This squadron may have captured or destroyed the convoy, he thought as he watched the download for the second time. The watchdog’s sensors weren’t up to scratch—no one had considered the Verdean System important enough to receive a modern ship—but they had picked up enough detail for him to make educated guesses about the attackers. And then they headed directly to Verdean . . .
He paused. No, the timing doesn’t work out, he told himself. They went somewhere else first, somewhere . . . but where? Unless they were just scouting for potential targets.
“Inform my staff,” he ordered. “The 23rd Superdreadnought Squadron is to ready itself for immediate departure. I shall be shuttling over in”—he glanced at the chronometer—“twenty minutes. Commodore Malian will remain in command of the base.”
“Yes, Admiral,” Ali said.
“And order Commodore Malian, Captain Haran, and Cleric Peter to meet me in my office in five minutes,” he added. His steward appeared from a side door, carrying a large mug of coffee and a tray of biscuits. “They are not to be late.”
The coffee was scorching hot, but he drank it anyway, nibbling on a couple of biscuits as he walked through the corridors to his office. He’d had time, thankfully, to replace the comfortable furniture with something more befitting a Theocracy commander, although traces of the office’s former owner could still be seen if one looked carefully. Thankfully, Peter—his cleric—was so depressed over his assignment that he spent most of his time in his quarters rather than making a nuisance of himself. Admiral Junayd had a sneaking suspicion he was actually bending the rules in other ways, but so far he had no proof. If he had something he could hold over the cleric’s head . . .
He smiled at the thought as he stepped into the office and took his seat behind the desk. A large star chart was already showing the distance between Aswan and Verdean, reminding him that it would take at least two days to get the superdreadnoughts to Verdean, even if they pushed their drives to the limit. Admiral Junayd wouldn’t have cared to risk it, not given the near-complete lack of maintenance, but there was no choice. He couldn’t leave an enemy force in possession of an occupied system for long.
“Admiral,” Malian said. “Is it wise for you to take command of the squadron yourself?”
“I have more recent combat experience,” Admiral Junayd said shortly. It was true—and besides, the thought of staying on the station was driving him mad. “It isn’t up for debate.”
He nodded to the commodore as Captain Haran, his chief of staff, and the cleric hurried into the room. The captain looked alarmingly efficient, as always, but the cleric looked as if he had been woken from a very sound sleep. There would be a chance for him to catch up on his sleep once they were on the superdreadnought, he was sure; besides, it would keep the cleric from poking around on the naval base while he was gone.
“I will take command and lead the superdreadnoughts to Verdean,” he said in tones that brooked no dissent. “Commodore Malian, you will assume command of the base in my absence; whatever happens, do not send away the second squadron of superdreadnoughts. The attack may be a diversion to convince us to weaken our defenses here.”
“Yes, Admiral,” Malian said.
“Transmit a signal to home, informing them of the attack and that a squadron of enemy ships is loose in our rear,” Admiral Junayd added. “Request both reinforcements and personnel to turn this base into something more useful. Warn them that Verdean’s industrial base will be destroyed, if it hasn’t been already. We may expect fuel shortfalls in this sector at the very least.”
He looked at the cleric. “You and the captain will accompany me,” he added. “I expect you to spend your time ministering to the ship’s crew and praying to God that we manage to trap the enemy before they can retreat.”
“Yes, Admiral,” Peter said. He seemed to lack the fanatical mien of most clerics, somewhat to Admiral Junayd’s relief. A fanatic would be a major headache, questioning everything at precisely the wrong time. “I will accompany you.”
“Good,” Admiral Junayd said. He rose to his feet. “Commodore, the station is yours. Try not to let it be attacked before I return.”
“Aye, Admiral,” Malian said.
Admiral Junayd smiled, then headed for the shuttlebay, his two officers following in his wake. The rest of his staff would already be on their way; once they arrived, they would start running through tactical simulations. Admiral Junayd had a feeling they were wasting their time—nothing short of a squadron of superdreadnoughts would try to stand up to his squadron of superdreadnoughts—but it didn’t matter. He would show his zeal in responding to any threat to his command—and also give his crews some much-needed training before they had to cope with a real threat. Commodore Malian and his officers had let standards slip way too far.
Two days to get there, he thought. Two days for the enemy to wreak havoc, then retreat before we can arrive. They won’t stick around and wait for us.
“They’ll be here at any moment,” the XO said.
Kat nodded. The timer had reached zero thirty minutes ago, warning her that she could expect an enemy fleet to arrive soon. It was possible, she had to admit, that something had happened to the enemy messenger, but she dared not count on it. There were too many things that could go wrong if she started assuming the best, rather than preparing for the worst.
She glanced at him. “Have the shuttles returned from the surface?”
“Yes, Captain,” the XO said. “We have the prisoners, and the volunteers, and the workers on the ships.”
“Then order the rest of the squadron to slip into hyperspace and head to the RV point,” Kat ordered. “Inform Captain Millikan that he is to send the freighters back through the Reach, then give us five days. If we fail to return, he is to declare himself commodore, open the sealed orders in his safe, and then proceed as he sees fit.”
