by Jay Allan
Another silence…and then, almost an answer to his thought. “Substantially larger, sir.”
Chapter Forty-Six
CFS Dauntless
Zed-11 System
Year 315 AC
“The enemy forces are crossing the Zed-12 system at a high velocity. We can wrap up necessary repairs and move out of orbit and move toward the transit point leading toward home, but it is likely enemy forces will enter this system before we are able to get every ship out…and, even if we can, it will be by the slimmest of margins, and even our best efforts at masking our drive trails will be insufficient to prevent the enemy from scanning the direction in which we headed.” Sara Eaton stood in Dauntless’s conference room, looking as tense as she sounded. Barron had called his officers back for another face to face meeting. He’d justified it because Fritz and her people needed a few more hours anyway to get the final repairs completed anyway…but there was more to it than that, and he knew it. They weren’t all going to make it out of Zed-11, and he felt that the parting he saw coming was best done face to face.
“It will be like giving them a roadmap back to the Rim…at least if they’re smart and aggressive enough to pursue immediately. They’re faster than us, and they’ll be able to stay with the fleet, note each transit point we use. If we can’t lose them from here, we won’t get another chance. We’ll get back to warn the Admiralty…and the threat will be hours behind us.” Sonya Eaton added her thoughts to her older sister’s report, and, again, Barron was struck by how similar they were to each other. They didn’t so much look the same, but their demeanor, their voices, the coolness under fire…it was like watching the same officer in two different places.
“That’s something we can’t do.” Barron’s voice was deep, raw. He leaned forward and put his hands on the table, pushing his tired body up and to his feet as he spoke. “We must get a warning home. That is of the utmost urgency, and that warning must arrive before any enemy can follow. Hopefully, significantly before.” He was silent for a moment, thinking…though he knew he’d made his decision. He was grim, and he could feel it bearing down on him. “Commodore Eaton…you will take command of a small force, all ships with full thrust capacity, or close to it, and you will return to Megara immediately to warn the Admiralty and the Senate.” He looked over at Globus. “Cilian, you must go, too. This is a threat to all of us, and you need to get to Palatia and report to Imperator Tulus as quickly as possible. I know he will listen to you.”
Globus looked as though he was going to argue, but he remained silent.
“I will take the rest of the fleet and transit into Zed-12 to intercept the Hegemony fleet there. We will conduct a running fight, relying heavily on fighter attacks, and then, after we’ve bought enough time for the returning force to get out of the system, we will pull back…and fly off through another transit point, hopefully baiting the enemy to follow us, and conclude that our home systems lie in that direction.”
The room was silent. Barron had just told them that a few of their number would return home, while most of the rest of the fleet—and its spacers—would buy the time to make good that escape, very likely at the cost of their lives.
Cilian Globus shifted in his seat. “Admiral, my forces will stay. We will not run, certainly not while our comrades and allies remain to fight.”
Barron sighed softly. He’d been expecting the argument…and he was ready for it. As ready as he could be. “Cilian…no one is happy with the situation. But, there is more than courage or honor at stake here. The Hegemony is a deadly threat to the Confederation…and to the Alliance. We have all seen their technology. We are outmatched at every turn. We simply must get a warning back. A Hegemony invasion is likely going to be cataclysmic in any case…if our forces are not ready, we have no chance.”
“Sir…” The Palatian looked partially convinced, but he was still arguing. “…I agree that we must send a warning, but it does not…”
“You have served alongside Vian Tulus your entire life, Cilian. You are as brothers. He must receive the warning from a source he trusts without question. He must hear this from you.” There was a short silence, then Barron added, “Duty first, Cilian. Would you see Palatia attacked and destroyed, and your people enslaved just so you can stay here and fight? Is that honor? It is the way?” Barron almost felt guilty. Defending their homeworld was nearly a religion in the Alliance, and any mention of Palatians being enslaved harkened back to the shame of that world’s past. It was a cheap shot…but Barron suspected it would work.
