Then a short shout of triumph went up from the Sensor station, and Jacob looked back to find the missile speared by the fading remnant of a plasma stream. The defense turret had scored a near direct hit, eviscerating the weapon with a stroke. It tumbled toward its former target and exploded, showering the length of the ship with superheated fragments. Minor explosions swept across the Beagle, and Ensign Dukoff called out to Jacob from his station. “Commander Nivrosky reports damage along the port side. He requests a confirmation of his previous orders.”
“His orders are confirmed, Ensign Dukoff.” Jacob turned to Flint. “Do you feel confident about getting the destroyer?”
Flint’s eyes glittered. “Of course, Captain Hull. The Terrier will do her best.” He turned back to his console and tapped a communications link. “Lieutenant Osborne, I want a firing pattern for the destroyer now. We should reach maximum gun range soon.” He paused. “Helm, I need as much acceleration as you can give me. We can’t afford to allow them to get another volley off.”
As Flint’s officers responded, Jacob watched the Beagle continue to turn back. The Beagle was still leaking broken armor plating and a small amount of air from its hull, but the warship still seemed relatively spaceworthy. He only hoped that if the damage was worse on the inside, the ship would hold together long enough for the battle to end.
The Oduran corvettes seemed to sense the danger to their larger companion and accelerated into their turn. All three began to draw up into Terrier’s wake, their railguns swiveling to target the DE sail rigs on the destroyer’s aft. Without those, the destroyer would be a drifting target for the Odurans, and it wasn’t hard to imagine the loss of both ships as a result.
Beagle gave them no chance. Leon brought his ship in hard across Terrier’s course, turning into the path of the oncoming Oduran ships. Both destroyer and corvettes opened fire, railgun shots streaking between them in streaks of light. Defense turrets opened up a heartbeat later, and explosions showered the surrounding area with shell fragments.
Then Terrier’s guns opened fire. Each gun fired sequentially. The shots tracked out across the destroyer’s course in a pattern meant to anticipate its possible dodges. At maximum range the chance of a hit was small, but Jacob had to admit it was better than nothing.
As the first shells neared their target, the destroyer’s defense turrets swatted them easily out of the void. The fragments of the shells rained harmlessly across the thick armor that shielded the Crossbow as more and more shells arrived and exploded short of their target. A shell slipped through, and then two more as the destroyer’s defenses began to be overwhelmed. Even those glancing hits failed to do much more than cosmetic damage to the Oduran craft, and Jacob watched as it continued its course undeterred.
The Crossbow pivoted to turn the openings of its missile launchers away from the shower of fragments. A handful of moments later, another trio of missiles shot out from the destroyer, curving around the Crossbow to track in at the Terrier. Delarouge launched flechettes, but Jacob could see they would not account for all of the incoming projectiles. He was unfortunately correct; none of the three missiles died en route.
Before they reached the destroyer, the countermeasures officer had one last trick. A decoy shot up from the Terrier, flooding the sensors with a wave of signals and heat. All three missiles curved up toward the flare, their systems failing to distinguish between their true target and the distraction. The missile’s high speed turned to their disadvantage; by the time controllers onboard the Oduran craft could redirect the errant weapons, they had flown past the Terrier. A second wave of flechettes caught them as they tried to turn, and all three died in blasts that filled empty space with lethal shards of metal.
Terrier’s gunnery officers rained shells on the Oduran ship. Only one shell had managed to hit the ship directly, but it appeared one had been enough. The craft swerved away from the Terrier so sharply the railguns had to readjust their aims completely. It sped away at what had to be maximum acceleration, wanting to run rather than continue the long-range duel.
Jacob raised his eyebrows in surprise. Then he turned his projection, and understanding dawned. Of the three Oduran corvettes, only one continued to maneuver freely. Both of the others had been badly mauled by railgun fire. One was leaking air from a vicious gash in its hull and broadcasting a surrender signal; the other was hurtling through space a half-burning wreck with shards of metal and whispers of flame trailing in its doomed wake. Their compatriots did not stop to aid their stricken brothers, however. The last corvette took off on a rigid course for the nearest available riftjump area.
