David Weber - Honor17 - Shadow of Saganami

by Shadow of Saganami(lit)

  Had it been capable of such things, it would undoubtedly have felt a deep sense of satisfaction.

  But it wasn't, of course.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  HMS Hercules departed Flax orbit exactly eight hours and thirty-six minutes after Rear Admiral Khumalo's meeting with the Provisional Government.

  It was unlikely that the elderly superdreadnought had ever taken such precipitous leave of a star system in her entire previous career. Captain Victoria Saunders had certainly never expected to do so, and she felt more than a little out of breath at the sheer whirlwind energy which Khumalo and Loretta Shoupe had brought to the task of getting her ship and every other hyper-capable RMN unit in the Spindle System underway.

  Saunders stood beside the captain's chair on her command deck, hands folded behind her, and watched the master plot as Hercules, the light cruisers Devastation and Inspired, and the destroyers Victorious, Ironside, and Domino accelerated steadily away from Flax. Ericsson, her sister ship White, and the ammunition ships Petard and Holocaust followed in the warships' wakes, and Khumalo had commandeered five additional dispatch boats. It was, at best, a lopsided and ill-balanced "squadron," although Hercules certainly looked impressive as its flagship. Unless, of course, one knew all of the old ship's manifold weaknesses as well as Saunders did.

  But she's still a damned superdreadnought, Khumalo's flag captain told herself. And we're still the Queen's Navy. And I will be damned if Augustus Khumalo hasn't actually remembered that.

  She shook her head, bemused and, to her own astonishment, proud of her Admiral. She'd skimmed Terekhov's dispatches-she hadn't had time to actually read them-and she couldn't decide whether Terekhov had brilliantly deduced the essentials of a complex plot or whether he was a raving lunatic. But if he was right, if the Republic of Monica really was in bed with the Jessyk Combine-which meant with Manpower-then he was probably also in for the fight of his life.

  Which is saying quite a bit, given what he went through at Hyacinth.

  In fact, it was possible, perhaps even probable, that if his fears were justified, Aivars Terekhov would be dead long before Hercules and her mismatched consorts ever got to Monica. For that matter, it was possible Khumalo's relief force might find itself destroyed, as well. But whatever happened to Terekhov, or to them, the Admiralty would have been warned, and the Republic of Monica would damned well find out that it should never have screwed with the Star Kingdom of Manticore.

  "Excuse me, Ma'am."

  Saunders turned towards the voice. It belonged to Commander Richard Gaunt, her executive officer.

  "Yes, Dick?"

  "The last of the personnel shuttles will be coming aboard in approximately ninety minutes, Ma'am," he said.

  "Good, Dick. Good!" She smiled. "Do we have a headcount yet?"

  "It looks like the shore patrol managed to round up just about everyone," he replied. "At last count we're about six warm bodies short, but for all I know, they could be aboard one of the other ships, given how frantic this entire departure's being."

  "Tell me about it," she said feelingly, looking at the repeater plot that showed the ungainly gaggle of shuttles and pinnaces streaming after the squadron. It was unheard of for a Queen's ship to pull out so abruptly a sizable percentage of her company had to chase after her this way. But at least Hercules' acceleration rate was low enough the small craft wouldn't have much trouble overtaking her.

  "Ma'am?" Gaunt's voice was much lower, and she looked back at him, one eyebrow arched.

  "Do you really think all of this," he continued, still pitching his voice too low for anyone else to hear, and gesturing at the icons moving steadily across the plot, "is necessary?"

  "I don't have any idea, Dick," she told him frankly. "But I did have the chance to look over Terekhov's projected ops schedule. If everything's going the way he projected, his kidnapped Solly freighter got to Monica about sixteen hours ago. Terekhov'll be arriving at his rendezvous-this 'Point Midway' of his-in about another seventy-two hours, and the freighter will meet him there about a week later. Call it ten standard days from now. And if he decides on the basis of its report to move directly on Monica, he can be there in another six days or so. We, on the other hand, can't reach Monica for twenty-five days. So, if he goes ahead, whatever he does is going to be over, one way or the other, at least one full T-week before we can possibly get there."

