An hour later, a subdued Kallewi shook his head. “I’ve been a marine for a while, but I have not seen anything like this. Tell you what, sir. It’s going to be a pig. A real pig.”
“Now that you know what you’re in for, what else can I tell you?”
“The layout of the Hammer plant would be nice, sir.”
“I wish,” Michael said. “I’ve stopped asking, but the last time I did, I was told the intelligence people were being flogged hard to get something. I’ve not seen anything yet. It’s no comfort, but I’m sure the admiral is frustrated-everyone is-that she doesn’t actually know what lies underneath the surface of the asteroid. As things stand, if your team ends up with the prickly end of the pineapple, you’ll have to find your own way in.”
“I’m sure we’ll manage,” Kallewi said. “We’ll have three demolition charges. Ideally, we should get them close enough to the fusion plants and hope they trigger loss of containment. That’s off the top of my head, but I’m pretty sure that’s how we’ll have to do the job. Can you leave that with me, sir? I’ll get my team onto the problem right away. I should have a first cut plan within, ah … twenty-four hours. Absent any decent intelligence, it’ll be short on detail, but we’ll do our best. That okay, sir?”
“That’ll be good. I’ll com the last brief I received from the admiral’s staff to you: how the plant might be laid out and so on. You can use that for your training sims.”
“Thanks.”
“And I’d like to meet your team. Set up a time with the XO and let me know.”
“Will do, sir.”
Anger had been welling up inside Michael, and by the time Kallewi left his day cabin, he was seething. Buried under a mountain of more pressing matters, he had not spent much time worrying about the job Kallewi might have to do if Assault Group failed to make it through to the antimatter plant. The arrival of Kallewi and his marines had changed all that, and now he smelled a rat, a big smelly one. How the hell had three marine assault demotition teams been assigned to the dreadnought force but not told why? How could Perkins’s precious Assault Group ever destroy the antimatter plant when they had no idea what it looked like?
It made no sense at all. Unless …
Perkins. It had to be Perkins. The man refused to believe that the dreadnoughts might have to finish the job of destroying the Hammer antimatter plant, to the point where he had decided there was no reason to brief the marines who would take over if Perkins’s ships failed.
Michael commed Jaruzelska’s chief of staff. He needed to know if anything important was being kept back.
Four hours later, Michael stared grim-faced at the information he had just received from Captain Tuukkanen under cover of a personal note apologizing for not supplying the material earlier. An unfortunate oversight by Assault Group’s planning team, Jaruzelska’s chief of staff said, for which he apologized.
Unfortunate oversight, like hell, Michael thought. Yet more deviousness from Rear Admiral Perkins, most likely. Michael shook his head in disbelief. The bloody man still acted as though Assault Group would get through to the Hammer antimatter plant no matter what. Whose side was Tuukkanen on, for heaven’s sake? A good chief of staff was supposed to stop bullshit like this, to make sure the thousands of pieces that made up the Operation Opera jigsaw fit seamlessly together.
He stared at the intelligence he had been sent. It was priceless. Far from having no idea how the Hammer plant might be laid out, he was looking at schematics showing the maze of tunnels the Hammers had carved out deep below the surface of Mathuli-4451. The drawings had sat buried in the bowels of the intelligence ministry for a decade or more until a persistent analyst with a good memory dug them out. How the Federation had laid its hands on the schematics in the first place, he would never know, but looking at them, he would have bet good money on them coming from the hard-rock tunneling contractors used for the job. Not that it mattered how they had fallen into Fed hands. They had, and that meant Kallewi would have some idea at least of where he had to go.
The schematics were not everything Kallewi would have wanted: too little detail. They did not show what each tunnel was used for, nor was there anything showing what equipment went where, and nowhere was there even the smallest hint that an antimatter plant would occupy the tunnels. They described the place only as Deepspace Support Facility 27, a generic title that offered no clues to its real purpose. The intelligence analyst-in Michael’s opinion, the man should get a medal-only knew he had the right place because the diameter of the asteroid shown on the drawings matched the diameter of Mathuli-4451 precisely.
Still angry, still wondering what the hell Perkins was up to, still wondering why Tuukkanen had not picked this one up earlier, Michael commed Kallewi to come to his cabin. The man would be relieved to know his marines would not have to go in blind, though he might be forgiven for wondering just what sort of lying clowns Vice Admiral Jaruzelska had doing the detailed planning for Operation Opera.
He was beginning to wonder, too.
