Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter 1: Ill Tidings
Chapter 2: Deviate from Doctrine
Chapter 3: No Worthier Death
Chapter 4: Grim Resolve
Chapter 5: A Step Forward
Captain and Command
By Scott Bartlett
Prequel to Ixan Legacy, a military science fiction series.
Captain and Command
© Scott Bartlett 2018
Cover art by Tom Edwards (tomedwardsdesign.com)
This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 License. To view a copy of this license, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0
This novel is a work of fiction. All of the characters, places, and events are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, businesses, or events is entirely coincidental.
Chapter 1
Ill Tidings
The com drone arrived in the Arrowwood System with ill news.
Worse, it arrived just ahead of the object of the news—namely, a Gok fleet consisting of thirty-four heavily armed warships, set to arrive hot on the heels of the drone. According to the drone’s message, they had no more than six hours to prepare.
We’re lucky the drone got through at all, Captain Vin Husher reflected as he reviewed the transmission that had been rerouted to his com by Zephyr, the Winger who served as Summit’s planetary governor. Com drones had been written off as impractical decades ago, from both financial and logistical perspectives. That was before the micronet was outlawed in response to the discovery that the underlying technology—known colloquially as dark tech—compromised the universe’s substructures in ways that would eventually prove catastrophic to everyone who happened to live in the universe.
Suddenly, com drones had become the only viable method for communicating across an ever-growing galactic empire, and billions of research dollars had been poured into developing them, fast. They had to be made more affordable, more reliable, and more secure.
That last was a tedious balance to strike. Pirates had been quick to catch on to the value of the sensitive information carried by the com drones, so senders had to make their messages secure enough to defy hacking while making sure recipients could reasonably access them. That scheme worked out all right if you communicated regularly with the recipient, since you could agree on encryption keys in advance, but if you wanted to talk to someone for the first time, things got more complicated.
The point was, both the com drone’s arrival and the successful receipt of the message amounted to minor miracles. Husher’s presence in this system also represented a stroke of luck, though he wasn’t sure what kind, just yet. That depended on whether he could figure out how to protect a star system from thirty-four warships with only five defending ships.
He gave himself six minutes of sitting at his desk, massaging the bridge of his nose, and thinking. Then, he forced himself to start moving. His chair rolled backward as he rose to his feet and headed for the Hornet’s conference room, praying the half-formed ideas he’d hit on would assemble themselves into a plan by the time he arrived.
The Hornet had been named in honor of Husher’s father, Warren Husher, who’d piloted a carrier of the same name during the First Galactic War. Warren Husher had been captured during that conflict, and framed as a traitor by the Ixa. When he regained his freedom during the Second Galactic War, his own species had executed him—only to learn that they had Warren to thank for their survival.
As Husher strode through the carrier’s corridors, he copied a message to his XO, his CAG, and the captains of the other four Fleet warships in the system. The message notified them of the approaching Gok fleet and also informed them that in ten minutes, Husher would require their presence—whether physical or telepresence—at a meeting where they would discuss what the hell they were going to do about it.
And I should probably figure that out before the meeting starts.
He’d come to Arrowwood to help oversee the Integrated Galactic Fleet’s transition from the outdated Condor-model starfighter to the brand new Python-class fighter. There were fairly few Fleet personnel able to consult on that process, and Husher had been one of the leading candidates for the job. It made sense. He had served on the last ship ever to deploy fighters in space combat, after all. The Providence’s exploits during the Second Galactic War—which had unquestionably made the difference between victory and the extinction of every sapient species in the galaxy—had not gone unnoticed. The IGF now fielded several carriers, and there was talk of constructing supercarriers even bigger than the Providence had been, though that proposal came packaged with so many compromises and baited hooks that Husher wanted nothing to do with it. He meant to ensure the Fleet had nothing to do with it, either.
“This is the last straw,” said Husher’s XO as the other four starship captains appeared, one by one, on their respective telepresence screens. “It’s the final proof I need that Fleet intel is worse than useless. It’s dangerously useless. According to the info-gatherers, all signs pointed to the Gok deploying their entire fleet to the Caprice System. Now we have almost a fifth of it flying here, where we’ve been left with a token force, under the false assumption that we wouldn’t see any combat.”
The XO was Commander Jeremy Nelson, and his voice was taut with panic. Beads of sweat clung to his bunched forehead, threatening to tumble down to land on the thick conference table, and his watery eyes were locked onto Husher’s.
Husher returned the man’s gaze with a flat one of his own and waited until he ran out of anxious things to say. He agreed with Nelson, in part. Fleet intel was atrocious, and the Fleet itself was still finding its footing after integrating the militaries of four different species three years ago. There were still a lot of hiccups—a lot of mistakes. Before today, Husher had considered his assignment to this system to be one of them. He’d been convinced that the Fleet should have deployed him where the fighting would be thickest, not here, in this sloppy effort to get the new starfighters online as quickly as possible.
