March of War

by Bennett R. Coles

  “And now,” he continued, “if the XO truly has nothing else to say…?” John shook his head. “Everyone get ashore and get some down time. Don’t hurt yourselves, don’t hurt anyone else, get rested up. We might not have a lot of time before the State calls upon us again.”

  “Three cheers for Sublieutenant Commander Kane,” Chief Ranson bellowed.

  The cheers were loud and sincere, and Thomas had to drop his gaze to hide the sudden grin that threatened his stoic countenance.

  “Now you heard him,” Ranson roared. “Get your shit and get ashore! If I see anybody on board in twenty minutes, they’ll be getting my size thirteen boot up their ass.” Amid new laughter and a rumble of chattering voices, the crew began to file out of DCC.

  Thomas glanced around at his “command team”—a pair of young subbies, a wet-behind-the-ears lieutenant, and a curmudgeonly old engineering chief. He could have done a lot worse.

  “Don’t wander far, any of you,” he said. “And Hayley, you hold Chen’s hair back when he needs to puke.”

  She laughed, but before she could reply her eyes suddenly widened as she looked past Thomas toward the door. She snapped to attention.

  “Admiral on deck!”

  Thomas instinctively stiffened, and turned to look toward the door. Admiral Eric Chandler gazed back at him, his stern features taking in the entire scene.

  “Carry on,” Chandler said, stepping forward and letting the last of the crew exit, until only John, Haley, and Chen remained. He approached Thomas, eyes lingering on the unique rank insignia.

  “Sir,” Thomas said, “I present to you the cruiser Admiral Bowen—or as much of her as we could save.”

  “You’ve done excellent work,” Chandler replied, nodding at the epaulettes, “Sublieutenant Commander.”

  “A gesture from the crew,” Thomas offered. “All in good fun, sir.”

  “And appreciated. It almost makes the Fleet’s gesture seem unnecessary.” Thomas searched his memory for any recent gesture from Fleet to Bowen. Other than the squad of tugs sent to bring her alongside, nothing sprang to mind. But he could see the glint in Chandler’s eye, and he guessed something was up.

  “What gesture is that, sir?”

  “This new appointment your crew created for you… It’s not officially sanctioned and, in my opinion, it’s too cumbersome.” He nodded to Hayley and Chen. “Remove those epaulettes, please.” The subbies silently obeyed, and Thomas saw John frowning in resignation behind the admiral.

  “Your crew, in their gesture, took two ranks and pushed them together,” Chandler continued. “I say—and Fleet agrees—that it should be one rank or the other. Since you’ve proven yourself multiple times as a sublieutenant, I think it’s time we test you as a commander.” He produced a new pair of epaulettes—each bearing three bars—and handed them to the subbies. They took them and fastened them to Thomas’s shoulders.

  “This is an official promotion, effective immediately and so noted in Fleet records.” He extended his hand. “Richly deserved, and far too long in coming, Commander Kane.”

  Thomas shook hands with his old mentor. Then he took the sublieutenant commander epaulettes and held them tight.

  “Keep those,” Chandler said. “They’re from your crew, and a greater honor than I could bestow.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Chandler reached over and patted him on the shoulder, then began leading him toward the door.

  “Let’s you and I adjourn to somewhere a bit tidier. We have a lot to discuss.”

  * * *

  It didn’t take long for Thomas to learn what Chandler meant by “somewhere a bit tidier.” Departing Bowen, they walked directly across the spar and boarded another cruiser, Admiral Moore, which itself showed the black scars of battle across its hull.

  Inside, however, the passageways were bright and clean, and the only crew they passed were technicians completing their work and a caravan of storesmen directing pallets toward the ship’s holds. In just a few minutes, Chandler stopped in front of the door to the captain’s cabin. He gestured to Thomas.

  Puzzled, Thomas pressed the call button. A moment later the door slid open to reveal a middle-aged crewman who glanced efficiently between the two senior officers, and then stepped back to invite entry.

  “Commander Kane, welcome, sir.”