Sunday, February 11, 2401, UD
Operation Opera headquarters, Comdur Fleet Base
From years of experience, Jaruzelska knew that her staff would work day and night, seven days a week, without complaint until they dropped in their tracks, utterly exhausted, so tired that even drugbots did not keep them awake. But she had learned the hard way that overwork was a trap. While it did wonders for the egos of power-drunk senior officers-of which there were far too many in Fleet for her liking-to work people to the point of collapse, it was a recipe for disaster: Staff officers who were too tired to pay attention to the details invariably compensated by cutting the AIs responsible for the nitty-gritty operational planning too much slack, often with disastrous results. She had seen it all before, and Operation Opera was challenge enough without adding AI-assisted screwups to the mix.
Her thinking showed in nearly empty offices, a handful of watchkeepers the only spacers on deck, all of them smart enough to know not to bother her while she tidied up the last of a small list of must-do items. When she left her office, she was looking forward to a much-needed workout followed by a long lunch with two of her closest friends from Space College, so the soft ping of a priority incoming com came as an unwelcome surprise.
It was her chief of staff.
“Yes, Captain Tuukkanen?” she said sternly. “This better be damned important. I have a gym session and a lunch I do not want to miss.”
Jaruzelska’s chief of staff shook his head. “Sorry, sir. They’re off. We’ve been ordered to report to Fleet in person soonest. The courier is standing by. I’ll have a shuttle to pick you up in five. Air lock 14-B.”
“Shit!” Jaruzelska said while she started to walk as fast as age and seniority allowed. “Admiral Perkins?”
“He’s on his way.”
“Okay. What the hell’s going on?”
“Don’t know, sir. I’ve been promised a briefing paper before we jump. All I know is that it involves the dreadnoughts.”
Jaruzelska skidded to a halt. “You’re kidding me, Captain,” she said incredulously.
“Wish I was, sir, but no,” Tuukkanen said. “Fleet’s put them on twenty-four hours’ notice to deploy.”
“Where are they?”
“They were on the Manovitz farspace ranges. I’ve ordered them back. They’re in pinchspace on their way home.” “Fine. This had better be good,” Jaruzelska said grimly.
With midnight long gone, Michael had sat outside Jaruzelska’s office for a good hour by the time the admiral arrived. He was having a great deal of trouble staying awake. Jaruzelska’s ruthless determination to make the dreadnoughts combat-ready was taking its toll; his sleep deficit was getting to a point where even the drugbots his neuronics released into his system-something he hated doing-had to struggle to keep him alert.
“Hello, Michael,” Jaruzelska said. “Sorry I’m late. Had a few things to attend to. Come on in, take a seat.”
Mystified, Michael did as
he was told.
“Coffee, Michael?”
“Think I’d better, sir. It’s long past my bedtime.”
“Mine, too. How was Manovitz?”
“Tough. They whipped our asses. But we’re getting there. Rao and Machar are naturals.”
“Yes, they are,” Jaruzelska said.
Michael struggled not to ask what the hell he was doing sitting in her office in the middle of the night swapping small talk.
After a short hiatus while the drinkbot delivered the coffees, Jaruzelska pushed back in her seat, looking at Michael across the top of her mug. He waited patiently. He knew Jaruzelska pretty well, well enough to spot the abnormally high levels of stress and fatigue showing on her face. Something was definitely up.
“Right,” Jaruzelska said eventually, sitting up straight. “Let’s get on. Ever heard of a planet called Salvation?”
“No, sir,” Michael said with a shake of his head, “can’t say I have.”
“Well, you have now. Two days ago, Fleet intelligence received a report, graded A-1, telling us that the Hammers intend to attack the planet Salvation and its settlers, a large number of whom belong to a breakaway Hammer of Kraa sect. We, and that includes you and your dreadnoughts, are going to stop them. The jokers at Fleet have called it Operation Paradise.”
Unable to say a word, Michael stared at Jaruzelska.
“You can close your mouth, Michael,” she said. “There’s an initial briefing for you and your officers … Let me see, yes, at 04:00, but before that, I need to talk to you about the dreadnoughts. I have to know that they can do what’s expected of them.”
Despite the ungodly hour and the unremitting stress of a week spent on the Manovitz fleet battle ranges playing war games, all Michael’s tiredness had vanished, washed away by the prospect of action. The intelligence analyst was just winding up his briefing.
“Thank you. That concludes my briefing. Are there any questions?”
Michael asked the question on everyone’s mind. “The report’s graded A-1. Has Fleet explicitly confirmed that with the intelligence providers? We need to be absolutely sure on this. We don’t often see intelligence graded A-1.”