Globus just sat quietly. The Palatian looked extremely unhappy, and Barron realized he had gotten through to him. Then, he turned toward Eaton. “Commodore, your reports suggest that Repulse is close to one hundred percent thrust generation…and your weapons arrays are also in reasonable condition. You will choose two other battleships, and whatever escorts you feel you will need. I don’t need to tell you, time is of the essence. I want your force to move out within the next three hours.” Barron knew that was an unreasonable time, almost impossible. But it was all he had.
“Admiral…” Eaton was shaking her head. “There has to be another way.”
Barron looked back at her, his face cold, impassive. “But there isn’t…and you know it.”
His expression softened, and he looked out at his officers. “I want to tell you all what an honor it has been to command a force like this one. We had hoped to discover technology and a better insight into the past…and instead we found disaster, a dark future we must fight to survive. But that misfortune was not the fault of any officer or spacer in this fleet. For those of you who will be leaving for Megara, remember, there is no shame in this. Your job is the most important one, and you will carry with you the future of all our people.”
He paused and took a deep breath. “And, for those who remain here with me, we will do what we must, hold the line to allow Commodore Eaton’s ships to escape. Our efforts will be dangerous, and costly, but this is not a suicide mission. He will use fighter attacks to slow the enemy, to pick off their ships. Our heavier vessels will fall back, act as launch and landing platforms while remaining out of reach of the enemy’s main guns…and then, we will withdraw. We will escape along a different path, one that may not lead home, yet leads somewhere. The enemy will likely allow us to withdraw…for they will want to track us back home. And, we will accommodate them, though they will follow us into darkness and the unknown, anywhere but back to our home, our worlds, our loved ones…”
Barron was silent again. Then, he said, simply. “It is time…and, I know each of you will do what you must. As you have so many times before.”
* * *
“Do you know what you are saying, Commodore?” Barron couldn’t ever recall being angry with Sara Eaton…until now.
“Yes, sir…and I speak for us all.”
Barron stared at the small group in front of him. Sara Eaton, Cilian Globus…and five other top commanders from the fleet.
“You are talking about mutiny. Do you understand what you are doing? Do you realize the consequences?”
“Admiral…” Globus took a step forward, and he stared right at Barron. “…Tyler…you have to understand. You have to think. You have counseled me before to set aside honor when it conflicts with duty. Well, my friend—and I say this to you at the risk of damaging that valued friendship—you are pursuing your own vanity when you insist on staying with the fleet. You are sacrificing the reason, the adherence to duty you seek from the rest of us. You must go back to the Confederation. No one else can fill your shoes there.”
Barron had heard the arguments before—he’d even had the same thoughts himself—but he still refused to accept any of it. He hated himself enough for ordering most of his people to remain, to act as decoys, and probably to face utter annihilation…he couldn’t imagine leaving them to that fate while he escaped and returned to Megara.
“I want you all to listen to me, all of you, and listen good. This fleet, and every single
one of you, is under my command. I have heard your arguments…and I have rejected them. Now, follow your orders, or by God, I will have every one of you hauled to the brig.”
“That’s what you’ll have to do, sir.” It was Sara Eaton again. “I’m your second in command, Admiral, and I’m telling you that you’ve lost sight of your duty, your responsibility.” She paused. “And I will not go back as you ordered. You can lock me in the brig—or you can invoke wartime penalties and throw me out the airlock—but I am not going back while you stay here.”
“You are going back, Commodore…if I have to order a squad of Marines to drag you back to your ship. Is that understood?”
“No, Admiral Barron. I will not go. You will have to order the Marines to shoot me. And, even if they get me into the ship, as soon as we’ve transited out of the system, I will turn around and come back.”
Barron felt a surge of anger. He wanted to scream, to punch the wall. He’d never faced insubordination from his officers, and the fury was close to overwhelming him. He couldn’t imagine ordering his Marines to drag Sara Eaton to the brig, much less shoot her or eject her from an airlock. But, she wasn’t giving in…and she clearly had almost all his senior officers on his side. If he couldn’t defuse the situation, he wouldn’t have a flag officer left at his or her post.
