by John Lumpkin
“Why not? The Chinese and Japanese clearly know.”
“Best I can figure, it’s to keep it from the public. That also apparently means keeping it from our line officers and our fleet commanders.”
“And our field intelligence personnel,” Donovan said.
“Yes, I was specifically told not to discuss it with you. I’m technically violating orders right now.”
Donovan’s sighed. “That’s Gardiner Fairchild for you. He thinks intelligence is a game all for his own greater glory, and he doesn’t give a damn how his information is used.”
So far, so good, Neil thought. He was manipulating Donovan, and deliberately: If there was one thing that made the old spy angry, it was being kept in the dark. Some part of him felt ashamed, but Neil knew he had no entirely honorable way out of this. At least Donovan was perking up, using his hands when he talked, showing real interest for the first time since his rescue.
Neil said quietly, “It seems to me we would do a better job fighting the war if we knew why we were fighting it.”
“Yes,” Donovan said. “That’s true. We’d be able to predict Chinese and Japanese activities better and plan our own operations in response. Strategically, the goal here should be to grab wormhole chains and use them ourselves to explore; we can’t possibly launch new wormholes from our space and hope to reach any habitable planets before the Chinese or Koreans find them. And yes, our ops planners, military and NSS, aren’t behaving like they know this.”
“Perhaps there should be a way to tell them,” Neil said, watching Donovan closely. “It’s not exactly American, either, keeping the public in the dark.”
Donovan shook his head. “I agree with you in principle, but that call is above your pay grade. And mine. Don’t fool yourself into thinking this is the sole reason the war started, Neil. It’s a big one, almost certainly the main one. But personalities and history, pride and fear, they all have their role. Yes, China struck gold with its axis of colonization, and we didn’t. But this is something we might have negotiated with the Chinese, buying access to one of their wormhole chains, but we would have had to give something up. For all I know, we tried, but one side or the other was too inflexible, so Delgado tried to covertly support Japan, but he ended up picking a fight with China. Now, mind if I ask how you came by this? You don’t have to tell me.”
Neil didn’t hesitate. “I took Li Xiao’s handheld after I shot him. We cracked it on the ride back from Kuan Yin.”
A sudden, guilt-laced certainty washed over him. He needs to know.
Neil said, “I … I didn’t kill Li Xiao when I had the chance. I just disabled him, so he would be out of the fight.”
Donovan was silent for a time, then said, “I had assumed otherwise. That may have been a mistake, Neil. I’m not sure. I’m having a hard time separating my personal opinion from my professional one. The truth is some people need killing, even when they aren’t an immediate threat. It’s not pleasant, but it’s the reality. Li Xiao is a dangerous, resourceful agent of our enemy, and his survival may mean more deaths for us and our allies.”
“I realize all that. It’s just … it felt like murder,” Neil said. The words came in a rush. “He wasn’t resisting, and we didn’t have a way to take him with us. I couldn’t put a bullet in the back of his head. Maybe he has a family … I don’t know.”
Donovan’s features softened. “He was a person to you, not an enemy. Empathy is both useful and dangerous for an intelligence officer, Neil. It enables you to get inside the head of someone on the other side, so you can see things from their perspective, and better predict their actions. But it also makes it more difficult to do the hard things this job sometimes requires.
“And make no mistake, it requires hard things. I hadn’t killed anyone before, but I shot that woman in the alley because it was the best of all possible choices, the best chance for our mission to succeed. Did leaving Li Xiao alive help the mission? It probably didn’t, unless you decided keeping your soul intact was more important than all the problems, and deaths, he’s going to cause in the future.”
Neil said nothing. He felt his face burning, but he didn’t argue. I am not a murderer.
Donovan relented. “What’s done is done, Neil. You wouldn’t have had to make the call had you not come to rescue me and the others. For that, I’m grateful. I’m having a harder time coming to terms with the two people who died in the line while saving us.”
“What’s going to happen to you when we get back to the Solar System?”
