Fair enough, thought Pettigrew. “But there’s no use capturing a hypergate unless you control both ends of the wormhole. What’s happening in Dijana while we steal our end?”
“As Seventh Fleet attacks Eupraxa, Admiral Sykes and Sixth Fleet will be moving against Commonwealth forces in Dijana, destroying the enemy shipyards in that system and securing the other end of the hypergate.”
The sheer scope of the operation was becoming clear. It really was an all-out throw of the dice, staking everything on a single roll. “If Sixth Fleet is at Dijana, who will be protecting Rusalka and the Hybrias system?” wondered Pettigrew aloud.
Carson leaned back and smirked, evidently pleased with Pettigrew’s astonished reaction to his grand scheme. “A garrison force will be sufficient to protect them. I mean, even if the Gerrhans captured Rusalka, it wouldn’t be a great loss,” Carson joked, looking over toward Mowry for a sympathetic laugh. The Major seemed unamused.
Neither was Pettigrew. “Tell that to Lieutenant Paruzzi, my communications officer. He’s from Rusalka, and his wife and children live there—sir.” Mowry’s mouth curved into a slight smile. Pettigrew sensed he had just scored points with the veteran Marine, if not with the admiral.
“Are you being cheeky with me, Captain?” snapped Carson.
“That was not my intent, sir,” lied Pettigrew. “And I have full confidence in Major Mowry and his Marines, it’s just…”
“Just what, Captain?” asked Mowry.
“Just that every time I speak to anyone about this operation, I hear the same phrases being used: ‘in theory,’ ‘hypothetically,’ ‘if things go according to plan.’ I’ve been in combat several times in the past two years, and I can tell you things never go according to plan. In theory, my shields shouldn’t have failed at Earth a few weeks ago, but they did. Now we have to depend on this EMP projector…” Pettigrew stopped talking, fearing he was starting to look like a burnt-out commander. Maybe he was.
“The EMP projector is just for insurance. The Gerrhans aren’t going to blow their own Gates anyway. They’ll try to use them to bring reinforcements from their other systems,” Carson said, adding with a hesitant smile, “in theory, that is.”
The admiral’s unexpected jest took some of the tension out of the room. After that, the three men discussed the mission in detail before Mowry had to leave to attend to some last minute arrangements.
“Admiral Carson, can the sensor clouding tech be used in this operation?” asked Pettigrew after the Marine departed.
“No, it uses too much power to be mobile. The jammers have to be employed near a planet-based power source. In the case of Havoc Base, we built a power plant here on this moon, but it can’t be mobile.”
“Too bad,” said Pettigrew, ruminating on something he had been thinking about since his meeting with Maxon yesterday. “What about the mimic drones being used to impersonate missing Seventh Fleet ships back in Union systems? Are there more of them?”
“We do have some extra drones,” said Carson. The admiral may have been haughty, but as a tactician, he was open to any advantage he could find. “What exactly do you have in mind, Captain?”
* * * *
Channa Maxon was listening to Alexander Carson but thinking of Ume Yamazaki. She had first encountered the beautiful woman at a Culture Ministry gathering several months ago, and it was lust at first sight. She was Deputy Minister of Promotional Affairs—or was it Public Events? Whatever her title, Yamazaki’s position gave her the latitude to shape her own work schedule, and she was one of only a handful of civilians who were currently at Strike Base Havoc. As this was the final evening before departure, Maxon had planned a romantic night with Yamazaki in the Fleet Admiral’s quarters: dinner, wine, and passion—not necessarily in that order. To make that happen, Channa Maxon needed to finish her day’s work, and the last thing she needed right now was to deal with Alexander Carson and his insecurities.
“Pettigrew? What about him?” Maxon asked, focusing on her workpad.
“He strikes me as a little arrogant,” grumbled Carson.
Arching an eyebrow, the Supreme Commander looked up at Carson. “So, you think he’s arrogant? Impetuous? Maybe a tad insolent? All words that have been used to describe you, Alexander—and me too, for that matter.” She pushed her workpad aside and leaned back in her chair. The quicker she dispensed with Carson, the quicker she could get back to real work.
