“We have a mission, Sarge?” the PFC asked.
“Yes we do, Pritchett,” Barton smiled humorlessly. “Recon.”
A chorus of curses and groans met this news. Recon patrols were long and put them beyond the range of any reasonable expectation of being reinforced. The bitch of it was they weren’t trained specifically for recon missions, but they were all that Major Baer had to send.
Emil’s stomach was in knots as the old truck bounced across the rutted access road. He didn’t know why the hell he had volunteered to go with the Marines as a local guide when they’d asked old Finn for somebody reliable. At the time he’d wanted to make up for freezing when the enemy had made initial contact outside their small town, but now he felt like all he’d done was make another grave mistake to atone for the first.
He was no fighter. Being surrounded by professional soldiers, warriors, and listening to their casual banter and gallows humor only reinforced how utterly out of his element he really was. He could shoot, sure, but the exotic rifle that had been placed in his hands after just a cursory explanation of how it worked was more intimidating than it was comforting. The fact the private instructing him seemed to feel that he was supposed to be what they called a designated marksman made it even worse.
“Hey kid,” a voice called out. He peered around and saw Sergeant Barton staring at him intently. When he caught Emil’s eye he waved him over to sit next to him, gesturing for the com operator to take the bench opposite.
“You’re scared,” Barton said matter-of-factly once Emil had sat down. The sergeant was leaning in so that he wasn’t broadcasting the conversation to the entire truck. “There’s no need to try and hide that. All these jarheads talking about killing and dying are also scared, it’s just their way of dealing with it.”
“I’m no soldier, Sarge,” Emil said. “I just don’t want to—”
“This is the first war human infantry has fought since before the first starships went into space,” Barton interrupted him. “That’s hundreds of years … nobody on this truck has had shots fired at them in anger before this Darshik mess. I appreciate that you volunteered when nobody else stepped up, but I’m not asking you to be a hero. Just help us as you can with your knowledge of the area and the people.”
“That I can do,” Emil said. “I heard one of your troops say that Captain Wright was on her way to Juwel; is that true?”
“That’s what I was told,” Barton said neutrally.
“I suppose if anyone can beat the blockade it’s her,” Emil said. “I can’t even imagine what it must be like … flying on a starship between the worlds.”
“Mostly long and boring,” Barton smiled indulgently. “There aren’t any windows and there’s nothing to see anyway until you get really, really close to something. The reality is that it’s weeks of sitting around trying not to think about the laws of physics a ship built by the lowest bidder is breaking while you’re inside of it.”
Emil laughed at that. “Still,” he went on, “to just see what else is out there. I was born here and thanks to this war I’ll probably never get the chance to leave.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say never. Things are bound to—”
Barton never got to finish his sentence as the world around them erupted into fire and Emil was thrown out of the open truck bed, landing hard enough on his back to knock the wind out of him.
When he was finally able to force a breath into his lungs he saw the truck was still rolling slowly along in the distance and was completely consumed by fire. As he stared another explosion obliterated the vehicle and blinded him for a moment while he still tried to figure out what the hell had just happened. He was surprised that he was still holding his borrowed rifle and rolled over onto his hands and knees, taking stock of himself and equally shocked to find that he seemed to be okay. He’d been flung clear and had landed in the loose soil around an irrigation outlet.
“Emil! Are you hurt?”
Emil looked up at the voice, his ears still ringing and his wits a bit scrambled. He blinked as the bloody visage of Sergeant Barton came into view. “Are you hurt?” the Marine repeated.
“I … I don’t think so,” he finally got out.
“Then on your feet,” Barton said, looking around wildly. “We have to move. That was enemy light artillery; they know we’re here. Let’s go!” The sergeant dragged Emil to his feet and gave him a none-to-gentle shove towards a treeline a few hundred meters away. “Run, damn you!”
As Emil ran wildly into the night he risked a look back over his shoulder and saw enemy soldiers approaching the still-burning wreckage … lots of them. The sight caused him to put on an extra adrenaline-fueled burst of speed and he soon caught up with Barton as they raced for the dubious cover of the treeline. When they reached it Barton pulled him down and put his finger to his lips, ordering him to silence as he scanned the scene with a thermal monocular.
“Do you want the good news, or the bad news?” he whispered finally.
“Let’s start with good,” Emil breathed.
“We’re still alive.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it,” Barton said. “The bad news is that we appear to be the only two of our squad left alive and the enemy is well behind what we thought was the front line and in sizable numbers. We also have no com equipment and the only gear that is left is what we’re carrying.”
“That’s a lot of bad news,” Emil said.
“Yes.” Barton continued to survey the area for a few more minutes. “They don’t appear interested in finding anyone who may have survived. They’re turning back now. I don’t suppose you happen to know where we are?”
Emil looked around for a landmark but nothing looked familiar in the weak light of the moons. Fighting down growing panic he tried to reason where they might be from where they had come from. “This whole area is large, corporate farms,” he said. “Mostly tended to by automated equipment so if I’m right we’re kilometers from the nearest house that might be able to send a message for us.”