  "I can't believe he'd really be crazy enough to pull something like that, Ma'am," Gaunt said, shaking his head. "He must know we're coming-the glory hound didn't leave us any choice about that! Surely he's not so far gone he won't wait one more week if it means the difference between going in unsupported and arriving with backup."

  Saunders regarded her XO with a slight, rare frown. Gaunt was an efficient executive officer, the sort who always got the details right and developed an almost uncanny ability to anticipate his CO's desires. But he was also a stickler for sometimes petty details, and he had a powerful attachment to doing things by The Book. A certain... narrowness, coupled with an aversion to risk taking. He disliked the "glory hounds," a term he used a bit too easily for her taste, and Victoria Saunders had come to question whether or not he had the combination of flexibility and moral courage to wear the white beret of a starship commander. Especially in a war like the present one.

  His last comment had just settled the question, and she was guiltily aware that an executive officer was what he would remain. That was what happened when a CO endorsed an officer's evaluation with the fatal words "Not recommended for independent command."

  "Perhaps you're right," she said, looking at the man whose career she'd just decided to kill.

  He wasn't, of course. But there was no point trying to explain that to someone of his seniority who didn't already understand.

  * * *

  "It's Copenhagen, all right, Sir," Naomi Kaplan announced.

  "Thank you, Guns," Terekhov said calmly, and Helen glanced sideways at Paulo. The two midshipmen stood beside Lieutenant Commander Wright, where he'd been running through the results of their latest astrogation quiz on one of his secondary plots. Now Paulo met her gaze with no more than the micrometric elevation of one sculpted eyebrow.

  It was the tiniest expression shift imaginable, but to Helen, it might as well have been a shout. She'd come more or less to grips with her emotions where he was concerned, although she wasn't positive he'd done the same for her. It didn't really matter. One thing the Neue-Stil Handgemenge taught was patience, and she was willing to wait.

  She'd get him in the end. Even if she had to use some of that same Neue-Stil to beat him into submission.

  She pushed that thought aside-or, rather, into a convenient pigeonhole for later consideration-and returned his lifted eyebrow with an abbreviated nod of her own. They were in agreement. The Captain couldn't possibly be as calm as he sounded.

  The Squadron (everyone was calling it that now... except the Captain) floated in the absolute darkness of interstellar space, over six light-years from the nearest star. Starships seldom visited that abyss of emptiness, for there was nothing there to attract them. But it made a convenient rendezvous, so isolated and lost in the enormity of the universe that even God would have been hard-pressed to find them.

  Many of Hexapuma's people had found the visual displays... disturbing over the last week or so. The emptiness here was so perfect, the darkness so Stygian, that it could get to even the most hardened spacer. Commander Lewis, for example, made a point of avoiding any of the displays, and Helen had noticed Senior Chief Wanderman watching her every once in a while. There was something going on there, she thought. Something more than the uneasiness some of the ship's company seemed to feel. Whatever it was, Lewis wasn't letting it affect her performance of her duty, but Helen had the peculiar impression that Hexapuma's Engineer would welcome even the prospect of taking on an entire system navy if it only got her away from this lonely spot which the rest of existence had forgotten.

  Personally, Helen
wasn't bothered a bit. In fact, she rather enjoyed her visits to the observation dome to watch the other ships of the squadron with their lights drifting against the soul-drinking dark like friendly, nearby constellations.

  "Lieutenant McGraw."

  Terekhov's voice pulled her back out of her reverie.

  "Yes, Sir?"

  "Please challenge Copenhagen."

  "Aye, aye, Sir," the com officer of the watch replied, and Terekhov nodded and settled back in his command chair to wait.

