She struggled out of her seat and headed for the door. He hated to send her in that condition, but her line officer eyes would be able to interpret the raw data from the tail sensors, at least enough to give him some idea of what was going on out there.
Thomas glanced around, frustrated at the lack of a tactical display. If Spinner-Two was still out there, he’d be doing something useful. Thomas just needed to figure out what, and then see if he could help. But anti-stealth warfare was impossible without a way to assess relative positions. Then he spotted a blank sketch board lying on a dead terminal.
“Chen, do you remember the last reported ASW positions?”
“Yes, sort of.”
Thomas grabbed the sketch board and a light pen.
“Draw it for me.”
Chen took the pen and, after a moment’s thought, began sketching symbols on the board. Manual combat plotting was a useful tool for teaching new operators the principles of tactical positioning, but it was never used when real combat systems were available. It had been nearly twenty years since Thomas had used the technique himself, but young Chen was fresh out of training.
Thomas studied the rough diagram, which placed Bowen in the center and showed the relative positions of Spinner-Two, the enemy stealth, and the lone remaining rebel ship. Chen drew in the vectors of each, as they’d been before he sent Bowen to full speed.
“This will have changed now,” Chen said, “based on our new velocity.”
“Okay,” Thomas prompted, “so draw in new vectors for us and see where it places the stealth.”
Chen did so, then connected the vectors into a relative motion triangle.
“Chief,” Thomas said, looking up at Ranson, “come hard left ninety degrees and then stop the engines.”
Ranson barked orders and Thomas felt the AG field shudder as it compensated through the high-speed turn.
“We’re turning to fight?” Chen asked.
“I need us to stop accelerating so that we can get a clear picture again, and I want full bearing spread for the tail.” He handed Chen his headset. “Get linked up with Oaks and put this on speaker.”
Thomas checked the time, waiting as a single, agonizing minute passed. Then he queried Hayley down in the tail compartment. She reported up a series of possible bearings and Chen plotted them on his board. Most likely the stealth was at speed, trying to keep pace with Bowen, and hadn’t realized yet that her target had slowed. The cross-section of bearings from the tail wasn’t enough to give him an accurate range to target, but sometimes bearing was enough. This was a very long-distance shot, and it would re-expose Bowen’s position, but Thomas could visualize his assets in the four-dimensional game of chess, and he saw an opportunity.
“Port torpedo tubes,” he ordered via Chen, “down a relative bearing of two-six-eight mark two-eight-zero, salvo size three, set peets one, four, and seven—fire.”
A trio of thuds echoed through the silent hull as his orders were carried out. In his mind he envisaged the three weapons vanishing into the Bulk, each one headed to a different level of peets. He didn’t know how far into the Bulk the stealth was hiding, but he knew it wouldn’t be too far in if it was hunting Bowen here on the brane.
“Three torpedoes, sir?” Chen asked.
“This is called ‘firing a spread,’ Mr. Wi. All three weapons will go active, and one of them will find our target.”
“New transient down target bearing,” Hayley reported over the speaker, “three peets in.”
The stealth was maneuvering to evade the attacks. Bowen’s torpedoes had gone active and the stealth had plenty of time to launch countermeasures and evade. But Thomas never expected his own weapons to score the kill.
“Second transient,” Oaks shouted, “new torpedo closing on target!”
Chen stared up at Thomas, confusion in his eyes. Thomas pointed at the symbols on the board.
“All I had to do was flush the stealth out. Spinner-Two will do the rest.”
“DCC,” John’s voice crackled on a different speaker, “this is ASW. We just got comms with Spinner-Two. Assess shadow zero-one destroyed!”
It was done.
There was no spontaneous cheer in DCC, no sudden hugs or handshakes. Thomas glanced around at the drawn, pale faces at the consoles. He saw the wounded braced against the deck, and the shattered equipment. His ship and crew were still alive, but not by much.
“Roger, ASW. Bravo-zulu to Spinner-Two. Recover the Hawk and secure for jump as best you can.” He turned to Chen. “Plot a course for the jump gate. We’re heading home.”
22
There were eyes on her, Breeze knew, but she studiously ignored them. At least in the VIP lounge of the Longreach skyport, the clientele had enough courtesy to leave her alone.
She kept at least some staff around her at all times now, just to act as blockers from the public. This entire trip to Triton had been a marathon effort of making herself accessible enough to the media to satisfy the public’s demand for drama, while keeping enough distance to retain an air of tragic mystique.
After much discussion with Vijay’s PR staff she’d finally decided to speak at her husband’s funeral, but amid all the genuine outpouring of grief from his family and long-time friends, she knew her own words had sounded stilted. The PR team framed it as a brave attempt by the devastated widow, but she knew she could do better.
The real problem, she considered as she glanced around at her fellow wealthy passengers, was figuring out exactly what her next move should be. Did she use her newfound celebrity to make the jump into media, or did she slip quietly into the background as a senior advisor to one of the big firms?
To be honest, she’d genuinely liked Vijay, and there were times when real tears did take her. Maybe she just needed a bit more time to figure things out. Whenever one door closed, she knew, another would open—and until she saw her opportunity, she had to be very careful what she said and did in public.