He turned toward Globus. “You too? You can craft whatever explanations you want, but it changes nothing. I never thought I would see you abandon your honor, Cilian. Could anything be worth that?”
“Yes, Tyler…if what I am doing costs me my honor, so be it. Any Palatian has one duty, supreme among all. We have fought for it for nearly seventy years. Tarkus Vennius died for it. The homeworld, Palatia. It must be safeguarded at all costs. And, without the Confederation fully mobilized and ready to fight with us, the Rim will surely fall.” The Palatian paused, and Barron felt the emotion, the pain it caused for an Alliance commander to admit that his people couldn’t win a fight alone. “No one is better positioned to ensure the Confederation is prepared. It is your destiny, as the descendant of the first Admiral Barron, as your peoples’ hero in the last war against the Union.”
“He is right, sir.” It was Sara Eaton again, and Barron could see Sonya standing behind her sister, nodding her agreement. “You know how things are back home…the Senate, the war weariness. You saw what happened with the Union War, the way the Senate was ready to do anything to avoid further conflict. I don’t have your standing, sir, and I certainly don’t have the adoration of the people the way you do. Admiral Striker is going to need all the help he can get to make sure this threat is taken seriously. It’s not just about what the Confederation does…it’s about when. Months of debate and dealmaking in the Senate could cost us the time we need to get ready.” She paused, staring at him plaintively. “You know what a deadly struggle we face, Admiral. We haven’t discussed it, but we all know we could be looking at utter ruin, complete and total defeat at the hands of the Hegemony. Billions dead, the rest enslaved by a group of madmen who think they’re some kind of gods. Is your ‘honor’ worth that, Tyler? The vanity that makes you want to stay? Would you make the struggle—and possibly the sacrifice—of every man and woman in this fleet meaningless…because you sent me home and didn’t go yourself. Didn’t do your real duty?”
Barron felt as though he’d been run over by a heavy transport. Eaton had come at him with both barrels blazing, and, for all the instinctive resistance that rose up inside him, the urge to strike back with pointed words of his own, somewhere, deep down, he knew she was right. It was another burden of his legacy, more weight from the Barron name. Beyond his legacy, most of the credit for the campaign that won the war had accrued to him. He knew that, especially because he’d struggled so hard to avoid it, to deflect it to others who’d fought at his side.
He remembered the manipulations, the dirty deals that put Van Striker in command of the fleet, and saved the Confederation from total defeat in the early war. His own anger was still there, too, barely submerged, the fury he’d felt when the Senate had thrown away the victory his people had sweated and bled and died to win…and left the next generation to likely face a new war and more suffering.
He wanted to argue, but he couldn’t come up with the words. He had to go back, his officers were right…he knew that now. And, he had to leave most of the fleet behind, to hold back the enemy and prevent them from just following him back to Megara. How could he look them in the eye, order them to stay when he was going back?
How would he ever be able to look himself in the eye. He knew what he had to do…and he also knew he would never forgive himself for doing it. Could never forgive himself.
He turned toward Eaton. “Sara…if I do go back, you’re…” He couldn’t force the words from his mouth.
“I will stay, Tyler. I can do the job we need here, make a vital difference. I can’t do that back on Megara.”
Barron felt hollow, empty. He was grateful for Eaton’s cooperation, and yet, it made the guilt worse, too. “Sara…”
“It’s okay, Tyler. We all know what has to happen here.” She paused. “And, I can promise you, as you yourself said, this is no suicide mission. We’re going to pick that fleet apart with fighter strikes, and then we’ll bolt off across space…and we’ll lead them on the greatest chase to nothing this side of the galaxy has ever seen.”
