Falcone Strike

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Raid the enemy,” Captain Falcone said. She outlined the mission, quickly and concisely. “I expect we will have a great many problems to solve.”

  “At least they’re honest problems,” William said, seriously. He considered it for a long moment. “If I work on the personnel issues, do you want to handle the engineering problems?”

  “I may need you to command one of the ships,” Kat said. “But yes, for the moment I need you helping with the personnel. It won’t be easy to get them to blend together.”

  William smiled. “Then we’d better get on with it,” he said. “But I would be astonished if we leave in less than a week. That would be a bloody miracle.”

  “Tell me about it,” Kat said. She ran her hand through her long hair. “The Admiralty is insistent, William. They need us out there as soon as possible.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “Kat,” Marine Captain Patrick James Davidson said as he sat down next to her. “Do you want the good news or the bad news?”

  “The good news is that I’m going to shoot the next person who says that,” Kat said. “And the bad news is that I will probably enjoy it way more than I should.”

  Davidson smiled. “The good news is that I have managed to scrape up enough Marines to fill a single company, although most of them have never actually trained together before,” he said. “The bad news is that the rest of the groundpounders are even worse.”

  Kat cursed under her breath. When the Admiralty’s personnel department hadn’t been giving her hell over her demands for experienced officers and crew, they’d been denying her requests for several companies of Marines. She knew they were in short supply—everything was in short supply these days—but she needed a solid bloc of Marines to allow her to capture freighters or engage targets on the ground. A full company was more than they’d wanted to give her, yet it was much less than she needed.

  “I don’t think I want to know,” she groaned. “What’s wrong with them?”

  “Well,” Davidson said, “there’re five hundred of them in all, mainly drawn from local defense forces. A relative handful has experience boarding starships; the remainder have none. Indeed, quite a few consist of refugees from the Theocracy who escaped as children and have now joined the military. They’re quite eager to tear into their enemies, but their experience is lacking.”

  Kat rested her head in her hands. “Are they serious about the mission?”

  “The Admiralty?” Davidson asked. “There actually aren’t that many Marine units that aren’t earmarked for local defense or ship-to-ship operations. Getting a full company made out of dribs and drabs wasn’t easy. We’re lucky to have that many. As for the others . . .”

  “Train them,” Kat ordered. “Train them hard.”

  “Believe me, I shall,” Davidson said. “You want to hear the real joke?”

  “No,” Kat said.

  Davidson ignored her. “The ones who do have experience are exmilitary police . . . former redcaps, shore patrolmen, and customs officers,” he said. “You have the making of an instant feud between them and your crewmen right away.”

  “Fuck,” Kat muttered. Fistfights between the shore patrol and groups of roving starship crewmen were depressingly common and grudges tended to run deep. Davidson was right; if anyone found out, it was likely to cause problems. And what was a minor matter on a planetary surface might be far more dangerous in deep space. “Tell them to keep that to themselves.”

  “I’ve already done so,” Davidson said. “Officially, they’re ranked as part of a reserve formation that was activated over the last few months. There shouldn’t be anything to tip off our more observant spacers that the groundpounders used to be redcaps.”

  “Good,” Kat said. “And their training?”

  “I’m running them all through the simulators, as well as a heavy program of combat exercises,” Davidson said. “However, we don’t have the time to train them up to Marine standards. They might not be bad, on the ground, but in space . . . it’s a whole different ballgame.”

  He leaned forward. “And the refugees want revenge,” he added. “They may do something stupid at the wrong time.”

  Kat frowned. “And can they be trusted?”

  “They’ve been vetted thoroughly,” Davidson assured her. “I think the oldest was six years old when his family fled the Theocracy. They were checked for any form of programming, which came up negative. I don’t think it’s even possible to program a young boy.”

  “I hope not,” Kat said. If there was any interstellar power that could, it would be the Theocracy. Imagine being able to program children to do precisely as they were told, worship whom they were told to worship. “But what about his family?”

  “They were vetted too,” Davidson admitted. “They’re clean.”

  “Good,” she said. But it wasn’t all good. The laws on using interrogation technologies without due cause would have been bent, if not broken outright. God alone knew what that would do, in the future. There was always someone willing to play stormtrooper. “In that case, train them, but keep them aware that we don’t have time to deal with rogue operatives.”

  “Of course,” Davidson said. He pulled a datapad from his belt and held it out to her. “I’m planning to keep half of the trained Marines on Lightning and detail the others to serve on training missions, at least while we’re en route to enemy space. It will be at least two months before we get there, so there should be plenty of time to knock the edges off. I can rotate them through the simulators here so everyone gets a chance to test themselves . . .”

  He paused. “I do have some ideas regarding deployment, if you wish,” he added. “It wouldn’t be hard to deploy Marines from either Oliver Kennedy or Henry Crux, according to the engineers. They’re both heavily modified light cruisers, with shuttlebays; hell, we could deploy the shuttles to the hulls and then use a tube to scramble the Marines, if necessary.”

  “I wasn’t planning to launch a full invasion of an enemy world,” Kat said, amused. “And anything else probably wouldn’t require a scramble.”

