by Peter Grant
Cullew gave a short, humorless laugh. “Don’t even think about it, Sir! That’s a very remote possibility given the millions upon millions of cubic kilometers of space that surround our arrival point, but yes, there’s always that chance. I haven’t heard of it actually happening yet, but in my years in the Lancastrian Commonwealth Fleet I can recall a couple of close shaves during large-scale maneuvers. It’s a risk one simply has to accept when maneuvering in Fleet-size formations.”
“You’ll have to tell me about them sometime.”
“With pleasure, Sir, but if you please, not just before we make our arrival jump!”
“I’ll give you a pass until this is over.”
Their mutual laughter was interrupted. “Communications to Command. Signal from Independence: ‘Ready when you are,’ Sir.”
“Command to Communications, thank you. Make to Independence, ‘We jump as planned at 05:30 precisely.’ Let me know when they acknowledge.”
“Communications to Command, aye aye, Sir.”
~ ~ ~
Brigadier-General Khan strode into the Orbital Control Center’s operations room, which had been converted from the bridge of the old freighter. He was followed by his aide, a young Lieutenant. The watch commander jumped up from behind the command console.
“Good morning, Sir.”
“Morning,” Khan said shortly, grumpily. “Got any coffee up here?”
“Yes, Sir. The duty watch galley is through that door there, Sir. I’m sorry we don’t have a steward on duty, but –”
“Not to worry. I’ll get it myself.”
As he headed towards the door, the watch commander glanced at the Lieutenant. “Is he always this grumpy in the mornings?” he asked very quietly, winking.
The aide returned the wink. “We had to leave the planet very early this morning, to reach orbit in time to meet the ships,” she replied equally softly. “He’s not used to getting up at three-thirty.”
“It must be hard being a General.”
“I hope to find out for myself one day!” Shared soft laughter.
Khan returned holding a mug of coffee. “That’s better! Now, where are they?”
“The armed merchant cruisers are less than thirty minutes from orbit, Sir.” The watch commander indicated the Plot display. “Commodore Eschate’s gig will be docking with us in about fifteen minutes.”
“It’s a good thing I got here early, then. It wouldn’t do to have a visiting Flag Officer beat the General Officer in Command to the punch! Where’s our AMC?”
“She was on the far side of the planet when the other two arrived at the system boundary, Sir, but she circled round to meet them. They’re all inbound in formation. I understand it’s a public relations thing, Sir; they wanted images of all three ships in tight formation to take back to Bactria with them. They launched a cutter to get vid of them together.”
“I see. Where’s the monthly freighter?”
“In orbit behind us, Sir. She’s finished disembarking her cargo, and is cleaning out her personnel pods, sanitary tanks and environmental systems before loading passengers for the return trip to Bactria.”
“And the corvette?”
“In orbit ahead of us, Sir, preparing to depart this evening. She’ll take the journalists aboard as soon as they have their stories and vid from planetside.”
“Good. The less time they spend here, the better!”
Khan thought moodily to himself as he sipped his coffee and stared at the Plot display. All we need are interfering busybody journalists running all over the planet asking damn fool questions! We didn’t publicly announce that we’ve pulled back our forces to Tapuria and nearby towns. If they aren’t here for long, we can hide that; but if they stay, they’ll be sure to figure it out in due course. The Satrap will be furious if I allow that to become public knowledge. He let me keep my post – and my head – after the debacle at the prison camps, but I won’t get away with another screw-up. I wonder what new orders this Commodore is bringing for me?
He endured the formal, official welcoming ceremony for the Commodore in the docking bay and their long trek up the automated walkway from the rear of the ship to the bridge in the forward third of her spine. After a brief inspection of the bridge crew, he invited the Commodore to join him in the adjoining conference room. His aide and a couple of crew members served coffee and a tray of sweet rolls, then withdrew.
“So, what’s the word from Bactria?” he asked as they closed the door, trying to sound offhand.