“The Hans have me pegged as NSS, so I’m probably on permanent assignment at headquarters, as an operations supervisor or an instructor. Had to happen sometime. I could get facial reconstruction and adopt a new alias, but, frankly, I’m not sure I want to. I need some rest. There will be work for me, back in Langley or at Camp Peary, regardless.”
“So is there anyone you could provide this to?” Neil asked, waving his handheld.
Donovan looked at him. “You’re serious about this. Yes, Neil, back on Earth, there probably is a way to get this out without putting any of us at risk. But, really, son, it goes against everything we stand for. We serve the executive branch, and so do you. They were elected to make the call on things like this, not us.”
Neil said, “Parents have a right to know why their sons and daughters are getting killed.”
Donovan was quiet for so long Neil wondered if he had angered him. He didn’t speak, even when Neil’s handheld alerted him to an imminent briefing.
He’s thinking about Rafe, Neil realized as he left. I didn’t mean to hit home like that. But he knew he had planted the seed, and he decided it was all he could do.
The planets of the red dwarf Lalande 21185 had the good fortune, in Neil’s view, to have been named by the East Coast scientific establishment. Below the fleet spun Vindonnus, a world sized somewhere between Mars and Earth, covered entirely by oceans of water and a thick atmosphere of carbon dioxide. Neil looked up the name … a Celtic god of light and clarity. Neil reflected he could use a little clarity.
Orbiting Vindonnus was the American wormhole back to Sol, specifically, back to Kennedy Station at Earth’s trailing Trojan point. Most keyholes had little infrastructure beyond the solar panels that powered it and the mass-movers that kept it from collapsing, or, if they had some sort of manned installation, it operated on only one side.
Not here. On the Lalande side was a massive industrial facility and tanker terminal, where ships brought helium-3 and deuterium mined from a Jovian world in the system. On the Sol side was the primary fleet headquarters for the United States, United Kingdom and Australia away from Earth orbit.
Neil could not recall seeing so many ships in one place. Kitty Hawk and Columbia, two of America’s five battleships – four, now, with the loss of Eagle – hung close together, their graceful lines a stark contrast to the bulbous hydrogen tanker stationed between them. Mogami was here, too, with a Japanese repair tender alongside. The cruiser wouldn’t be making the trip to Earth anytime soon.
On the far side of the formation from Mogami was Kiyokaze, the Japanese frigate that had survived the Kuan Yin battle. Kiyokaze’s heroic efforts there helped save several allied ships, but Neil learned from Captain Courtenay that her captain, Genda Hotaru, had actually ignored Tanaka’s order to escort the wounded Mogami back to the keyhole.
“I’ve met Commander Genda a few times,” Courtenay said during a working dinner with San Jacinto’s officers. “She kept her ship because she has some patrons in high places. I won’t bore you with details of internal Japanese zaibatsu and keiretsu politics, except to say that they extend very much into the defense forces, and Genda and Tanaka are on opposite sides.”
At the recollection, Neil turned his camera to a knot of British warships.
“There’s Formidable, Conqueror and Renown,” he said, pointing the vessels out on his console to Tom, floating behind him in CIC. “Swiftsure has pulled up there, next to Resolution.”
“Nice. Glad they’re along,” Tom said. Resolution had already made a name for herself in the war, destroying three Korean frigates that had jumped her off Mars. He stared at the screen. “They sure do name them better than we do. The Conqueror is much more likely to strike fear into the enemy’s heart than, say, the Connecticut.”
In a hushed tone, he added, “So, Neil, what’s the plan? They have to be telling you something. When are we jumping off?”
“Well, we’re forming up on this side of the keyhole so the Hans won’t know our strength, of course. And I think we’re going through soon. The Japanese have a big fleet that will meet us at Earth.”
“What are we up against?”
“Seventy ships in MEO.”
“Christ,” Tom said. “I’ll tell you one thing I know: We’re not going in under joint command. Space Command is royally pissed about the debacle with the Sakis at Kuan Yin, so we’re going to have our own admiral.”
“Do you know who?”
“I heard Miraflores.”
Neil nodded. “I can live with that.”
