Hoshiko shrugged and returned her attention to the display as her senior officers started to flicker into view, her eyes studying the links between gravity points that led towards Tokomak Prime. The display felt a little condensed - in reality, the stars were nowhere near that close - but she understood. Control of a gravity point allowed someone to jump light years in a single bound, eliminating the distance between the two star systems. There was no need to worry about the stars and planets in the middle if you could just jump across them. She supposed that explained some of the oddities of galactic civilisation. Earth had remained largely unmolested for so long because the closest gravity point was fifty light years away. It was no wonder, to her, that the Tokomak hadn’t bothered to fortify the points. As long as they’d possessed the biggest fleet in the known universe, there’d been no need.
Her lips twitched. And now that’s come back to bite them on the behind, she thought, coldly. I bet they regret it now.
She cleared her throat as the last of the images blinked into existence, a handful of warning messages and security notifications scrolling through the air. Holographic conferences could be awkward at times, and there were lingering fears over security, but they had very definite advantages. If nothing else, she didn’t have to assemble her senior officers on a single starship. The enemy would have to get very lucky to take out all the flag officers with a single hit, but she didn’t feel like taking chances. War was dangerous enough without running crazy risks.
“You have all had a chance to review the latest reports,” she said. “On one hand, we have received reinforcements from Sol. On the other, we have not received any real orders. The ships were dispatched well before we arrived at Apsidal, let alone captured, lost and recaptured the system. We remain bound to do as we see fit, within certain limits. And we must face certain unpleasant realities. The longer we stay here, tied to a handful of systems, the greater the chance of losing the war. They - our enemies - are already building up their defences.
“They are not going to talk to us. They’ve ignored the message drones we’ve sent, offering to discuss a truce. That may be lucky - delay works in their favour, not ours - but the blunt truth is that the war is going to be fought to a finish. Either we crush their ability to make war on us, by blasting our way to Tokomak Prime itself and forcing them to surrender, or we concede eventual defeat. There are no other options.”
She paused. “Does anyone wish to dispute my assessment?”
There was a pause. No one spoke. Hoshiko wasn’t surprised. Her senior officers were a mixed bag, from men and women who would follow her unquestioningly to people who feared her drive or simply wanted her position for themselves. But they were all experienced officers, people who knew the facts of life. Some would be more optimistic, others would be more pessimistic, but they’d all understand the realities. Their time was running out.
“We have no choice,” she said, when it was clear no one was going to speak. “We must resume the offensive now, before they have a chance to recover and take the offensive themselves. Towards that” - she tapped her remote, altering the holographic display - “I have drawn up a handful of operational plans. My staff have refined them into basic concepts.”
She smiled, rather grimly. Her staff had done a great deal more than merely refine them. They’d drawn up plans for actually putting her concepts into operation, putting together scenarios and simulations that suggested what might happen if one or more of the concepts were put into operation. Hoshiko dreaded staff work, but she appreciated it. The backbone of any interstellar war was logistics, which required careful planning. She dreaded to think what would happen if they outran their logistics and found themselves unable to either fight or retreat.
“There are three basic concepts,” she continued. “Plan Donitz calls for the fleet to cruise around the inner worlds, blowing merry hell out of their defences and logistical support network. If we’re lucky, it might even encourage some of the peons to rebel. The advantage of this plan is that we might avoid a decisive defeat, particularly if we split the fleet; the disadvantage is that we risk being defeated in detail, with each separate squadron being crushed by overwhelming force. And we won’t be touching the core of their power.
“Plan Nimitz calls for a single solid thrust through the gravity point and straight towards Tokomak Prime. We wouldn’t be messing around, not this time. We’d be driving on their homeworld and they’d know it. The advantage of this plan is that, if we win, we win. The war will be over. The disadvantage is that they’d mass everything to meet us, which means we might lose most of the fleet for nothing. We’d be risking everything on one throw of the dice.
“Plan Wellington is a little more subtle. We’d split the fleet. One force would proceed through the gravity point, accompanied by sensor drones and everything else that might convince the enemy that we’re actually running with Plan Nimitz. The other force, the main force, would creep around the enemy position and come at Tokomak Prime from an unexpected direction. At that point, the enemy would be caught between two fires. The advantage of this plan is that we’d have a shot at the enemy homeworld, without giving them a convenient bottleneck they can use to stop us. The disadvantage is that the two fleets wouldn’t be in close contact. Coordinating an assault on an interstellar scale is never easy.”
She allowed herself a cold smile. “But that might be an advantage,” she said. “They know the KISS principle as well as we do. They’d never expect us to risk a two-prong assault.”
“They risked one themselves, at Apsidal,” Admiral Rolf Hanker pointed out. “And they kicked our ass.”
“They had more ships to play with,” Hoshiko reminded him. “They still do.”