“Shit,” Barton swore. “Well, let’s pick a direction and get moving. We have to let Command know the enemy is on the move.”
5
“You asked to see me, Captain?”
Celesta looked up at Ambassador Cole and just stared for a long, uncomfortable moment. Cole, a trained diplomat, simply returned her gaze with his own unreadable one.
“I just want to make sure we don’t have any misunderstandings before we transition out of this system, Mr. Ambassador,” she said finally. “To that end I will be a bit blunt: This is not a mission I volunteered for nor do I particularly agree with its execution.”
“In what way, Captain?” Cole asked politely. “May I sit?”
Celesta gestured to the chairs in front of her desk and nodded. “I think sending a single ship is foolish,” she continued. “I think sending a warship might send the wrong message and I think sending the Icarus in particular is an overt provocation. I feel that the Diplomatic Corps would have been wiser to send a proper consular ship with a military escort if that was deemed necessary.”
Cole looked ready to fire back and then stopped himself for a beat, taking in and releasing a deep breath. “While my normal response to a Fleet officer trying to dictate diplomatic strategy would be to tell you to follow your orders and stick to what you’re qualified for, I do recognize that you’re unique in your field, Captain,” he said slowly. “You have more direct contact with alien species than most in government and your instincts have proven to be right more times than not, but I believe there’s a flaw in your logic.
“We’re not trying to win over the Ushin. We’re going as a favor to let them try to convince us why we shouldn’t view them as a direct enemy to humanity and act accordingly. At least, that’s what we’ll be making them think. The fact they reached back out to us after deliberately leading our taskforce into a trap has to mean something significant. I have my own theories, but we’ll need to talk to them
again to know for certain, and I’m the one who specifically requested the ship and captain that successfully attacked that Darshik system … I think it sends precisely the right message.”
“We may have to agree to disagree,” Celesta said.
“Fair enough, but I think we’re actually talking about something quite different,” Cole said. “I know that your ship was pulled off the mission heading to the Juwel System, a mission that has your former mentor flying a glorified freighter into the teeth of an enemy blockade. In your position I would also likely view this new assignment with a certain lack of enthusiasm.”
“I made no secret of my displeasure at the Ninth being pulled from the relief convoy,” Celesta said calmly. “However, that has nothing to do with why I wanted to speak with you prior to departure. I just want you to understand that my first responsibility is to my ship and crew. Your mission may be the objective, but you do not command the Icarus and I won’t put her in harm’s way without good reason.”
“I understand the chain of command on a ship underway,” Cole said with an indulgent smile that made Celesta bristle. “I also am well-aware that this is a Fleet ship, not a diplomatic courier. You’ll get no direct interference from me.”
“And you have no set of signed orders on you that would allow you to legally assume command of this ship should I make any decisions you disagree with?” Celesta dug, knowing the ambassador had come out of a meeting with CENTCOM top brass before her shuttle had arrived at New Sierra Platform for her briefing.
Cole visibly squirmed. “There may have been some discussions regarding that, Captain, but I can assure you that I have no intention of trying such a foolish stunt,” he said firmly. “We’re on the same team … if you truly feel the risk is too great in a given situation I have to trust you just as I hope that you’ll trust me when I say that some risks might be necessary for the greater good.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “I appreciate your position and your loyalty, Captain Wright … but believe me when I tell you this is a mission vital to the survival of the Federation. If there’s even a slim chance that relations can be patched with the Ushin to the point of extracting aid, even if it’s only in the form of information, we have to take it.”
“I think that just about covers things then, Mr. Ambassador,” Celesta said with a nod. “As I said: I just want to make sure we fully understand each other before this mission begins.”
“I think we do, Captain.” Cole stood up and moved to leave. “I will stay out of the way while we make our way back out to the meeting point. I … think that would be best for both of us.”
Before she could answer he’d walked out of the office and closed the hatch behind him.
“That could have gone better,” Celesta said to the ceiling. She’d called the ambassador to her office with the intent of firmly establishing her absolute authority as captain of the Icarus and to ensure he knew how displeased she was that her ship was pulled off the line for a mission that didn’t require a destroyer. Instead, she felt Cole had managed to get the better of her during the exchange. He’d baited her into overextending and in hindsight she realized how childish she’d looked. Her personal desires aside there was one thing Admiral Marcum had said to her that kept ringing through her head.
“I know she’s your first command, Celesta, but that ship belongs to the Terran Federation …”
The Icarus was the property of the people of the United Terran Federation and their elected leadership had decided that the ship was needed in a place other than where she wanted to fly her. She’d have to suck it up, swallow the bitter disappointment of not being able to fly with Captain Wolfe again, and get down to the business at hand.
“Bridge, Captain,” she called out.
“Go ahead, Captain,” Commander Barrett’s voice came back immediately.
“Mr. Barrett … prepare the Icarus for departure,” she said crisply. “I want to be underway within the hour and steaming for our jump point.”