  Thomas entered the cabin and scanned for its occupant—whoever Admiral Moore’s commanding officer might be. The large room was empty. He stepped forward to the sitting area, following Chandler’s lead as the admiral sat down in one of the armchairs. The crewman, who was obviously the captain’s steward, poured coffees and retreated to the pantry.

  Thomas looked around the room, then back to Chandler, who was sipping at the coffee and looking back with a spark of humor. There was silence for a long moment, then Thomas remembered the new rank on his shoulders. He took a guess.

  “Is this my new cabin, sir?”

  Chandler set his cup down and sat back in the chair with a satisfied nod.

  “I present to you the cruiser Admiral Moore, fresh out of refit. Try to bring this one back in one piece.”

  A startled laugh escaped Thomas’s lips. Promotion, and now command?

  “Is this how we do things in the Fleet now, sir? Seems kind of low-key.”

  “We don’t have time for pomp and circumstance these days, Thomas. Fleet has a cruiser coming out of refit that needs an operational crew, and you and your battle-hardened gaggle need a ship. You’ll be augmented by most of the technicians already on board, and a few more officers I’ve pulled together from the manning pool.” He leaned forward, all humor suddenly gone. “But more importantly, Thomas, Fleet needs this ship to quietly disappear without any fanfare or notice. I have a special mission for you.”

  Thomas felt the old rush of excitement that came before an operation. Not just a promotion and a command—he was going to do something vital. He’d asked Breeze for his career back, but he’d never expected this. If he ever saw that conniving bitch again, he’d kiss her full on the lips.

  Or maybe not.

  “When do we leave, sir?”

  “In four days. Give your crew tonight and tomorrow to blow off steam, then get them on board for drills. I’ll have your new XO and other senior staff assembled by then.”

  “Has this ship been through post-refit trials?”

  “That’s what your two days alongside with the crew are for.”

  Two days. Two days to test a cruiser and all its systems. Two days to gel a new crew before deploying to a war zone. In peacetime it would have been absurd. But in these times of war…

  “What’s the mission?”

  “You remember how much damage we did to the rebels, back when we did our little sneak attack on Abeona?”

  Thomas remembered well. It had been a suicidal plan, in his opinion, and most of Expeditionary Force 15 had never come home from it. He nodded silently.

  “We’ve learned from that,” Chandler continued. “A frontal assault is too costly, especially with the Fleet scattered and weakened as it is. Yet our strike on the rebel homeworld stopped the war in its tracks for a full six months. We have a new plan, this time to end the war altogether, and I need you and your ship to conduct the reconnaissance.”

  “So a covert mission to Centauria. Am I going alone, or will there be other Fleet assets with me?”

  “Yours is the only ship going, but you’ll be delivering Special Forces assets to the system and maintaining a link with them. A second ship—which I’ll be aboard—will join you later for the mission conclusion.”

  Thomas took his cup of coffee and drained it.

  “I’ll do my duty, sir, gladly,” he said, “but my crew will be better prepared if we can have some more time to work up the ship. Even just a week. Are the timings critical, sir?”

  “Militarily, no, but something I’ve discovered since I joined the admiralty is that military considerations don’t always take precedence. This mission comm
ences in four days, whether we like it or not.”

  “Yes, sir.” Thomas had always been able to read his mentor’s moods, and he could tell that Chandler was in anything but a political mood right now. He decided to test the waters. “Is there a lot of pressure from Parliament?”

  “More every week.” Chandler refilled his cup. “The loss of our permanent positions in Valhalla doesn’t matter one bit, not militarily—in my opinion we’re stretched too thin just dealing with the major colonies—but it was seen as a humiliation politically. Parliament feels that Terra should be able to hold all the colonies at once, and isolate each rebel faction in order to prevent another consolidated attack.”

  “I’m not sure I follow their logic, sir.”

  “Because there isn’t any! They see any territorial loss as a defeat, and they don’t listen when we tell them that we’re over-extended. They want us to win everywhere, all at once.”

