“As I’m sure you’ve heard by now, ever since I rose to be the Supreme Commander, I’ve been rebuilding the Strategic Operations Command, reassigning some of the old fossils, replacing them with new blood, and so on… my goal is to launch a counter-offensive against the N’xin by the end of the year.”
“I hope this one is going to end better than the last one did,” James muttered before he could control himself, then cursed himself for his slip-of-the-tongue. Even after all these years, he was still used to being from the rich-boys-club, who believed everything he thought, and everything he said, was something that needed to be heard by all.
Some people called it one of his endearing qualities… others had simply believed it was yet another sign of a privileged upbringing. Both sides were probably right.
Far from being annoyed or angry, Hawthorne smiled easily. Shanthi remained silent, standing to the side, her arms crossed, eyes on him like a bird stalking its dinner; James got the impression she was an icicle under pressure. Good thing to have in a crunch, but doesn’t endear you to your subordinates.
“Yes,” Hawthorne said, smiling painfully. “Rumour has it that you’ve been… vocal, for the last year or so, on what you think our strategic and tactical aims should be, and how we should meet those aims.”
“More than vocal,” said Shanthi, her deep, Jamaican voice echoing in the enclosed office. She punched a command into the terminal on the desk. The overhead lights dimmed, and the holoprojector built into the table top flashed to life. “You showed this to Captain Esteban.”
James recognised the projection – it was the strategic plan he’d pushed upon Admiral Morrow at the last Fleet Conference at Elysium. John Esteban, commander of the Drake, had been impressed by James’ presentation and had asked for a copy. Clearly, he’d passed it along before being killed at Horus.
“Yes,” James said, nodding slowly. “It’s a variant of a plan I had put forward to Admiral Morrow, who rejected it on the basis that it required too much in the way of resources, time and manpower. Overwhelming force, he reasoned, was unfeasible and impractical. He preferred a more covert approach.” James shrugged, his eyes smouldering at the painful memory of the last battle. “Look where that got him.”
And me, he added silently. Although his working relationship with Commander Marquez had tanked since that incident with the pirates, Marquez had still been competent and efficient at his job, and his loss hurt.
Shanthi shuffled a little to the side, and she appeared ready to reprimand James, but Hawthorne seemed to shoot her a warning look to keep quiet and her mouth snapped shut again.
“I like it,” Hawthorne said instead, choosing not to engage James in criticizing the dead any more than had already been done. He clasped his hands together as he studied the map. “We like it, actually. And so, I want you to join my team as we work on refining it, as well as the various battle plans you’ve appended.”
James was momentarily lost for words. Even in war, losing a warship was still considered a blemish, so he had expected a chewing out at this meeting, not a promotion. And certainly not working with the Strategic Operations, becoming responsible for military policy and strategy.
For a moment his heart skipped – this ‘promotion’ would probably take effect immediately. He’d been hoping – with the loss of the Englewood, and with no other vessels requiring command staff – that he could return home to Bastion (or at least make it halfway, to Earth) and to his family, if only for a three-day visit. It had been four years since he’d last seen Jennifer in the flesh, and since then R&R had been restricted to the major colonies of Boronia and New Providence, the closest things to capital worlds on the frontier – and James didn’t want his family anywhere near those worlds.
There wasn’t much of a chance of him getting that sort of leave, even if he declined this offer. But a slim chance was always better than no chance.
If he accepted this promotion, however, his services would be required immediately. There’d be no chance for a four-week journey to Bastion, only to spend a few days there, and then spend another month travelling back to the front lines… assuming the battle lines stayed the same.
The war isn’t what it used to be. James thought. In the early days of the war, skirmishes were the order of the day, with neither side conceding territory, no matter how damaged the real estate got.
