“One that we’ll have a good chance to get out of. You’ll be fifteen minutes picking your way through the rocks, and Komarov can sweep the battlespace while it’s digging for geological faults. If it looks bad, then we turn around and come out the way we came. Minimal risk, until we actually commit to the battle.” Glancing at the clock, he said, “We’re out of time. If we’re going to set this up, we’ve got to start right away. Unless you have any other ideas, this is the plan.” There was a pause, and Flynn tapped a control, saying, “Flynn to Captain. Could you come down to the Training Deck? I think we’ve found what we’ve been looking for.”
Chapter 16
“Well,” Forrest said, sitting at her desk. “What do you think of it, Vik?”
“I think that it’s probably a fast way to commit suicide,” Singh replied, “but if we’re going to press ahead with the attack, I don’t see that we have a choice.” Rubbing his forehead, he sat back in his chair, and said, “Can I talk you out of it?”
“No.”
Ignoring her, he continued, “We’re up against superior odds, our intelligence comes from a captured traitor who seems willing to talk a little too eagerly, there’s a traitor on the loose and half of our ships are damaged badly enough that they can’t take part in the battle. To say nothing of the fact that we came out here on a convoy mission, and we’re leaving them alone. The Guild could win two massive victories today.”
“Perhaps.” She paused, then said, “Der Tag.”
“Excuse me?”
“Come on, you remember your naval history. The First World War, the fighting between the two great fleets in the North Sea. Germany and Britain dueling for dominance. All the British had to do was survive, to continue their blockade and keep the enemy fleet bottled up. The Germans had to break out, to find a way to smash the British fleet hard enough to open up the sea lanes again. They could have won the war in an afternoon.”
“Except that the commander of the British fleet was too smart to let that happen.”
“Partly, but the Germans never really pressed for an attack. There were a few moments when they might, they just might have won the victory they needed. Dogger Bank. Jutland. A few others. But always they held back, just enough. They wouldn’t take the big risk, even when it might win them the war. And really, what did they have to lose? Their fleet was rusting at anchor, waiting for a moment that might never come.”
“And you think that this is Der Tag.”
“We set out to win a major victory, one that would impress the neutral powers sufficiently to draw them into the war. And we did, beating the Guilder fleet, but that’s just the beginning. Sooner or later we’re going to have to take on the Guild.” Rising to her feet, she started to pace the room, and continued, “Except that’s not going to be easy. They’ve got a lot of space to roam, a larger fleet to deploy, and some damn smart fleet commanders. Today we have the location of a substantial battle fleet, and a vulnerability they aren’t expecting us to be able to exploit. If we wait, we lose the war. If we attack, we just might draw the bastards to the bargaining table. It’s got to be worth a try.”
“You think there’s a chance they might agree to a ceasefire, maybe even a treaty?”
“If we can hit then hard enough, yes. I know that the best we could hope for would be a brief cessation of hostilities, but that just might be enough. Give us a couple of years, and we’ll have more carriers coming out of the slipways, at Zemlya and Lemuria, maybe Colombia. Time to get more fighters constructed, and adapt ships to take them.”
“The Guild won’t just let that happen.”
“Of course not. I know this isn’t going to be easy, but right now, we’re playing for time. As much time as we can get. Time to make use of all of our advantages to the full.” Taking a deep breath, she said, “I know the stakes, and I know the odds, and I know that I’m essentially planning to win or lose the war in a single fight, but sometimes it comes down to that.”
“There must be another option,” Singh said. “We don’t fight wars this way. Even if the Navy had lost at Midway against Japan, we’d have still won. It would have taken longer, but...”
Shaking her head, Forrest replied, “You’re assuming that we’re the United States Navy in this scenario. We aren’t. We’re a lot more like the Japanese Navy. Good ships, good people, but not enough of them, spread out much too thinly. We need that one, decisive victory if we’re going to win this war, and we’ve got a chance to win it, right here, right now. We can’t pass it by.”
“I just don’t like the odds. That’s all. I still think there must be another answer. Could we hold off for another twenty-four hours, let me sit down with Flynn and Fox and work out some other attack plan. And give Kirkland and Romano a chance to catch our saboteur.” Shaking his head, he said, “I still can’t quite get used to the idea that one of our own people is working against us.”
“I hope I never get used to it,” Forrest replied. “And I hope that it never happens again. I spoke to Commander Kirkland an hour ago, and she has a theory that they’re more interested in capturing this ship, rather than destroying it. We can work around that. And, of course, once we’ve launched our fighters, our job is to sit back and watch the battle unfold. I don’t intend to take the ship into harm’s way this time.”
“I’m sure the turret gunners will be happy to hear it,” Singh said. He looked around the office, and said, “All of this still seems strange. We’re fighting a war against people we didn’t even know existed two months ago.” Turning back to Forrest, he said, “Are you approving Kirkland and Romano’s request to grant amnesty to the rioters?”
“Reluctantly, but I don’t think we’ve got much choice. Not at the moment. There were fifty-two people down there, and some of them are combat critical. I’ll be having words with them individually after the battle, but as it stands...”