“It’s fair to middling,” his visitor replied, taking a pastry from his plate and biting into it. He waited until he’d chewed and swallowed, then went on, “As the Satrap told you in his last message, we can’t reinforce Termaz with more troops right now. We’re facing too many demands and challenges back home. By the way, your statement last year that Termaz wasn’t worth one more Bactrian life almost cost you your job. General Demetrias accused you of defeatism and wanted you relieved, and General Gedrosia of the SS wanted you court-martialed. The Satrap overruled them both, you’ll be pleased to hear. Rear-Admiral Stasanor and I supported you, as did the Minister of War and his deputy. It came down to a 5-4 vote by the War Council in the end.”
Brigadier-General Khan grimaced. “I’m very grateful for your support, Commodore. I wanted to put the matter as plainly as possible. With a rejuvenated Resistance to deal with, and far too few combat units to do so decisively, we face the prospect of heavy casualties if hostilities are renewed. I’m mindful of the impact on Bactria of our losses during the big fight in Tapuria two years ago. I don’t know whether we dare risk another blow to morale like that, whether in the armed forces or the general public. That’s one reason why I’ve tacitly accepted the unspoken truce offered by the rebels, at least so far. I suppose they don’t want heavy casualties any more than we do.”
“Agreed. However, General Gedrosia pointed out that while they were being ‘left in peace’, as he put it, they were training their new recruits, arming them with the weapons and equipment they stole from us, and getting more battle-ready by the day.”
Khan shrugged. “That’s true, of course. We could have interrupted it, but after the escape they had several hundred battle-hardened veterans to oppose us. It would have cost us multiple casualties for every one we managed to inflict on them, just as it’s always been since we invaded. If the Satrap was prepared to countenance such a cost, I’d have gone ahead; but that’s why I waited, to give him a chance to assess wider priorities and make a decision in Bactria’s best interests overall. It seems he agreed with my assessment, even if only tacitly.”
“He did. He said as much privately to Admiral Stasanor and myself during our planning for this exchange of ships.”
The Brigadier-General exhaled with relief. “I can’t tell you how happy it makes me to hear that. I’d been wondering how securely my head was attached to my shoulders.”
“Not very securely at all if the SS had its way, but I don’t think you need worry about them at present. They’ve screwed up horribly.” He explained the actions of the dead SS agent at the research facility of the Satrap’s Guard. “No-one seems to know who ordered it, or authorized it, or knew anything about it. General Gedrosia went so far as to offer to undergo truth-tester examination, along with all his senior officers, to prove none of them were involved. For a moment I thought the Satrap was going to accept his offer, even though that would have been a terminal insult to them. I’ve never seen him so angry before. It’s almost as if he had a personal stake in the place or something. Anyway, the repercussions are still going on. The SS is making like a tortoise, pulling its head back into its shell until the shouting and tumult are over.”
Khan was grinning from ear to ear. “Just between the two of us, Commodore, I trust you’ll forgive me if I indulge in a moment of schadenfreude over this.”
“Just between the two of us, General, Admiral Stasanor and I have already done that; but I’ll be delighted to join you in another
one.”
They were still chuckling when a knock came at the door. The General’s aide opened it. “Sir, the three AMC’s have all entered orbit. The journalists will come here to witness the first shipments being transferred to OrbCon’s holds. They’ll arrive in about twenty minutes, if you want to meet them in the docking bay, Sir. They’ll then accompany some shipments planetside aboard cargo shuttles to witness the start of distribution.”
“Very good. Thank you, Lieutenant.”
As the door closed he remarked, “I suppose I must get back to the docking bay. Can’t have those pesky journalists think they’re not important enough for the Commanding General to meet them, you know.”
The Commodore nodded ruefully. “Why they have such an inflated opinion of themselves I don’t know.”
“We’ll just have to cater to their sensibilities. Hopefully we’ll get some good publicity in return.” He glanced at the time display on the wall. “It’s 06:27. We’ve just time for another cup of coffee.”
“Thank you. I don’t mind if I do.”