Barron understood what Eaton was saying. It had been his plan as well. The Hegemony forces could catch the fleet if they wanted to, of course. They were faster, had better acceleration, and longer ranged weapons, too. But, he’d been banking on them holding back, following the fleet off into unknown space…all the while thinking they were heading toward what they perceived as an invader’s home.
It was a strong plan, one that had a very good chance of working…and buying the time the Confederation needed. Sara Eaton was a talented officer, one he trusted to lead his people, and to get them through the fight about to come on. But, the plan was the most desperate he’d ever conceived. Either the fleet would fight in Zed-12, and be completely destroyed…or succeed in the running battle, and then it would flee into the depths of unknown space, with little chance of ever returning home.
Barron took a deep breath. Then, he turned toward Jake Stockton, who hadn’t said a word beyond adding his voice to those urging Barron to return to the Confederation. “Jake…I don’t know how to say this…”
“I’ll stay, sir. I can transfer over to Repulse.”
Barron was grateful Stockton was making it easy for him, but he had more in mind that just leaving his best pilot behind. “Thank you, Jake…but we’ll need more than just that. All the squadrons have to stay. Including Dauntless’s…and those on the other ships going back.”
Stockton nodded. “I’ll see to it, sir. I’m sure we can cram a few extra Lightnings wherever we have to.”
“I’d like to stay, too, sir.” Stara Sinclair had been silent, but now she stepped forward, her eyes darting between Stockton and Barron. “I can be a help with fighter ops.”
“Yes, you can, Stara,” Barron said, his voice raw. His people were asking him to leave them behind, to abandon them to destruction…or to being lost in space, maybe forever. He’d always appreciated them, but now, the thought of abandoning them was on the verge of destroying him. “Okay…you will transfer over to Repulse. At once. We don’t have much time.” He barely managed to force the words out.
“Thank you, sir.”
I’ve just consigned you to being lost for all eternity…and you thank me…
“Sara…you’ll have to get back to Repulse, now. You’ve got to get the fleet on the move. If you can’t intercept the enemy in Zed-12, the whole effort’s a lost cause.” One thing Barron knew he could never do was lead the enemy back to the Confederation. If Eaton couldn’t buy enough time for his ships to escape, better they all die where they were than trace a path back to Megara.
“Yes, sir. I’ll have everything underway in two hours…less, if possibl
e.”
She paused, looking across the room at Barron. He wanted to speak to her, to so many of the people in the room. But, there wasn’t time…and the last thing they needed was to watch him fall apart in front of them. Finally, he just said, “Good luck, Sara. Take care of our people.”
But, what he really meant was, ‘goodbye.’
Chapter Forty-Seven
Senatorial Transport
Entering Olyus System
Year 315 AC
“Your dinner, Mr. Holsten.” The guard set the tray down on the small metal table, and then he turned to leave. Holsten didn’t respond. He just snorted a bit, a private show of disrespect for the sentry, a member of the Senate’s Lictor Corps. Holsten was used to hard-edged spies and battle-hardened Marines, and he had trouble just looking at the way the pampered toy soldiers of the Confederation’s highest governing body strutted around like they were something special.
Holsten sat where he was, at least until the guard had left. Part of him wanted to ignore the tray, send it back untouched, a silent protest at his situation. He’d done just that for the first several days, but the truth was, it wasn’t going to accomplish a thing. And, damn it all, he was hungry.
He got up and walked over to the small table, removing the top of the tray and looking down at the sad pile of unappealing food. It wasn’t appetizing, especially to a man who’d been born into one of the wealthiest families in the Confederation. Holsten’s baby food had been prepared by a staff of gourmet chefs, and now his jailors—that’s what they were, after all, however he tried to look at it—had served him this pile of institutional slop.
But it was food—of a sort—and he was hungry. He sat and grabbed the small roll on the edge of the tray and took a bite. It was a bit stale, but it wasn’t that bad…something he was far from certain would extend to the small pile of grayish meat on the plate. He finished the roll, and then ate one of the mushy boiled potatoes. After that, he shoved the tray away in disgust.
