do, sir. That’s . . . that’s a lot of enemy missiles to take out. You think they’ll hit us with that many all at once?

  “Nope. Call it insurance. You know—it never rains when you bring an umbrella, but if you don’t, watch out.”

  Sure-sure. I’ll get my monkies right on it, sir.

  Red Watch took over at 1130 hours, with Robinette as officer of the deck and Sung as duty engineering officer, which left all four of Sam’s department heads free for a sitdown in the wardroom. Larry Goldjune sat quietly, not making eye contact with Sam or the others. Earlier this morning Sam had made the announcement all-boat that Robinette had been commended by the commodore for “his idea for the high sensor probe.” For most of the crew that was all “officer stuff,” and they hadn’t paid much attention. The officers and senior chiefs had understood that something ugly had happened, but no one had spoken to him about it, and what they thought privately was none of his business.

  “We’re getting some good thermal imagery from the probe the task force launched yesterday,” Sam started once they had all settled with coffee or tea around the wardroom table. “It will get better the higher the probe gets about the ecliptic. The thing is, where the uBakai ships seem to be is about two hundred and fifty million miles away, the other side of the system’s primary and almost out into the asteroid belt. That means it takes about fifteen minutes for the light to get to us.”

  “So fifteen minutes after they get here, we’ll see that they’re coming?” Filipenko said and shook her head. “That’s useful.”

  “What we’re getting isn’t timely enough for tactical decision making,” Sam agreed, “but as operational intelligence it’s invaluable. Hennessey, tell them what you were telling me about reaction mass.”

  Rose Hennessey, the ship’s engineer, took a long drink of her coffee and then held up her drink bulb in her right hand and took Moe Rice’s in her left.

  “‘Scuse me, Moe but I need this for just a sec’. This is Mogo,” she said, twisting Moe’s drink bulb, “and this is the primary,” she said, twisting her own, “and my head’s where K’tok is, between them. So we’re here orbiting my head, the task force is outbound between us and Mogo, and the uBakai are way the hell over to the right on the far side of the primary, and have been pretty much since we entered K’tok orbit.

  “Both times they jumped in and hit us they had a pretty big vector on, and they had to get that by firing their drives before they jumped. That takes reaction mass and their cruisers don’t have magic fuel tanks. Only place in the system to get more—at least that we’ve figured out—is to scoop it out of the atmosphere of Mogo.” She twisted Moe’s drink bulb for emphasis. “But they’re not doing that.

  “Now, from going over the first data sets we got from Robinette’s high probe, it looks like they have a couple big auxiliaries out there in addition to the cruisers. At least one has to be a transport. Cruisers don’t carry around a shitload of gunsleds, so that lift cavalry they dropped had to come from somewhere, and I’m betting a transport or two. But they could also have a fleet tanker out there. Even so, a tanker can only carry so much hydrogen and they’ve got a lot of thirsty ships.

  “So if you need to crank up your vector, but you also need to be real serious about how much reaction mass you’re burning through, what do you do?”

  “Easy,” Goldjune said. “Basic astrogation. Low thrust for a long time gets as much total delta vee as high thrust for a short time, and it burns less reaction mass—provided you can do it at higher exhaust velocity, which any military drive can.”

  “Right,” Hennessy said. “And that means we’ll have a lot more than fifteen minutes to see them making that kind of burn. Hours, more like.”

  “Huh!” Filipenko said and sat her drink bulb down in its holder. The others looked at her. “I just came off watch,” she explained, “and I went over the data sets that came in while I was on duty. There are two uBakai contacts in formation leaving the main ship cluster at low acceleration.”

  Sam nodded. “That’s right, and it confirms Commodore Bonaventure’s assessment. DesDiv Five is due to enter orbit in eleven hours. The best time for the uBakai to run the expr
ess again is before we’re reinforced. That’s not a guarantee, but everything seems to point to it and we’d be stupid not to be ready.

  “The commodore has reset our defenses. We figure the uBakai ground stations can see everything we do up here, but a last-minute change still might throw the thinking of an express run commander off a little bit. That’s why we dropped Filipenko’s saddle rig a couple hours ago, turned it over to Cha-Cha, and shifted up-orbit.