Vice Admiral Carmen Miraflores had a reputation as a hardass, but a talented hardass. While most officers had to push themselves to learn three-dimensional thinking, Miraflores thought in four – the fourth being time. She could manage the ever-shifting vectors of two fleets and a battlespace full of gun shells and missiles in her head better than anyone.
It was two days later when the alert came through. The Chinese and Korean fleet had departed Earth orbit to attack Kennedy Station.
“Staff didn’t expect this, but it’s what I’d do in their shoes,” said Miraflores, kicking off a briefing broadcast to officers in the fleet. Neil and several other San Jacinto officers watched it in the ship’s briefing room. “They know we’re forming up for a strike, and they know we’ll have the numbers when we link up with the Japanese fleet. So they will hit us while we are still separated. They are leaving Earth exposed with only twenty ships remaining in MEO, but they apparently know the Japanese fleet forming up at Proxima has serious fuel problems. We were weeks away from launching our offensive.”
“The plan has, of course, been scrapped, and Space Command has ordered us to intercept the incoming fleet well out of the range of Kennedy. If we lose the base, we lose the war. We’ll start transiting the keyhole immediately; once through, we’ll launch at seven milligees, and the larger ships will take drop tanks to compensate.
“Our force will be 37 ships to their 54. They have four beam cruisers; we have Acadia and Shenandoah, plus the Royal Navy’s Trafalgar.”
Neil shook his head. He had seen firsthand what the Chinese beam cruisers could do, and they far outranged the allied long-range laser ships.
“They will also have four battleships to our Kitty Hawk and Columbia. They have sent three assault carriers to take Kennedy Station intact,” she said, then tilted her head slightly to stare into the camera. “After our defeat at Kuan Yin and our failure to punch through to AD Leonis and Sirius, the Chinese are saying that we lack the will to fight. Let’s prove them wrong.”
San Jacinto said farewell to its passengers at Kennedy Station. Lieutenant Stahl was finally taken to a medical facility large enough to grow him some new eyes. The Corenco-Six miners were given rooms to wait until the next civilian transport could take them to Earth or out to their next job.
Donovan also departed, as he had no reason to risk his life in the upcoming battle. His agency maintained a small suite on Kennedy, primarily to serve its personnel changing ships at the station. As before, he left with no fanfare. After Neil shuttled him over to the base, Donovan thanked Neil again for planning and taking part in his rescue.
“Good luck, and be careful out there,” he said, looking a little uncomfortable. “I’ll think about what you said.”
Neil knew that he meant the Chinese colonization report. It was just Donovan’s way to speak vaguely in public places.
“Thanks,” Neil said.
“I’ll be in touch,” Donovan said and floated away.
Neil pressed the fire button on his console, and the USS Kitty Hawk flashed and died.
“Nice shot, mate,” came Kieran Wu’s voice, on a communications laser from Fremantle. “But I get Columbia, all right?”
“Roger,” Neil said, smiling.
“Romeo-12, this is the flag,” transmitted Neil’s temporary CO. “Well done, retarget at will.”
Neil considered answering in Chinese, just for laughs, but said, “Aye aye, sir.” He examined his console briefly, found an American destroyer within range. He altered his virtual vessel’s heading slightly.
Across San Jacinto’s CIC, a sensor tech said loudly, “Enemy beam cruiser targeting us.”
Lieutenant Commander Mendoza said, “Bring forward armor to bear!”
It was a race against time between Neil’s virtual Shichang, recharging its main laser, and San Jacinto, turning to put its armored nose in the beam’s path.
Neil won. Consoles went down and the lights changed from yellow to red in CIC, indicating the ship was out of action. Neil’s job wasn’t done; he and the other intelligence officers in the fleet were role-playing Chinese captains, with Admiral Miraflores’ intel chief serving as their admiral.
The exercise ended a few minutes later, with a decisive Chinese victory.
Davis said, “I’d like to thank Ensign Mercer for killing us all.” He was rewarded with some chuckles, but Neil saw far too many bleak faces for his liking. His brief elation at succeeding in his mission faded quickly. The exercise had been instructive, but he wondered what it would do to morale.
