“I'm sorry to disappoint you, Admiral, but I'm working for the rebellion now. They have my loyalty.” She turned to Curtis, and added, “My goal was always the liberation of my people. When it became apparent that the Commonwealth wouldn't provide that, I found someone who would.”
Frowning, Crawford replied, “I don't think that our discussion will...”
“Major Saxon is my senior aide, Admiral. If she leaves the room, I go with her.”
“Not until we've finished, Commander.”
Turning to McKinnon, Curtis said, “Commodore, you gave me your word as an officer of the Commonwealth that I would be permitted to leave unmolested at will. What is that word worth? Because if this is how it is kept, we're all wasting our time.”
Glaring at Crawford, McKinnon replied, “My word's good, Commander. You can leave when you wish.” Turning to the other side, she continued, “Wing Commander Kowalski, commander of local fighter forces, and Lieutenant Commander Mendoza, Admiral Crawford's aide.”
“It's a pleasure, Commander,” Mendoza said. “I've been watching your progress with great interest for the last few months. The attack you launched at Sinaloa Station was a masterstroke.”
“I had a good ship and a good crew with me,” Curtis replied. “That's my secret.”
“And a little bit of luck,” Saxon added.
Folding his hands together, Crawford said, “I have been empowered, Commander, to offer you and your crew citizenship in the Commonwealth. If you bring Polaris into our fleet, then you will continue as her commanding officer, with one of our people assigned as your new Executive Officer. In addition, I can offer a promotion to Commodore, and command of a new cruiser squadron. Similar offers are extended to Canopus and the rest of the personnel under your command. I don't deny that you would greatly improve our combat capability, and finally give us an opportunity to plan the invasion and conquest of the Federation.”
A frown spreading on his face, Curtis replied, “I'm not sure where you've been for the last two months, Admiral, but the Federation is on its knees now. With the forces I have at my disposal, we're on the verge of bringing it down for good. We don't need to delay, we don't need to wait. The time to move is now, not some time in the far-distant future.”
Nodding, McKinnon said, “Our latest analysis suggests that your assessment is correct, Commander. Even if your forces are defeated, the long-term survival of the Federation is doubtful at best.”
“Your analysts have never fought a war, Commodore. It's not something you can work out on paper or with simulations.” Crawford paused, then added, “However, I would be more than happy to listen to a realistic plan, Commander, once you are wearing the correct uniform.”
“I'm wearing that uniform now, Admiral,” Curtis said. “I didn't come here to defect, and I didn't come here to sign up to join a paper navy slowly rusting away in orbit.” Kowalski's face darkened, he noted, but Mendoza nodded in agreement, hanging on his words. “Allow me to lay out the current situation. The Federation is one substantial defeat away from losing the war. If we can bring the Federation Fleet to battle, and cause sufficient damage, then the path to Earth is wide open. This war can be over in a matter of weeks. Indeed, it has to be. Applied correctly, the industrial complexes in Earth orbit are superior to anything else in human space. We can't let them bring that advantage to bear.”
Leaning back in his chair, Crawford replied, “Then your plan is to throw everything into a single engagement. To risk the outcome of the entire war, of fifty years of preparation, on one firefight.” Shaking his head, he continued, “That, Commander, seems reckless in the extreme.”
“Every battle is a gamble, Admiral. I'd have thought a veteran such as yourself would know that. And no matter how much you try and stack the deck, it usually still comes down to the turn of a card.”
“Perhaps.” He paused, then said, “We might consider launching an operation. If one could be launched under our command. I would take the field myself, with you and Commodore McKinnon as my deputies. Then, once the battle is over, we can restore...”
Placing his hands on his hips, Curtis replied, “You really aren't listening, Admiral. We're not fighting to restore the power of the Oligarchs, to replace one collection of tyrants with another. This isn't a chance for a collection of centenarians to recover their estates on Earth.” Looking at Mendoza, he continued, “This is a chance for the Commonwealth to rejoin the rest of humanity, for its outposts and settlements to join a new nation that will restore freedom, liberty and democracy to the galaxy for the first time in centuries. That's what we're fighting for.”
