"Spoken as a true warrior, my good Kalralahr."
"Do you see it differently?" Rusmak snapped.
"It is not desperation; it is cunning," the Baron replied softly.
Rusmak snorted with disdain.
"I am eager to hear the wisdom of an intellectual such as yourself," Rusmak said sarcastically.
"Strike first at the Dowager to force the home fleet into a sortie. When the backdoor is thus left unguarded, sneak in and ravage the Kilrah system and thus place us in this little quandary."
"Are they even aware that the Imperial Fleet has sortied?" Gar retorted. "Have you proof that they are anticipating a counterstrike? We do know from our secret outpost on Vukar Tag that their own imperial guard is digging in, building plasta-concrete bunkers, fortifying. A ship landed yesterday loaded down with heavy armor and ground defense equipment. That indicates to me that they are following their standard procedure of fortifying what they have taken and then converting it into a base."
"The second carrier that struck Vukar, it is this other one we have now sighted," Baron Jukaga said quietly.
"How do you know that?" Thrakhath asked, taken by surprise and embarrassed as well that he had not considered that possibility and checked on it.
"I studied the magnification of the images from the Sartha and also from the ground station on Vukar that recorded the beginning of the assault. They are one and the same."
"Then that means they know of a jump line that we thought was secret," Thrakhath said. "By standard run it would take thirty or more days to circle down beneath the Empire and then slash up."
"Precisely."
The Prince let the thought digest for a moment. He turned to look at the back screen in the room, ordering the computer to bring up whatever intelligence data it had on the new carrier.
"Its design is weak," Rusmak sneered. "Only one launch deck apparently built on the frame of a medium transport. It shows they are losing the war of production and are reduced to refitting transports. It is nothing but a sign of desperation."
"For a desperate act perhaps," Thrakhath whispered.
"We have two choices," the Baron said quietly.
"And they are?"
"We split off part of the fleet to head back into the heart of the Empire to hunt this raider down and destroy it."
"Or?"
"We totally abandon the liberation of Vukar for now, and deploy the entire home fleet in a defensive posture."
"Impossible and ridiculous," Gar roared. "You are talking about the Imperial honor. Vukar must be avenged as quickly as possible. And secondly you heard the intelligence report. They are fortifying the planet. They know we will not use high-level weapons to bombard it, that we will land and take it back in a straight-out fight. Give them thirty days and they could very well have reinforcements brought in, and it will cost ten legions to dig them out. Those are my legions; I will not shed one drop of blood more than is necessary. If we wait, it will cost us our finest troops. That, I think, is their real plan, to make us bleed white in the retaking. Each day of delay will mean thousands more casualties for the Imperial Guard units."
"Nevertheless I stand by my analysis," the Baron replied, "and quite frankly, General, I don't even see why we should bother to retake Vukar in the first place; it is a boring and dusty world," and as he spoke, he languidly examined his talons as if looking for some minor imperfection in their lacquered polish.
"You are a fool," Gar replied. "There is no need to send the entire fleet back. We sortied together as a show of vengeance; a force of seven carriers will be as good as ten. All ground assault forces can continue on. With the remaining three carriers you can send one carrier straight back and two to flank and seal off any escape."
"Split the fleet?" the Baron asked quietly.
"Seven carriers are still an overwhelming force."
"And suppose it is a trap?" the Prince asked quietly.
The Baron smiled but said nothing.
"Nonsense, sire," Rusmak interjected. "A trap with what?"
"Vukar is bait," the Baron said. "I've suspected from the beginning that the humans have a plan within their plan. We know we are drawing the sack in around the humans for the kill. Their losses have been horrendous. If it was not for this little adventure of theirs, already we would be moving into our next operation, which is to seal off the entire Enigma Section from the rear and then to drive straight into the heart of their Confederation. They must know that as well. When you see defeat staring you in the face you take chances and I see this maneuver of theirs as that, a gamble to lure us into a killing match on their terms."