  “But isn’t Parliament mostly filled with veterans? Don’t they understand tactical realities?”

  “Veterans,” Chandler snorted, “who served their minimum obligatory time in uniform before getting out and running for public office. Our government is comprised mostly of spoiled civilians who served in the military just long enough to think they don’t need to listen.”

  “And my mission?”

  “Ah,” the admiral brightened considerably. “Now that’s something I’m proud to be a part of. It’s a plan I developed with my old friend Sasha Korolev, based on some good work that’s been done over the past two years. Yes, it’s driven by Parliament’s need for a major territorial gain—and it will accomplish that—but even more so it will send a clear message to the rebels that continuing the war is foolish… for everyone.”

  “An end to the war?”

  “And not a moment too soon.”

  Thomas sat back in his chair, looking around the large cabin. Habit told him that it belonged to Commander Hu, but then he reminded himself that he was aboard a different—if identical—ship. His ship, and with it he had the chance to execute what might be the pivotal mission of the entire conflict. He no longer cared about fame, but to make a difference as a soldier—that still meant something.

  “How is the war going, sir?”

  Chandler fixed him with a stern look that quickly melted into fatigue.

  “Not well. We’re hurting the rebels, but they’re still doing too much damage to both the Army and the Astral Force. They outnumber us, and in some cases they have the technological advantage. We can probably keep fighting for another year or two, but eventually both sides will be exhausted, and neither will be able to control the other.”

  “Then they win, because they’re free of Terra.”

  “Exactly. If we keep on this path, the war will end in military stalemate—a political defeat for Terra.”

  “And millions will have died to get us there.”

  Chandler sat forward, staring down at his hands.

  “It’s too late to avoid that,” he said quietly. Then he looked up with a new intensity. “This mission is going to be challenging, Thomas. I need loyal officers who will stand firm with me as we act for the good of all humanity.”

  “You can count on me, sir.”

  24

  “What are you suggesting?”

  Jack forced himself to hold Katja’s glare. The question she posed had been a challenge. Her dark eyes burned with their usual intensity, and while he was getting used to it he still couldn’t decide whether fear or lust was his dominant emotion. It certainly wasn’t fondness or affection—she was far too distant for that.

  Eventually, though, he broke her gaze and looked around the cruiser’s wardroom. He sat with his feet on the coffee table and she sat beside him, legs curled up as she turned to face him. Except for a pair of stewards clearing the dining table, they were alone in the space.

  He shrugged.

  “I’m not really sure what’s real anymore.”

  “Is it your Cloud connections? That can mess with anyone’s mind, and you’ve been in pretty deep these past few weeks.”

  He might struggle with the Cloud, he thought absently, but it was the least of his worries.

  “No,” he said. “It’s more that I’m sitting here on a cruiser which looks exactly like the one I used to serve in. She’s a different ship, but half the crew are exactly the same people as those I used to serve with. Oh, except Thomas is now the captain, and not a subbie. Plus I’m sitting here, talking to a woman who was dead for more than a year. Who I can communicate with in a way most of the human race doesn’t even know exists.”

 

  He held up his finger and thumb in close proximity.

 

  She shrugged. In her blue uniform coveralls and wearing a lieutenant’s rank, she almost looked as he first remembered her. Her hair was longer, but every fiber of her being seemed to whisper a threat. It was strange to see his own rank insignia to match, but he glanced at it to remind himself that she wasn’t his superior anymore. On this mission they were equals, and he knew his strengths.

  The door opened and a familiar female form stormed in, flopping down on the couch near him.

  “Fuck!”

  “And good morning to you, Hayley,” he said with a smile.

  She glared at him, the bags under her eyes giving evidence to the pressure of the past week’s drills. Jack and Katja had boarded literally minutes before departure, and in the three days it had taken Admiral Moore to move into deep space, this crew had been kept running from one simulated emergency to another.

  Jack had never taken Thomas to be a hard-assed line officer, but the way he’d been driving the crew since taking command made him wonder if his colleague’s true self had just been hiding in the soft, fluffy guise of a strike officer.

