War Of Honor hh-10

by David Weber

  "Provocative?"

  "Of course it would be provocative! You're talking about strengthening our naval presence in the very systems whose possession is under dispute. How could that not be seen as a provocative gesture at this time?"

  "Unless I'm very much mistaken, the diplomatic note we've just sent them could certainly be considered provocative, Edward!"

  "Not in the same fashion. One is only a matter of diplomacy; the other is a matter of actual military movements. I think there's a very distinct difference between the two, myself."

  "I don't think you and I are going to agree on this," Chakrabarti said after a moment. "So let me ask you one more time. Will you agree to ask the Prime Minister to modify our Silesian policy so that we can bring sizable portions of Task Force Thirty-Four home, or else to explore the possibility of seeking Grayson reinforcements for our system pickets?"

  "No," Janacek said flatly.

  "Very well." Chakrabarti stood. "In that case, I submit my resignation, effective immediately."

  "You can't do this!"

  "Yes, I can, Edward."

  "You'll be ruined!"

  "Perhaps I will. It's certainly possible. But in my judgment, it's far more likely that I'd be 'ruined' if I simply sat by and watched the shuttle crash."

  "Oh?" Janacek looked scornfully at the taller man. "And have you discussed this with your brother-in-law and your cousin?"

  "As a matter of fact, I have," Chakrabarti said, and Janacek blinked at him in astonishment. "Akahito made more or less the same arguments you've just made. In fact, his advice was that I just keep my mouth shut and do whatever I was told to do. I can't say I was too surprised by that. But Adam had a somewhat different viewpoint."

  Janacek realized he was gaping at the First Space Lord and commanded his mouth to close. It wasn't easy. Like Chakrabarti, he was hardly surprised that Akahito Fitzpatrick had advised his cousin not to rock the boat. The Duke of Gray Water had been one of High Ridge's closest political allies for decades, after all. But Chakrabarti's brother-in-law, Adam Damakos, was another matter entirely.

  "And just what did Mr. Damakos have to say about it?" The First Lord asked warily.

  "I'm not sure it would be appropriate for me to discuss that with you," Chakrabarti replied. "I'll simply say that Adam is . . . increasingly less enamored of the current Government, despite New Kiev's and MacIntosh's presence in it."

  "What?" Janacek laughed scornfully. "He prefers that bleeding heart, mealy mouthed, babbling idiot Montaigne?"

  "As a matter of fact, I believe he does," Chakrabarti said. "In fact, he's not the only Liberal MP who seems to me to be leaning in that direction. But what matters in this instance is that he's the ranking Liberal member of the Naval Affairs Committee in the Commons. That means he's considerably better informed on the realities of our naval posture than Akahito is, and his judgment is much the same as mine. We have too many responsibilities and too few hulls to meet them all. Either we find the extra hulls, or we reduce the responsibilities. Those are our only two options, Edward. And if you can't agree with me on that, then you and I have no business working together."

  "Very well," Janacek grated. "Your resignation will be accepted before the end of the day. I trust that I need not remind you of the provisions of the Official Secrets Act."

  "No, you most certainly don't," Chakrabarti replied stiffly. "I'll keep my mouth shut about the privileged aspects of my knowledge. When the newsies ask me why I've resigned, I'll use that old standby about personalities that just don't mesh smoothly. But trust me, Edward. If you don't do something about this, I'm very much afraid that your concerns about why people may think I resigned are going to be the least of your problems."

  Chapter Forty Nine

  "So much for suggesting that there might be some way to move forward with negotiations!" Elaine Descroix snarled.

  For once, not even Marisa Turner seemed inclined to argue with her. The latest communique from Eloise Pritchart had arrived less than six hours earlier, and the entire Cabinet had been stunned by its terse, brutal rejection of any possibility of compromise.

  "I can't believe this," New Kiev said softly, shaking her head with a stunned expression. "What in God's name could possess them to send us something like this?"

  "At the risk of sounding like I'm saying I told you so," Janacek grated, "I'd say it's pretty clear. Theisman has miscalculated the military equation. They actually think they could win a new war with us, and they're willing to court one rather than make any reasonable concession."