  “The Champion Hill salvage crew just got to work a few hours ago and they confirm most of the Block Fours in its magazine are usable, but we don’t have any deployed yet. Most of them haven’t had the warhead fix installed.”

  “That’s going to be impossible to do in vac suits, sir,” Filipenko said. “It’s hard enough as it is, all that fine detail work and close tolerances.”

  “Yeah, I know. Turns out there’s still juice in Champion Hill’s aft power ring and Lieutenant Reynolds has a plan to seal off the aft section and get atmosphere and power in there, at least get the fabricators running so they can finish the parts they need and do the modifications in a decent work environment. I guess Lieutenant Commander Huhn came up with the idea.”

  He saw some surprise on their faces at that news.

  “It’s too bad we won’t have those extra Block Fours for the dance coming up, but that’s the way it is. Today we’ll fight with what we’ve got, and in a few days we’ll have a little more—more missiles, more boats.”

  The tone for his embedded commlink sounded and he saw the ID tag for Ensign Robinette, the OOD.

  “Heads up,” he told the others. “This may be it.” He opened the link. “Yes, Mister Robinette.”

  “Um . . . Captain Bitka, we just got word . . . ” His voice trembled and then failed him for a moment. “Sir, the uBakai hit Earth. And another Varoki fleet was with them.”

  Vice Captain Takaar Nuvaash, Speaker for the Enemy, stared in mounting disbelief at the report on the screen.

  “Earth?” he finally managed to say. “They struck Earth?”

  “Not they, Nuvaash,” Admiral e-Lapeela answered. “We. We struck Earth. And the attack was entirely legal under the Cottohazz Charter on Limited War. We attacked only legitimate military targets and installations of the four Human nations with which we are at war, and only targets in orbit.”

  “Their two largest orbital spacedocks and shipbuilding facilities? The ones administered by their United Nations?”

  “Both were servicing ships of one or another of the four hostile powers, which was stupid of them, and very convenient for us,” the admiral answered calmly.

  “This warship listed as North American was sold to Brazil two years ago. Brazil is neutral.”

  “Oh? The targeting team must not have been aware of the sale. An honest error, I’m sure.”

  Nuvaash read further and for a moment felt a chill spread across his shoulders and back.

  “We broke a needle?”

  “A needle was broken. Our forces destroyed a number of satellites capable of supporting military operations—each of them legitimate targets. The debris from one seems to have broken one of their two needles. There is no evidence it was a deliberate act on our part. Besides, they have a second one which remains undamaged . . . for now.”

  “The reports of civilian ground casualties—”

  “Undoubtedly exaggerated, and in any case they were caused by the fall of debris, not strikes against ground targets. You know it is illegal to launch strikes against ground targets on a race’s homeworld, so of course we did not do so”

  Nuvaash sat back from the desk reader and stared at the admiral. e-Lapeela looked so smug, so pleased with himself, that for the first time in his life Nuvaash felt the urge to kill another sentient being with his own hands. Was he mad? Were they all mad?

  “The force which attacked Bronstein’s World moved on to strike Earth?” Nuvaash finally asked.

  “Yes, after being reinforced by a squadron of uSokan cruisers.”

  “Another Varoki nation—Sokana—has joined the war?”

  “A squadron of their cruisers have.” e-Lapeela walked around his desk and settled into his chair. Nuvaash watched him and thought through all of these new revelations.

  “So . . . the uSokan and the uKa-Maat ships . . . they are acting contrary to the wishes of their governments?”

  “Contrary to the public orders of their governments, but not necessarily contrary to their private wishes. At least so the commanders of the squadrons believe.”

  “More deception. And when they find out the truth?” Nuvaash asked.

  “By then the truth will have changed. Believe me, Nuvaash, where the warriors lead, the politicians will follow. Be honest. What amazes you more? That our government has acquiesced to the war we started here, or that it did so without even a grumble of protest?”

  Nuvaash looked at the admiral and felt as if he saw the real person for the first time.

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because I want you with us, Nuvaash. I need you with us, but it has to be your own choice. I have enough lackeys.”

  “And so you tell me how this entire war is built on a tissue of lies?” Nuvaash tried to control his voice but could hear it rising in pitch. “Is that how you think to win me over?”

  e-Lapeela tilted his head to the side in a shrug. “Lies? You have been lied to all your life. The Cottohazz itself is an enormous lie. We are all equal? We are all the same under our skins? Do you still believe that lie, Nuvaash?