  “We’re making the jump in ten minutes,” Hayley said. “And then hopefully I can get some sleep.”

  “Yeah, because Centauri space is a real yawner.”

  “Fuck off.”

  He glanced over at Katja. “These are my peeps.”

  Katja gave him a tiny smile, then rose to her feet.

  “We should probably get to the bridge.”

  He followed her lead, resisting the urge to pat Hayley on the head. Line officers could bite if provoked.

  The walk forward was quick, and those few crew members they passed barely glanced up, so intent were they on their jobs. No one had questioned the arrival of two new lieutenants, and even those crew who knew Jack didn’t seem to have noticed that he’d barely set foot in the hangar. He wondered if he should be insulted.

  One of the Hawks had been replaced by what looked to be a high-performance racing launch, and that had started lips wagging—but with no conclusions.

  Warning lights flashed at the threshold to the bridge, announcing the impending switch to zero-g. Katja slowed to a stop and pressed a hand lightly against Jack’s chest. Her fingers tapped against him, almost hesitantly.

  “We should check our entanglement,” she said. “Now, and then again after the jump.”

  “Okay,” he replied hesitantly, as he realized that she was tapping the spot in his ribcage where that creepy device had been implanted. Katja removed her hand and purposefully looked away from him. Then, deep in his chest, he felt a sharp flare. It was brief, and didn’t hurt—he couldn’t really say what it felt like—but it was unmistakable.

  “It’s working,” he said with a nod.

  Katja barely looked up, pushing the door open and stepping through. Moore’s bridge was fully crewed. She and Jack hooked onto the anchor lines, and then made their way to the center of the sphere. All around them the starry blackness stretched away to infinity. One of those stars, nearly dead astern, shone brighter than the rest. Sol was more than ten billion kilometers away, placing Moore most definitely in the middle of nowhere.

  Perfect for a secret dimensional jump.

  Commander Kane sat in his seat at the center o
f the bridge. He noticed the pair of arrivals and nodded to them.

  “Ms. Emmes,” he said, “Mr. Mallory. Your timing is perfect. Why does that not surprise me?”

  Katja didn’t respond, other than to cross her arms and look forward. Things were still a bit frosty—had been ever since he and Katja had boarded. Not only had Thomas seemed unsurprised to see her—given that she was officially dead—but their formal handshake had been less than what Jack expected from old friends. Of course, the last time he’d seen them together she had kicked Thomas nearly in half, and then arrested him.

  Maybe they were still working through some issues.

  “One minute to jump,” Sublieutenant Chen announced from his position as second officer of the watch.

  “All stations report ready,” Moore’s XO added. He was a short bull of a man named Lieutenant Duquette, who in very short order had already demonstrated more competence than Bowen’s old XO.

  Jack glanced around the bridge. Some of the operators he recognized from Bowen, but apart from Thomas, two of the subbies, and John Micah, all the officers had been pulled in from the Fleet manning pool, which was generally made up of the survivors from destroyed ships. It was significant, though, that all of these officers were survivors—they’d all been through hell at least once already, and lived to tell the tale. It gave him confidence that they would serve Thomas well.

  “Thirty seconds to jump.”

  “Douse the beacon,” Thomas ordered. “Switch all sensors to passive.” His commands were carried out and reports came back. Moore was silent in deep space, poised to do something Jack had never seen before—jump without a jump gate.

  “Jump coordinates are locked,” Micah reported from ASW. “Projector ready.”

  This “projector” was a new piece of technology that had been delivered on board—a top-secret device that could create a temporary path into extra-dimensional space and project it around the ship. It tapped, not into the Bulk, but into the even more mysterious spatial dimension known in physics as the Point. Infinitesimal in size, it still connected to every coordinate in five-dimensional spacetime, and allowed instantaneous travel between far-separated areas in the brane by offering a “short cut.” In the Point, distances were real, but so small as to be practically immeasurable.