by Blaze Ward
“Horst,” Vo commanded quietly. “Contact the other teams and route them to a destination you know. We’ll coalesce there and move in.”
“What ’bouts me?” Moirrey snapped.
“I need your help with the electronics,” Vo replied. “And once we can get you a gun, I’ll turn you loose. It’ll be just like Ballard or Thuringwell, all over again.”
“You knows ’bout thats?” she asked evasively.
“Fleet Centurion told me parts,” Vo said. “Enough.”
Moirrey actually blushed up at him.
“Rights,” she muttered. “Ne’er ya minds, then.”
Vo nodded.
Moirrey zu Kermode might really be one to give Corporal Danville a run for dangerous creatures. He wasn’t about to suggest it out loud, though.
Not yet.
CHAPTER XLVI
DATE OF THE REPUBLIC NOVEMBER 8, 398 ABOARD AMSEL, ABOVE ST. LEGIER
It wasn’t that many steps to get to Amsel’s bridge, up only two decks and forward some. Jessica followed Captain Saar at a hard jog, with the other three women keeping pace behind her. The two male bodyguards were trading off racing ahead and opening hatches so that their group didn’t need to slow down as they crossed frames.
The bridge hadn’t changed from the last time Jessica visited, except to possibly be cleaner. As if expecting a wedding party to come aboard in a few days and commission her into formal service.
Today, everyone was dressed in regular uniforms, dark blue pants and heavy jackets over white shirts. They kept the temperature in here several degrees cooler than any vessel Jessica had ever served on. That was probably the result of having an all-male crew in heavy clothing.
The cultural differences you noticed when the stress went high.
“Status,” Captain Saar called as Marcelle brought up the rear and closed the hatch.
“Surprise attack on Grand HQ, Captain,” a man said as he stood up from the Captain’s chair.
Unlike an Aquitaine vessel, where everyone faced inward on the bridge, every man here was facing forward in descending ranks of importance and looking at a single large screen on the far bulkhead, in addition to his own screens. It felt inefficient, but Jessica supposed it probably worked.
“How is that possible?” Saar snarled only vaguely at his crew as he sat.
Jessica moved around to his right, bringing Casey with her and letting Willow and Marcelle move to either side defensively.
“Roughshark-class cruiser short-jumped right on top of them and let loose, sir,” the other man continued, turning to face them. “Then they short-jumped out and started hitting the planet with missiles. Nothing important was targeted, but we’ve got four salvoes downward so far and it’s going to be messy.”
Jessica recognized Commander Corbeil, Amsel’s executive officer. Another one of Wachturm’s protégés.
“Damn it, how could they do that?” Saar cursed again.
Jessica stepped forward just enough to get Saar’s attention.
“Probably not an accident of timing, Captain?” she said firmly.
That seemed to break through the man’s hot rage. She needed him calm right now.
He nodded and drew a breath.
“All hands to battle stations,” he said. “Engineering, bring everything on-line. Weapons systems, do the best with what you have. Navigation, prepare for maneuvering.”
“What do you intend, Captain Saar?” Casey said in a heavy voice.
That brought the man’s head around.
“That’s a warship of Buran, Your Majesty,” he said after another calming breath. “We’ve got to do something.”
“What were your orders before, Saar?” Jessica stepped up another bit.
“To remain in our patrol patterns until further orders were issued,” he said slowly.
“And what better way to weld the Fleet to you than to ride to the rescue from an attack?” Jessica replied.
Jessica watched the lightbulb go on in his eyes.
“They knew that it was coming,” he continued in a deadly voice.
“Something like this would take months to engineer and execute,” Jessica agreed. “What are the odds that they happened to be in the neighborhood to attack St. Legier today?”
Silence greeted her.
“Captain,” a man’s voice called out. “Fleet orders from the planet to form up in battle squadrons and pursue the enemy vessel.”
“You said short-jumped, Commander,” Jessica turned to the man on the other side of the command seat. “What does that mean? I’ve never fought Buran.”
