Debt of War (The Embers of War)

by Christopher G. Nuttall

  “Missile range in seven minutes,” Kitty reported. “Admiral?”

  “Hold the course,” Kat ordered. If things worked as planned, the enemy ships would get a bloody nose. If they didn’t . . . she could always launch a barrage and jump into hyperspace before they retaliated. The move wouldn’t sit well with her, but at least they’d know they’d been kissed. “Send the activation signal in five minutes.”

  “Aye, Admiral.”

  William wasn’t particularly surprised that Kat hadn’t retreated into hyperspace the moment she’d got a good look at his hulls. Kat was no coward. She’d hate the idea of running without firing a shot, even though it was the logical thing to do. And her only real option, if she didn’t want to run without firing a shot, was to force him into a long-range missile duel, one that offered her the greatest chance of hurting him without taking serious damage herself. William wasn’t blind to the political aspects. If Kat had left a day ago, no one would have cared. Now she had to fight.

  And yet, the thought—the certainty—that something was wrong kept nagging at him. Kat wasn’t a predictable commander. She would understand his ships and their weaknesses as well as he did. She’d know how to take advantage of them. And that meant . . . either she was doing something she’d been ordered to do—unlikely—or she was up to something. But what?

  He turned his attention to the near-space display. He’d launched hundreds of probes, enough to give the bean counters a heart attack when they realized how few units could be refurbished and put back into service. All worth it. The probes had quartered space, watching for cloaked or powered-down starships. They’d found nothing, save a pair of stealthed sensor platforms. William had taken sardonic pleasure in destroying both of them. And yet . . . he would almost have felt better if they had found something. It would have been better than the growing sense of unease . . .

  “Admiral,” Yagami said. “We’ll enter missile range in one minute.”

  “Hold fire until they open fire, then launch a single salvo,” William ordered. He doubted Kat would stick around, not when she was outgunned so badly. “Bring up the point defense and clear it to fire when the enemy missiles enter engagement range.”

  He frowned as the range fell, the last few seconds ticking away. Kat could have fired now, if she wished, relying on his ships to close the range for her. She could have snapped off a couple of salvos before he could have replied, then vanished . . . She wouldn’t do much damage, but she’d make him look stupid.

  I could talk to her, he thought as the display sparkled with red icons. But who knows who else would overhear?

  “The enemy has opened fire,” Yagami reported. “Missiles firing . . . now!”

  The superdreadnought shuddered as she fired a single salvo, aimed into the teeth of enemy fire. William watched, morbidly certain that Kat was going to run. She had no choice, not unless she wanted to risk being run down and destroyed. She hadn’t even fired a full salvo of missiles. Her stocks had to be low . . .

  Alarms howled. “Admiral,” Yagami snapped. Red icons appeared on the display, growing brighter and brighter as newcomers flowed into realspace. “Vortexes! Multiple vortexes! Behind us!”

  William swore. “Rotate the fleet,” he snapped. Suddenly he was outgunned. The enemy fleet was real. Had to be. There was no way to fake vortexes, not unless the king’s people had somehow made a breakthrough that had been concealed from the rest of the navy. “Bring us about and open fire!”

  But he knew, even as he issued the order, that it was too late.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  PERFUMA

  Gotcha, Kat thought with a flash of vindictive glee.

  The timing hadn’t been quite perfect—she’d been a naval officer long enough to know that a plan that called for perfect timing was doomed to fail—but it had been close enough. The enemy fleet was suddenly caught between two fires, between her retreating fleet and two more superdreadnought squadrons that had appeared behind them. And the newcomers hadn’t just come out from behind. They’d come out of hyperspace with enough speed to close the range within minutes. The crews would be vomiting on the decks, but that wouldn’t matter. Their automatics could handle the engagement long enough to for them to recover.

  “Reverse course,” she ordered. “Bring us about and prepare to continue firing.”

  “Aye, Admiral,” Kitty said.