“I had dinner with Pettigrew last night,” Maxon said as she placed her elbows on the chair armrests and steepled her hands. “I like him. He’s sharp, and he’s tough. Chaz has more battle experience than any active senior officer in the Space Force, which means he’s lost some ships and people along the way. I imagine that eats away at a person.” I’ll be discovering that for myself in a few days, she thought. “Maybe those battle experiences give Captain Pettigrew some of this attitude you find so disturbing. Don’t take it personally.” Carson’s expression told her that he got it—he would find no sympathy for his ruffled feathers here.
“Admiral, are you sure you want me in command of Strike Force Charybdis?” asked Carson out of the blue.
“It’s a little late for changes in the command structure now.”
“But if Pettigrew is everything you say he is, perhaps…”
“Stop this,” demanded Maxon. “We’ve already had this discussion—twice. I am confident in your abilities. This whole operation is your plan—you need to be on hand to make it work. Alexander, you’ll be fine.”
Carson straightened his back and gave her a nod and a shaky smile.
“Is everything in order for departure?” she asked.
“It is. Strike Force Charybdis is ready, and Admiral Tovar reports the same for Strike Force Paladin.”
“Any last minute tweaks to the plan?”
“Well, there is one thing,” said Carson. “I have an idea about how we could use some of the mimic drones. It occurs to me…”
* * * *
Channa Maxon spent the night before Operation Bronze Talon in the arms of her new lover.
Uschi Mullenhoff spent her final evening with her beloved Ajax. She and Commander Baker might not be together again for some time, and the uncertainty of the upcoming battle added extra meaning to their last hours and minutes with each other.
Commanders Swoboda and Nyondo slept soundly on the eve of departing Strike Base Havoc. Both fell into their respective bunks, exhausted from the two-plus days of working with spacedock personnel to get Tempest ready for what was to come.
Chaz Pettigrew spent his final night in the Varasova system back aboard his vessel. He found himself doing anything he could to avoid being alone. He inspected some of the repairs and upgrades that had been done to the ship. Then he joined two junior officers in the wardroom for a quick game of Arimaa. Later, the captain surprised some of his crew by greeting them in the shuttlebay as they straggled back aboard, returning on shuttles from Havoc Base and their brief leave.
He found himself wondering how many of them would still be alive after the upcoming battle. He peered into each face, searching for a sign of fate—or a mark of death. He knew it was absurd and morbid and a reason to question his own sanity, but his eyes probed into each crewperson’s face and soul. Would he have to preside over their memorial? Would he have to send a message of condolence to their parents?
At that moment, Olivia Kuypers came bounding off of the transport shuttle. As the young, brash ensign went through the traditional protocol of asking permission to come aboard, she was as surprised as everyone else was to encounter the captain. But when Chaz Pettigrew greeted her and tried to gaze into her soul, Olivia Kuypers looked back into his. Her expression told him everything—she saw his pain, his trepidation, his regret. She recognized his anguish for what had happened and for what might transpire. As she passed her commanding officer, Kuypers looked him squarely in the eye and said, “Don’t worry, sir—we’ve got this.”
He looked at other members of the cre
w and now saw the same thing. They knew—they all knew. This wasn’t his burden to carry alone—he had taught them better. Charles Pettigrew needed to stop feeling sorry for himself and for those under his command. He chose this life and so did they. He needed to manage what was under his control and the rest would fall as it may.
All Pettigrew could do for his crew was his best, and he knew deep inside that his best was pretty damn good…
21: Mezzo
Beresford
Planet Gerrha
The longer Carr and Sanchez had to wait for Eden Southwell to acquire the location of Dr. Acree, the more likely they were to be discovered by Gerrhan authorities. On the up side, if you had to hang around for a week waiting to be arrested, Beresford was the place to be. The town was alive in a way that no Union city was. Streets, stores, and nightspots pulsed with energy and opulence. The Commonwealth was the richest of all starholds, and as Carr and Sanchez walked through the heart of downtown, the evidence of that material wealth was everywhere.