  "Surely that's too pessimistic a reading!" New Kiev protested, but it was obvious she was protesting against Fate, not dismissing Janacek's analysis.

  "Whatever they may or may not be willing to court," High Ridge said finally into the silence New Kiev's protest had spawned, "we have no choice but to respond to this. And I don't see any way we can possibly allow this position to pass unchallenged. Even if it wouldn't be political suicide for this Government, no Manticoran government could possibly concede what Pritchart is obviously demanding. I think it's imperative that we tell them that as clearly as possible."

  "This whole thing is sliding out of control," New Kiev objected. "Someone has to show at least some vestige of restraint, Michael!"

  "Maybe someone does, but it's not us!" Descroix snapped, and thumped her fist on the hard copy of the note Grosclaude had delivered. "We can't, Marisa! You and I have had our differences in the past, and I'm sure we'll have them in the future. But Pritchart has to know that what she's done is to reject the absolute minimum we would have to demand under any peace agreement. If we allow it to stand, it renders the final conclusion of any treaty absolutely impossible. As Michael says, no government—not even one led by Allen Summervale's resurrected ghost!—could concede this point and survive."

  "No, it couldn't," High Ridge said heavily. "And even if it could, the Crown would refuse to ratify any treaty which accepted Pritchart's position." He didn't elaborate upon that particular point. There was no need to . . . and not one of his listeners doubted that Elizabeth would do just that, and constitutional crisis be damned. Her fury with "her" government had assumed proportions which were rapidly approaching a self-sustaining fusion reaction, and more than one of "her" ministers was astounded that she hadn't already vented her rage in public condemnation of the Government's naval policy. The only thing which could possibly explain her restraint was that she recognized such an attack would only make the interstellar situation worse and materially increase the risk of war.

  "We will not only not accept this demand," the Prime Minister told them, "but reject it in no uncertain terms."

  Elaine Descroix's eyes narrowed, and she gazed at him intently.

  "Exactly what 'no uncertain terms' did you have in mind, Michael?"

  "Given the present . . . uncertainty as to the actual naval balance of power," the Prime Minister said, bestowing a moderately venomous look upon Sir Edward Janacek, "it's essential that we not be responsible for initiating any sort of military confrontation."

  "That's certainly true enough," Descroix agreed, joining him in glaring at Janacek. The First Lord glared back like a beleaguered bear besieged by too many hounds. True to his word, Chakrabarti had kept his mouth shut about the reasons for his resignation, but his departure hadn't helped a bit. In fact, as Janacek was becoming increasingly well aware, his own position at the Admiralty hung by a thread.

  "The Admiralty has no intention of provoking any confrontations," he said flatly. "At the same time, I'd like to ask all of you to remember that before we ever sent our last note to Pritchart, I put forward a proposal for preventing this very situation from arising. Had the rest of the Cabinet supported me and Admiral Chakrabarti at that time," he continued, ruthlessly attaching the departed First Space Lord's name to a plan he'd never supported with any warmth, "our current problems might have been avoided. And Admiral Chakrabarti might still be serving at the Admiralty."

  No one else in the Cabinet
knew what had actually passed between him and Chakrabarti, and he saw one or two eyes flicker away from his own as he stared at them defiantly.

  "Well, that's all very well," Descroix said after a moment, "and no doubt you have a point, Edward. But Michael has one, too. And the preemptive strike you wanted to launch certainly would have represented 'initiating' a military confrontation!"

  "I'm very well aware of that point," Janacek replied. "And I'm not disputing Michael's authority to rule against my proposal. But I want it firmly understood that it was a political decision, however well justified it may have been, to reject a military resolution of our difficulties."

  "Are you saying you still want to pursue that option?" Descroix demanded.

  "I'm not certain we still could, even if the Cabinet reversed itself and authorized us to. Given the fact that tensions are even higher now than they were then, it's entirely possible—even probable—that some or all of Theisman's modern vessels have been deployed away from Haven."