  Kat watched as Task Force Hammer slammed into the rear of the enemy fleet. The range was continuing to fall, making it harder for the enemy ships, their point defense focusing on her fleet, to react before it was too late. They’d deployed their ECM to deal with a threat from her, not from a threat behind them. They were well trained, she admitted coolly. They’d reacted well without a trace of panic, but it wasn’t going to save them from a very bloody nose.

  And an energy weapons engagement if they let the range fall too far, she thought. A low quiver ran through her superdreadnought, followed by a shudder as she emptied her missile tubes at the enemy fleet. They can afford to replace their losses. Do they know it?

  She frowned. The enemy fleet had lost its edge, but could still do immense damage to her fleet if it was prepared to soak up the losses and risk total destruction. Cold logic suggested it should do just that, despite the cost. And yet, she doubted anyone on the other side would be comfortable with fighting a war of attrition. She chuckled at the thought, feeling another quiver running through the ship. It didn’t matter what they were comfortable doing. They were fighting a war of attrition.

  “Our missiles are entering their engagement envelope,” Kitty reported. “They’ve improved their point defense from our last engagement.”

  Kat watched as the enemy fleet pushed its escorts forward to absorb the missiles. Their point defense had definitely improved, the result of better training and drilling rather than new technology. She hoped it was the result of better training. She knew enough about the more fantastical ideas the engineers and researchers had devised to be seriously worried about the prospect of some of them coming out of their heads and into the real world. The House of Lords would be throwing all the money they could at the Next Generation Weapons program. They needed a silver bullet as much as anyone else.

  And you have a choice, she thought, addressing the enemy commander as his missiles started to tear into her formation. Are you going to risk a close-range encounter, are you going to widen the range, or . . . are you going to do nothing and let me make the choice for you?

  She waited. She’d been careful to allow the enemy room to retreat, to run, if they were smart enough to see it. The king would complain if he realized what she’d done, but he’d understand that she didn’t dare risk a close-range engagement if it could be avoided. The enemy commander had to see this, didn’t he? Or would he be afraid to run?

  He might think I’ve mined that section of space. Unlikely—she hadn’t bothered to even try, given how useless mines were outside planetary orbits and shipping lanes—but she’d already pulled off one surprise. Or his superiors might be very un-understanding.

  Her eyes narrowed. And if he doesn’t move soon, he’ll be doomed whatever he does. And he might take me down with him.

  William felt as if he’d been punched in the belly, hard. All made sense now. The enemy had brought three superdreadnought squadrons to the party, not just one. And they’d hidden two of the squadrons until they could catch him with his pants down. They’d caught him . . . He thought he heard Scott making an obscene remark, a scatological observation that encompassed just how badly he’d been tricked. If Admiral Rudbek had given him the third squadron . . .

  He shoved the thought to one side as the range continued to close. His point defense crews were working wonders, but the damage was starting to mount rapidly. Through sheer luck, the enemy was concentrating on his superdreadnoughts, ignoring the smaller ships unless they got in their way. The superdreadnoughts could take the battering for the moment. That would soon start to change. Alerts were already flas
hing up in front of him.

  And they’re going to close the range until they’re practically touching us, William thought. An engagement at point-blank range would probably end in mutual destruction . . . or it would if he wasn’t outgunned. They used our own goddamned StarComs against us.

  “Order the fleet to alter course,” he said as he traced a line on the display. He’d made a second mistake when he’d reversed course, surrendering the chance to run the first enemy fleet down. There was no point in trying to regain the position now. The incoming ships had a huge speed advantage. “We’re breaking for deep space.”

  Yagami swallowed. “Aye, Admiral.”

  The superdreadnought rocked as two missiles punched through the point defense and slammed into the shields. William caught his breath, noting that the enemy ships were firing antimatter warheads. They must be desperate. Using nukes so close to a planet was bad enough, but antimatter. Perfuma I didn’t have any defenses left, damn it. A single antimatter-tipped warhead striking the planet could do untold damage. Kat had to be mad to take the risk. Or maybe the king ordered it.