By nature, most Sarissans were reserved, however Gerrhans were a gregarious people. That wasn’t ideal for undercover operatives, especially when the locals discovered that their ersatz personas—siblings Paul and Maya Groom—were from Galba, which they usually did if there was any kind of lengthy conversation. It was the accent.
Everyone in the Renaissance Sector spoke Idolingua, but there were shades of Idolinguan speech on different worlds. With the passage of time, separate dialects were beginning to appear throughout human space. OMI operatives often worked under the guise of Galbanese citizens because people from Sarissa and Galba shared similar Idolinguan accents. Carr sounded very Gerrhan when he spoke, but if Sanchez got involved in the briefest of exchanges, some careful listener would inevitably ask her where she was from. As they explained that they were here on business from Galba, questions would follow. What is it like on Galba? Are you enjoying Gerrha? How long will you be staying in Beresford? They had gone through the routine so many times that Carr was beginning to hate Paul and Maya Groom. He felt somewhat guilty about that since the real brother and sister were guiltless—and deceased.
Today had been spent in the Hesperian Quarter looking at art. Carr knew antiques, but art was another matter. Both he and Sanchez had studied up as much as possible on the flight from Cardea. They knew a few standard questions to ask, but mostly they just tried to smile, nod their heads a lot, and let the art dealers ramble on. Carr always thought you could never go wrong in letting others talk, because most people loved to chatter on about what they knew. The pair stuck to the smaller places. Not only was it easier to deal with the shopkeepers, but as Sanchez rightly pointed out, if they hit the bigger art houses they might encounter someone who had actually met the Grooms.
Carr actually purchased a piece in one establishment, saying it would seem suspicious if they spent all their time looking and never buying. Sanchez wasn’t sure how this would go over with the OMI budget director, but at the moment, Carr wasn’t worried about some bureaucrat’s sensibilities—he was concerned with staying out of a Gerrhan prison.
“If the Director isn’t pissed about you throwing the taxpayers’ money around, then James will be,” whispered Sanchez as they waited for the painting to be wrapped.
“Good,” Carr said with a pleasant grin on his face.
Buying all the paintings in Beresford might not be enough to stave off the inevitable. Throughout the day, both Sarissans noticed tails following them. As they ate a late lunch on the patio of a bistro serving Hesperian dishes, Carr remarked that no less than three people nearby were probably shadowing them.
“Four,” said Sanchez. “You missed the girl wearing the beige sunhat.”
“I didn’t miss her,” said Carr. “I just thought she was interested in me because of my good looks.”
Just as Sanchez was about to give a witty comeback, an unwelcome voice chimed in.
“You two look like you’re the guests of honor at a police convention,” said Billy Van Fossen as he slid into an extra chair at their table.
“We know,” answered Carr. “And you showing up probably isn’t going to help our cause, is it? I didn’t think you slithered out in the daylight, Van Fossen.”
The man flashed a smile of crooked teeth. “Relax, Carr. The big boys here are all scared of Eden because she has so much dirt on them. If anything, being seen with me probably helps you.”
“I can’t imagine that,” grumbled Carr.
“You and Eden seem pretty brazen regarding the authorities,” said Sanchez. “Someday they’ll find a way to get at her, and you’ll both be done for.”
Van Fossen laughed as he glanced down to check his mobile. “Someday—but not today. By then, we’ll be long gone from both Gerrha and the Commonwealth.”
“Well, at least she will be,” said Carr sipping on his iced tea. “If I know her, you’ll be left behind once she no longer has a use for you.”
“You don’t!” Van Fossen snarled. “You don’t know her, Carr, and you probably never really did. She’s told me all about you two and the way you abandoned her when she needed you the most, so don’t talk garbage about her running out on me.” Looking around and trying to reel in his emotions, Van Fossen sat up straighter and ran a hand over his greasy brown hair.
Sanchez shot both of them a severe look, then put on a smile for the benefit of the police tails. “Calm down and play nice, boys.”
“Why are you here, Van Fossen?” asked Carr.
“To deliver a message. Eden wants to meet again—tonight at Club Mezzo.”