She took a breath. “There are advantages and disadvantages to all three plans,” she pointed out. There was no point in trying to deny it. “But I would prefer to go with Plan Wellington. It offers us the greatest chance of victory, mingled with the ability to concede defeat and fall back if it becomes clear that things haven’t gone in our favour. And even if we fail” - her hands clenched, just for a second - “we’ll give them one hell of a fright. We might even be able to do a lot of damage to their industrial base.”
Admiral Teller frowned. “You’ve made up your mind?”
“Talk me out of it, if you can.” Hoshiko hid her annoyance. She’d called a council of war to ensure she had their support, as well as their obedience. The price was that they were free to pick holes in the plan, if they could. “Or would you rather we gave them time to pick themselves up and come at us with a very large fleet?”
“A very large fleet,” Admiral Hanker said. “If they get even half of their ships online ...”
“We’ve all seen the projections,” Teller snapped. “If we risk everything, here, we ... we risk everything.”
“Yes.” Hoshiko kept her voice even, somehow. “Might I remind you that our enemy is ruthless? They’ve already started pogroms against humans in their territory. It won’t be long before they start crushing everyone who dares stand up to them. This is not a war that can be ended by a peace conference, with everyone agreeing to disagree.”
She slipped into deliberate crudity to make her point. “We cannot bend over for them, in the knowledge that our submission brings our survival. They won’t be content with crushing our independence and raping our bodies and souls until we can do no more than mouth platitudes ... perhaps even come to believe them. They will destroy us, utterly. Every last man, woman and child will die. Defeat means the end of the fucking universe!”
There was dead silence. “We have to stay on the offensive,” she warned. “And that means taking the fleet to Tokomak Prime and tearing the guts out of their empire once and for all.”
She took a moment to gather herself. “Or would anyone like to dispute it? Does anyone think we can come to terms with them?”
“No.” Steve’s voice was very quiet, but it caught their attention. “I don’t think anyone can dispute it.”
“War to the knife, then,” Hoshiko said. She knew it was going to be brutal. “And for that, we need Plan Wellington.”
“We might be able to encourage the oppressed masses to rise,” Teller pointed out. “If we take out the orbital defences ...”
“It won’t make that much difference,” Hanker snapped. “If we captured their worlds intact, complete with their industrial bases, we will still be fucked. Given time, they can crush us effortlessly. The projections make that clear.”
“Quite.” Hoshiko nodded, curtly. “I would like to believe the oppressed masses will rise against their masters and tear out their throats. But we have no way of knowing when it will happen, if indeed it will happen. They may be waiting for us to liberate them. They may be waiting for us to slay their alien masters in their lair. Or they may be fearful of what we will do to them. The bottom line is that we cannot rely on triggering an uprising and, even if one did take place, it wouldn’t help us. Not immediately.”
She shuddered, envisioning alien battleships descending on rebellious worlds. The Tokomak wouldn’t bother to land ground troops, not unless they had some reason to try to recover the worlds intact. They’d just bombard indiscriminately, slaughtering rebels and loyalists alike to deter other worlds from rising against them. Entire cities would be wiped out in an eyeblink, taking millions of lives with them. And Hoshiko wouldn’t be able to retaliate, not for worlds that weren’t part of the Galactic Alliance. That would open Earth and the other Alliance worlds to attack.
“There is something to be said for simplicity,” Hanker said. He indicated the starchart with one hand. “Plan Nimitz ensures we can bring all of our firepower to bear against the target, without trying to be clever. Being clever is a good way to get one’s butt kicked.”
“It’s a minimum of nine gravity points between N-Gann and Tokomak Prime,” Hoshiko pointed out. “Twelve, if we go a slightly longer route. That’s nine possible bottlenecks they can use to bleed us white, each of which will cost us dearly in ships, munitions and manpower. And they will know we’re coming. They will have ample time to assemble a fleet to block us, if they don’t already have fortifications in place. We have to assume they’ve learnt from their experiences. We did that to them in the lead up to the last set of battles.”
“We would also not be risking losing contact between two prongs,” Teller objected. “At best, it will take weeks to get a message from one prong to the other. At worst, we’d lose touch altogether.”
“There’s no way to avoid it,” Hoshiko said. “Unless you have a long-range FTL communicator in your pocket ...”
Teller snorted. “Admiral, I understand your point,” he said. His voice was very calm. “But I also have to check you understand the dangers.”
“War is never safe,” Steve said. “When I was a young man, just going through basic training, there were people who believed they could eliminate risk entirely. Some of them believed they could use technology to make sure that the only people who died were the ones on the other side, our clear and irredeemable enemies. They believed they could somehow prevent innocent deaths and” - he shook his head - “they meant well, I believe, but they made wars worse. They kept us from applying overwhelming force until it was too late for a quick and decisive campaign.
“There are risks here, as there are everywhere. But the risk of losing becomes progressively greater, the longer we delay. We can either take action now or sit and wait to be hit. And we cannot afford to be hit. A single major defeat will be the end of us.”
“Yes, sir,” Hanker said.
Teller’s eyes narrowed. “Is that your opinion as an officer in the navy, sir?”