  He braced himself as the fleet slowly started to alter course. The enemy ships altered theirs too, but for once his fleet had a slight advantage. The enemy ships would find it harder to alter course before they rushed past his fleet and the range started to open again. He briefly considered powering up the vortex generators and popping back into hyperspace, conceding a defeat he knew had become inevitable unless reinforcements appeared out of nowhere, which he knew wasn’t going to happen, but there were some advantages to prolonging the engagement. Forcing the enemy ships to shoot themselves dry would make the next counteroffensive far more likely to succeed.

  Another missile struck the ship. “Rear shields weakening,” a voice snapped. “Rotate shield harmonics to compensate!”

  “Admiral,” Yagami said. “This ship appears to be being targeted specifically.”

  “That could be a problem,” William said. Command ships weren’t supposed to be easy to spot, but many of his enemies had served in the navy, the same navy, as long as he had. They’d probably know which ships were configured as flagships, if they couldn’t pick out the subtle point defense patterns that suggested some vessels were more important than others. “Warn Commodore Green that command may devolve on him at any moment.”

  “Aye, Admiral,” Yagami said.

  William nodded, watching grimly as the range closed . . . and then, slowly, started to open again. The three enemy squadrons looked as if they planned to concentrate their forces before trying to run him down, although he knew that might be an illusion. Kat’s original force was well behind the other two, chasing William with slightly less enthusiasm. William had to smile, even though he knew the situation wasn’t funny. Kat didn’t want to chase him too enthusiastically, or she might wind up catching him. That would be awkward if she really was short of missiles.

  He kept his thoughts to himself as the tactical situation gradually became more predictable. The range was starting to steady, allowing both sides to engage with missiles and, at the same time, swat enemy missiles out of space as they made their approach. He was tempted to retreat now, but his calculation hadn’t changed. As long as losses remained fairly even there was something to be said for making them expend their missiles. Or dragging them out of position. He kept a wary eye on the near-space display. Had Kat run out of tricks? She certainly wasn’t trying to do more than drive him back out of the system.

  “The enemy ships are falling back,” Yagami reported. “I think they’re running out of ammunition.”

  “. . . Maybe,” William said. He knew better than to believe it, not completely. Any naval officer worthy of the name would be careful to keep some missiles in reserve. “Let the range continue to open.”

  The enemy fire started to slacken, as if they’d given up hope of running him down. They probably had, unless they were willing to risk using hyperspace to dodge around his position and come at him from the front. It was possible, but coordination would be a pain in the ass, and there would be no way to keep him from seeing the maneuver coming. And then he’d either detonate warheads in hyperspace or simply flee himself. He already knew there was no prospect of completing his orders, not until he received reinforcements. The battle was, at best, a draw.

  And we’ll be leaving her in possession of the system, he mused. That was irritating, even if he knew she’d never get to keep it. The PR guys are going to have to work hard to spin that into a victory.

  He pushed the idea aside—coming up with lies to tell the population was their problem, not his—and started to assess his options. There was little point in lurking around the system, harassing shipping and generally making life difficult for the inhabitants. Perfuma had never joined the Colonial Alliance, even when it had been a perfectly legitimate political organization. Harassing the locals would be worse than merely petty and pointless. It would be targeting people who were supposed to be on his side. He was sure the Rudbeks would have a lot to say about that, when they found out . . . That was their problem too. He had other concerns.

  “Order the fleet to jump into hyperspace on my command,” he said. “We’ll regroup at Point Sigma.”

  A low rustle ran around the giant compartment as the operators heard the command. They didn’t like the thought of retreating, even though there was little choice. They’d assumed all the precautions he’d worked into the operational plans were nothing more than paranoia, professional ass-covering by an officer who knew few would come to his aid if he fumbled an engagement or lost a battle. They’d been wrong. All contingencies had to be considered, at least. Even outright defeat . . .