Walking over to Crawford, he continued, “What have you actually done in exile, Admiral? Fifty years of dreaming about missed opportunities and past glories. None of them getting you any closer to your real goal. If you'd moved twenty years ago, during the Uprising, the Federation would be a page in the history books today. You can go home. Back to Earth. As citizens in a free, fair republic, not as hated conquerors.”
Shaking his head, Crawford replied, “We have a right to reclaim what is ours.”
Turning to Mendoza, he asked, “How old are you, Commander? Thirty-five?”
“Thirty-four.”
“You've never seen Earth. You have no estates to reclaim, no lost fortunes to recover. So what the hell are you fighting for? So that a collection of aging potentates to restore their empire?” He took a deep breath, and said, “For the first time in fifty years, you have another choice. I know that many of you have been waiting for this day. Waiting for a chance to make a difference. That time has come, and I call upon you, upon all of you, to join with us. To bring down the Federation, and be greeted as heroes, not tyrants. As liberators, not conquerors.”
“Sir,” Mendoza said, “I know that most of the junior...”
“Noble words, Commander,” Crawford interrupted, “but I can tell you know that the Council will never agree.” Glaring at McKinnon, he added, “Against my better judgment, the Commodore has offered you safe passage back to your ship, and I will honor that. Perhaps, once you have been defeated in battle, you'll return with a more realistic attitude.”
“Come with us, Admiral, and we'll win. Win it all. In ten weeks, the Federation flag will fall for the last time, and you're willing to throw all that away because the universe moved on and left you behind. Commodore, what do you think?”
“Perhaps…,” she said.
“Enough of this!” Crawford said, slamming his hand on the table. “This is over, Commander, and be very grateful that I don't place you under arrest.” The door behind Curtis opened, and the two guards stepped in, their faces wavering, glancing between Curtis and Crawford.
A smile spread across Curtis' face, and he turned to the nearest guard, and asked, “Your call, Corporal. Where do you stand in all of this?”
“That doesn't matter!” Crawford said.
“Maybe it should,” the guard said, standing to attention. “Orders, sir?”
“Throw these two off the station. Then we'll have a talk about your attitude,” Crawford barked. “Well?”
Shaking his head, the guard said, “I don't think I take orders from you, Admiral.” Turning to Curtis, he said, “Did you mean what you said?”
“Every word.”
“You heard that?” Crawford asked.
“My fault,” Saxon replied, a smile on her face, pulling out the lining of her uniform jacket. “Federation Intelligence has some nice toys, and some of them have even filtered through to ColSec. We've had the ability to crack into Commonwealth systems for some time. Our entire conversation was played over the internal speakers of this station and every ship in the Fleet.”
“How did you smuggle such equipment through security? I'll have someone 's head for this!”
“They didn't,” Kowalski said, pulling a pair of boxes out of his pocket. “I did.” Turning to C
rawford, he continued, “We've got the best pilots in the galaxy. It's past time we gave them a chance to see what they can do.”
The door burst open, and a young man raced in, saying, “Commodore, we're getting a signal from Ajax. They want instructions for departure from the system. And Agamemnon has gone to alert stations, and is moving into formation with Polaris. What are your orders, ma'am?”
Crawford slumped in his chair, and said, “Guard...”
“It's over, Admiral,” Curtis replied, softly. Glancing at Kowalski, who nodded in response, he continued, “We didn't come here to convince the Commonwealth to join the war. Just First Cruiser Squadron.” Stepping forward, he said, “Commodore, I would be more than honored if you would command your formation in the rebel fleet.”
With a deep breath, Crawford looked down at the carpet, then up at Curtis, and asked, “How did you know?”