Rusmak laughed.
"You attribute too much to these humans."
"Yes," the Baron said coldly, "I do attribute much to these humans. I have learned to respect their intellect, their cunning, their bravery and skill. Our history of conquest has been far too easy; the other races we have subjugated have been technologically inferior and morally weak. These humans, however, are neither. Never approach them with contempt, Rusmak."
"You sound as if you love them," Rusmak laughed. "While you're at it, why not give your daughter in mating to one of them?"
The others in the room went silent at the insult.
"So she could beget a fool like you? I doubt that she would lower herself to have such a child."
Rusmak snarled angrily and came to his feet, hand on dagger hilt.
"Enough of this," the Prince said, extending his hand. "Both of you be silent. We are talking of a battle, not your philosophy Baron, nor your childish insults, Rusmak."
Rusmak glared angrily at the Baron, who smiled and ignored him as if he were so insignificant as to not even be worthy of consideration.
"Baron, I do agree with Rusmak that you attribute far too much cunning to those animals," Gar stated.
The Baron laughed softly.
"They know we will fight for Vukar, though it is worthless in a strategic sense. I daresay they attacked it because they have learned the high value we place on honor and vengeance; though in this war I consider such things to be superfluous."
"You say honor is meaningless?" the Prince asked, unable to hide the surprise in his voice. "You saw the holo of the obscenity their commander performed."
"A good bit of theater that. Come, come, Prince Thrakhath, don't you think he knew there was a surveillance camera filming that for your consumption? Their detection gear is as good as ours, in some ways even better. They most likely know the station sending out the burst signals is there but have decided to let it live."
"So what do you think will happen?" the Prince asked, growing increasingly annoyed with the Baron's attitude.
"We send our fleet in, expecting to launch a ground assault and their carriers appear, striking us while we're tied to a ground operation. If we turn to engage and abandon the ground attack all they need to do is get a handful of fighters in amongst the transports and landing craft and we lose our legions. If we attempt to defend the transports and ground assault, our counter-offensive capability against their carriers is crippled."
"We have a track on all their fleet carriers," Rusmak replied. "Two raid at Oargth, one in Bukrag, one is down for repairs, and their four remaining heavy carriers are gathering in Enigma anticipating our thrust in that region by our third fleet."
"And eight of them are destroyed," Gar announced proudly.
"So they are desperate," the Baron said.
"And this raid of theirs is a desperate action and nothing more," Gar retorted.
Prince Thrakhath leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He plotted out the lines of movement as if searching for a mathematical answer. There had to be a connection between the two attacks. It was obvious he could not ignore this Tarawa, but how to respond? The thought of splitting his fleet left him uneasy. If part of it should ever be lost, the political consequences could be devastating. He opened his eyes for a moment and looked over at the Baron.
You'd just love to see th
e home fleet disappear, wouldn't you? he thought. Your side of the family has always hated us, our bloodline not as royal as yours, and you'd just love the chance to grab the throne.
Yet to turn around with everything and abandon the counterstrike? It would make him look foolish, ten fleet carriers to swat down this fly, even though the fly was threatening Kilrah, the first time such an audacity had ever been offered to the Empire in all its long millennia of conquest. Never had enemy eyes seen the home world, unless it was as dishonored prisoners brought home as slaves or for public executions.
But if there was a trap at Vukar? What could they have waiting? He calculated yet again.
He had to do both; there was no avoiding that fact, and it made him uncomfortable. The other fleets on the front were too far away to be diverted back to home defense so it would have to be the Imperial Units. Besides, it was never wise politically to have units which might be loyal to other clans located closer to the throne than the Imperial Fleet. As for the retaking of Vukar Tag it was out of the question for any units other than those of the Imperial Command to avenge that point of honor, for to do otherwise would be to show a weakness before the other families.