“Aye, Captain,” the XO said.
Kat swallowed, feeling a lump settling in her stomach. Standing here, just waiting for the enemy to attack . . . she hadn’t felt so vulnerable since the hasty return to Cadiz, after her cross-border mission. She’d known that the enemy superdreadnoughts were on the way; now, she knew the Theocracy would be straining every sinew to get a fleet out to Verdean before she could escape. And, unless she wanted to jump out now and abandon the system, she could do nothing but wait.
The tactical display flickered, then updated. “Captain,” the XO said. “The squadron has entered hyperspace.”
And let’s hope they don’t run into the enemy fleet, Kat added silently. Encounters in hyperspace tended to be dangerous for all involved, but the Theocracy wouldn’t hesitate to try to run the squadron down if they thought they could. Their pride—and their reputation for being invincible—would have taken a severe dent, thanks to her. They’d want revenge as well as the mere destruction of my ships.
“Deploy the ECM drones,” she ordered. “And then take us away from the planet, as planned.”
“Aye, Captain,” the XO said.
She forced herself to relax, studying the latest reports from her tactical staff. Verdean might not have had a military-grade industrial base, but its workers had known a great deal about the local sector before the Theocracy arrived. The intelligence staff had done their work well. Four other potential targets had been identified, three of them promising enough to have her planning to detach the remaining patrol boats to scout their defenses. The fourth . . . might be nothing more than a waste of time, if the reports were to be believed. But it might confuse the Theocracy if she attacked . . .
“Gateways,” Roach snapped. Alarms rang through the ship. “I say again, gateways!”
Kat nodded, feeling her heart starting to pound. Twelve gateways into hyperspace had opened, disgorging an enemy fleet. Nine superdreadnoughts led the way, flanked by two squadrons of destroyers and a handful of light cruisers. Her squadron wouldn’t ha
ve stood a chance in a straight fight. But then, she would have been surprised if the enemy hadn’t responded with overwhelming force. They needed to make a statement as much as she did.
“I have a tentative ID on the superdreadnoughts, Captain,” Roach reported. “They’re one of the squadrons located at Aswan.”
“Good,” Kat said. She frowned as the enemy fleet spread out, orienting itself. It wouldn’t be long before they locked onto her ship and the false sensor images, even though she was boosting away from the planet. “Keep us on our current course, then jump out on my command.”
Admiral Junayd couldn’t help feeling a sickly sense of defeat as his fleet emerged from hyperspace and started to scan the surrounding region of space. Verdean looked untouched, but the network of satellites, defense platforms, and industrial bases in orbit were gone and the handful of bases on the local moon had clearly been nuked. The bases on the planet, the ones charged with educating the locals in the true faith, weren’t even trying to contact him. It suggested, very strongly, that they’d been destroyed.
“Admiral, the enemy squadron is pulling away from the planet,” the tactical officer reported. “They’re well out of engagement range.”
Unless we want to risk wasting hundreds of missiles on ballistic trajectories, Admiral Junayd thought. It struck him as a pointless exercise, spitting in the face of the inevitable. They’ve timed their departure very well.
“Detach the light cruisers,” he ordered. “They are to enter orbit and attempt to make contact with any forces on the ground.”
“Aye, Admiral,” the fleet coordination officer said.
“The remainder of the fleet is to go in pursuit,” Admiral Junayd added. “Best possible speed.”
It was futile, he suspected. He would be surprised if the enemy stuck around long enough for him to overrun their ships, let alone bring them to battle, but it had to be tried. Someone would have to take the blame for the failure, and he hadn’t been so politically naked since before the war had begun. Besides, the officer in charge of the defenses—along with the forces on the ground—was probably dead. And if he wasn’t, given the Theocracy’s attitude to defeat, he would soon wish he was. He’d be hung, drawn, and quartered.
Long seconds passed as the fleet altered course, the ponderous superdreadnoughts advancing towards their foe. The enemy fleet held its course and speed; Admiral Junayd had to admire their nerve, even though it worried him. Were they planning to draw the superdreadnoughts into a trap? A minefield, perhaps? Or hidden missile emplacements? Or . . .
“Admiral, the cruisers have made contact with the senior surviving officer on Verdean,” the communications officer reported. “His base was hidden, as per protocol; he reports that every base and formation on the planet was wiped out from orbit once the enemy took the high orbitals. Any survivors were picked off by the locals.”
“Duly noted,” Admiral Junayd said. It was important to reestablish control of Verdean, but for the moment he had other problems. “Is he in any danger?”
“No, sir,” the communications officer said. “His bunker was designed to remain undetected.”
“Then tell him to wait,” Admiral Junayd ordered. “We’ll be back for him once we’ve overrun the enemy squadron.”
Or they’ve jumped into hyperspace and fled, he added silently, in the privacy of his own thoughts. They have to know they can’t match us in a straight fight.
“The enemy ships will be within firing range in seventeen minutes,” Roach reported. “I don’t think they’ve seen through our ECM, but they’re launching probes and it’s only a matter of time.”