  "Then what would you propose doing?" Stefan Young asked.

  "Frankly, our purely military options are limited at this point," Janacek said. "There are several things we could do, but most of them would be purely cosmetic, in my opinion."

  For just an instant, he considered purposing a further reinforcement of Trevor's Star. But only for an instant. Without calling on Grayson—which he would never do—the only place reinforcements could have come from would be Home Fleet. Diverting forces from the Star Kingdom's home system would have been an unthinkable admission of weakness and fear. Besides, there was no real need to. If necessary, Home Fleet in its entirety could be deployed to Trevor's Star in considerably less than a single standard day.

  "So you recommend against shifting our deployments?" High Ridge asked.

  "Any changes we made at this point would have a purely marginal effect. It would take weeks, at least, for news of them to reach Nouveau Paris, which would effectively prevent them from exercising any deterrent effect on Pritchart and Theisman in the interim. It's possible that when Theisman did learn of them, he might very well misinterpret them as responses generated out of panic. And even leaving all of that aside, if we start juggling our forces and the Republic does try something, we run the risk of being caught off balance. We could very easily find ourselves with units in transit from one star system to another instead of available at their current stations in the event of an attack.

  "I'm not saying I might not change my opinion as the situation continues to develop and more information on Theisman's deployments becomes available. All I'm saying is that on the basis of what we now know, any redeployment we might attempt would be based on guesswork, at best. As a result, the chance of accomplishing anything worthwhile in military terms would be slight, especially in light of any such move's potentially escalating effect on the political situation."

  The Prime Minister gazed at him for several long moments, then shrugged.

  "You're the best informed on our military posture, Edward. If that's your advice, I'm inclined to take it. But at the same time, something more than a business-as-usual response is required in this case. Since the Republic has seen fit to be so terse and explicit in its latest communique to us, I propose that we be equally terse in response."

  "Do you believe they're actually prepared—willing, I mean—to go back to war?" New Kiev asked unhappily.

  "I don't know," High Ridge admitted with unwonted honesty. "I doubt that they would have been this confrontational without considering the possibility, at least. At the same time, they did stop short of formally breaking off talks. That suggests they're not prepared yet to simply walk away from the conference table. So it's time for us to point out to them that that's precisely the corner their intransigence is painting both sides into."

  "Do you suppose," New Kiev suggested hesitantly, "that it might be worthwhile to suggest the possibility of a direct ministerial level conference? If we were to invite Secretary of State Giancola to personally visit the Star Kingdom, then perhaps it might be possible to put the brakes on even at this late date."

  "I can't fault your motives for suggesting the possibility, Marisa," High Ridge replied heavily. "But I think that before we issue any such invitations, we have to make it plain we're not prepared to be dictated to. The first step is to make it absolutely clear to Pritchart and her administration that this outrageous escalation of her demands is completely unacceptable. Once we've pruned their expectations back to something which might conceivably be acceptable to us, it would make an enormous amount of sense to invite Giancola—or possibly even Pritchart herself—to visit Manticore in a bid to restart the peace process on a new basis."

  Descroix gazed at him again. For just a moment she hesitated on the brink of asking him openly if what he'd just said represented the complete abandonment of their entire domestic political strategy. But she didn't. She couldn't, not in front of New Kiev. That was something she and the Prime Minister would have to discuss privately. In the meantime, however . . .

  "So what you're saying," she said, "is that our first priority is to smack Pritchart down, after which we'll offer her a hand to stand back up."

  "Perhaps a bit more bluntly phrased than I might have preferred, but, essentially, yes," High Ridge agreed.

  "All right then. In that case, I think we need to consider exactly how we want to go about smacking her."

  * * *

  Swathes of brown could still be seen amidst the startling silver hair of the hazel-eyed man waiting in the shuttle pad's VIP lounge as Hamish Alexander debarked from the Grayson Space Navy pinnace which had collected him from the Paul Tankersley.