He also thought of the secret memo on his desk from the Emperor, ordering that the raider must be dispatched but the Imperial honor was to also be avenged if Thrakhath believed that both could be done at once. Somehow a copy of the holo showing the humans taking Vukar was leaked to certain members of the court, the insult to the Dowager Empress causing howls of derision. She was never accepted across all these years, viewed as an upstart from the periphery of the Empire and this insult was whispered by some to be a fitting revenge for her audacity in mating her way into the Imperial line.
Even though it was not a direct order from the Emperor to press the counterattack, just a strong suggestion, it made this debate moot, but he was curious to see how his underlings would act.
"Three carriers detailed to return and hunt this interloper down," the Prince said, his voice sharp. "I'll decide within the hour which ships it will be."
He opened his eyes and looked at the Baron.
"You disagree?"
"How can I disagree with a decision of the Imperial blood?"
"But you do disagree?"
"To split a fleet is never a wise tactical maneuver, especially when confronting a potential unknown. I still maintain that the assault on Vukar was intended to be more than just a mere insult to the Dowager."
"An assassination attempt a mere insult?" Gar snarled.
"Yes, precisely that," the Baron replied, laughing softly. "These humans are smart enough to know that killing the Dowager would cause a burial of all rivalries for revenge in spite of how some of the royal line feel about her means of gaining power. They undoubtably knew she was not even there and that the destruction of the palace would, as a result, simply be a humiliation rather than a call for full blood vengeance. And besides, the palace was old, decrepit, dusty. A mere frontier outpost. If I owned it I would have destroyed it as an embarrassment long ago and if the humans destroyed it I'd view it as a favor to improve the view."
Thrakhath detected the political taunt in the Baron's words, the implication that the line of the Emperor was not royal enough, the Emperor's mother of petty nobility, her claim to the Emperor's father one of mere beauty and attractiveness, and nothing more. He wanted to spring across the table and drive a claw dagger into the Baron's royal blue-blooded throat for that insult.
Not now, we can't afford this rivalry now. Let the war with the humans be finished, and then in the glorious aftermath the rivals can be purged. Damn this war, he thought. It had forced a burial of old rivalries in the face of a common foe and as a result the tension was festering, unable to be lanced and cleansed until the humans were destroyed.
"Sire, I do not wish to miss the strike on Vukar," Gar announced.
The Prince looked over at the commander of the Imperial Legions.
"You will not, nor will you, Rusmak."
He closed his eyes again. The retaking of the planet and the gaining of vengeance was just that, a mere retaking and exacting of vengeance. Little glory there. But to bag the interloper, to save the honor of the home system, that would be the game at the moment.
"I will personally lead the three carriers covering the home world. Baron, you will be in charge of the assault on Vukar."
Thrakhath smiled at the sudden discomfort of his rival who realized that he was trapped, forced now to redeem the honor of a woman and family he despised.
"I am not a fleet officer," the Baron said quietly.
"Rusmak will be in charge of all tactical decisions; you will represent the royal bloodline, nothing more."
He looked over at the Baron and smiled. If there's glory it will be to the loyal Rusmak; if dishonor it will be yours, he thought, and he knew that the Baron was already aware of what he was thinking… that was why he hated and feared him.
"Come on in, Tolwyn."
Banbridge, smiling, came out from behind his desk and extended his hand.
"What brings you over to Wolfhound?"
"Just a short chat before the fight, that's all."
Banbridge nodded his head.
"How are things on Concordia?"
"They're eager, ready. All available craft are loaded for a heavy strike; the pilots anxious for the show to start."
"I just got a courier in from Big Duke One. They're dug in up to the eyeballs. They're finishing up some bunkers that can take direct hits from matter/antimatter, even old atomics, and they'll still be sitting there waiting. Those fur butts are going to get one hell of a reception when they start heading down to land."
"Duke always did love a fight like this, the old leading of good men in a desperate battle against impossible odds. He was like that even back in the Academy, wanted combat up close and personal. Well, tomorrow they're going to get it."