Until the routing of the Eighth Fleet at Sacramento; the Commonwealth’s routing at New Baltimore just days later – before news of Sacramento had even reached the general population – had just been icing on the cake after that, and it had taken the Commonwealth another five years to recover from those fiascos, steadily pushing the N’xin back to their own territory. But never making tremendous gains. The N’xin made them pay for every inch they lost to the Commonwealth.
Most soldiers still considered themselves fighting a stalemate, progress was so slow. Morale had been worse – particularly after Sacramento – but it was still low. They’d needed a victory – a big victory – and retaking Cestus had gone a long way in bolstering morale. For now, at least.
“I’m honoured, of course,” James said slowly, choosing his words carefully. “But with the loss of the Englewood, and our victory here…” he gestured at the small, oval viewport, “I had been planning on taking a short leave-of-absence. I haven’t seen my family in –”
“I’m sorry, Captain,” Hawthorne cut him off with a curt wave of his hand, trying to soften the rejection with an understanding smile – and failing. “But personal leave isn’t going to be feasible for the foreseeable future.” He gestured at the holoprojection. “Maybe, with your help, if we can get the war under control – or better, yet, win it quickly – then I’ll be more than happy to ship you home.”
It was what James had expected, and knew very well that the promise of a return home was merely a platitude. Now he was faced with a choice: hang around until a command became available, and take orders until he was no longer required to take them… or accept this position, and all the prestige that came with it, and help make the orders and, hopefully, end this war sooner.
This was, indeed, no choice.
“When do I start?”
*
“He’s insubordinate, and more than a bit arrogant.”
“Show me someone from Bastion who isn’t.” Hawthorne waved off Shanthi’s complaint, grateful that she’d at least waited until Hunter had departed, the doors whisking silently shut behind him, before saying what she really thought.
“I’ll admit he’s… direct, but I’ve never been interested in officers who toe the regulations,” he said, making his way over to his liquor cabinet – something else that Shanthi had complained about. “I’m interested in officers who can get me results.” As he spoke he was pouring himself a generous sample of bourbon; he didn’t offer any for Shanthi, knowing that she wouldn’t accept.
“What if this insubordination creeps into his ability to follow orders?”
“That hasn’t appeared in his service jacket so far.” Hawthorne shrugged. “And following procedures didn’t help at Haven,” he said, then chided himself – Shanthi had been at Haven, had seen her ship blasted out from under her as the N’xin razed the world she’d been trying to save.
“I’m sorry, that was out of line. Especially considering I was at Haven, too.” He waded over to his chair and dropped heavily into it. “My point is, procedure and protocol, to say nothing of standard tactics, haven’t won us many battles, much less the war. It may not have lost us the war, either, but I’m willing to put up with any quirks my subordinates might have if it gives us a shot at nailing the N’xin to the wall.”
He downed his bourbon in one hit, studying the glass as the pair descended into an awkward silence. “Is that going to be a problem for you?”
Her calculating eyes met his and didn’t waver. “I’ve survived this long, sir,” she said stiffly, then offered the barest smile. “I can certainly survive anything Hunter has to offer.”
“And if he offers us victory?”
Shanthi laughed. “Then I’ll never mention this again.”
Chapter Two
Lauren Carmichael felt a shiver down her back as she sat down in the middle row of the amphitheatre. The sound of a hundred different commanders settling down echoed around her, and as the last of them got comfortable, the lights that encircled the ceiling dimmed theatrically – the show that was to be their briefing was about to begin.
“A few new faces, hey?”
Lauren nodded absently, her attention on the collection of officers surrounding Fleet Admiral Hawthorne. It was well-known – despite it being supposedly classified – that the admiral had been reassigning and reshuffling a slew of personnel for the last few weeks, ever since he’d been promoted to the top job – Admiral Sinaisky having been sacked by the Senate for failing to achieve meaningful results in the war during his stint as C&C. Lauren recognised Captains Shanthi and Williams, as well as the local head of Naval Intelligence, Commander Castillo, but the other three – including a brooding, dark-haired man – were unknown to her.