“They can do the impossible, sir,” he replied. “Hit jumpspace from deep inside a gravity well and bounce around all they want. It’s almost impossible to chase them. And if they’re below you, you can’t use Primaries or you might hit the planet instead. You have to wait for them to get close and then hope you can hurt them before they kill you. The only thing that saves us most of the time is that their beams are extremely short range compared to ours.”
“So forming up and giving chase will do no good?” Jessica asked. “Other than to pull you out of your current defensive positions?”
“Quite possibly, Fleet Centurion,” Saar bit the words off. “However, there is nobody that can belay that order.”
“Yes, there is,” Casey, Her Imperial Majesty Karl VIII, said with utter conviction.
“Casey, we don’t dare say anything at this point,” Jessica spoke politely but there was steel in her words.
She felt Casey’s hard stare boring in and accepted it.
“Why not?” Casey finally demanded.
“We cannot know who would be friendly, and who would sell us over to Dittmar,” Jessica replied. “I took a chance on Captain Saar, largely based on the Red Admiral. I don’t know who else would could trust. Do you, Captain?”
“I do not, Fleet Centurion,” the man replied in a quiet voice. “Yesterday, I would have spoken up for any of my brother Captains. Today?”
“Today indeed, Captain Saar,” Casey said in a regal tone. “However, they are attacking my home, my Empire, and we must do something about it. And I do know one Captain I can absolutely trust to assist you.”
“Who?” the man asked.
“Command Centurion Shiori Ness,” Casey grinned suddenly, breaking through the seriousness of her mien. “Wiley.”
Jessica nodded. She would be happy to throw Kali-ma into this mess, with her flight wing, but she wasn’t sure it would work. At best, Casey could take command and issue orders to every other vessel to stay put and guard the planet.
But how would they entice the invader to come close enough that they could shoot back?
Jessica felt her own lightbulb go on, staring at the tall, blond Emperor standing before her.
She turned back to the two men.
“All short range weapons you said, correct?” Jessica queried them.
“That’s right,” Saar said. “The big one they use, the Mauler, scarcely slows down when it hits the shield wall, but has barely the range of a Type-2 beam. They appear on a flank, shred you, and then blink out. And they don’t have shields, near as we can tell, but some sort of absorption system that captures incoming energy and routes into their batteries. You have to overload it all at once to get through.”
“And missiles are useless, since he can leap away from you,” Jessica said. “Primaries are extremely slow to reload, so he might get away before you get a second shot off.”
“Which is why the Paladin-class Battleships were designed this way,” Corbeil agreed. “Fewer of both and more beams that can fire fast enough to hammer him.”
“He’s attacking the planet, but nothing important?” Casey asked. “Is that what you said?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” the Commander said. “One salvo set off a trio of nuclear weapons low over the Western Ocean, well out to sea. That will generate significant tidal waves, but not for hours in most places. Other targets are similarly illogical.”
“It’s a demonstration raid,” Jessica stated flatly.
She felt it in her bones.
“A what?” Saar asked.
“2218 Svati Prime,” Jessica replied in a cold, quiet voice.
This was all about the psychological damage one vessel could do.
The warship out there had to be working with Dittmar. And there was just the one vessel, when they might have sent an entire battle fleet instead. Enough damage to rouse everyone, but not outright devastation. Just enough to get the population behind a new Emperor with a shaky claim to power when he drove the invader off.
Just exactly the sort of thing you might want if you overthrew the previous government under highly questionable circumstances.
The two men wanted to argue with her, but she could see the fire drain out of their conviction.
Casey seemed to make the same leap. She nodded fiercely.
“And if that is the case,” Casey said. “Then we must entice him to get close enough to fight us.”
“How do we do that?” Captain Saar asked warily.
“The same reason I came aboard your Battleship, Captain Saar,” Casey replied. “To raise the Imperial Banner and rally the Fleet to my cause. Father and Uncle Emmerich have always said that the true power in the Empire is the Navy. Now we will prove it.”