The Commodore reached for the coffee pot – and froze in his seat for a shocked, unbelieving moment as a harsh buzzer sounded an alert in the OpCen outside. He thrust himself to his feet and lunged for the door, ignoring his chair as it clattered to the floor behind him. He heard the astonished Brigadier-General ask, “What the…?”, but he didn’t bother to reply.
He found the duty watch staring in bewilderment at the Plot display. The operator looked up to see him bearing down on the console, and stammered, “S – Sir, two unknown contacts detected at the system boundary. We aren’t expecting any traffic except your ships, and the new arrivals’ drive signatures don’t match anything in our database.”
“What are they doing? Quick, man! Pull yourself together!”
The operator bent over his console, fingers flying across the controls as he analyzed the inputs from OrbCon’s sensors. “Ah… they’re moving to join up with each other, Sir, and accelerating towards the planet. They’re… I don’t believe it, Sir! They’re already at point zero five Cee! No merchant ship can accelerate that fast!”
“They carried most of that velocity into their final hyper-jump, Spacer,” the Commodore reminded him, eyes riveted to the Plot. “Designate targets as Alpha and Bravo, and classify them as bogeys – potentially hostile, but not yet certain. I want their rate of acceleration as soon as you can give it to me.”
“Aye aye, Sir!”
He spun around to the Communications console, vaguely aware that the Brigadier was standing in the door to the conference room, watching him, mouth agape. “Communications, get me an open circuit to all ships right away. Fast as you can!”
“Aye aye, Sir! Everyone should be monitoring Guard channel.” He tapped in a series of instructions. “I’ve alerted them all, Sir.” He offered a microphone.
“Thank you. Attention all vessels! Attention all vessels! This is Commodore Eschate. You should all have seen on your Plot displays that two unidentified ships have arrived at the system boundary. No traffic was expected. They may be harmless visitors, or they may be ships operated by the rebels. Be ready for anything. Preliminary orders are as follows. Armed merchant cruisers are to remain in orbit and continue offloading supplies, but be ready to go to General Quarters at short notice. Freighter is to stay put. Corvette is to go to General Quarters at once and stand by for my arrival. All vessels, listen for further orders on this frequency. Eschate out.”
He turned, to find the Brigadier at his side. “You think they’re the enemy?”
“I can’t say yet, Brigadier, but I’ll be surprised if they’re not. We weren’t expecting even one ship, let alone two. We’ll know more as soon as we can calculate their speed.”
“Why are you going aboard the corvette?”
“If it’s the enemy I’ll take her out to intercept them. If they look like simple armed merchant cruisers, similar to ours, I’ll have our AMC’s follow me; but if they show the same kind of performance as the mystery ship that sent that radio message a few months ago, our AMC’s will be hopelessly outclassed in terms of performance. In that case, I’ll leave them in orbit to provide what point defense they can to OrbCon and the planet. After the destruction of the space station, there’s nothing else available to do that.”
“What should I do?”
“Let’s wait until we’re more certain what they are. If they’re the enemy, you’ll –”
He was interrupted by the Plot operator. “Sir, they’re accelerating very fast. They’re already up to point-zero-eight Cee. They’re heading straight for us, and closing up into tighter formation.”
“That settles it! With acceleration like that, it’s got to be the rebels, Brigadier. They’re already almost an hour closer to us than the Plot indicates – don’t forget, light speed delay is affecting our sensors. By now they’re almost a third of the way in from the system boundary. I suggest you take your shuttle back down to the planet right away and prepare your defenses.”
“You’re right. I’ll –”
Another interruption. “Communications to Commodore. Sir, a message has just come through in clear over multiple radio frequencies. It reads, ‘Carson to Tredegar. Stand by for action.’ It’s repeated over and over, Sir.”
Khan grimaced. “That’ll be their President Pro Tem. I’m not surprised he’s here himself. He was a soldier – and, by all accounts, a good one – before he became a politician.”