“You realize that’s only the first sign of trouble. There’s going to be more, the longer we fight. The crew still don’t think of this as their war. Fighting PacFed will help, for a while, though I’m somewhat concerned about their attitude to that fight, as well. They’re too eager. And with all due respect, ma’am, so are you.”
“You’re damned right I am,” she said. “This is our fault, Commander. Mine, if you want to be specific. I made the decision that stranded the crew out here, and it turns out I also brought a collection of PacFed ships along for the ride, handing them over to the Guild. We’ve managed to give the enemy an advantage that could allow them to dominate known space within a year. We have a responsibility to right that wrong.”
Looking up at her, he said, “Right now, we’re all that stands between Zemlya and the Guild. If we fail, right here, then we condemn millions of people to slavery. We’re the last throw of the dice, Captain, and I’m not sure that even you have the right to throw them when the odds are this grave. I know it is tempting to end it all now, but are you sure that you aren’t just acting out of a sense of guilt?”
“Excuse me?”
“Survivors’ guilt, and worse. We left our comrades behind to face a war, a war that ended in a stalemate. A war that ended in the dissolution of our country. I know I’ve had a thousand thoughts on how it might have been different, what we could have done if we’d stayed. Don’t tell me that you haven’t, Captain, because I’m afraid I wouldn’t believe you.”
“I have thought about it,” she replied. “But that’s not guiding me today. We’ve got to do this, Vik. We’ve got no really choice. I mean, what are our alternatives? Head back to Zemlya and wait for them to attack? They won’t wait. As soon as they’ve got their ships back into the line, they’ll strike. You know that just as well as I do. And then we’re not only outnumbered, but we’ve yielded them the initiative as well.” Stepping towards him, she added, “Our best, our only weapons are speed and surprise. With both, and a little luck, we have a chance. For better or for worse, t
his is Der Tag.”
Nodding, he scrolled to a new file on his datapad, and said, “I’ve got a list of thirty-one crewmen I think we should transfer to Santos-Dumont before she departs. Nobody we can’t spare for the battle, mostly a technical and engineering cadre. That way, if we end up winning a more expensive victory than we were expecting, there will still be a chance for Zemlya to try again. At least it will give them a fighting chance.”
Forrest scrolled through the list, and nodded, replying, “Have them transferred on my order. If they protest, tell them that it is for the good of the ship. It’s the right call.” She paused, then added, “Do you want to go with them?”
“Captain, my place...”
“You don’t believe in what we’re doing here. That much is obvious.” Raising a hand, she added, “I know that one of the jobs of a good Exec is to come up with alternatives, and you’ve done it completely properly, but the fact remains that your heart isn’t in this mission. I can use you back on Zemlya, preparing to receive Lincoln on our return, and beginning work on the new ship construction. I’ve already provided written permission to the President to commence the construction of a new carrier, provisionally called the John Paul Jones.”
Singh frowned for a moment, then nodded, replying, “An American captain who ended up serving with the Russian navy. Appropriate, given the circumstances.” Shaking his head, he said, “My place is here, Captain. If this ship is riding into battle, then I ride with it. Unless you’re going to give me a direct order.”
She looked at him for a moment, almost tempted to do just that, then said, “No. Of course not. I think Lieutenant Commander Gonzales is the obvious choice to lead the technical team.”
“God, give him six months, he’ll own Zemlya. Give him a year, and he’ll be giving the Guild a run for its money.”
“Perfect,” she replied, a smile curling her lips. She looked up at the clock, then said, “You’d better get going. We depart in seven hours, and I want everyone to get at least four hours’ sack time. We need the crew fresh for the fight.”
“Agreed,” he said, making for the door. “I’ll see to it, Captain.”
“Dismissed, then.” Singh walked out of the room, and Forrest walked over to the viewscreen, looking at the ships hanging lazily in space behind them, a flotilla of shuttles racing back and through through the sky, crossing from one to another to move supplies and personnel. Everything Singh had said was perfectly correct. They were taking a gamble, and a big one. One that could easily cost them the war, if she chose wrong.
Her crew seemed on the verge of mutiny, there were spies and saboteurs on board, the bulk of her escorts were crippled, and yet, somehow, she still knew that going into battle was the right thing to do, the necessary thing to do. It was going to cost, of course. The price of victory could easily be the destruction of her ship, but if they could beat off the Guild, destroy the PacFed cruisers, then it would all be worth it.
She looked across at the flag, hanging at the back of her office. An anachronism in this age. The United States hadn’t made it to five hundred years, dismantled in the aftermath of the war from which she and her crew had escaped. Yet it still lived, here, on this ship. In the hearts of the crew. The flag and the uniform were the only things binding them together, and for the first time, a part of her wondered whether it was truly enough.
No. Shaking her head, she pushed those dark thoughts away. It was going to be enough. It had to be enough. They still had a battle to fight, a war to win, and this time they were fighting their old enemy. Taking out the PacFed cruisers would be something the crew could rally behind. Singh was right about that much, at least. She looked out at her fleet, a smile creeping across her face.