Jessica wanted to say something, but she held her peace.
This was no longer her fight. She had done her duty by getting Casey this far. The new Emperor and Rafferty Saar would have to see it through.
She could go back to Kali-ma and watch. Help, even if the Fribourg Empire tore itself apart.
Casey turned to her anyway, her smile peeking out through the harsh mask that had fallen back over her features.
“There is one other task,” the new Emperor said. “Jessica, I need you in charge. It’s the only way it will work.”
“Your Majesty, I must politely decline,” Jessica said carefully, fully aware of how close she was to violating any number of ethical and legal standards. Court martial wasn’t even a worry at this point. When she got home, it would a given. “As you said earlier, this must be an Imperial task.”
“I agree, Jessica Keller,” the Emperor said in a new voice. Heavy. Hard. Implacable. “However, I did not ask Queen Jessica to assist me. I am ordering Admiral Keller to take command of the Imperial Fleet. Those bastards are attacking my home. You will SEE THEM OFF. Are there any questions?”
Jessica felt her shoulders snap back and her head come up, as though Nils Kasum had just snapped the whip of his voice on a new cadet, twenty-five years ago. Or Alber’ d’Maine taking charge of the room to commission a new Star Controller just two years ago.
Some things went bone deep.
A day ago, this woman was an artist pretending to be a princess to make her parents happy. An hour ago, a refugee on the verge of fleeing and becoming a pirate.
And now, an Emperor made flesh, right in front of Jessica’s eyes.
Jessica took a deep breath.
She turned to Rafferty Saar, still seated at the third point of a triangle.
“Captain Saar, will you serve?” she asked in a pointed voice.
This was no longer friendly officers, planning a battle over a beer. It had come down to this, his honor, overcoming his culture.
He smiled warmly.
“Admiral Keller, it would be my honor,” he said.
Jessica nodded. She nodded to Casey as well.
No. Not Casey any more.
Her Imperial Majesty, Karl VIII. Emperor of Fribourg.
Death, or glory.
“Captain Saar,” Jessica commanded. “I am aware that the Red Admiral was going to bring his new Flag Staff with him when he took command. Lacking that, I need to command from your deck, and I need you to assign me a Flag Lieutenant who can work with me.”
Saar nodded. He paused and looked over his deck thoughtfully.
“Emshwiller,” he said loudly. “Turn over your duties to your assistant and take over Flag Communications.”
Jessica watched a Lieutenant Commander rise from his station off to one side and approach quickly. He had a broad face, with Asian eyes and thin lips. Unlike many of the men on this deck, his brown hair was cut severely short, almost shaved on the sides.
He came to a stop and snapped off a salute, edge of his hand tapping his forehead and then slicing straight down across his chest. It looked silly, but made the man’s point.
“At your command, Admiral,” he said in a heavy, baritone voice.
“Get the Emperor secured, with my two assistants on either side,” Jessica said first. “Then you and I need stations where we’re out of the way, but still in the battle. Finally, open a secured channel to Kali-ma and get our comms synched with Yan Bedrov, the tactical officer over there.”
“On it.”
The man was a whirlwind as Jessica watched, never a step wrong, as though he was doing a high-speed, Argentinian Tango with professional judges grading.
Less than two minutes passed, but it felt like a hurricane had passed over the ship, centering the eye of calm above them, with devastating winds all around, just waiting their chance.
Jessica watched a calmness take possession of the men around her, poised, even as the Goddess of War awakened in the depths of her soul and drew blades.
Everyone here knew that history was about to happen.
“Captain Saar,” Jessica called in a voice loud enough to be clear in every corner. “You will raise the Imperial Standard and order all vessels to remain on their stations. We will do this ourselves. All ahead full and get me to a higher elevation, with Kali-ma and her wing on one soft flank. Get us away from everybody else and find me the Plain of Megiddo.”