"You saw the latest drone reports."
"Still no confirmed count of carriers," Tolwyn sighed, "to be expected that they'd find that scout drone while clearing the mine field. It's a trick we used once too often, hiding a surveillance drone in a mine field, and then expecting them to simply avoid the field."
"Whoever is commanding them is smart, damned good."
"Think it's Thrakhath?"
"I'd love it," Banbridge said, slapping his open palm with a closed fist. "To really clean that bastard's clockworks…"
"Suppose it's him that comes to clean our clocks?"
Banbridge looked over at Tolwyn.
"Not getting pessimistic are we?"
"I just like to consider all alternatives."
"No room for defeatism in my command, Admiral."
Tolwyn, sensing he had been reprimanded, let it drop. Banbridge leaned against the front of his desk.
"Sorry, Geof. Stress of waiting. I always hated the waiting before a battle. Once I get into it, it's just fine; God forgive me, I even love it, but the before part grates on the nerves."
Tolwyn smiled.
"It's always been that way. Ever read Henry V, the night before the battle of Agincourt? The fear, the waiting, the not being sure if all would go as you planned. It has always been that way on the eve of battle."
"You Brits and your history," Banbridge said with a smile.
"We British also have some other traditions."
"Don't start on that again," Banbridge said, his voice suddenly going cold.
"I'm just asking this, sir. If, excuse me, I mean when we kick their butts in front of Vukar, let me take my task force, jump down through the line the Tarawa took. The Empire will be off balance after losing most of their home fleet. Just let me go in and try and cut a hole for them to escape through.
"No."
"But, sir—"
"You heard me, Tolwyn. No, damn it! We're risking any hope for victory on tomorrow's fight. Chances are that even if everything goes according to plan we're still going to lose at least one carrier. If it doesn't go to pla
n, then the point is moot anyhow. I'm not going to throw Concordia away after a victory, in the forlorn hope of pulling out a ship that's most likely already dead."
"You're talking about fifteen hundred men and women as if they're pieces on a chessboard."
"I'm talking about the survival of the Confederation, Geoffrey. I didn't like sending those kids out any more than you did. But, by God, Geof, we're on the ropes and fighting for survival. Our carriers are the thin line between tens of billions of people and the vengeance of the Kilrathi. We have a grand total of seven fleet carriers left to cover the entire front, Geof; we've lost nine in the last year and it'll be another year before they finish repairing Austerlitz and our new heavy carriers come on line. They have at least twenty and God knows how many more coming into the fleet."
"You remember the budget fights long before this war ever started, when we were begging like paupers for the money to build the shipyards which would turn out capital ships? Now we're paying for it. It takes ten years just to build a yard and train the construction personnel, and five years after that to build a carrier in that yard. It kills me; those same political bastards who denied us the funds now blame us for the defeats."
"The Kilrathi were ready for this war, we weren't, and we're still playing catch-up after thirty years of fighting. I don't like it, but given the alternatives, we have to sacrifice Tarawa if we're to have any chance of winning, to even up the odds and buy time for our next generation of ships to come on-line. Geof, you more than most know what will happen if we lose any more carriers and the Kilrathi get in amongst some of our civilian centers."
Tolwyn nodded, and lowered his head for a moment, his features hard.
"Sorry to bring it up, Geof; your wife was like a daughter to me. I'll never forgive those bastards for what they did to you, to her, to all of us."
"You don't see it though, Wayne," Tolwyn finally said. "If that's what it takes to win, sending our lads out on suicide missions, then I think the Kilrathi have won anyhow. They've made us like them."
"Damn it, no; that's a final order and if I go down tomorrow I expect it to be obeyed. I've already told Fleetcom the same thing if something happens to me. You'll take over my command, Geof, but Fleetcom will issue you a direct order not to go in after them. No rescue attempt."
End Run Page 18