“The same place we met before?” said Sanchez. “That’s reckless.”
“Not really. The owner is a friend of ours. If there would be any trouble, that’s the place to have it.” Sanchez and Carr glanced at each other, with Carr nodding their acceptance of the meeting.
“Good,” said Van Fossen, sneaking another look at his mobile. “By tomorrow evening, you’ll be on your way to your prize. There are just a few more details to be worked out with Eden’s client.”
Carr leaned back in his chair and clasped both hands behind his neck. “It can’t come soon enough.”
“For you and me both,” snapped Van Fossen. “By the way, if it makes you happy, Eden and I have both had tails on us the last few days, too. Not sure what’s up, but it all started when you two hit town. The quicker you both leave, the quicker we can get back to normal. It’s hard enough running a nice little blackmail operation without outside complications.”
As Van Fossen rose, he picked up Carr’s iced tea and took a gulp, setting the glass back on the table. “See you tonight at Mezzo,” he sneered before walking away.
“Someday, I’m going to straighten that man’s teeth for him,” said Carr.
* * * *
Later that evening, the beautiful woman entered the club and all eyes went toward her. Etta Sanchez was wearing the daring black dress with the plunging neckline. At the hotel, Carr told her that no woman had ever filled out a dress so magnificently, and the clientele at Club Mezzo clearly agreed as she got approving looks all the way to their table.
Eden Southwell had already arrived, sitting with Lucky Maldonado. As the pair approached, Eden stood to greet Sanchez.
“I’m not used to being the second most beautiful woman in the room,” said Eden as she moved to embrace Sanchez.
“You are second to none, my love,” replied Sanchez. As Eden leaned in for a quick peck on the cheek, Sanchez clutched the courtesan’s chin with her right hand and brought the woman’s mouth into her own, giving her a full kiss on the lips. Sanchez had decided to go on the offensive. If Eden wanted to mess with her, Sanchez would return the favor. Eden Southwell wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of mind games, and throwing the Lady of Pleasures off her game might be an advantage the Sarissans could use.
While the women talked, Lucky Maldonado turned to Carr and spoke in a low voice.
“You know, Frankie, if you play your cards right ton
ight, and if both the ladies are in the mood, it strikes me that the three of you…”
“Shut up, Lucky,” Carr snapped while trying to keep a smile off his face. “Speaking of getting laid, where’s your boy toy? Thrown you over, has he?”
Maldonado picked up his drink and motioned toward the bar. Julian was standing there conversing with a handsome, sandy-haired young man. “He hasn’t dumped me yet, but he might if I’m not vigilant,” said Lucky with his familiar smile. “Excuse me for a few moments, my friend.” As Maldonado made a dash for the bar, Carr turned back to the women.
“Sharing a table tonight with Lucky instead of Van Fossen?” Carr asked Eden. “You’re moving up in this world.”
Eden giggled. “Billy had some errands to run for me, and besides, I don’t think he wanted to come this evening. I’m not sure he likes you, Frankie.”
“I’m sure,” said Carr.
“He rubs you the wrong way, does he?”
“I wouldn’t let Billy rub me any way—I just don’t like him.”
“Jealous, are we?” Eden said wearing a satisfied expression.
Carr sneered. “For someone whose talent is reading people, you occasionally fall flat on your face.”
“We can’t all be perfect,” said Eden. “But at least some of us are willing to admit that.”
A week ago, Sanchez would have had a panicked look on her face at this point in the conversation. Tonight however, she wore an expression that was one-part amusement and two-parts frustration—and she had had enough.
“I’m going to take my drink over to the bar and visit with the boys for a while,” Sanchez said, gesturing toward Lucky and Julian, who were waving for her to join them. “It’s obvious you two have things to discuss. But when I get back, all this bullshit between you two has to be settled. You understand me?” Her lips were smiling, but her eyes were daggers.
As Sanchez crossed the floor to hug Julian and meet some of his newest acquaintances, Carr and Eden looked sheepishly at each other. “Truce?” asked Carr.
The Rampant Storm Page 17