“Preparing the Icarus for departure, aye,” Barrett said. “She’ll be ready for movement by the time you get to the bridge, Captain.”
“Very good, Commander.” Celesta stood and straightened her uniform before marching out of her office, nodding at the Marine sentry her detachment commander automatically assigned to her when they were carrying passengers. As she walked up the passageway to the bridge she could feel the deck vibrate softly as power was fed to the propulsion systems in preparation for moving the destroyer out of high orbit over New Sierra. With any luck she would be able to fly out to the meeting point, Cole would get his work done quickly, and she could steam full bore back to Juwel.
“Captain Wolfe, what you’re suggesting is—”
“Excuse me, Commander,” Jackson interrupted the acting CO of the destroyer Resolute over the video conference link, “but I wasn’t suggesting anything. I am informing you of the maneuver the Aludra Star will perform to enter the Juwel System, and as a courtesy to you I am strongly recommending you do the same.”
“What I believe Commander Bevin was going to say, with all due respect, Senior Captain, is that the course you’ve shared with us is not a commonly accepted maneuver,” Captain Sanders aboard the Racer said smoothly. “We’re all quite familiar with your success in using non-authorized jump points, but even you have typically transitioned further from a system’s primary star, not closer.”
“This is true,” Jackson nodded. “However, this situation requires a different tactic. Jumping in far outside the system would be a useless gesture, even if we tried to adjust to come in around the known jump points. The light from our transition would beat us by many hours to the picket ships, we would have to burn our engines hard for much longer to make it to Juwel in time, and we’d have to run silent so the enemy ships would have the advantage of surprise when deploying to meet us.
“Believe me, the usual method of transitioning short and sneaking the rest of the way in is simply unworkable due to time constraints and the fact the enemy is already looking for us. We’re going to get one more shot to push the Darshik back out of the Juwel System … that means the Star has to make it to the planet and your ships need to completely eliminate the blockade.”
The debate had been going on for the better part of an hour and Jackson knew he was no closer to convincing the skittish destroyer captains that drastic and decisive action was needed to successfully execute their mission than when he started. Checking the time on the wall display he relaxed and let the drama continue to play out. The Star was being loaded and her drop shuttles were still in the process of being inspected and loaded into the launch bays by Flight OPS.
One of the main problems was that despite being the ranking officer in the formation it was made clear by CENTCOM that he was not in overall command of the mission. It wasn’t anything personal; traditionally overall responsibility was given to the senior officer serving aboard a ship of the line, not a combat cargo hauler like the Star. There were some practical reasons for this as well as it wouldn’t make much sense for Jackson to be given tactical authority over the destroyer squadron when his ship’s mission was to evade the enemy and deploy her shuttles as close to the planet as he could get.
“Captain Wolfe, while I appreciate your experience and enthusiasm, I’m afraid I just can’t authorize this type of risk-taking,” Senior Captain Edward Rawls said, exerting control over the informal meeting. Rawls was the overall mission commander despite the fact Wolfe had more time in grade and technically outranked him. Jackson knew of Rawls by reputation and was underwhelmed. A history of timidity and hiding behind procedure to avoid making the tough decisions were a couple of the reasons he had a poor opinion of the man’s ability to command.
“Our ships will make the approach to the Juwel System as prescribed by CENTCOM approved navigational data,” Rawls continued. “I would encourage you to fly in behind our ships and allow us to provide a screen per Fourth Fleet tactical doctrine so your assault carrier has a better
chance of making it all the way to Juwel with her cargo.”
Jackson wanted to point out that two larger formations had already smashed themselves against the Darshik blockade. By transitioning in right where they were expected the 508th destroyers would actually be giving away the presence of a Terran taskforce and deny him the opportunity to sneak down into the system unnoticed. He also wanted to tell the man that his blind adherence to procedure was likely going to get a lot of good spacers killed, a resource the Federation couldn’t afford to waste needlessly. In the end he said neither.
“Command prerogative is yours, of course,” he said, failing to keep the resignation out of his voice. “If you’re unwilling to consider my plan then I would suggest adjusting your course and transitioning in short, but not so short that you have days of travel before you hit their lines. They’ll be waiting for you.”
“Thank you for your … concern, Captain Wolfe,” Rawls said with a barely visible sneer. “I think we’ll manage just fine. We’re on schedule for an on-time departure and will begin pushing up out of orbit within the hour.”
“We’re also on schedule,” Jackson said. “Drop shuttles are being inspected and prepped now; I expect to be underway within the hour as well.”
“Very good,” Rawls said. “If there’s nothing else? Dismissed then … Relentless out.”
Jackson reached over and terminated his channel link without signing off or even acknowledging the remaining commanders. Rawls’s stubbornness was almost certain to get one or both of them killed. He stood and walked out of the cramped office, pausing to readjust his prosthetic leg. There was a series of hard, booming thumps that reverberated through the hull that let him know Flight OPS was loading the drop shuttles into the launch cradles.
Iron & Blood: Book Two of The Expansion Wars Trilogy Page 4
