by Peter Grant
General Demetrias interrupted, his voice icy with disapproval. “Where did you say?”
The Minister rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry, General – I meant Termaz, of course. You’ll have to excuse me. We referred to the planet by its original name of Laredo for years until it was renamed just last year.”
Rostam interjected, “I don’t mind the occasional slip of the tongue, Minister. Please continue.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty. As I was saying, the heavy patrol craft would be limited to the defense of this system unless we ferried them to Termaz aboard freighters. On the other hand, I understand the Navy believes they would actually increase its flexibility, because for routine patrols one of them can replace a corvette in the Bactria system, freeing the latter to proceed to and from Termaz under its own power if necessary. Admiral?”
“That’s correct, Minister,” Stasanor agreed. “Each patrol craft carries the same military-grade sensors as a corvette, although only half the number of missiles. We currently have only three corvettes in active service. We lost two at Termaz last year, and as always, some ships are out of service at any given time. When we had eight corvettes we used to keep four on duty, one on standby giving liberty to its crew, one preparing to re-enter service after maintenance, and two undergoing shallow or deep maintenance. With only six of them left we’ve had to go to a three-up, three-down arrangement, which frankly can’t provide adequate coverage of both the Bactria and the Termaz systems even with the assistance of our three remaining armed merchant cruisers. Eight heavy patrol craft will transform the situation. We can keep four patrol craft in active service here and two corvettes on duty at Termaz. Two more of each class of ship will be on standby, ready for action if required, and the final two of each will be undergoing maintenance.”
“But why do you need so many warships?” General Demetrias expostulated angrily. “Why not convert more freighters into armed merchant cruisers? They’re much cheaper than corvettes or patrol craft!”
“Yes, General, they are, but they’re also much less capable. They sufficed to patrol the Termaz system in order to prevent contact between the rebels and their Government-in-Exile, but they’ll be hard pressed in actual combat. They have only one-third the speed of a warship, so it’s much more difficult for them to intercept or catch up with another spaceship, as we saw last year at Termaz with the escape of the rebel delegation. They carry less capable weapons and sensors than a patrol craft, despite vastly out-massing it, because they don’t have sufficient reactor power to keep them all in operation; yet they need a crew two to three times as large. Finally, they’re built to merchant ship standards, much flimsier than warships, less able to withstand high-stress maneuvers or absorb battle damage.”
“It seems to me your corvettes at Termaz didn’t absorb battle damage very well last year – and they were warships!”
The Rear-Admiral pressed his lips firmly together to prevent himself saying something he’d later regret. Beside him, Commodore Eschate interjected, “That’s hardly fair, General. The corvettes found themselves facing a salvo of missiles from a supposedly friendly space station at point-blank range. They had no warning, not enough time to go to General Quarters, no opportunity to deploy their defensive weapons or mobilize their damage control teams. They were caught completely off guard, just as your troops were at the Arena and throughout the city of Tapuria at the same time. I seem to recall they also suffered more than their fair share of battle damage.”
Now it was the turn of the General to tighten his lips in frustration as Eschate’s counter-thrust sank home. His point was unanswerable. The Satrap’s father and predecessor on the throne had died at the Arena while nominally under Army protection. He’d only escaped thanks to the efforts of then-Lieutenant Yazata.
Rostam raised his voice. “We’re not here to score points off each other, gentlemen. We’re here to decide on the short-term defensive priorities of this nation. Kindly keep that in mind.” He looked around the table until he was sure they’d taken the point, then nodded to the Minister. “Please continue.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty. I think the Navy’s point is that more warships, even smaller ones, would allow them to conduct more intensive patrols and avoid being caught off guard again as we were at Tapuria. It would also allow them to more effectively engage enemy ships, which are likely to be armed merchant cruisers because that’s probably all the rebels can obtain or afford.”