“Let’s hope this lot are better than the last,” Lauren agreed, glancing to her right. “How have you been, Anwar?”
Captain Anwar Rawahah gave a minimal shrug. “I’ve been better,” he said, his voice surrendering just the faintest trace of an accent. “The Glory got pretty banged up at Cestus, but we made it through. Probably won’t be ready in time for this new offensive, though.” He sounded regretful.
Lauren nodded. The Glory was a Renegade-class cruiser, a sister-ship to Lauren’s own command, the Endurance. Unlike the Glory, it had come through the Battle of Cestus unscathed.
“I think we’ve all been better,” Lauren said, a pang of guilt hitting her stomach. Although the Endurance had made it through, Lauren’s task group had lost the frigates Thomas Jefferson and Columbus, with the light cruiser Danube suffering so much damage that it would take a month of refit work to be space-worthy again. “Still, I hear you racked up quite a number of kills in that battle.”
“A few, yes,” Anwar said, clearly uncomfortable.
“I was sorry to hear about Dahlia, by the way,” Lauren said as the realization came to her. Anwar’s daughter – an ensign on the Kamari – had been killed in battle a month earlier. “Will she be re-lifed?”
A touch of sadness reached his eyes. “I’m afraid not,” Anwar said softly. “Much of my family doesn’t believe in that practice, and Dahlia was one of them.”
“Much of…” Lauren repeated. “Not you?”
He smiled mirthlessly, his eyes dulled with pain as he scratched the back of his head. “I like living too much.”
Lauren smiled, unsure of what to say, and was saved by Anwar gesturing to a young Eurasian woman near the front row. “Is that Captain Yuen?”
“Looks like it,” Lauren said after studying the woman for a few seconds. “I didn’t know they’d brought her back to commanding a warship.”
“I thought they’d cashiered her out years ago,” someone said from behind her. Lauren looked back, finding Captain Takagi sitting behind her. From the annoyed expression on his face, it was obvious that Takagi – currently commanding the cruiser Delgado – was not a fan of Yuen. Very few veterans are.
“Good evening everyone,” Hawthorne’s voice boomed as the holoprojector flashed to life. He waited for the background conversations to subside before continuing. “As you know, we’ve been fighting a delaying action until my planning team could be assembled, and our reinforcements arrived. I’m sure none of you missed them on your way in.”
Something of an understatement, Lauren thought. Over fifty ships – almost all of them fresh from the shipyards – had arrived over the last day, reinforcing the armada that had already assembled in the Cestus system. She was glad at the arrival of the state-of-the-art firepower – much of the problems the Commonwealth had faced, especially at the onset of the war, was that many of its ships were getting on in age and efficiency.
Unfortunately, it took time to design and build brand-new ships, additional time to train crews to run them, and then, you had to get them to the frontlines. Now, however, that deficiency seemed to be a thing of the past, and the fleet that had assembled here was the largest the Commonwealth had ever fielded.
Lauren and Anwar had been lucky to be given new warships when they’d been promoted; the Renegade-class cruiser was a real game-changer, carrying almost twice the normal armament of the ship it was superseding. If we can get more of these beasts out here, we have a real shot at winning. She’d heard from the grapevine that another dozen or so would be joining the front-lines in a matter of months. Of course, that could be completely wrong.
“Now that my team has been assembled, and the Cestus system has been retaken, I am confident that we can begin our counter-offensive,” Hawthorne continued, breaking into Lauren’s thoughts as the holographic projector sizzled to life.
An excited chatter began sweeping the room as Hawthorne began the briefing. Their objective was the so-called Horus system, located twelve light-years away, a major N’xin world, home to the largest set of shipyards the Commonwealth had been able to locate. It had been a major target for the Commonwealth since they’d discovered it; unfortunately, the nature of the war had been mostly defensive for the Commonwealth, and their few attempts to destroy the shipyards had been costly failures.
