And that leaves us with the very real possibility of losing the war, Ed thought. There was no escaping it. And that means we have to gamble - again.
***
“The base is beyond repair,” Julia said. She sounded tired, but happy. Rani didn't really blame her. “The engineers think we’ll need to dismantle the remaining structures and rebuild them from scratch.”
“Or shut down the base for good,” Rani said. Titlark was in a good position for launching offensive operations into the Commonwealth, but the war would soon be over. “We can move operations to Thule or Gethsemane if necessary.”
“Yes, Admiral,” Julia said.
Rani shrugged. “And the fleet?”
“Twenty-one ships are significantly damaged,” Julia reported. “The remainder are reloading their magazines now. I believe that the latest estimate stated that the majority of the damage will be repaired in less than five days ... less, perhaps, if we carry out the repairs while underway.”
“We do need to take word home,” Rani said. She could have dispatched a courier boat, but she would have preferred to be present - with her fleet - when the news reached Wolfbane. It might keep someone from doing something stupid. “Order the engineers to put a repair schedule together, then start work. I want to be heading home in two days.”
“Yes, Admiral,” Julia said. “And the base?”
Rani hesitated. “Have the remaining crew transferred to the fleet train,” she ordered. “We’ll abandon the base, for the moment. Make sure there are enough decoys scattered around to keep them from noticing any difference.”
She glanced at the starchart. She’d sent messages to the nearest star systems, ordering them not to send anything through Titlark. It was still possible that anyone who took the system would be in a position to intercept a freighter convoy, if someone hadn't got the word on time, but unlikely. Abandoning Titlark wouldn't be that much of a sacrifice. The base was largely destroyed, after all.
And we’ll be heading straight into enemy space once my position is secure, she thought, wryly. We won’t need Titlark any longer.
“Strip the remaining facilities of anything we need,” she added, quietly. “We don’t want to waste anything.”
Julia yawned and tried to hide it. “Yes, Admiral ... sorry, Admiral.”
“It's quite all right,” Rani said. She’d been an ops officer, once upon a time. “Just one more task and then you can go catch up on your sleep.”
She smiled at Julia’s hopeful expression. Julia really was too young to hide her eagerness.
“Alter the records so that Captain Christopher Brookes died in combat here,” Rani ordered, shortly. “Make it clear that it was a heroic death. He was a brave man who gave his life for the cause, etc, etc. His body did not survive, of course.”
“Of course,” Julia agreed.
Rani dismissed her with a nod. Captain Christopher Brookes would have a great afterlife, she told herself. It was the very least she could do. He had been a brave man, after all; a skilled starship commander who should have gone far ... who would have gone far, if he’d been a little more understanding of the political realities. Rani had had no choice, but to kill him ...
And I won, she told herself. I won the battle.
She sighed as she rose and headed for her suite. Perhaps she should have waited. Perhaps she should have merely confined Christopher Brookes to his quarters for a few months, just to see what happened. But she knew that wouldn't solve anything, not in the long run. If she’d freed him, he would have emerged an embittered man. And her career was proof of just what a single embittered officer could do.
I'm still riding the tiger, she thought, bitterly.
The new weapons had performed as well as she'd expected - in some cases, better than she’d expected. There would be time, during the voyage home, to sit down with her analysts and work out just what had and what hadn’t worked, then devise new tactics and countermeasures for when the enemy deployed such weapons themselves. And yet, she knew there was still a very good chance of losing the arms race. If she failed to win the war in the next six months, she might lose instead. The Commonwealth’s industrial base was smaller than hers, even after her shipyards had been damaged, but their researchers had proven revoltingly ingenious.
Colonel Jason Higgs met her outside her quarters. Rani nodded to him, then opened the hatch. She trusted him as far as she trusted anyone - he’d been with her since Corinthian - but she knew better than to trust anyone completely. Everyone had their breaking point, everyone had their price ... and everyone had their ambitions. Colonel Higgs might want something, one day, that she wouldn't be able to give him. Perhaps he, too, would want to rule an empire.
She scowled inwardly, keeping her expression blank. Dictatorship was hard. She needed to keep everything balanced, everything supporting her primacy ... Governor Brown had made it work, when he’d taken over. Rani was all too aware that she might easily lose control at any moment, no matter how carefully she covered herself.
“Jason,” she said, sitting down on the sofa. “We won.”
Higgs cracked a slight smile. “We did,” he agreed. “There was no pro-enemy movement, as far as I could tell.”
Rani nodded, studying him thoughtfully. Higgs appeared to be in his late thirties, although a combination of rejuvenation treatments and cosmetic surgery made it impossible for anyone to guess his real age. The hints of maturity on his face suggested he was older. She knew he was in his early fifties. And yet, there was something about him that made it hard - if not impossible - to remember his face. There were so many classified sections of his file that she’d had second thoughts before taking him on.