“That’s correct, Minister,” Stasanor agreed. “In the absence of hard intelligence as to the enemy’s intentions, we have to assume the worst and prepare for it. I hasten to add that’s not a dig at our State Security colleagues,” nodding to the two black-uniformed figures. “I know it’s very difficult for them to get information about our enemy’s intentions and actions after the closure of our consulate on Neue Helvetica.”
The two SS Generals frowned bleakly. It had been the ill-advised and completely unauthorized actions of their representative at the consulate that had led to its closure and Bactria’s diplomatic disgrace at the United Planets. The repercussions of that disaster, plus the SS’s intelligence failure on Termaz, had led directly to its five most senior officers being summarily retired and their department being downgraded, something they still bitterly resented.
“We don’t even know whether the rebels have actually bought any ships yet,” one of them objected. “There may be no threat at all.”
The Satrap shook his head. “I can’t agree. After all, it was your department that reported to us that some of them were undergoing Spacer training. They can’t be doing it for the sake of light entertainment. Clearly, they expect to need it; and that means they intend to obtain ships. I agree with the Navy that they probably can’t afford more than armed merchant cruisers similar to ours, but we know they raised a lot of money from sympathetic nations after the assassination of their President Pro Tem last year. Admiral Stasanor, what does a typical merchant freighter, similar to those we converted, cost on the used market?”
“An old half-million-ton tramp freighter would run… oh, perhaps a quarter of a billion bezants at current exchange rates, Your Majesty. That’s before conversion costs, of course.”
“And according to State Security, the rebel delegation on Neue Helvetica has access to something like a hundred times that amount. I’d say that’s enough for a couple of squadrons of armed merchant cruisers, wouldn’t you?”
“Indeed it is, Your Majesty, although I think they’ll struggle to afford enough weapons for them. Missiles and fire control systems are very expensive and hard to come by. There’s also the difficulty of finding enough trustworthy spacers to crew them. Mercenaries are notoriously unreliable, except for a few of the top outfits that charge correspondingly high fees for their services. I think they’ll go for fewer ships to begin with – probably one or two, no more than three or four.”
“I agree. Even with fewer ships, I expect they’ll launch attacks on our space-based commerce and industry as soon as they can. How long do we have, do you think?”
“I expect they’ll be ready by mid to late next year, Your Majesty. If I were in their shoes and had that sort of money at my disposal, I could have two ships and their crews ready by then – even faster than that, if I had access to a fully-fledged military dockyard.”
“Then that’s what we’ll assume. Minister, what’s the Navy’s total shopping list from Marano?”
“Your Majesty, should I assume the purchase of two more corvettes, or eight heavy patrol craft?”
“Assume the patrol craft for now, and let’s see what the numbers look like.”
The two flag officers exchanged a private look of intense satisfaction.
“Let’s see… There’s the cost of the ships themselves, of course, each with two laser cannon. Each patrol craft mounts a main battery of twenty offensive and twenty defensive missiles, the same types used on our corvettes. That’s a hundred and sixty of each for a squadron of eight ships, plus one full re
load for each ship, which totals three hundred and twenty. Then there’s the need to upgrade our existing missiles. They –”
“What do you mean, upgrade our existing missiles?” Major-General Pamir exclaimed angrily. “What’s wrong with them?”
The Minister looked at the Navy officers. “Gentlemen?”
Eschate said mildly, “General, there’s nothing ‘wrong’ with them, just as there’s nothing ‘wrong’ with your assault shuttles. However, a few years ago the Army insisted on a very large budget allocation to upgrade them all, on the grounds that their electronics were one to two generations out of date. That’s precisely the problem with our missiles. When we got them thirty years ago along with our corvettes they were state-of-the-art, but their electronics are now two generations out of date. We can’t upgrade them in our workshops, because they’ve never been equipped to that level of sophistication. Instead we’ll buy enough modern missiles to re-equip two corvettes, then send their old missiles to Marano to be upgraded. When they come back, we’ll exchange them for the older missiles in two more corvettes and send the latter to be upgraded, and so on. Over the course of about two years, we’ll bring all our existing missiles to the same standard as our new weapons.”