“You should have paid more attention to your subordinates,” he said. “I didn't just conjure this meeting out of thin air. Lieutenant Voronova made sure that our plans and goals have become public knowledge, at least as far as Khiva Station goes.” He paused, then added, “I'd have listened to a realistic offer, Admiral. You thought you had the winning hand. You didn't.”
He looked up, hatred in his eyes, and replied, “There will come another day, Commander, when you regret what you have done here.”
“Perhaps. But not today.” Turning to McKinnon, he said, “You haven't answered my question.”
“I'm still in command?” she asked.
“Your crews like you. They trust you. And right now, they need you.”
She looked at the defeated Crawford, and replied, “Very well. We'll be ready to move out of the system in one hour, Commander. Three cruisers, nine squadrons. I trust that will make all the difference.”
“Let's hope so,” Curtis replied, a smile on his face. He held out his hand, and said, “Welcome to the war, Commodore.”
Chapter 16
Mike leaned forward in his command chair, watching as the enemy squadrons scattered at Canopus' approach. He'd opted to arrive at Icarus Point in a full offensive posture, putting all of his fighters into the air as soon as they arrived, and the Federation commander had instantly broken away, pulling his forces well clear of the potential battle. Already, Castro was moving clear, heading towards Canopus into battle formation, her fighters meshing neatly with Commander Duval's forces. Sliding on a headset, he tapped a control on the arm of his chair.
“This is Commander Michael Curtis of the Free Starcruiser Canopus. Castro and her crew have opted to join the rebellion. They are to be permitted to do so. I have no interest in this system today. In order to avoid unnecessary loss of life, I am declaring an exclusion zone of thirty thousand miles from our two ships. Any vessel entering that area without permission from myself will be destroyed without warning.” Glancing up at the sensor display, he added, “You have sixty seconds to comply. This is not a negotiation or a discussion. These are my orders. Canopus out.”
“They're running for the hills, sir,” Schmidt said with a smile. “Most of them are heading a hell of a lot further than thirty thousand miles. One flights burning so hard that they'll need a tanker to bring them home again.”
“Cowards,” Kenyon said.
Shaking his head, Mike replied, “Don't dismiss them so easily, Lieutenant. They don't have a chance, and their commander is smart enough to know it. He's decided that he's not going to waste the lives of his men in a battle that he knows he can't win, and has probably thrown away his own to do it.” With a frown, he continued, “Do you really think the Fleet will let him get away with this unscathed? The Central Committee will demand a scapegoat, and he just volunteered.”
“Commander Ortiz is hailing, sir,” Petrova said, looking meaningfully at Mike. “Do you want to speak to him?”
Shaking his head, he said, “Not over an open channel, not when we don't know who might be listening in. Have him come over in a shuttlecraft. I'll see him in the briefing room.” Rising to his feet, he added, “Lieutenant Schmidt, you have the conn. Call me immediately if anything changes. We'll be leaving the system in eighty-two minutes, on schedule. All hands are to make final real-space preparations for battle.”
“Commander,” Hammond said, leaning over the communications station. “We're getting a few requests to join the fleet from the fighters. How do you want to handle it?”
“We're overloaded now,” he mused. “And I don't want to give anyone a chance for a kamikaze run. On the other hand, I don't intend to leave someone who has declared their allegiance behind, either. Inform anyone who wants to join the rebellion that they are to proceed to the fringes of the restricted area and eject from their fighters. Liaise with Commander Duval on the selection of a suitable rendezvous spot, and have a shuttle escorted too and from the pickup point.”
“Aye, sir,” Hammond said. She looked up at the board, and added, “Shuttle heading out from the surface as well, sir. Looks like a command vehicle. Same rules?”
Shaking his head, he said, “No, have them come right in, dead slow, under escort the whole way. My guess is that the local commander has decided that he'd rather survive the battle, and I suppose I can't blame him.” Turning to Petrova, he added, “I want him placed under interrogation when he arrives. Given that I suspect he's changed sides for practical reasons rather than ideological, I don't intend to trust whoever it is too far.”
“Records suggest a Lieutenant Don Ramone, sir. Fighter specialist.”