  The earl had felt more than a little uncomfortable using Honor's private starship for this trip, even though he'd known it was silly of him. Honor herself had suggested that he do so in her letter to him, because the Tankersley was a very fast ship indeed. The fact that it enjoyed diplomatic immunity these days as Steadholder Harrington's personal ship was another reason. But White Haven was honest enough with himself to admit that the true reason for his discomfort was the ship's name. He'd been aboard her several times before, but never since he had admitted his feelings for Honor to her. Now he felt vaguely as if using the ship named for her murdered lover was somehow an act of infidelity.

  Which, he reflected with a wry mental grin, was not only silly of him but an example of the sorts of inconsequential things a man's mind could find to fasten upon when the potential for cataclysm threatened to overwhelm him.

  "My Lord," the man waiting in the lounge greeted him.

  "High Admiral," White Haven replied with equal formality, then smiled as he held out his hand.

  "Welcome back to Grayson, Hamish," High Admiral Wesley Matthews said warmly, gripping the proffered hand and squeezing firmly.

  "Thank you, Wesley," White Haven said, but then his own smile faded. "I only wish I were here under happier conditions," he said.

  "So do we all," Matthews assured him, releasing his hand. The high admiral stepped back and waved towards a waiting air car. "Under the circumstances," he said, "I suspected that you'd prefer to go straight to Protector's Palace."

  * * *

  Protector Benjamin rose behind his desk and held out his hand as an armsman in Mayhew maroon and gold ushered White Haven and Matthews into his office. Major Rice, Benjamin's personal armsman, stood unobtrusively behind him, and Gregory Paxton was already present in his position as the director of Sword Intelligence. Honor's onetime intelligence officer had aged noticeably. He walked with a cane these days, and he made no effort to hoist himself to his feet, but his eyes were still bright and alert, and he nodded a welcome to the newcomers.

  "Hamish." Benjamin's greeting was warm, but it was also subdued and dark with anxiety.

  "Your Grace," White Haven replied as they shook hands. "Thank you for agreeing to see me on such short notice."

  "There's no need to thank me," Benjamin said, shaking his head. "I'd have made room in my schedule
even if you'd turned up totally unannounced. As it was, Honor's letter had warned me you'd probably be coming."

  "Well," White Haven acknowledged with a grimace, "she certainly predicted Janacek's reaction accurately enough, so I don't suppose I should be surprised she predicted mine, as well!"

  "Under the circumstances," Matthews said grimly, "it didn't really require very much clairvoyance on her part, I'm afraid."

  "Probably not," White Haven agreed. Benjamin waved him into a chair, and the earl sat obediently. An armsman appeared beside him, and White Haven grinned, despite the seriousness of the moment, as a bottle of Old Tillman materialized on the small table at his elbow.

  "Now," Benjamin said briskly as the earl reached for his beer, "according to the letter Honor sent me, she believes Eloise Pritchart is seriously contemplating resuming active operations against the Star Kingdom. I have to admit that even now that surprises me just a bit. Do you think she's right, Hamish?"

  "I'm afraid I do," White Haven said somberly. He set the beer bottle back down, and leaned forward in the chair, resting his elbows on his knees. "I'm not privy to the details of the diplomatic exchanges between High Ridge and Pritchart, Your Grace. I don't think anyone outside the High Ridge Cabinet is—not in the Star Kingdom, anyway. From what I do know, though, it seems fairly obvious that the treaty negotiations have been deteriorating steadily for months now."

  "Actually," Paxton said quietly, "the deterioration you refer to started well over a T-year and a half ago, My Lord." White Haven looked at him, and the intelligence director shrugged. "There was never any real hope of a treaty, but it's only been in the past eighteen T-months or so that Pritchart began really pushing the Star Kingdom for some sort of significant progress."

  "All right," White Haven agreed. "A year and a half, then. At any rate, the truce talks have been shuddering towards a breakdown for quite some time. Now, if my brother's sources in the Foreign Office are correct, they're on the brink of a complete collapse. In the middle of all this, we have Theisman announcing the existence of his new navy, and then this 'Second Fleet' they've run in on Honor in Silesia."