  The thought made her smile. She knew very well she didn’t have the firepower, not if the Theocracy had invested time and effort building up the local defenses. The intelligence staff had been unable to decide just how much enemy forces would have invested, pointing out that they would have seen advantages and disadvantages in defending worlds that weren’t part of their core territory. On one hand, they’d get to keep the locals under control if they lost control of the high orbitals; on the other hand, the locals might manage to snatch control of the defenses and turn them against their builders. That would be awkward for the enemy!

  “It would also give them a great deal of experience,” Davidson pressed lightly. “And they do need it.”

  “Then see to it, once we’re underway,” Kat said. “Did you even manage to get extra assault shuttles?”

  “After a long argument with the bean counters,” Davidson said. “Luckily, we were able to lay claim to a dozen extra shuttles, as the Corps isn’t currently planning any opposed landings.”

  “Good,” Kat said. She looked down at the datapad, then up at her lover. “What do you make of it? Honestly?”

  “I think they’ve given you a right bitch of a job,” Davidson said flatly. “The only good news is that no one is going to make much of a fuss if you lose any of the older ships.”

  “I think three of them don’t have any better use than decoys,” Kat admitted. Sasha might have been determined to get all of the remaining ships into service, but Kat had decided that several of them weren’t worth the effort. They were too weak even to soak up incoming enemy fire. “We might be able to get something out of them . . .”

  She shook her head. The engineering problems were bad enough, but the personnel problems were a minor disaster. If her XO hadn’t been there to take over, she knew she would have managed to get into worse trouble. He simply had far more experience in sorting through files and separatin
g out the decent officers from the troublemakers, the ones that every other captain wanted to lose. And he really should have been granted one of the ships . . .

  I’ll have to make sure he gets a proper command, Kat promised herself. God knows he has the experience.

  Her intercom bleeped. “Captain, this is Lieutenant Ross,” Linda Ross said. Kat was mildly surprised her communications officer hadn’t been snatched away, but she wasn’t about to complain. “We have a personnel shuttle inbound. One of the occupants has requested to speak with you immediately after boarding. There was no name attached to the request, but they do have a priority code.”

  Kat exchanged looks with Davidson. A senior officer or politician would have announced his impending arrival . . . unless he hoped to catch her by surprise. Who else could it be? A reporter . . . no, a reporter might not have announced himself, but the Admiralty would have made damn sure she knew one was on his way. And, given the secrecy of the operation, it was unlikely the Admiralty would allow a reporter to join them anyway. If one had managed to somehow get onto the shuttle, he was going to spend the rest of his time on Lightning in the brig.

  “Understood,” she said. “Please have the . . . occupant escorted to my office, once they have been checked by the duty officer.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Linda said.

  “Odd,” Davidson said as Kat closed the connection. “Your father, perhaps?”

  Kat shook her head. She couldn’t see her father leaving Tyre for at least a day, probably longer. He’d never taken a vacation, as far as she knew, since the day he’d assumed control of the family assets. Hell, he’d never even managed to attend most of her birthday parties . . .

  “I doubt it,” she said. One of her brothers? The grand admiral? No, none of those seemed likely either. “I’ll just have to wait and see.”

  Davidson rose to his feet. “If you don’t mind, I’ll return to Marine Country,” he said. “Or do you want me to remain here?”

  “No, thank you,” Kat said. She glanced around her office, making sure that anything classified was out of sight, then checked her appearance in the mirror. “I’m sure it won’t be anything serious.”

  She watched him go, then bent her head over the latest set of engineering reports. Sasha might have complained hugely about updating all of the reports and paperwork, but at least they now had a good idea of what they’d actually done to the flotilla . . . and what needed to be done, if only to make themselves more of a threat to the enemy. Some of the engineers might have been civilians or spent years in civilian service, but they’d put their time to good use, coming up with all sorts of innovative improvements to the older ships. At the very least, the Theocracy would get a few nasty surprises . . .

  Sure, her own thoughts mocked her. Right before they blow our star ships to bits.

  The buzzer rang. Kat hesitated, then keyed the switch. “Enter.”

  She lifted her eyebrows as the newcomer stepped into the office. It was hard to be sure, but she looked to be at least ten years older than Kat, with brown hair tied up into a stiff bun and a face that looked as if she was permanently chewing on something sour. She wore a long dress rather than a military uniform; it spun around the deck as she walked forward. Kat rose to her feet and held out a hand, hastily checking the woman’s face against the files stored in her implants. They didn’t find a match.

  “Captain Falcone,” the woman said. She shook Kat’s hand firmly, then smiled in a manner that suggested she was out of practice. “My name is Rose. Rose MacDonald.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Kat said. Who was this woman? An offworlder, she was sure; her accent didn’t match anything she’d heard on Tyre, although there was something oddly familiar about it. And how had she obtained a priority code? “I was not informed you were coming.”

  “I was told that it was a secret,” Rose said. “No doubt they assumed the priority code would be enough to gain your attention. As it happens, I am the Observer to Sandy McNeal, the Most Honorable Representative of Hebrides to the Commonwealth. My current assignment is to accompany you on your voyage and report back to my superiors.”