“Megiddo, Admiral?” he asked in an unsure tone, turning to look at her across the four meters of space, and the lifetime of study, that separated them.
“An ancient, Biblical reference, Captain,” she replied. “Armageddon.”
CHAPTER XLVII
IMPERIAL FOUNDING: 176/11/08. DITTMAR PALACE, WERDER, ST. LEGIER
Sigmund had moved from his first-floor salon to a personal office in the basement of his palace. Deep below ground and safe, even if Buran managed to pierce the shield protecting the city.
They were not allies, even today. Merely fellow travelers, both intent on removing a dangerously-reckless man from power, before he undid two centuries of stability with his stupidly-foreign ideas.
Dittmar was surrounded by a cadre of men he trusted with his life at this point. Every one of them would hang with him if this failed. It made him feel even safer.
Sensors from a loyal Heavy Cruiser in orbit showed the effect of that first savaging of Grand Fleet Headquarters. Pieces were still floating away in a cloud of destruction that had no scale, until one realized how big the station itself was. And then the pieces were the size of Starfighters.
“What’s the status of Fleet Command?” he asked the room gruffly.
Someone would answer. That was the mark of a good staff.
“We’re not sure, Admiral,” a man called back. “Attempts to reach them have been unsuccessful. We’re also seeing significant communications degradation as a result of multiple electromagnetic pulses in the atmosphere.”
The nuclear warheads had been a small and unwelcome surprise, but they weren’t attacking the big cities. Sigmund wasn’t sure the station would be able to respond, effectively, if that shark jumped back for a second round, but hopefully the big Type-4 beams and Primary installations protecting an imaginary dodecahedron would be live if Buran tried.
Even Imperial Security wouldn’t be that stupid.
Would they?
Still, the station had been hurt. Best to protect it. He would need it tomorrow, after he had removed the troublesome elements from thwarting his reign.
“Communications,” Sigmund said tersely. “Order all units to coalesce into battle squadrons and pursue the enemy vessel, under my authority as Actin
g Emperor. Hold First Squadron close to Headquarters in a defensive array and launch all fighter craft.”
“Acknowledged.”
Sigmund accepted a mug of freshly-brewed coffee from someone. He didn’t bother looking up. As long as his needs were met, he was satisfied. It was going to be a long day, he would need the caffeine to maintain his edge as issues popped up.
Something like this had never happened before, either the coup or the raid. There were certain to be wrinkles in the plan that would need ironing. Plus, he would need to guard against it ever happening to him in the future.
A second screen showed real-time imagery from satellites looking down at the surface of St. Legier. The Western Ocean had three, rippling pulses, charging outwards from holes that had been blasted in the surface by high-powered nuclear detonations.
“Someone get me an oceanographer,” Sigmund growled. “How big will those waves get?”
That had been another surprise.
He had been thinking in terms of the first trio of missiles, dropping on unimportant portions of the planet, too irrelevant for planetary shielding, and causing flashy damage that would be easily repaired later.
Tidal waves were a whole new level of threat. Who knew what they might do when they reached land?
“And sound the global alert for tidal waves,” Sigmund continued. “Get people to high ground immediately and keep them there. We can repair wharves and cities later.”
Someone acknowledged. Again, it didn’t matter who.
The men around him were largely faceless. Interchangeable cogs in a vast machine, who showed their value by not rising to the level of recognition.
“Sir,” a voice impinged on his planning. “You need to see this. Immediately.”
Did he now?
Sigmund made a note of the man’s face for later. One did not give the Emperor orders, even in the thick of battle.
A projector came live in the middle of the room. Sigmund recognized the opening notes of the Imperial Anthem, with the Imperial Flag blowing in a soft breeze, something normally only played for official pronouncements.
This was the planetary emergency communications network, overriding News One.
Since he had no news to send out presently, someone out there was playing with fire. Sigmund would have to roast them over it slowly later. Especially since this signal was on the emergency band, over-riding all of his broadcasts on every frequency.