Hoshiko felt a hot flash of anger. Steve showed no visible reaction. “It’s an opinion born of fifteen years in the United States military, then my experiences in the Solar Union and the galaxy at large,” he said, calmly. “Right now, we have the edge. If we delay, that edge will start to blunt. We’ve all read the reports. If they bring their entire fleet online, or rationalise their industrial production, we’re finished. They will bury us in weapons that are qualitatively inferior to ours, but ... there will be millions of them. And that, as the admiral said, will be the end of the world. We cannot back down. We either tear their throats out or get crushed.”
“Yes, sir,” Teller said, stiffly. “That said, we may not have the power to tear their throats out.”
“Yes.” Hoshiko schooled her face into immobility. It was Teller’s job to voice his concerns, if he had them. And he had every reason to be irked at Steve’s intervention. “But we have to move now.”
She looked from face to face. “I estimate it will take us two weeks to integrate the newcomers and assemble the support fleet,” she said. She had no idea how many of the locals would stay with them, once they launched the big offensive. “I intend to launch Plan Wellington. Before then, we will simulate all the possible outcomes and do our best to reduce the variables. It will not be easy, but ... we have no choice. Earth is depending on us.”
The holographic star charts vanished at her command. “We will allow them to think we’re moving with Plan Nimitz,” she added. “We won’t take our security too seriously. They have to have spies watching us. Let them think we’re going the easy way. Let them think that ... until we appear in the worst possible place.”
Teller smiled. “For them or for us?”
“We’ll see.” Hoshiko felt a flicker of anticipation. They were finally about to resume the offensive. The last few weeks had been spent refitting the fleet, integrating their alien allies and considering their options. Important, but boring. “Dismissed.”
Chapter Four
Here we go, Hameeda thought, as the LinkShip dropped out of FTL. An alien system appeared in front of her, a handful of icons turning red as their active sensors came online and locked onto her hull. Again.
She smiled, rather coldly. She’d flown through four systems in the last week, buzzing a handful of enemy facilities, uploading her messages and generally making it clear that she could have done a great deal of damage if she’d wished. She had no doubt the message had been received, if only because of the ever-increasing enemy defences ... all of which had been putting immense strain on their sensor arrays by ramping them up as much as possible. She hated to think how much stress they were putting on the crews, who were only flesh and blood. No military force could remain on alert indefinitely and hope to be in fighting trim when the alert finally came.
And they knew I was coming, this time, she thought. She’d flown in as close to a straight line as possible, cutting her flight time to the bare bone. The Tokomak were unimaginative, but even they could see the pattern. They had to know she was coming here. And they’re ready for me.
She felt her smile grow wider as more and more enemy defences revealed themselves. The system - it had an alien name she couldn’t even begin to pronounce - didn’t have a ring, but it did have a handful of smaller orbital stations and defences. Her files informed her that the lack of a gravity point and other, more useful systems only a few short light years away, had kept the aliens from really developing the system. It was a little looser than most of the core worlds, with a surprising amount of racial equality ... even between the Tokomak and their subject races. She was almost sorry it was on the list of targets. Perhaps, just perhaps, she didn’t have to push things too far.
Another alert flashed up in front of her. The enemy communications network was down. Her eyes narrowed as her sensors probed the system, picking up only a tiny handful of signals and communications nodes ... the latter so heavily encrypted that she knew they were military installations. The entire system seemed to have gone dark. She cursed under her breath as she realised what it meant. The defenders had shut down the entire system, rather than risk having her uploading the message into a hacked node. They’d risked all manner of death and destruction just to keep her from talking to them! It almost made her smile, even though it meant her mission was doomed
. At least they were taking her seriously.
And they’ll get copies of the message anyway, she thought. There would be copies fanning out from all the worlds she’d visited, no matter what the Tokomak tried to do about it. It was quite possible the message had already reached the new system. And by trying to wipe it, they’ll only harm their credibility further.
She was tempted to jump back into FTL and vanish, conceding - for the moment - that there was no point in trying to slip further into the system. In hindsight, perhaps she should have sneaked into the system and hacked the datanet before announcing her presence. There was no way they could shut down the datanet indefinitely, not when everything from the local stock market to life support systems depended on it. The Tokomak had never heard of distributed computer networks, she’d been told. A centralised network was much easier to monitor, police and shut down. Smart resistance movements knew better than to rely on the enemy communications network.
And here I come, she thought, as she angled towards the alien ships. Are you ready for me?
The alien ships grew larger as she zoomed closer. They were old, even by Tokomak standards. They looked to have been passed through a dozen hands before finally winding up in a fifth-rank star system. They’d be good for intimidating smugglers and primitives, she thought, but it was clear they hadn’t been refitted with modern weapons. They were little more than targets for a modern ship, even a simple destroyer. Hameeda was tempted to power up her weapons and put the ancient ships out of their misery. But it would be a waste of weapons she couldn’t afford to squander.
Their Last Full Measure Page 4