  Kat blinked. Hebrides? That explained, at least, why the accent was familiar; her XO’s accent was lighter, but it was definitely similar. And she had heard of Sandy McNeal, although she’d never met the man. A Most Honorable Representative commanded considerable political clout . . .

  But his homeworld is under occupation, Kat thought. Does he still command any authority? She pushed the thought aside ruthlessly. “Might I enquire as to why you have been assigned to my command?”

  “The Most Honorable Representative was concerned about the preparations being made to liberate his homeworld from the Theocracy,” Rose informed her. Kat could hear the capital letters slamming into place. “It is my task to report on your deployment and reassure him, or raise issues to be debated in public, should he not be reassured.”

  Kat frowned, motioning for the older woman to sit down. Someone was playing games, but who? And why? Kat had no intention of taking her squadron anywhere near Hebrides, not when the latest intelligence reports had suggested there were at least two enemy battle squadrons hanging in orbit around the occupied world. Hell, at the very least, Rose would be away from her political superior for at least four months . . .

  Maybe that’s what he wants, she thought, with droll amusement. Rose looked, very much, like a strict auntie, someone who wouldn’t allow any fun on her watch. Kat had met the type from her family’s plethora of relatives. A chance to get rid of her for months . . .

  She gritted her teeth, then frowned. She’d never let any of those joyless matrons ruin her fun and they’d all been related to her. Rose most definitely wasn’t.

  “This squadron will not be going to Hebrides,” she said slowly. Officially, the deployment was to the border with Marsalis. It would get her well away from Tyre, but nowhere near the war zone. “If you’re hoping to observe a raid on the planet, you would do better to attach yourself to Admiral Christian.”

  “This squadron also includes a sizable percentage of men and women who do not come from Tyre,” Rose stated. “It represents a chance to observe their integration into the Royal Navy and their progress through the ranks.”

  Kat sighed. “I will have a cabin earmarked for you,” she said. “Until then . . .”

  She scowled, thinking it through. No, the first thing she’d do would be to complain to the Admiralty and demand an explanation. Had someone decided it would be better for Rose to accompany a squadron going into the heart of enemy territory . . . or did they believe the cover story? If so, had they sent Rose to Lightning on the assumption that she would be safe, if bored, on the far side of the Commonwealth from the war? “It is imperative that I observe your crewmen from start to finish,” Rose informed her. “I do not exaggerate to say that my observations may determine the future of the Commonwealth.”

  “There’s a war on,” Kat said, feeling her patience start to snap. “It is imperative that my crews complete their work without being observed or distracted. Should you prove a nuisance, I will not hesitate to put you in the brig for the rest of the deployment. We will discuss precisely how you will carry out your observations later, once the ships are ready to depart.”

  And after I’ve gotten in touch with the Admiralty about this entire godforsaken mess, she added silently. Maybe she could convince the Admiralty to pawn Rose off on someone else. She’d be a pain in the ass, at least, while the squadron was on its way. Or maybe they’ll tell me to put up with it.

  “That will be suitable,” Rose said. Her voice grew louder. “However, I would like to begin my observations as soon as possible.”

  Kat tapped her buzzer. Moments later, Emily Hawking, her new steward, stepped into the office.

  “Please escort Miss MacDonald to one of the spare cabins and assign it to her for the moment,” Kat ordered curtly.

  “Yes, Captain,” Emily said. “Miss MacDonald?”

  Rose
nodded, then turned to follow the steward out of the cabin. Kat watched her go, remembering all the times she’d made rude gestures at her aunts when their backs were turned, then shook her head in disbelief. She’d asked the Admiralty for more officers and crewmen and they’d sent her an observer, someone who would be peering over her shoulder whenever she was trying to think. It was unbelievable.

  She keyed her terminal. “Record,” she ordered. “Private message to Admiral Hanson.”

  Her console bleeped. Kat ran through a short explanation, then asked for a set of official orders or permission to remove Rose MacDonald from her ship. It beggared belief that someone would have given her the priority code without informing Kat in advance, but it wouldn’t be the first time one part of the government hadn’t known what another part was doing. She might just wind up having to take Rose MacDonald with her anyway . . .

  As an afterthought, she sent a message to the XO, asking him to meet with her as soon as possible. He probably didn’t know either Rose MacDonald or her superior, not personally, but he might have an idea of how best to handle them. No doubt there were politics involved, somewhere. Perhaps the diplomats thought it was actually a good idea . . .

  A message flickered up in front of her. Kat read it, then cursed. Rose MacDonald had been granted permission to accompany the squadron, permission that had come straight from the War Cabinet itself. There would be no hope of convincing them to change their minds, not now that they’d taken the plunge. She’d been right. It was political.

  She sent another message to her father, then sighed and started to draw up the first set of deployment plans. No doubt there would be another crisis, then another, then another . . . she’d be lucky if she managed to stay ahead of them all. But at least she’d be able to rest once the squadron was in hyperspace. There wouldn’t be any way to change her orders after they’d departed . . .

  Unless they find a way to mount StarComs on ships, she thought darkly. That would be the end of independent commands.