“I venture to doubt he’s a politician at all, General. He may be acting as one now because circumstances forced it upon him, but a leopard can’t change its spots, to quote the Old Home Earth proverb. He’s coming for a fight.”
“Then I hope and trust you’ll give him one, Commodore.”
“I’ll… come into the conference room again for a moment.”
They hurried back into the soundproof room, and Eschate closed the door. “Brigadier, they’re already moving faster than any merchant ship. I think they’re operating former military transports converted to carry weapons.” He hurriedly explained about the eight assault transports sold by the Bismarck Cluster the year before.
“They know we’ve got a fully-fledged warship here, yet they’re still coming in at full bore. That means they’re confident they can handle anything we throw at them, and probably throw some pretty good punches themselves. I’ll do my best, but my best may not be good enough. If it’s not, the defense of the planet will fall on your shoulders alone.” He hesitated. “If worse comes to worst, please tell my wife and children how I died, will you?”
Khan stared at him, gulped, and offered his hand. “I’ll do that, but remember what I said. I don’t think Termaz is worth another Bactrian life – particularly not yours!”
“That can’t be helped now. There’s another reason to fight. We don’t know what weapons the rebels have. I’ll order the AMC’s to monitor the engagement using their sensors and record as much information as possible, and tell them to obey your orders if my ship’s destroyed. It’ll be up to you to find a way to get the information back to Bactria. That’ll help the rest of the Navy prepare for what may come their way in due course. It’s essential that the information gets to them. I’m relying on you.”
“I’ll do my best. I hope and pray you survive and triumph. If not, and if I’m spared, I’ll make sure the Satrap hears of your courage and determination. May the Gods protect you and strengthen your arm!”
“I hope they hear you. You’d better head back to the planet. You can’t command ground forces very easily from up here.”
~ ~ ~
“They’ll have seen our arrival by now, Sir, and intercepted our message to Major Tredegar and your compatriots on Laredo,” Captain Cullew advised from the command console.
“Thank you. I wonder what they’ll do about us?”
“It’ll be interesting to see, Sir. We’ve already covered a third of the distance to the planet from the system boundary, but they’ve only just detected our
arrival. They can’t see what we’ve done since then. Light speed delay is working in our favor. Now it’s going to start working in theirs, too, because we won’t see their movements for thirty-five minutes after they make them.”
“What would you do in their shoes?”
“I’m not sure, Sir. The fact that we’re coming in at such high speed will tell them we’re military vessels, but they won’t know if we’re warships or fleet auxiliaries. Our confidence in steering straight for them must also indicate that we have weapons of our own, and we think we can handle theirs. Given that they’ve only one real warship there, plus those three armed merchant cruisers – if they’re all AMC’s, which we don’t yet know for sure; some may be merchant freighters – I’d expect them to be cautious. I’d have the corvette intercept us while the AMC’s head away from us on the far side of the planet, in the hope that the corvette can either destroy or damage us, or delay us enough for them to escape. Alternatively, I’d leave the AMC’s in orbit to provide local defense and stop us entering orbit ourselves, or taking out OrbCon. I guess it’s a toss-up, Sir.”
“You reckon we can deal with the corvette?”
“Definitely, Sir. We loaded the heaviest and longest-ranged target missiles for this mission. They were all formerly battleship main battery missiles, which means they’re much faster than a corvette’s missiles and have two to three times the range. They may lack warheads, but we’ll launch enough of them to swamp her defenses. After that, all we need is one good solid contact hit.”
“What about any missiles that run past her? The planet will be in their line of fire. We daren’t risk them hitting it.”
“No, Sir. Their self-destruct sequence still works. It’ll cut off the mag bottle containing the fusion reaction in their propulsion systems, but not the reactor itself. The reaction will go out of control and expand outwards until it’s consumed all the fuel available, in the process reducing the missile to its component atoms. In effect, it’ll be a small thermonuclear explosion in its own right. Any missiles damaged, but not destroyed, by enemy defensive fire will do the same thing.”