“Oh… well, I suppose that makes sense,” the General conceded sourly. “You can’t economize by doing one corvette at a time?”
“That’ll take much longer. We’re concerned that time may not be on our side.”
“A very valid point,” the Satrap agreed. “Please continue, Minister.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty. One hundred and sixty offensive missiles plus the same number of defensive missiles for two corvettes – one war load plus one reload per vessel – makes our total initial requirement four hundred and eighty of each type. They’ll be loaded into twenty-four missile cells, each holding twenty of each type of missile, forty in all. Each patrol craft carries one cell, while each corvette carries two. There’ll be the usual complement of spares for each ship, specialized tools, maintenance equipment and instructions and so on. The total cost for ships, weapons and equipment, including delivery charges aboard a special Marano ferry because the patrol craft can’t make the trip under their own power, will be about sixty billion bezants.”
Both Army Generals and the State Security officers erupted from their chairs. “Impossible!” “That’s ridiculous!” “You’re insane!” “Out of the question!” Their explosive complaints overlaid each other in an angry barrage of sound.
Satrap Rostam surged to his feet. “SILENCE!” He glared at the offending officers. “Resume your seats at once!”
“But, Your Majesty –”
“At once!”
Slowly, reluctantly, the recalcitrant officers took their seats. Rostam waited until they had done so, then said very quietly, “I remind you for the last time: we are not here to fight for the needs of our respective services against those of others. We are here to consider the overall defense needs of the Satrapy of Bactria. If any of you forget that again, I shall instantly relieve you of your command, revoke all your military awards and send you into retirement in disgrace. Do I make myself clear?”
He looked at each officer in turn until he’d got a nod, a “Yes, Your Majesty,” or some other token of compliance. They knew he wasn’t bluffing. They’d all witnessed how he’d brought the hammer down on State Security the year before, and they weren’t likely to forget it.
At last he looked at the Minister. “Please continue.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty. Sixty billion bezants is an inflated price, but as I said, Marano’s in a position to drive a hard bargain. It’ll dwarf all our previous military capital expenditures. To afford it we’ll have to drastically curtail other purchases. Perhaps General Demetrias should go into more detail about his needs.”
“Thank you, Minister,” the senior General said curtly, without looking at him. “Your Majesty, we have several critically important requirements that simply can’t be delayed. We urgently need a hundred and fifty more assault shuttles, to replace those destroyed or damaged beyond repair at Tapuria last year and others that have been completely worn out by operations on Termaz. We also need to replace the anti-aircraft missile batteries, armored cars, artillery pieces and an enormous quantity of stores and supplies lost in the fighting in and around Tapuria. The total cost will amount to not less than fifty-five billion bezants, possibly sixty. Over and above capital expenditure, we need to recruit thousands more troops to replace those lost at Tapuria. We can’t rely on conscripts – they don’t serve long enough to be given sufficient training. In fact, I’d like to suggest that we extend the period of conscription from two years to three, to allow us to rectify that.”
“And what will be the impact of that extension on Bactria’s economy, General?” The Satrap’s tone was clearly skeptical.
“That’s for the bean-counters to work out, Your Majesty.” The General waved his hand dismissively. “My priority is the combat readiness of the Satrapy’s armed forces.”
“Not quite, General. You’re responsible for the combat readiness of the Army. Rear-Admiral Stasanor does the same for the Navy, and Lieutenant-General Gedrosia for State Security.”
Demetrias nodded stiffly. “I stand corrected, Your Majesty.”
“General Gedrosia, what are the capital expenditure requirements of the SS?”