But he has had ample opportunity to kill me, Rani thought. Oddly, the realisation made her feel better. And I am still alive.
“Sit down,” she said, nodding to a chair. “How’s morale?”
“Soaring,” Higgs informed her. “We won, did we not? The crew knows we won, too. My ... agents ... haven’t reported any dissatisfaction, not even the usual grumbling. That will change, of course.”
“Of course,” Rani agreed. Spacers grumbled about everything, from the food to duty rosters and emergency crew reshufflings on short notice. She would have been more concerned if they hadn't grumbled. “You don’t think there’s any cause for concern?”
“Not on the ships,” Higgs said. “Off the ships ...”
“I know,” Rani said. “They don’t like me.”
“No,” Higgs agreed. “They don’t.”
Rani smiled as they fell into a contemplative silence. She knew she wasn't liked, but now ... who cared? The corporations would have to act in unison to bring her down and that wasn't going to happen. They’d be too scared of accidentally triggering a full-scale civil war in the midst of an interstellar one. And now she’d won a victory, they’d be concerned about throwing away the advantage she’d gained them.
“We will be able to move more firmly against ... dissenters when we return home,” she said, finally. “And then we will be in control.”
Higgs tilted his head. “It would be better to allow them the illusion of power,” he said, calmly. “They can do significant damage in the long run.”
“Perhaps,” Rani said. She didn't want to allow her enemies any illusions. People who held illusions tended to do stupid things because they believed the illusions were real. “We shall see.”
She leaned back against the sofa, feeling tired. And yet, she didn't want to sleep. She was too keyed up to sleep.
“We have to work with them,” Higgs pointed out. “There is no way they can be easily replaced.”
“Perhaps,” Rani said. She met his eyes. “Are you going back on duty?”
Higgs blinked at the sudden shift in tone. “I’m always on duty,” he said, seriously. It was true enough. “But I was planning to catch some rest later.”
Rani rose. “I’m going to bed,” she said. “If you want, if you like, join me.”
She
strode towards the hatch, not looking back. It had been too long since she’d let herself relax, so long since she’d had a lover ... or even a casual partner for a one-night stand. On Trafalgar, she hadn't dared; on Corinthian, she’d had too many other problems. Now ...
The hatch hissed open. After a moment, she heard him rise and follow her.
***
“Well,” Simone Perkins said. “Not such a pretty face any longer, am I?”
Emmanuel hesitated, unsure what to say. Simone was lying on a bed, surgical packs taped to her arms and upper body. Her face was badly scarred, so badly that it was a minor miracle that she’d survived long enough for her shipmates to put her in a stasis tube. It would be weeks, perhaps months, before she was fit to return to duty, let alone have the surgery that would restore her face.
“I saw myself,” Simone said. Her voice sounded old. “You don’t have to lie.”
“I wasn't going to lie,” Emmanuel said. In truth, he wasn’t sure if that was a lie. He wasn’t sure what he should tell her, if anything. “You will get better, won’t you?”
Simone lifted a hand to her face. Emmanuel couldn't help noticing that it was badly scarred too. He wasn't even sure what had happened. Defiant had been hit several times during the battle - thankfully, with conventional weapons - and she’d been on duty ... perhaps she’d just been too close to one of the hits. But surely that would have killed her outright ...
“The doc says I’ll be fine, once my skin regenerates,” Simone said. “But it will take time, apparently. I may be going home.”
Emmanuel winced. He’d known that war had a cost. He’d learnt that the hard way, on a dozen worlds. And yet, looking at Simone, he learned it once again. The brilliant young girl he’d met had been replaced by a bitter woman, a stranger who just didn't care. She would get better, physically. He’d seen people with worse injuries who’d made a full recovery. But would she recover mentally?
“They’re moving some of the wounded over to the transports,” he said. One of the modified colonist-carriers was nothing, but stasis pods. The wounded would be suspended in time until they could be treated properly. It wasn't an ideal solution, but at least the wounded wouldn’t feel time passing. “You might be going with them.”
“I want to leave and I don’t want to leave,” Simone said. Her voice was bitter. She moved her head, very gingerly. “I don’t want to feel as though I’m running out on everyone.”
“You’re injured,” Emmanuel pointed out. Her face twisted. It was hard to be sure, but he thought she’d given him a nasty look. “No one will blame you for leaving.”
“I’ll blame myself,” Simone said. Her face twisted, again. “I was the fool who got hurt and ...”
“... Needs to sleep,” a voice finished. “I’ll give you a sedative.”
Emmanuel looked up. A doctor had materialised behind them. He looked tired, as tired as Emmanuel felt. Emmanuel rose - there was no point in trying to argue - and slipped away from the bed. Simone would recover, he was sure. But she’d never be the same again.
“Five more confirmed dead,” a voice said, as he passed an office. “Two more transferred to the stasis cells.”