Now, with the threat of an approaching Gok fleet, he was starting to question whether this posting would actually prove misguided. Perhaps not. There was one Fleet mistake he remained certain about, however: the assignment of Jeremy Nelson as his XO.
When he was sure Nelson was finished babbling, Husher quietly spoke. “Griping about Fleet intel does nothing to prepare us for the coming attack. On the contrary: it’s a deplorable waste of the scant time available to us.”
As always, Nelson wilted under Husher’s criticism, but he’d moved past sympathy for the man a long time ago. Now, he let the strained silence lengthen, in the hopes that it would deter any further whining, from his XO or from anyone else.
At last, after most of the officers present had punctuated the awkward pause with a cough or a cleared throat, Husher spoke again: “If you must gripe, do it after the battle, provided we survive it. In the meantime, it falls to us to defend a system against overwhelming odds; a system vital to the Interstellar Union’s shaky military power. The Fleet only has three other installations capable of producing starfighters. They’re much smaller, with sparser defenses. The Second Galactic War demonstrated how important fighters have become for space combat, and I only expect that importance to increase in the coming years. I don’t think it’s an understatement to suggest the fate of our new Union depends on our actions today.” Husher met each officer’s gaze in turn. “If I seem unusually put off by unproductive whining, that’s why.
“A brief review of our assets: one newly commissioned carrier, two corvettes that date back to the First Galactic War, a ten-year-old
missile cruiser and a fourteen-year-old destroyer. We also have Summit’s orbital defense platforms.” That was one small blessing: the defense platforms guarded not only the system’s single planetary colony, but also the starfighter construction facilities, which occupied orbits well below the defense platforms. That meant Husher could concentrate his forces around the planet.
“What about the Pythons?” asked Captain Eryl of the Metis, the missile cruiser.
Husher glanced at his CAG, who’d served on the Providence during the Second Galactic War, in the same role she filled now. “Commander Fesky?”
Head twitching, the Winger clacked her beak. “The Hornet’s Air Group have barely begun training on them. As for the other jokers the Fleet sent us, claiming they’re starfighter pilot material…” Fesky shook her head as she trailed off. “All that aside, I have serious reservations about some of the features the designers included in the new model. The electronic warfare suite looks powerful, and I’m interested to see how the enemy deals with our new ability to generate false target returns. But if you ask me, those abilities will make pilots overconfident. They’ll over-rely on them, which will end up impairing performance overall.”
“Is that a yes or a no?” Husher said.
“I’m honestly not able to give that answer yet, sir. The question of deploying the Pythons within a handful of hours hadn’t occurred to me until it was put to me just now.”
“I expect you to arrive at the answer within ninety minutes.”
Fesky’s feathers stood at attention as she opened her beak, no doubt to protest. But no protest came out, and the Winger’s beak snapped closed again. “Yes, Captain,” she said instead.
“If you can swing it, the Pythons may make all the difference,” Husher said. “As far as we know, the Gok don’t even know they exist. They could provide the edge we need.”
“I’ll try my best to get them operational,” Fesky said.
“Very good.” Husher broke eye contact with his CAG to once again take in the other officers present. “I have the makings of a plan—I won’t try to trick you into believing it’s anything more than that. And it does involve the Pythons,” he said, nodding at Captain Eryl. “We’ll move forward under the assumption that we can deploy them, and if it turns out we can’t, we’ll just have to improvise. Listen carefully, everyone, because we only have time to run through this once.”
Chapter 2
Deviate from Doctrine
The Gok force surged through the darkgate, forming up just in front of it until every attacking ship had transitioned into the Arrowwood System. Only then did they begin their journey down-system at a measured but inexorable pace.
At that velocity, it would take them four more hours to reach the planet. Husher had anticipated that, but he’d also known it wouldn’t count as extra preparation time. Anything they did after the arrival of the Gok, they would do in plain sight, and he didn’t consider it good practice to reveal one’s hand to the opponent before the game even started.
Removing his chin from his hand, which he lowered to the command seat’s armrest, Husher said, “Coms, put me through to the governor, if he’s available. Say that I’m fine with holding for a bit.”
“Aye, sir.”
Within fifteen minutes, the governor appeared on the main viewscreen. “Captain Husher.”
“Governor Zephyr. How goes the evacuation of the Argolis region?” That was the sparsely populated area directly below the defense platform around which Husher expected the battle to take place. Argolis would be closest to the darkgate upon the enemy fleet’s arrival, and the Gok weren’t known for taking roundabout routes.
“As quickly as can be expected,” the governor said with a slight twitch, causing some overhead lighting to dance across his gleaming feathers. “The civilians didn’t need much convincing about the threat posed by the Gok force, but even so, twenty-nine million people can only be displaced so quickly.”
“I understand. I’m sure everyone is doing the best they can.” Husher rubbed his chin, mulling over his next words, even though he’d already had fifteen minutes to contemplate them. “Governor, if we’re able to successfully defend Summit, can I count on your support in my efforts to increase military funding?”