At least she was back on Earth. The trip out to Triton had been too long, and that dark world with its grim people had been a lot to take. She looked forward to hitting the beach tomorrow, and working on her tan under the real heat of Sol’s direct rays.
Her assistant Susie rose from the chair beside her, and after a moment moved into Breeze’s view and crouched down.
“Ma’am, there are some gentlemen who wish to speak to you.”
Susie knew better than to let just anyone break through the wall of silence, and Breeze lifted her gaze. Standing politely at the edge of her private circle of chairs were two men she recognized well—Admiral Eric Chandler and Brigadier Sasha Korolev. With a sudden, genuine rush of warmth she rose and embraced Chandler in a light hug, then offered Korolev the standard cheek kisses.
“Admiral, Brigadier—what a nice surprise. Please join me.”
She retook her chair as the two senior officers seated themselves across from her. They were an odd pair—Chandler with his rugged good looks and easy charisma, Korolev with his plain, unassuming features—but she wasn’t terribly surprised to see them together. They’d both risen to prominence at the beginning of the war, when their respective commanders were killed in a surprise attack, and together they’d assumed command of Expeditionary Force 15.
Chandler had been the public face of the attack on Centauria, and over the past two years he had become a frequent spokesperson for the Astral Force. Korolev had shunned the spotlight, but Breeze knew he’d been anything but idle and, last she’d heard, he was heading up Special Forces. Susie had definitely got this one right.
These men were people worth talking to.
“I’m so sorry to hear about your husband, Breeze,” Chandler said. “He was a good man.”
“Thank you,” she replied carefully. “It’s been hard, but I’m not going to be defeated by it. I assume”—she turned her eyes to Korolev—“something’s being done about it?”
“We know who the attacker was,” Korolev said with a reassuring nod. “It
’s being taken care of.”
“Good.”
“Are you heading home?” Chandler asked. “Maybe taking a bit of a break?”
“Yes. I think a few weeks on the Mediterranean will help a lot. Where are you traveling?”
“I’m headed topside,” Chandler said with a gesture toward the ceiling, and ultimately toward Astral Base One orbiting high above them. “But I heard Sasha was passing through, so I came over to the skyport to meet. Running into you is a pleasant bonus.”
“Secret discussions, no doubt?”
“Very interesting discussions, actually.” He glanced at Korolev. “For the first time in a while, I’m actually really optimistic.”
“Oh? I could use a bit of good news right now.”
Korolev held up a hand to pause the conversation, nodding silently toward Breeze’s assistant.
“Susie,” Breeze said, “would you give us a minute, please?” The younger woman promptly rose from her chair and moved a discreet distance away.
“We have a new military plan,” Chandler said quietly, leaning in. “I can’t discuss details here, but… Well, I’m optimistic. Sasha and I have been working on the details for quite a while, and the tactics are sound.”
“We just worry,” Korolev interjected, “that the political will won’t be there.”
“It’s a bold plan,” Chandler continued, “and it will change the war. But I agree, it needs full political support.”
Both men stared at her expectantly.
“I wish I could help you,” she said carefully. “Any new strategy created by you two is bound to be brilliant, but I’m not sure what I can do.”
“Your influence among your husband’s colleagues is greater than you might think,” Chandler said with an admiring smile. “Or did Thomas Kane just earn that second DCM on his own?”
Breeze stiffened, wondering how her subtle words of influence had reached Chandler’s ears. But then she remembered that seated next to him, with a bland, innocent expression, was the commander of Astral Special Forces. She allowed herself a confident smile.
“Thomas deserves any accolade offered him—I just gave a nudge in his direction.”
“He deserves more than you know. Why do you think I’m heading into space? I have a ride waiting to Astral Base Five to welcome our new hero home.”
So Thomas’s career was back on track.
Good, that will keep him happy… and silent.
“How wonderful—please give him my best.” She watched both men, judging their reactions to her next comment. “But I’m still not sure how I can help you with your new strategy. Especially if I don’t even know what it is.”
“As you know, we’d never discuss top-secret information with a private citizen,” Korolev said. “Not even one with close connections to the government, and a prior career in Astral Intelligence.”
“No, of course not,” she said, “and in the wake of this tragedy, I’m not sure what my own future holds. There are many… possibilities, but who can say what the best one is.”
She waited expectantly.
“Have you considered,” Chandler said, “running for Vijay’s seat in Parliament?”
A surprised laugh escaped her, dying as she saw the lack of amusement on the admiral’s face. The notion was absurd. It took years to gather the sort of resources required to fight an election to Parliament.
“I’m flattered, Eric,” she said, “but that by-election is going to be announced in a few days, and I’m not even an official member of a political party. Plus my husband is barely cold in his grave—what would the optics be?”
“They would be of justice,” Chandler said. “They would be of strength. Our enemies strike us at the heart, but we rise up from our sorrow and stand resolute. As a veteran yourself, you would represent every one of us who risks everything for the good of Terra.”
Breeze felt her mind racing. It was an insane idea. Or, perhaps, it was just an audacious idea. But still…
“No independent has ever won a seat in Parliament,” she said. “I’d need the support of one of the parties.”