  War is a democracy, he reminded himself sternly. The enemy always gets a vote.

  “Aye, sir,” Yagami said. There was a pause as he keyed commands into the console. “The fleet is ready to jump.”

  William nodded, stiffly. He hated to admit defeat, even though . . . No, there was no point in lying to himself. A man who believed his own lies was a man doomed to certain defeat when reality—inconvenient reality—finally had its day. He’d lost the engagement. He’d have to wait and see if he’d lost his post and career as well.

  “Take us into hyperspace,” he ordered quietly. “And then to Point Sigma.”

  “Aye, Admiral,” Yagami said.

  “Admiral,” Kitty said. “The enemy fleet is leaving the system.”

  “So it seems,” Kat mused. She’d united her fleet, but she was painfully aware just how close she was to running out of ammunition. “Order the fleet to return to the planet.”

  “Aye, Admiral,” Kitty said. “They’ll be back, won’t they?”

  “I have no doubt of it,” Kat said. William, or whoever was in command of the enemy fleet, would have brought supporting elements, if not an entire fleet train, with him. They’d be lurking a light-year or two from Perfuma, completely undetectable. William would repair and reload his ships, then return for round two. “Once the fleet has returned to the high orbitals, order them to complete stripping the planet of anything useful. I want all freighters, save for the fleet train, to be loaded and ready to go within twelve hours.”

  Kitty looked unsurprised by the command. “Aye, Admiral.”

  And we’ll be lucky if we have time to take everything we need, Kat thought sourly. Kitty didn’t realize it, but twelve hours wasn’t anything like long enough to loot the planet of everything she wanted. We barely have time to take the stockpiled supplies, and they’re already in orbit.

  She leaned back in her chair, thinking hard. The king had ordered her to take prisoners, important prisoners, if possible. He’d probably be delighted if she snatched Kevin Rudbek and transported him to Caledonia. But . . . She shook her head. She didn’t want the bastard on her ship. And the part of her that remembered him being kind to her didn’t want to hand him over to Hadrian either. God knew what would happen if she carted him to Caledonia. The king probably didn’t know himself.


  “We’ll pull out in twelve hours, even if the freighters aren’t loaded,” she said. She essayed a joke. “I think we’ve outstayed our welcome.”

  She pulled up the first reports and skimmed them, noting what had worked and what hadn’t. She’d hoped to do more than merely damage a handful of enemy superdreadnoughts, but whoever was in command had done a good job at taking the opening she’d offered him and retreating in a timely fashion. She knew she should be grateful, even though there were people on Caledonia who’d accuse her of letting the enemy ships run. There’d be enough truth in their statements that she’d have real problems refuting them. It didn’t matter. They’d won a planet, looted the planet, and chased away an enemy fleet. Not a complete victory, but it wasn’t an utter disaster either.

  Her fleet had coped well, she noted. She’d lost a handful of smaller ships, but the superdreadnoughts remained intact and largely undamaged. The real problem lay in ammunition supplies. They were terrifyingly short of missiles. The fleet train would resupply one of her squadrons, just one. And then . . . she’d have to go back to Caledonia to rearm. A major headache. She was morbidly sure the House of Lords was working on plans to take out the king’s supply depots and industrial nodes.

  They’ve probably already written off the industrial nodes, Kat thought. She knew her people. The sunk cost fallacy had probably run its course. There was no way they’d recover the nodes or the money used to build them, not now. And if they realized it, they’d set out to destroy the nodes. They’ll probably hit us as soon as possible, just to knock our morale back down after this victory.

  “We’re returning to orbit,” Kitty said. “Governor Rudbek is trying to call you.”

  “Ignore him,” Kat said curtly. She didn’t want to talk to Kevin Rudbek. She wanted to enjoy her victory as long as possible. And the more she talked to him, the more she’d want to arrest the older man and take him to the king. “And make it clear to his subordinates that resistance will draw severe punishment.”