  “The Humans are not our equals; in many ways they are inferior. In a few ways they surpass us—but those ways pose a mortal danger to us all. That is the truth I bring you and the truth you must face. Answer this: are you willing to trust our future, possibly even our survival as a species, to the wisdom, forbearance, and mercy of Humans? In your deepest parts can you embrace that? If you seek the truth, first stop lying to yourself.”

  Nuvaash looked into the admiral’s eyes, but then looked away. Would he make the future of his species hostage to the whim of Humans? Would any sane being?

  “Think on it and think on this: the news of this attack stunned you, and will stun them as well. And now, as they struggle to digest these dread tidings, we launch the strike you conceived and planned.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  6 January 2134

  (later the same day) (fifteenth day in K’tok orbit)

  The general quarters gong still sounded as Sam pulled himself through the hatch to the bridge, fighting the lateral acceleration as the boat turned its alignment. Robinette still sat in the command chair but Filipenko was to his right in Tac One, Lee at Maneuvering one, most of the other stations filled as well.

  “Boat’s aligned,” Lee called.

  “Fire,” Robinette ordered, and then his eyes looked down and saw Sam. “I mean . . . um. . . ” Puebla shuddered as its first Block Four left the coil gun.

  “Carry on, Mister Robinette. You still have the boat.”

  “Ms Filipenko, continue firing,” Robinette ordered, his voice pitched high with excitement or fear, Sam couldn’t tell which. Then he turned back to Sam.

  “Captain, the boat is at general quarters, MatCon alpha. The reactor’s hot, power ring is at ninety-eight percent, thermal shroud retracted, and sensor suite is active. Iris valves are open, laser heads are extended, and we are guns up. At 1737 Petersburg detected two bandits emerging from J-space, polar approach, current range six thousand three hundred from Petersburg and closing at sixteen kilometers per second. We are antipodal to contact.”

  Robinette folded back the command chair’s display panel, unbuckled from the chair, and pushed himself out of it as he spoke, and Sam pulled himself up and slid into his place.

  “Very well, Mister Robinette. I relieve you. Take your station on the auxiliary bridge.”

  “Aye aye, sir,” he said.

  Sam felt Puebla shudder again as a second missile left the coil gun.

  “Tac, what sort of s
olution do we have?”

  “It’s not perfect, sir,” Filipenko said, “but if they don’t accelerate we’ll get a piece of them as they come out from behind K’tok’s shadow. As it is, their cargo gliders are going to have to retro very hard to make atmospheric insertion and not burn up.”

  Sam pulled up his own holographic tactical display. Cha-cha was in low equatorial orbit tending the bombardment munitions and close by the wreck of Champion Hill. Queretaro was in a higher equatorial orbit and currently about a quarter orbit prograde of Cha-cha. Petersburg was almost directly above the north pole and right in the path of the incoming uBakai cruisers, ideally placed to let them have it. Unfortunately, that meant Puebla, being in Petersburg’s same orbit but antipodal to it, was also antipodal to the bandits—that is, on the opposite side of K’tok.

  Petersburg and Puebla were orbiting at about 4,000 kilometers. The uBakai were about 6,000 from Petersburg, so with the 12,000 kilometers of K’tok’s diameter between them and all that orbital altitude, the uBakai would be about 26,000 kilometers away from Puebla, but closing fast.

  Sam looked at the projected course tracks on the hologram but could already tell it would be fifteen minutes before the uBakai cleared the disc of K’tok. But by then Puebla would have moved forty-five hundred kilometers prograde along its own orbit track, each kilometer taking it away from the uBakai, moving on opposite sides of the bulk of the planet. By the time they had a clear shot, their missiles would never catch the targets. Only the missiles they dumped out right now had a chance of getting a hit.

  Puebla shuddered again.

  “We could light the fusion drive, sir,” Filipenko said beside him, as if reading his mind.

  Sam brought up the engineering status panel and looked at it for a moment, then pointed to a readout.

  “Seven thousand six hundred tons of reaction mass,” he said.

  “A little over seventy percent,” she said. “We’re not exactly running on fumes. That’s six hours of flat-out acceleration.”