  Helen was confident Kaplan had identified the incoming ship correctly. And she felt equally certain Commander FitzGerald was still in command of her. But it was typical of the Captain to make absolutely certain. It was interesting. He took infinite pains, taking nothing for granted, and if she'd seen only that side of him, she'd have written him down as a slave to The Book. One of those fussy martinets who never stuck their necks out, never took a chance.

  But that wasn't how the Captain's mind worked. He took such care over the details, whenever he could, because he knew he couldn't always do that. So that when the time came for the risks which must be run, he could be confident of his ship's readiness... and his own. Know he'd done everything he possibly could to disaster-proof his position by perfecting his weapon before the screaming chaos of battle struck.

  It was a lesson worth taking to heart, she thought, trying to focus her mind on Wright's voice as the Astrogator resumed his analysis of her latest navigational effort.

  * * *

  "Captain on deck!"

  Ginger Lewis, still officially Terekhov's acting executive officer, barked the traditional announcement as he and Ansten FitzGerald stepped through the briefing room hatch. It was a tradition Terekhov had dispensed with shortly after taking command of Hexapuma, but he wasn't surprised by Ginger's reversion to it. She had an excellent grasp of group dynamics, and she was providing him with every psychological edge she could.

  Eleven men and women in that compartment, including himself, wore the white berets of starship commanders, and he saw uncertainty, concern-even fear-on some of those faces. He wondered what they saw when they looked at him?

  He walked to the head of the table, FitzGerald at his shoulder, and seated himself as the XO moved behind his own chair.

  "Be seated, Ladies and Gentlemen," he said.

  They sat back down, and he let his eyes sweep silently around the table, looking at each of them in turn.

  Anders of the Warlock, and his executive officer, George Hibachi. Both of them returned Terekhov's regard steadily. Not without concern, but without flinching. That was important. After -Terekhov himself, Ito Anders was the senior officer of the "squadron" he'd assembled.

  Eleanor Hope of the Vigilant, and her XO, Lieutenant Commander Osborne Diamond. Hope looked acutely unhappy, and her eyes avoided his. Diamond was a cipher, sitting at his captain's left elbow with no more expression than the bulkhead behind him.

  Commander Josepha Hewlett and Lieutenant Commander Stephen McDermott of the Gallant. Both of them looked uncomfortable; neither looked as unhappy as Hope.

  Lieutenant Commander Benjamin Mavundia, Audacious' CO, and his exec, Lieutenant Commander Annemarie Atkinson. They were an unlikely looking pair. Mavundia couldn't stand a millimeter over a hundred and fifty-eight centimeters, with dark skin and a shaved head; Atkinson was almost as tall as Terekhov himself, and fair-haired and ivory-complexioned. Yet Mavundia's expression was the closest to eager of anyone's in the compartment, and Atkinson's eyes mirrored his own determination.

  Commander Herawati Lignos, CO of HMS Aegis, their most modern ship after Hexapuma. Only a light cruiser, perhaps, but still a formidable vessel. Much like her skipper, Terekhov thought, looking at Lignos' determined chin and bladelike nose. Her executive officer, Lieutenant Commander Istvan Nemesanyi, sat quietly beside her, his hazel eyes almost vacant and yet, somehow, poised on a hair trigger.

  Lieutenant Commander Jeffers of the Javelin; Lieutenant Commander Maitland Naysmith of the Janissary; Lieutenant Commander Frank Hennessy of the Rondeau; and Lieutenant Bianca Rossi of the Aria completed his warships' captains. And at the foot of the table sat Commander Mira Badmachin, CO of HMS Volcano, the huge freighter which didn't mount a single offensive weapon of her own and yet was crucial to Terekhov's plans.

  A mixed bag, he thought. Certainly no "band of brothers"! But they're what I have, the best I could shanghai, and they're Queen's officers. That's just going to have to be good enough.