For a heartbeat Jacob considered ordering a pursuit, but his rational side fought down the impulse. He shook his head. “Instruct Beagle to break off its attack and recover prisoners from the destroyed ships. Terrier will assist.”
Commander Flint nodded without argument and began issuing orders to his bridge crew. They began to coordinate their efforts at damage control and receive reports of casualties. In the midst of the chaos, the battle ready alerts faded. Jacob unbuckled himself from his restraints and stood. The spot where the belts had cut into his shoulder still ached, and he spared a moment to massage the growing bruise. He and everyone else on the ship had been lucky if that was the only hurt they had suffered. If even one missile had made it to its target, no one would have survived.
Jacob shook his head, walked to the bridge’s exit and left. The Marines gave him a proper salute, which he returned, while the bridge crew continued their efforts. Before he could begin to fret over everything that had gone wrong, he turned to the access ladder, climbed down and sought out his quarters. He wanted a little rest before he received the call that would inevitably come.
Chapter Two
“In your opinion, Captain Hull, the Oduran craft needed to be engaged by your squadron. Is that correct?”
The doubt in Captain Upshaw’s voice was clear, even transmitted across millions of kilometers. Jacob had learned not to trust questions asked in that tone of voice and to think carefully before he responded. He considered possible answers for a moment, and then chose the one least likely to prolong the lecture. “In my judgment, yes sir. The merchantmen running from the Oduran patrol would have been overtaken long before we reached them, and no other task force in the area was close enough to come to their assistance in time.”
Upshaw’s gaze sharpened. “So the damage to your ships was not the result of your decisions, but the fault of the lack of coverage provided by the forces under my responsibility?”
Jacob sighed. He had no idea how his statement could have been twisted that far out of line. Ever since he had returned from Reefhome with the rest of the remaining crew of the Wolfhound, his words had turned into unruly snakes in his mouth: hard to predict, impossible to control, and liable bite him out of spite. “No, Captain Upshaw. I was merely pointing out the fact that without our assistance, the merchants in those haulers would have been either dead or captured by the Odurans. Any damage to the ships under my command is my responsibility as the squadron commander.”
The other captain’s eyes glittered, and he nodded. “So you accept that, do you? I’m glad to hear it. Perhaps now we can see some progress in how carefully you manage your command, Captain Hull.”
Each word was like poison to Jacob’s stomach; he fought down a particularly bitter retort to Upshaw’s condescending comment. “While that damage is my responsibility, Captain Upshaw, I maintain that it was necessary to protect Celostian assets in the system. My destroyers have been tasked with the security of the Tiredel space traffic and trade. Even though this is a border system, we are responsible—”
Captain Upshaw’s face filled with exasperation. “Yes, yes, it is our duty to risk all for the protection of the citizens of the Frontier. Even to the laying down of our lives in the line of duty.” He shook his head. “Captain Hull, I still must remind you that you are responsible for the judicious exercise of that duty. You are required to use the shi
ps under your command to secure the greatest benefit for the Celostian government.”
When Jacob opened his mouth to speak, Upshaw flushed red. He held up a hand to stop Jacob before a word could get out. “No, Captain Hull, you will wait for your idealistic diatribe until after I am done. You don’t seem to understand what kind of charge you have been given here as a squadron commander, and I am going to make my best effort to teach you.”
“Do you know how much the damage you did to your ships will cost to repair?” Upshaw clearly didn’t want a real response, so Jacob just shook his head silently. “Over a billion dollars for those ships alone, not to mention the other ships you’ve managed to reduce to yard repairs under your command. Do you know how many personnel died in that little skirmish of yours?”
“Thirteen dead, four wounded.” The answer, delivered in as even a voice as Jacob could manage, seemed to surprise Upshaw. He watched in rising fury as the man ground to a halt, and then bulled onward.