Frowning, Mike replied, “Don? I know him. Flew together for a couple of years. That might make a difference. I'll speak to him with Ortiz from the briefing room.” Gesturing at the screen, he added, “It'll be at least twenty minutes before he can get to us. Any sign that the other fighters are trying to stop him?”
“I don't see how they could,” Schmidt replied. “Not with them scattered like that. Could have been deliberate. To give him an easy way out.”
“That's Don, right enough. He'd have made Commander years ago if he wasn't the most insubordinate bastard in five systems.” Stepping into the elevator with Petrova, he added, “Lieutenant, you have the conn.”
“Aye, sir,” she replied, as the doors slid shut. “I have the conn.”
“Are you up to this?” Petrova asked.
Mike nodded, and replied, “I laid a few old ghosts yesterday. You might have been right. Maybe I needed to go over it with someone.” Shaking his head, he added, “It still hurts like hell, but it isn't Bill's fault. He did everything he could to help. More than anyone could have asked.”
Clasping her hand on his arm, she replied, “You aren't alone. Don't forget that.”
The doors slid open, and the two of them walked into the conference room, taking their customary seats at the head of the table. Only a moment later, a tall, portly man with thinning hair walked into the room, a younger, hawk-faced man behind him. His face broke into a beaming smile when he saw Mike, and he ran across the table, wrapping him in a bear hug before he could stand.
“Damn, it's good to see you, buddy,” Ortiz said. “It's been far too long. As soon as I found out you were in on this party, I knew which side I had to be on.” He gestured at the other man, and said, “Randy Wood, my Tactical Officer. I left my Exec back on Castro, just in case something went wrong, though you came sailing into the system like a god-damned avenging angel.” Looking at Petrova, he asked, “I admire your taste in junior officers, Mike.”
“Lieutenant Anastasia Petrova, my Political Officer.”
His face dropped, and he replied, “You kept your Political Officer?”
“I'd have died during my defection if it wasn't for her. She has my full confidence.” Gesturing for his friend to take a seat, he added, “You'd be surprised how many rebel sympathizers have been hiding in the strangest places.”
“You shouldn't be,” Wood said,
in a clipped tone. “Quis custodes et custodes. Who watches the watchmen? Where better to hide than among those commissioned to root out the rebel within.” With a nod, he said, “It's a pleasure to meet you, Commander. A lot of us watched what happened at Sinaloa Station, and I think we were all there with you in spirit.”
Nodding, Ortiz added, “There are little rebel sects popping up all over the Federation. Reading between the lines, maybe a quarter of ColSec has either changed sides or declared effective neutrality. Two cities on Caledonia raised the old Celtic League flag yesterday, and everything's gone really quiet from Proxima. I'd say most of the frontier has changed sides, though most of them are a bit reluctant to admit it.”
“What about the rest of the Fleet?” Mike asked. “We've got almost five hundred officers and enlisted tricking in one way or another, but all from the frontier bases. Most of Canopus' crew switched sides, and we got a few from the others ships in my squadron as well.”
“Same story on Castro,” Ortiz replied, “but we were a hell of a lot luckier than most. You know why she was commissioned, along with the others? Commodore McGuire was planning an attack on the Commonwealth. Grab a few frontier systems, create some lame justification for pinning an Admiral's star on his shoulder. We were his little secret space fleet, the pride of the Political Directorate. God knows the Fleet bureaucracy weren't going to help the bastard.”
“I'd have thought they'd have put their own people on board, then,” Mike said, turning to Petrova. “How'd you draw one of them?”
“Castro was the class ship, first one launched, and she's been a positive beast to tame. Three months to work out all the problems. We've been out on the frontier, getting everything fixed out of sight. Might not have led to the level of fear McGuire was hoping for if his flagship was falling to bits during testing.” His face fell, and he added, “That's how we escaped the loyalty purge, anyway.”
Starcruiser Polaris: Terrible Swift Sword Page 11