  "All of you know what Commander FitzGerald and Copenhagen were tasked to do," he began, and Commander Hope actually twitched as he broke his own silence. "The good news is that the Commander and his people appear to have accomplished their mission flawlessly. The bad news," he smiled mirthlessly at them, "is what they've discovered."

  The sound of a pin dropped on the conference table would have been deafening, and he drew a deep, unobtrusive breath.

  "Copenhagen's recon drone executed its mission profile to the letter, Ladies and Gentlemen. Its passive sensors swept the volume through which it passed for active impeller wedges and examined the area of Eroica Station very carefully. Its data indicates that the Monica System Navy has been what might be called 'substantially reinforced.' In fact, the drone positively identified eleven Indefatigable-class battlecruisers at Eroica Station."

  Something very like an audible gasp ran around the table, but he continued speaking calmly.

  "So far as the drone was able to determine, all of them are either currently in yard hands or awaiting yard space. I believe they're being refitted in order to disguise their origins as much as possible. Which suggests to me, in turn, that they've been clandestinely provided to Monica. And I can think of only one reason for anyone to do that: to attack the Star Kingdom's interests in the Cluster."

  Eleanor Hope shifted in her chair, and Terekhov's blue eyes moved to her.

  "You wished to make a comment, Commander?" His emphasis on her rank title was so slight it was almost imagined.

  "Yes, Sir. I suppose I did," she said after a brief hesitation.

  He moved his right hand, inviting her to continue, and she looked once around the table and drew a deep breath.

  "Captain Terekhov, with all due respect, I see no reason to automatically assume these ships were 'clandestinely provided' to President Tyler's navy. ONI reported months ago that the Indefatigables were being retired and replaced by the new Nevada-class ships." She shrugged. "We all know about Tyler's cozy relationship with Frontier Security. If the Sollies are disposing of the Indefatigables, why shouldn't they sell-or even outright give-some of them to somebody who's been their proxy for the last thirty or forty T-years? And if that's the case, or even if there is something 'clandestine' about the way Monica acquired them, it doesn't necessarily follow that they're intended to attack our interests."

  Terekhov regarded her mildly, his expression thoughtful, but Anders grimaced.

  "If I may, Captain Terekhov?" he asked, and Terekhov nodded.

  "Commander FitzGerald," Warlock's CO asked, "are you confident these battlecruisers are being actively refitted at Eroica Station?"

  "Yes, Sir, I am," FitzGerald said firmly. "Not all of them are being refitted simultaneously, but those which aren't actively in yard hands are in parking orbits with the space station, and over half have service craft and lighters alongside. There are also two repair ships, each of which is moored alongside one of them. We have optical confirmation that the main broadside sensor arrays on at least three have been removed and are in the process of replacement." It was his turn to shrug slightly. "To me, all of that spells a pattern of mass refits being funneled through limited yard capacity."

  "Thank you." Anders looked back at Terekhov, although it was evident he was actually directing his remarks to Hope. "If those ships had been openly provided by the League Navy to Monica, they wouldn't be being refitted at Eroica Station-not unless the object was to make them less capable than they already were. They would've been refitted an
d brought up to standard in Solly shipyards, where all the necessary support infrastructure and personnel would be available to do the job quickly. If they're being refitted in Monica, instead, then the Monicans are deliberately accepting that their limited facilities are going to bottleneck the entire process. And, like you, Sir, I can't think of anything the Monicans could do to improve the combat power of an -Indefatigable-class battlecruiser. Which suggests they're up to something else, and I believe the suggestion that they're trying to hide, or at least confuse, the ships' origins by disguising their emissions signatures and sensor images makes sense.

  "Which brings us to Commander Hope's second point, the question of just who the Monicans might intend to employ their new ships against. What Commander FitzGerald's detected is more firepower than Monica could possibly need to deal with any Verge system, or, for that matter, any dozen Verge systems! The only people I can think of in this neck of the woods that they'd need that much firepower against is us."