“To begin our offensive, we’re going to send small strike forces to these systems – all of them feints, of course,” Hawthorne amended as a list of systems appeared to the left of the display, as each system was highlighted on the appended map. “As for the main target of our… affection… the Bellicose and her task force will come out of FTL a few million kilometres from the fourth planet of the Horus system –”
Lauren frowned, bringing up the map of the Horus system in her virtual-vision. The shipyards – the target of their attack – were arrayed around the smallest moon of the third planet, and were well defended – not just by a fleet of warships, but orbital defence stations and ground-based fighter squadrons.
“This should draw out much of the defensive fleet in the system. Due to the proximity of the third and fourth planets in relation to each other in this stage of their orbits, the gravity well interference will prevent both sides from FTL manoeuvring, it’ll take a couple of hours for the N’xin to engage us at the fourth planet.”
“Approximately one hour after reversion the task group led by the F D Roosevelt will arrive on the far side of the third planet, and should further divert their forces as they split up to engage us. Approximately half an hour after that, the Bellicose will be reinforced by Task Group Three, and the Roosevelt by Task Group Five. The rest of the fleet will bypass the fourth planet entirely, and hit the shipyards, in orbit of the smallest moon of Horus III, at the two hour-mark...”
“What are the chances of the N’xin reinforcing the local defence forces?” That came from Captain Scott, of the Yorktown.
Hawthorne paused, and glanced at his staff – specifically, the tall, handsome captain sitting at the back, his attention not on the briefing, or on the assembled commanders, but on the display screens in front of him at the base of the projector; without looking up, he simply nodded.
“The bulk of the N’xin frontier fleets will be occupied elsewhere,” Hawthorne said, somewhat evasively, and the assembled group knew better than to inquire further. Lauren surmised that it meant that there’d be a diversionary battle – or two – in other systems to occupy the commanders of the N’xin fleets.
“And if they decide to just turn turtle and wait us out?”
“Then we’ll try to outflank them. Or try the brute force approach.” That wasn’t Hawthorne, but the impatient tones of Captain Shanthi. More questions erupted, and as Lauren watched, Hawthorne and Shanthi referred to the mysterious captain on several occasions. Shrouded in the shadows, he was an almost ill-defined form, content to stay out of sight and silent as the sh
ow-runners ran the party.
“This is his plan,” Lauren whispered, leaning toward Anwar’s ear as Hawthorne continued to field questions from the other captains. “Got to be.”
Anwar looked away from Hawthorne to the person in question. “Who is he?”
Lauren ordered her virtual-vision to zoom in on the mysterious figure. “Oh my god,” she breathed, after his likeness had resolved itself. “I think that’s Captain Hunter,” she clarified as Anwar gave her a confused look. “James Hunter, of the Englewood.”
“You sound like you know him.” Anwar smirked. “All you rich people know each other.”
Lauren rolled her eyes and jabbed him in the side with an elbow, her attention drawn once more to Hawthorne’s presentation.
“He’s married to one of my cousins, you prat,” Lauren explained when there was a lull in the conversation. “I haven’t seen him in… well, years, I guess. I think it was before she had the kids… I didn’t even know he’d signed up, much less made it to the SOC.”
“I suppose you have been rather busy the last few years,” Anwar murmured, and Lauren grimaced. She had gone in Basic training during her sophomore year at Harvard in 2419, graduating the officer corps three years later. “We all have, haven’t we?”
“Yes,” she murmured in quiet agreement. “But I hope this plan goes better than his last command did.”
*
As the assembled captains cleared out of the amphitheatre, Admiral Hawthorne turned to face Captain Hunter, who had been a passive observer for the whole briefing, merely nodding along at various points, only offering squirts of information from his VA link.
“We’re taking a big risk here, Hunter,” Hawthorne said slowly. “We’re almost putting all our eggs into this one basket. This had better work.”
A Call to Arms Page 28