Emmanuel shuddered. He’d expected to record a victory. Instead, he was counting the cost of a defeat. There was no point in trying to hide from the truth. The Commonwealth Navy had taken one hell of a beating. How many men and women had died in the brief, but disastrous battle? How many more would never be the same again?
He shuddered, again. He’d spent his whole life in pursuit of the truth. But right now, he didn't think he wanted to know.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“We kept the system under observation,” Mandy said, quietly. She sat in the conference room, studying the report from Sneaky. “The majority of the enemy fleet pulled out thirty-six hours ago.”
“Unless it slipped back into cloak,” Commodore Van Houlton said. His hologram seemed doubtful. He’d never really liked her and she knew it. “They might be waiting to ambush us again.”
Mandy kept her face carefully expressionless. Colonel Stalker had supported her, but it was clear that not all of her subordinates thought she’d done a good job. And she knew they were right. She’d lost engagements before, but never so badly. Morale was in the pits and it wasn't likely to get any better in a hurry.
“They’ve left decoys behind,” Commodore Henderson countered. “They probably took their fleet elsewhere.”
“Perhaps,” Mandy said. She cleared her throat. “Colonel?”
Colonel Stalker leaned forward. “There is nothing to be gained - now - by returning to Titlark and trashing the place,” he said. “We did succeed in crippling or destroying most of the facilities. Given how we were ambushed” - his face darkened, for a second - “we must assume that they’ve already rerouted their convoys around Titlark. The system is now effectively worthless.”
“Unless we get lucky,” Henderson commented. “There’s always someone who doesn’t get the word.”
“It would be too much to hope for,” Colonel Stalker said. His eyes swept the compartment, moving from face to face. “We would tie up the remainder of our strength for far too long.”
Mandy nodded in grim agreement. Admiral Singh had - somehow - known they were coming. She’d had ample opportunity to make sure her people knew to avoid Titlark in future, at least until they knew the battle’s outcome. And now the base was crippled, there was little point in reclaiming the system. Titlark’s importance had been an accident of interstellar geography. That importance was now gone.
“We still have a formidable force,” Henderson said. “And they won’t catch us the same way twice.”
“Unless they have some even newer weapons,” Van Houlton muttered. “We invented the damned force shields, sir. And yet we never considered using them to punch through armour.”
“We can duplicate their missiles fairly quickly,” Mandy pointed out. “My tactical analysts think we can even improve on their design a little.”
“Not quickly enough to help us,” Van Houlton snapped. He looked directly at Colonel Stalker. “Colonel, we must withdraw and regroup.”
Mandy felt a hot flash of anger. Colonel Stalker was - technically - the senior officer, but she was in command of the squadron. Van Houlton was appealing over her head, to someone who wasn't a naval officer and never would be. And yet ... Colonel Stalker had far more military experience than all three of the other officers put together. She might have to defer to his judgement.
No wonder the Imperial Navy spent so long sorting out questions of precedence and command, she thought, dryly. They had problems like this all the time.
“No,” Colonel Stalker said. His voice was very calm. Only someone who knew him well would have caught the edge in it. “That’s precisely the last thing we should do.”
He tapped his terminal, displaying a starchart. “Right now, Admiral Singh thinks she’s won. She caught us by surprise and gave us a bloody nose. And yes, there’s no point in trying to hide from that truth. But that doesn't mean we’re beaten. We have to take the offensive again, now.”
Van Houlton looked perplexed. “Colonel,” he said slowly, “we took a beating.”
“We can repair most of the ships,” Colonel Stalker countered. “By the time we reach Wolfbane, Commodore, our ships will be in fighting trim again.”
Mandy concealed her amusement as Van Houlton started to splutter. “Wolfbane?”
“Yes, Commodore,” Colonel Stalker said. “It is the sole remaining target.”
“It would be risky,” Henderson said. “They might have deployed their new weapons to cover their homeworld. And even without them, Wolfbane is heavily defended.”
“Exactly,” Colonel Stalker said. “The last thing they’ll expect is to be attacked.”
“With good reason,” Van Houlton said. “Colonel, pressing an offensive against Wolfbane is suicide!”
Colonel Stalker cocked his head. “It will be risky,” he sai
d, nodding to Henderson. “But we cannot afford to give them time to recover. Admiral Singh will have all the time in the world to rearm her forces, then take the offensive. And when she does, she will do it with a considerable advantage. Tearing the guts out of Wolfbane may be the only thing capable of keeping her from tearing the guts out of us.”
Mandy nodded, slowly. Colonel Stalker was right. Wolfbane still had a considerable advantage, despite the damage Jasmine had done to their shipyards nine months ago. Giving Admiral Singh a chance to consolidate her victory would mean certain defeat. And yet, Van Houlton also had a point. They would be risking her entire fleet on a headlong charge into the enemy’s defences.
Wolf's Bane (The Empire's Corps Book 14) Page 23