She’d been passed over twice for her star, back in the old century. Was on the verge of mandatory retirement, though doubtless that picture would have been changed by the war. Now she was the nearest thing there was to Supreme Allied Commander.
And it hurt like hell.
Chapter 17
“All hands,” the voice of Lieutenant Fox barked over the intercom, “Prepare for hyperspace transition. Battle stations will be called in seventeen minutes, mark. Department heads report to the Executive Officer for communications conference on the double. That is all.” The lights flickered, and Romano felt the familiar wrenching feeling in his stomach, his senses telling him that Lincoln had completed the passage out of their home dimension, was traversing hyperspace to reach its destination thousands of times faster than the speed of light.
Forty minutes from now, they’d be emerging in the enemy system, ready to go to war. Under any other circumstances, Romano would have been making his way to Turret Control, but this time McBride was going to have to man it alone. He had more important work to do, and he turned down the long transverse corridor that traveled the length of the ship, nodding at a pair of maintenance technicians who were heading in the opposite direction. One of them glared at him, Caldwell evidently still nursing her rage from the events of the morning.
The curse of it was that under other circumstances, he might have been one of them. That he was risking his life to help the PacFed officer who had been responsible for stranding them here infuriated him, but the needs of the ship and the mission had to come first, before any personal considerations. No matter how personally distasteful he might find what he had to do.
His communicator squawked twice as he walked past Auxiliary Life Support. He didn’t pull it out of his pocket. He didn’t have to. There was no message, other than the notification itself. Kirkland was ready, waiting at the elevator, and Grogan down on the lower decks. It had taken a leap of faith to trust them, but he couldn’t do what had to be done on his own.
There was an enemy spy ring on this ship. Led by a senior officer. That overrode all other priorities, especially with the most important battle of their lives coming up in a matter of moments. He turned another corner, walking towards the brig, and placed his hand-print calmly on the panel, waiting for the system to register. The door slid open, the two guards, both handpicked by Grogan, standing to attention as he entered.
“I need to have words with the prisoner,” he said. “And I don’t need to be overheard.”
The senior of the two leered at the door, and replied, “Needs to be nice and private. I get you. Trouble with that mob was that it would have made things too obvious.” Looking at his comrade, he said, “Come on, Smith. Let’s give the Lieutenant his space.”
“Our orders are to remain on guard,” Smith protested.
“Hell, he isn’t going anywhere, and you know that the Lieutenant is a crack shot. I figure that’s pretty much what you have in mind, sir. Some target shooting.”
Bile rose in Romano’s mouth, as he quietly pledged to arrange that the man he was talking to found a fast path to civilian life at the earliest opportunity. During the last months before the war, the service had been forced to compromise on some of its recruiting standards in a bid to fill the ranks, and accepting men such as this had been the result.
“Shooting implies multiple bullets, Spaceman. I think one would be more than sufficient.”
“Cold as vacuum,” the man said, walking out of the room. “We’ll be close, if needed.” The door closed behind them, and Romano moved over to the security controls, killing all the monitors in the brig and the corridor beyond, cutting off all surveillance across half the deck. Nobody needed to know what he was planning. He turned to the cell, a bemused Sinaga watching his every move, and broke the seal with the touch of a finger, the blast door rolling free.
“I suppose I should protest,” Sinaga said, “but I rather considered this was inevitable. For the sake of indulging my curiosity, is this assassination being conducted on the orders of Captain Forrest, or is this a more personal project.”
“Nobody’s going to die here,” Romano replied. “At least, I hope not.” Raising his pistol,
he added, “There’s a spy ring on this ship. I suspect you knew all about it.”
“I knew that your forces had been infiltrated, Lieutenant. I have no knowledge of any specifics. What would it matter, in any case?” He paused, then said, “Ah, you think that the Guild may have suborned some of our agents. A possibility that I confess had not occurred to me.”
“It’s more than a possibility, Captain. It’s a reality.” Raising his pistol again, he added, “You’re telling me that you don’t know anything that will help us?”
“I surrendered in an attempt to save the lives of my crew, Lieutenant. This ship is my best hope of rescuing them. Why would I place all of that at hazard for the sake of a traitor? If I knew anything that would be of assistance, I would tell you at once.”
Nodding, Romano replied, “Of course, our friends don’t know that. On your feet.”
“Then you are still going to kill me?”
“Only if necessary. On your feet.” He gestured to the door, and said, “Lead the way. We’re going for a little walk. And do your best to look scared. If this isn’t convincing, I may have to take steps to make it so.”
“Might I make one suggestion, Lieutenant?”
Romano frowned, and said, “Why not?”
“Hit me.”
“What?”
“Hit me around the head as hard as you can. I presume that you plan to convince one of the traitors that I have been forced to talk, and it seems unlikely that they will accept that if I walk out of this room undamaged. I suggest you use the butt of the pistol. No point risking injury to your hand.” At Romano’s expression, he smiled, and continued, “I would gladly die for my crew, Lieutenant. Does it surprise you overmuch that I would be willing to accept momentary discomfort for them? I have faith that your medical team will be able to undo any damage you inflict.”
“Are you sure about this?”
Never In Vain (Lincoln's War Book 2) Page 14