The black-uniformed officer replied, “We have yet to replace all the equipment we lost in the destruction of our headquarters on Termaz, Your Majesty. That included a great deal of computer equipment and electronic surveillance gear, a large quantity of weapons and other items. Total costs are likely to approach eight billion bezants. We also need to recruit approximately a thousand staff to replace those killed in Tapuria. As General Demetrias has pointed out, we can’t use poorly-trained conscripts for many tasks. I’d like to support his call for an extension of the period of conscription to help overcome that problem.” The Army officer nodded his thanks to his SS counterpart.
“Thank you, General. Let me summarize.” The Satrap looked around the table. “We face capital expenditure requirements from all arms of service totaling approximately one hundred and thirty billion bezants, over and above operating costs. This has to come out of a defense budget that has never before exceeded fifty-five billion bezants in a single year, even when we fought a war to occupy Termaz. Over and above that, there’s the question of more than half a trillion bezant’s worth of infrastructure – a space station, Termaz’ entire traffic control system, dozens of buildings and public works, and so on – that were destroyed by the rebels last year. Clearly, something’s got to give. We can make the case to the House of Nobles and the House of the People for an increase in defense spending, but we can’t possibly ask them to triple or quadruple it and rebuild Termaz’ infrastructure as well. They’ll reject that out of hand.”
There was a gloomy silence around the table. Major-General Pamir eventually asked, “Wasn’t that the point of offering asteroid mining concessions in exchange for weaponry, Your Majesty – to reduce the amount of actual money required?”
“It was,” the Minister confirmed, “but the value we place on an asteroid mining concession will be a lot higher than its valuation by Marano. We’re in a difficult situation. Marano can demand enormous concessions from us, knowing that we can’t do without what they alone are willing to provide in exchange for payments of that nature.”
Rostam looked around the table. “I think we have no choice but to give priority to the Navy’s needs at this time. The immediate threat facing us is likely to be space-based, after all. There’s been little or no rebel activity on Termaz since last year’s disaster – correct, General Demetrias?”
“Yes, Your Majesty, but that doesn’t mean it might not begin again at any time!”
“True, but there’s no evidence to suggest that. We haven’t sent additional units to Termaz for a year now, instead funneling replacements to build up the units already there. Frankly,
that’s been a waste of money. They’re sitting there twiddling their thumbs with nothing to do. I think it’s high time we drastically cut back the number of troops on the planet.” He held up a hand to still the General’s outraged, inarticulate squawk of protest. “It’s time to face facts. We aren’t currently facing armed combat there, we’re unlikely to do so for the foreseeable future, and we’re in a budget crunch. We have to balance what we’d like to do against what we actually need to do and what we can afford to do. Right now, those three elements are in conflict with one another. We have to bring them all into line with reality.
“As for capital expenditure, I agree that the Army and State Security can’t be starved of it entirely, but they’ve enjoyed priority for the past two decades or more. It’s time for them to temporarily step back to allow the Navy to upgrade its ships and weapons. That will also allow us to withdraw from Termaz many of the units currently awaiting re-equipment. Not only will that allow us to delay the purchase of that equipment, it’ll also save the huge costs involved in shipping it to Termaz and later bringing it back here. All those factors will greatly reduce the pressure on our Defense budget and the Treasury.”
“I agree, Your Majesty,” the Minister said firmly. “We’ve got to cut our coat according to our cloth, and right now there simply isn’t enough cloth for the coat we want.”
“Very well. The Navy gets priority this year on capital expenditure. If we can pay for most of its needs using asteroid mining concessions, it will free up funds to buy more equipment for the Army and State Security in the medium term. I ask the War Council to vote on that proposal now. All those in favor?”
The two Admirals, the Minister and the Deputy Minister raised their hands.
“All those opposed?”
The two Army Generals raised their hands, as did the two from State Security.
“The vote is evenly divided, four to four. I cast my deciding ballot in favor of the proposal, which is therefore approved.” The four Generals scowled and opened their mouths in unison to object, but the Satrap held up his hand remorselessly.