Kat nodded shortly. “Take us into hyperspace in ten minutes, unless the situation changes,” she ordered. She was mildly surprised the enemy had bothered to give chase, although if she’d been in the enemy CO’s shoes she would probably have wanted to claim she’d done everything she could to catch the imprudent raiders too. “And launch a flight of our own probes back at them. I want a complete breakdown on that squadron before we leave.”
“Aye, Captain,” Roach said.
We could outrun the bastards with ease if it was just us, Kat thought sourly. Lightning wasn’t the fastest thing in space, but she was certainly faster than a bunch of lumbering superdreadnoughts. The enemy destroyers were the only ships that could keep up with her and they’d be reluctant to tangle with a heavy cruiser on their own. Of course, they might try to delay us long enough for the bigger boys to catch up and smash us into atoms.
“Probes away,” Roach said. He frowned. “Captain, the enemy probes are closing in sharply. I don’t know how long the ECM will hold up.”
“Hold our course and speed,” Kat ordered. As far as the enemy could see, they were facing the whole squadron, not a single heavy cruiser and a handful of ECM-projecting drones. What would they do when they finally realized the truth? Push the destroyers forward? Give up? Something else? “And watch for the moment they burn through the ECM.”
“Aye, Captain,” Roach said.
The XO opened a private channel. “Captain, they may not tip us off,” he said. “If they hold their nerve, they may try to slip into firing range without revealing that they know there’s only one real starship present.”
“I know,” Kat sent back. It was frustrating; she could fire on the enemy probes, but that would reveal she had only one starship capable of mounting weapons. It wouldn’t be hard for the enemy to guess the truth. “But I want to learn as much as we can about them before we have to take our leave.”
“Captain,” Roach said. “The enemy ships are picking off our drones. Their targeting is unfortunately good.”
“So it would seem,” Kat agreed. She’d hoped the enemy training schedules had suffered along with their maintenance cycles, but apparently not. Perhaps Verdean was a trap after all. Or, perhaps, their CO had been doing the best he could with the tools he had on hand. It didn’t seem as though there was any point in sticking around. “I want to jump out in five minutes.”
“Aye, Captain,” Weiberg said.
Lightning’s tactical processors ran through the entire ship, a redundancy built into the system to make it hard for a single lucky hit to disable the datanet and cripple the ship’s ability to fight. At worst, the designers had planned it that other elements of the datanet could abandon their regular tasks and assume control of the ship’s defenses. It had never occurred to them that a program, slipped into the datanet in the tactical department, could make its way—undetected—into the communications system, then order a signal blister to send a single message to one of the enemy ships. But then, the human element had always been the weakest of any secure system.
The spy uploaded the program, then waited. It sent its message, then erased all traces of its passage before wiping itself from existence. And no one knew what it had done.
Kat took a breath as the enemy ships lumbered closer. “Jump us out,” she ordered. “And then generate static as we go.”
“Aye, Captain,” Weiberg said.
A gateway blossomed to life in front of Lightning. The ship shuddered, then plunged forward into hyperspace, followed by the ECM drones. Kat braced herself, half expecting to run into an ambush, but there was nothing more than the flickering lights and energy storms of hyperspace waiting for them. The drones switched to static mode, generating tiny disruptions to make it harder for the enemy to follow their mothership, then started the countdown to self-destruct. Lightning picked up speed rapidly, looping around the nexus of gravimetric force representing the primary star, then headed away from the system on an evasive course.
Kat allowed herself a moment of relief. She had assumed the Theocracy would give chase, even through hyperspace, yet it seemed the enemy had other ideas. Perhaps they had a point. She knew, from bitter experience, just how easy it was to lose an advantage if one fought in hyperspace.
“We appear to have broke
n contact successfully, Captain,” Roach said.
“Keep us on our evasive course, for the moment,” Kat ordered. There was no point in taking chances. “We’ll head around to link up with the rest of the squadron in a day or two.”
“Aye, Captain,” Weiberg said.
We gave the Theocracy a bloody nose, Kat thought, settling into her command chair. She couldn’t help feeling torn between glee and a bitter helpless guilt. But they’ll take it out on the planet, now that we’re gone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“The enemy fleet has escaped, Admiral,” the tactical officer said. He sounded nervous, no doubt expecting the blame. “We could follow them into hyperspace . . .”
“That won’t be necessary,” Admiral Junayd said. Hyperspace would give a small squadron advantages against his fleet, advantages he would be foolish to ignore. “Reverse course and take us back to the planet, best possible speed.”
“Aye, Admiral,” the fleet coordination officer said.
“They sent us a message,” the communications officer added. “It was encoded; standard intelligence protocols, identifying the sender.”
“Route it down to the intelligence staff,” Admiral Junayd ordered. He’d expected the enemy to taunt him, but an encoded message? Had God blessed them with a spy on the enemy ship or was it nothing more than an attempt to bait a trap? Intelligence scheming lacked the beautiful simplicity—and openness—of space warfare; it was quite possible that their spy had been turned, if he’d ever been theirs in the first place. “And then forget you ever saw it.”
Falcone Strike (Angel in the Whirlwind Book 2) Page 20