In the days that had followed, Neil took part in a forum discussing the performance of Chinese and Korean ships. He typed frequently and vigorously about the capabilities of the enemy Shichangs, emphasizing what the fleet would endure as they approached. Kieran Wu and Swiftsure’s intelligence officer backed him up, but Neil was surprised at the resistance they encountered, particularly after the simulated battle.
Slow learners, he thought. But he tempered his statements, for fear of losing what credibility he had established with his more senior colleagues.
After the allied fleet launched from Kennedy, the Chinese admiral indicated he was happy to give battle, decelerating to meet the Americans at a point 14 million kilometers from the station. They were as far from the Sun as they were from Earth, about seven weeks behind the planet in its orbit.
San Jacinto was again assigned to an outrider formation distinct from the main fleet, along with Swiftsure, Fremantle, Kiyokaze and three smaller ships. Admiral Miraflores directed the San Jacinto squadron to attack from below the plane of the Solar System. Their mission was the same as before, to threaten the Chinese-Korean flank while the battlewagons closed to the main engagement.
This time, the enemy response was different.
“Captain, ma’am, we’ve got a body of targets breaking off from the main group,” a sensor tech said. “They’re going to intercept us.”
“How many? What classes?”
“Ten ships, ma’am. I’ll check the types.”
Neil watched as the data flowed in from the telescopes. Engine output, acceleration, mass … “Four destroyers, four frigates, two corvettes,” he announced. “No long-range beam ships. There’s a third body, further back; it’s their troop transports and an escort.”
Earth was ahead of them, a bright point of light on the monitors. It was home to all but a dozen of the crew, a home to be liberated from the dragons coming to meet them.
Across the CIC, officers and astronauts alike turned to their tasks, grim concentration on their faces. Neil felt the change in the crew, experienced it himself: They were veterans now, survivors of odds almost as bad as this. Their victories weren’t just luck; they had been quicker and better than the other guy. More than once Neil saw crewmen stare intently at the two “kill” markers Chief Collins had painted on the CIC wall – one for the Paltus they defeated over Commonwealth, and another,
a half-ship, for the tanker they had helped destroy near Kuan Yin.
I’m glad I’m facing this with this crew, Neil realized. Resilient is the word for them. Thorne may not be much of a leader, but you can’t doubt her devotion to the mission. The officers follow Mendoza and Davis, who are decent and competent, who ask a lot of themselves, and you don’t want to let them down. The crew follows their chiefs and the junior officers. Look at the way the gunners and ordnance people regard Erin … they’d do anything for her, and she for them. I hope I can lead like that someday.
In space, all other things being equal, smaller ships were always faster than big ones, so the opposing squadrons of fast outriders clashed while the battlewagons, tens of thousands of klicks distant, closed on each other.
San Jacinto and her consorts launched half their missile magazines, mostly bursters with several nukes concealed among them. The rest they would save for the main fleet. The approaching enemy squadron fired their missiles moments later.
Lieutenant Commander Mendoza, up on the bridge, announced variable thrust; everyone in CIC strapped into their console chairs. Damage-control teams and Marines donned armor, the former to move around safely while bouncing off the walls; the latter to fight off anyone who should try to board.
Antimissiles arced away, seeking the heat from the thrusting inbounds. San Jacinto pulled in her cooling fins.
The telescopes showed sparks of light as interceptors struck the incoming missiles. Survivors dodged and fired their thrusters at random intervals. Some went dark and coasted to avoid infrared sensors, and San Jacinto activated her radar to find them. Garcia unshuttered the forward laser cannon and put counterbatteries and point defenses on-line.
Neil saw a deadly flash in the middle of the approaching squadron. One of Lang’s nuclear warheads found its target, and a Chinese destroyer died. A Japanese warhead from Kiyokaze sensed defensive lasers burning it and exploded early, but a nearby Korean frigate turned over and limped away, radiation already burning through the crew. The odds were evening.