“That’s right. Thirteen people who don’t get to go home to their families anymore.” Upshaw pointed one blunt finger at Jacob as if it were a cattle prod. “Do you know what those freighters were carrying, Jacob Hull? Allow me to tell you.” He held up a sheet of loose paper, obviously a report on the ship’s manifest. “Four thousand pounds of various construction supplies. Thirty thousand cubic liters of water. More to the point, forty thousand metric tons of fertilizer.” Upshaw’s eyes left the paper and locked with Jacob’s. “Manure, Captain. Thirteen highly trained, diligent personnel of the Celostian Navy died for manure.”
In the silence that followed, Jacob struggled to contain his reaction. He doubted it was the reaction that Upshaw had been aiming for. No doubt the pompous little bastard wanted him to be crushed and broken by the news. There was a thread of humiliation running through him, to be sure, but it was mostly the shame of sharing the same uniform and rank with such a useless sack of crap. To hear the sacrifice of his personnel used as some kind of ‘teachable moment’ tool was disgusting to him. Anger was far more plentiful in Jacob’s heart, filling his guts with ice. Jacob clenched his hands tight, fighting the urge to shout, to scream, to somehow reach through the transmission signal and strangle the fat little puss pot with his bare hands. Instead, he said nothing.
After another moment, Upshaw sighed and turned away. “Your people are depending on you, Jacob. Your rank gives you the authority to order them to battle, but you have the duty to make their deaths mean more than this. More than some frontier manure on a rickety merchant barge.” He shook his head. “If you cannot convince yourself to do that, then at some point we will have to reconsider your commission. Perhaps assign you to the Reefhome Guard with others of your…perspective…on the nature of war. Do you understand, Captain Hull?” His veiled reference to Jacob’s frontier upbringing only made Jacob tighten his fists more. The knuckles on his hands stood out white.
Upshaw, glaringly ignorant of the effect of his words, was still waiting. Somehow, Jacob managed to grind out the only appropriate answer. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. I expect to hear better things of you in the future. Captain Upshaw out.” The screen went dark before Jacob could salute, but given his current state of mind that was probably just as well. It was hard to salute when his hands were balled into fists, after all.
Jacob made it partway down the hall when an all-too-familiar voice caught him. “Looks like somebody had a few rounds with a superior officer.”
He turned and saw Lieutenant Isaac Bellworth, the Gunnery command officer for the Terrier and one of the few officers on board who had gone through the campaign aboard the Wolfhound with him. The red-haired lieutenant smiled and shook his head. “Judging from the look on your face, Captain Hull, the guy’s lucky he came away with his skin intact.”
“His skin maybe, but not his spine.” Some small sense of self-preservation prompted Jacob to look around and make sure there were no other officers or crewmen about. He had learned the hard way many times over that an indiscreet comment was almost worse than an armed torpedo when it came to the survivability of his career. That education had cost him far too many friends and allies in the Navy. “And don’t Captain Hull me, Isaac. I’m not in the mood.”
His friend came to rigid attention. Isaac’s salute was utterly precise and filled with the particular kind of mockery that had always characterized him. “Yes, sir! I will obey as ordered, sir.” He relaxed into his typical slouch as Jacob walked past him. After a couple lanky strides, Isaac had already caught up, grinning like a loon.
Jacob sighed. “You know, you probably would have made Lieutenant Commander if you didn’t keep up that act.”
Isaac chuckled to himself. “True, but then I would have to worry about the kind of nonsense so-called superior officers have to deal with, like our dear Captain Upshaw. Much better to stay at a spot where all I have to worry about is shooting things.” He shot Jacob a sidelong smirk. “And how is the dear Captain doing? Has he reformed you into the ideal ship captain yet?”
“Don’t remind me.” Jacob shook his head. High Admiral Nivrosky had not needed to consult the opinions of Central Command with regard to Jacob’s promotion, but he had been convinced that a brand new captain with little formal training had needed a sort of chaperone. As a result, Captain Upshaw had been assigned specifically to review his every command decision, and given that Jacob had spent less time reaching captain than Upshaw had to reach lieutenant, their relationship was not a peaceful one.