The governor grimaced. “I can’t make any promises, here, Captain.”
Husher narrowed his eyes. “Surely you’re joking. If anything should sound the alarm for increased military preparedness, it’s this.”
“I do see the sense in what you’re saying. But I still can’t make any promises. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an evacuation to oversee.” The governor winked from the viewscreen, which returned to a tactical representation of the star system.
“Incredible,” Husher muttered. He’d begun that conversation feeling certain he was about to gain an ally in his struggle to prepare the galaxy for what he knew was coming: the return of the superintelligent AIs, which had been loosed on the local galactic cluster by a shadowy species no one had ever laid eyes on. The AIs had created the Ixa to destroy all life in the Milky Way, and they would be back to finish what they’d started, almost certainly with might unrivaled by anything yet seen. Even so, very few in the Interstellar Union seemed to appreciate the magnitude of the impending threat.
A dark thought occurred to Husher, then. If the Gok were to win today…
If that happened—if the enemy succeeded in destroying Summit, widely viewed as one of the most important colonies when it came to the successful integration of the four Union species—then the IU would be forced to recognize how woefully unprepared their military was. They would be forced to act.
Allowing the Gok to win would involve spending hundreds of millions of lives, including, in all likelihood, his own. But it would accomplish what he’d spent the last three years failing to do. It would force the IU to bolster its military, preparing them for the wars that would come. If the Gok win here, millions will die—but hundreds of billions might be saved.
No. He squeezed his eyes shut, till starbursts exploded across his eyelids. He did it again, willing the notion into oblivion. I won’t do this. Military expedience is one thing. Pissing on my own principles is quite another.
He wasn’t the sort of person who viewed millions of civilian lives as some sort of cosmic bargaining chip. Besides, if there existed such a thing as a soul, his would almost certainly be blackened by such a gambit, even if it were to succeed.
Husher’s cheeks burned with shame at what he’d allowed himself to contemplate, however briefly. He kept his eyes affixed to the tactical display, hoping his CIC officers would miss his discomfort.
Captain Keyes would be disgusted with me. Of course, his old mentor had accomplished what Husher had so far been unable to manage. He’d inspired a galactic society to arms, and in the end, he’d sacrificed himself to save it.
Husher had no idea how he might go about replicating his old captain’s success. Without warning, the concept of the capital starships broke through the surface of his thoughts again, but he mentally swatted it away the moment it did.
He wasn’t opposed to the idea of capital starships themselves, but to the particular design that had been put forward by politicians seeking a compromise between military preparedness and the public weariness with armed conflict. Husher’s main bone of contention with the proposed design was the civilian city it placed at the ship’s center.
The idea would be to bestow the capital starships with arsenals so vast that the civilians would never find themselves in any real danger. Husher liked the sound of vast arsenals, but he knew that in practice, the presence of civilians would smother the captain’s ability to take decisive military action. Every decision would have to be weighed against the risk it would pose to the civilians living aboard the vessel.
Proponents pointed out that the roving cities would justify the new supercarriers’ expense—so designed, the capital starships would not only be military powerhouses, but also mighty economic engines. Wi
th affluent cities constantly moving throughout the galaxy, trade would surely flourish. Not only that, but the mobile cities would improve interspecies relations by exposing the various species to one another all the more. It would speed the integration process.
Increasing military prowess, improving the economy, and helping the various species get along—all those things appealed to Husher. But he saw them as separate issues, not as matters with which to burden military captains.
As the Gok force crept across the tactical display, drawing ever closer, Husher began noticing signs of nervousness from his CIC crew—fleeting glances at each other, twitches, and even a couple sloppy mistakes.
“Steady, people,” Husher said. “Tighten up and adhere strictly to procedure—double check everything you do. This isn’t the time to start falling apart.”
For his part, he concentrated on wrenching himself away from the grim train of thought prompted by his exchange with the governor. I need to get my head in the battle.
Fighting the Gok at all was an ethically questionable proposition, according to many throughout the Union, and a large part of Husher agreed. Long decades ago, the Gok had been infected by a virophage of Ixan make, which had rendered them much more hostile than they’d been in their natural state. A cure had been found during the Second Galactic War, but most Gok had refused it, and when the war finally ended, their government had refused to make nice with the new IU.
Maybe they’re not completely responsible for their own actions. But the fact remains: they attacked us, and it’s our right to defend ourselves.
Besides, every aggressor throughout history, whether an individual or a society, had had reasons for being the way they were. It didn’t mean the rest of the world could do anything except deal with them as they were.
The pretext for the Gok assault that had sparked the war had been construction of a new military facility in the Bastion Sector, but Husher remained convinced they hadn’t needed much pretext. In the three years between the Second Galactic War and the start of this one, tension had escalated, with no shortage of fraught situations that could have easily escalated to armed conflict between the two societies. It was simple dumb luck that the Bastion base had done it.
Captain and Command Page 1