“Knowing the high regard in which the Minister of Defense holds you,” Chandler said, “I think Vijay’s party would back you.”
That might be true, she thought. She hadn’t yet disbanded Vijay’s political staff, as they’d been required to guide her through the chaos of the funeral process. The staff was topnotch, and they’d already spent months building her public profile. But could her image as glamorous wife be transformed in a few short weeks to serious political contender?
“I’d need a lot of help,” she said. “Building a successful campaign so quickly would take a miracle.”
“Miracles have been known to happen,” Korolev said with quiet resolve.
She sat back in her chair, considering the idea. Losing Vijay had seemed at the time to be the death knell for her budding political career, but as one door closed…
“We need a strong voice inside Parliament, to support us with our new plan,” Chandler said. “And we want that voice to be you.”
“I’d like some time to think about it.”
“Of course,” he said. “I’m heading out for a few days, but Sasha will be nearby.”
“I can call on you in two days,” Korolev offered.
“No doubt you already know the address.”
His expression was neutral, but he smiled slightly.
She returned the smile, and began to consider how best to make her public announcement. True power beckoned, and all she had to do was answer.
23
“All moorings secure, sir.”
Thomas nodded his acknowledgement of Chief Ranson’s report. Tugs had met the crippled cruiser as soon as it emerged through the jump gate and taken positive control, guiding her carefully alongside one of the battle-blackened docks of Terra’s jump gate fortress.
The broken DC display had been converted to show a visual of the port side of the ship, and Thomas had been able to watch as Bowen was brought alongside the spar at Astral Base Five, but he’d had nothing to do with the maneuver himself.
“Secure from docking stations,” he said quietly.
As Chen began rattling off the routine list of orders that occurred whenever the ship came alongside, Thomas turned to John Micah.
“I don’t have any special requirements for the crew, XO. Unless you have anything planned for them, I suggest you contact Fleet personnel and start arranging transports home. Admiral Bowen isn’t going anywhere for a long time.”
“Yes, sir,” John replied, making a brave effort at a smile. “I’m just gathering the crew for a final debrief and then I’m going to get them ashore. I’ve already arranged quarters for each of them in the base until we’re told where everyone’s being reassigned.”
“I’d like to see everyone sent home for leave.”
“I agree wholeheartedly, but from my discussions with Fleet, that may not be happening.”
Thomas sighed. The pace of the war was unrelenting, it seemed. He could just imagine the conversation at Fleet Personnel regarding the news of Bowen’s return.
We have a cruiser that was terribly damaged in battle, but they limped it home.
Casualties?
Half the crew.
The other half—they’re still serviceable?
Absolutely.
Well, get them onto new ships ASAP. We have a war to fight.
With pleasure.
Thomas shook his head, looking around again at his exhausted team. They had managed to return home, through a jump gate, with a vessel that was little more than a blind shell surrounding troublesome engines. Technicians had practically rebuilt the sensor control systems to turn DCC into a rough-and-ready bridge, but everything was still controlled from primary units. There was a team of operators around him whose sole job was to relay his orders along various circuits to engineering, the weapons and sensors, the hangar, and—he shuddered at the memories—all the thruster controls
.
Aside from the programmable visual on the main DCC display and a single 3D projection stolen from Spinner-One, Thomas had no way of knowing what occurred beyond DCC except for listening to the voice reports of his operators. He felt like the captain of an old water-based ship from centuries ago—all he needed was a hand telescope and a sword on his belt.
DCC suddenly filled up, and within moments he found himself surrounded by a weary but bright-eyed crew. Chen and Hayley moved to flank him, and Chief Ranson loomed behind, arms crossed and his habitual scowl firmly in place. John ensured that a decent space remained clear around them and, noting the last of the arrivals squeezing in the door, motioned for silence.
“I realize,” John said to the room’s occupants, “that my tenure as the executive officer of this fine vessel is coming to an end, and before Fleet bureaucracy strips me of my authority, I wanted to make sure one last critical task has been completed.” He nodded to the subbies, each of whom reached into their pockets.
“It is unseemly,” John continued, “for a vessel as mighty as Admiral Bowen to remain under the command of a mere sublieutenant, and while it is not in my power to grant field promotions, as XO I have the authority to grant field appointments. And so, with that authority, I bestow upon you, sir… the appointment to sublieutenant commander.”
Thomas’s eyes darted down to where Chen and Hayley unfastened his epaulettes and replaced his rank with something he’d never seen before—the single bar of sublieutenant, augmented by a star. A roar of laughter went up, and he joined in. Then he forcibly composed himself, making a show of solemnly shaking John’s hand as the laughter gave way to thunderous applause.
John stepped back and offered him the floor.
“Thank you,” Thomas said, turning slowly to take in everyone crowded around him. “I’ll be sure to sign the log with my new appointment—if only to confound future historians. In all seriousness, though, I’m just one person in a team of elite professionals who did the impossible. The honors are due to all of you. I’m proud to have served with each and every one of you. Well done, and welcome home.
March of War Page 22