Deciding that he had been brooding on the matter for far too long, he turned to Isaac. “So, have you heard from Laurie at all?”
“Recently? Sure, every day.” Isaac smiled again; his joy this time was far less motivated by mockery. His pleasure likely came from contacting his wife far more frequently than regulations allowed; his hacking skills had probably helped out with that. “She says Leon’s doing well on the Beagle. The crew over there loves him, but that’s probably what we would expect out of a Nivrosky.”
Jacob shook his head. “I still have trouble not thinking of him as Leon Taylor, fellow ensign.”
Isaac smirked. "You mean rather than Leon Nivrosky, heir to the proud military tradition of Alan Nivrosky?" He snorted. "Our formerly humble ensign isn't any different than before. A little stiff, formal, and plenty annoying, but a surprisingly good officer in spite of it all. You know that."
With a glance at the lanky ensign, Jacob smiled. "You know, I've heard similar things about you occasionally." He gave his friend enough time to look mortified, and laughed. "Of course, rather than stiff and formal, I believe they used the words 'undisciplined' and 'abrasive' instead."
He watched as Isaac's smile returned. "Well that's all right, then. We are what we are, after all."
Isaac shrugged easily. Jacob shook his head; his friend had been getting—and ignoring—hints like that for months now, and he obviously had no intent of mending his ways. He sighed.
Isaac glanced at him. "Now what are we sounding so down about, Jacob? Did Uptight Upshaw really ride you that hard?"
Jacob kept his eyes on the hallway ahead. "He felt I was throwing away the lives of my crews by going after the Odurans the other day. That I was failing in my responsibility to make their sacrifices worth something in the end."
"Ouch." The Gunnery officer fell silent for a few moments. "You alright?"
Jacob sighed again and glanced at Isaac. "I don't know. In Reefhome, against the pirates, it was all pretty clear. If we didn't fight the Telosians, we were dead. If we ran or avoided combat, they would have destroyed or enslaved a bunch of helpless colonists. The consequences were clear, whether we wanted them or not."
"Now we can fight the Odurans and lose ships and people. Or we can ignore them, and maybe they'll only hit a few freighters. Or maybe it’s a passenger liner. Or maybe critical war materials." Jacob barely resisted the urge to punch the bulkhead. "How are we supposed to know when it becomes worth it? When is it an acceptable time to risk people's liv
es, and when is it a foolish gamble?"
Isaac blinked and shook his head. His answer came slowly. "That's a hard one to answer, Jacob. I don’t envy you the need to choose.” He cracked a smile. “Of course, that’s why I will happily remain a lowly lieutenant for the time being.”
Jacob shook his head ruefully. “If you say so. Careful though; any more smart remarks like that and you might end up with a ship or squadron of your own to worry about.” Isaac mimed a horrified swoon, and Jacob found himself chuckling in spite of his poor mood.
Isaac did not leave him long to enjoy himself. “So now that we’ve established which of us is the wiser, how are your communications going? Any news from Lieutenant Commander Al-shira?”
“Commander Al-shira, actually. I believe she qualified for a promotion last month.” Jacob fell silent a moment, wondering why the subject had plunged him back into a more morose mood. “I don’t know. I haven’t heard much from her, to be honest.” He forced a lopsided grin. “One of us has to follows the regs for com traffic, after all.”
His friend smirked. “Sure. You’re just jealous that I haven’t shared my secrets in subverting the message traffic. Still, for the right price, all secrets can be bought…”
“I doubt it would be worth the cost if Upshaw found out, Isaac.” Jacob rolled his eyes. “I can wait like everyone else.”
“Suit yourself, then. Just keep in mind I’m here for you.” The smirk faded from Isaac’s eyes as an ensign appeared along the corridor and approached them. Both officers settled into a more formal and professional attitude as the junior officer drew close.
The young man came to a halt in front of Jacob and made a salute. “Captain Hull, sir. There was a transmission from the flagship. Commander Flint asked me to bring you the recording.”
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