“Yes,” the analyst said, “we have confirmed the grading. I can also tell you that Fleet has gone back channel to the head of the Hammer desk. She’s confirmed the source is impeccable. It has a good track record for being both timely and accurate. As to the intelligence itself, I can only repeat what I’ve already said: It is corroborated by what the Hammers are doing on the ground. Data intercepts confirm their 2nd, 18th, and 45th marine brigades have moved out of barracks to the Kerrivici marine base, which of course is one of the Hammer’s planetary assault training centers.
“Until we received this report, we believed those movements were simply part of some training exercise, but we now know that to be incorrect. Doctrinal Security is also on the move; we have intercepts confirming that their 116th Shock Brigade is en route to Kerrivici”-uneasy whispers ran through the room; DocSec shock brigades were notorious for their brutal suppression of dissent-“and there’s some evidence another DocSec regiment is on its way to Kerrivici, but we’ve not been able to confirm that. So yes, Fleet intelligence sees every reason to grade this report reliable. Are there any more questions … no? Thank you. The next briefer will give you a quick overview of Salvation. Lieutenant?”
“Thank you, sir,” the young lieutenant said when she took her place at the lectern. “If you would turn your attention to the holovid, you can see what Salvation looks like. In a word, wet. The planet is all ocean apart from a single island … here … with one settlement, New Hope. The breakaway sect-they call themselves the Salvationists of Kraa, or Salvos for short-live in a large gated community on the northern outskirts of the town, about a hundred thousand of them. Relations with the rest of the island’s population are good, mainly because they have learned the hard way to be tolerant, even to the point where they now accept AIs and geneering. Two more things to note. From a tactical point of view, the Salvos look like a soft target because they are so concentrated, but they’re not. We know from previous security scares that even if we alert them to the Hammers’ intentions, they will not move. They have always made it clear that they will fight and die no matter how many Hammers come after them. They are tough, they are well armed, and they are very determined. So the Hammers will have their hands full rounding them up. Second, Salvation has been declared a neutral planet under the Kalici Protocol. In theory, that binds the Hammers not to attack it, but that’s clearly a legal nicety they have no intention of respecting. A profile of Salvation is in your briefing notes and we have set up an AI knowledge base for more detailed enquiries, so I’ll stop there. Are there any questions?”
The conference room was silent. Michael glanced around; every last spacer present sported the same look of stunned disbelief on his or her face. He sympathized. A few hours earlier, the crews of the dreadnoughts were looking forward to a badly needed stand-down. Now they faced action against the Hammers and soon, a lot sooner than anyone had ever expected.
Jaruzelska made her way to the front of the room. “Thank you, Lieutenant,” she said.
“My pleasure, sir.”
“Right. I have some late-breaking news. Fleet intel says they have identified three Hammer stealthed reconsats in Clarke orbit around Salvation, so I think that removes any doubt that the Hammers are about to make their move on Salvation.”
Jaruzelska paused while a buzz ran around the room.
“I don’t have to tell you,” she continued, “that the next few hours will be bedlam. We have a lot to do and not much time to do it in. The operations planning teams are hard at it. They’ll present a first draft of the ops plan at 08:00 this morning. I want captains and execs there for that, plus your warfare AIs, of course. Unless there are any burning questions, that’s all.”
When the briefing broke up, Michael waved Rao and Machar over. “I know you want to get back to your ships,” he said to them, “but I think you can safely leave them with your execs for an hour or so. We need to talk.”
“Any chance of doing that over breakfast?” Rao asked hopefully.
“Lead on,” Michael said as a protesting stomach reminded him that it had been a long time since he last had eaten.
Michael pushed his plate away and commed the drinkbot to bring him another cup of badly needed coffee.
“It’s all a bit much, I have to say,” Machar said. “Salvation, eh? So much for the Kalici Protocol. Goddamn Hammers.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Michael said.
Machar’s concern was plain to see. “Well, I don’t suppose there’s any point in me beating the old ‘we’re not ready’ drum,” he said. “I imagine you’ve done that already, and the admiral told you … well, she told you …”
“To get on with it. Is that what you were trying to say?”
“Pretty much, sir,” Machar said.
“What about the ‘we shouldn’t do it because it might screw up Operation Opera’ excuse?” Rao asked.
Michael shook his head. “That didn’t fly any farther than ‘we’re not ready so please leave us alone’ did. Look, I understand your concerns, but you need to have faith in yourselves. I know we haven’t seen the plan yet, but I cannot see the Salvation operation being any more difficult than what we’ve just been through on the Manovitz ranges. So can we do it? Yes, we damn well can.” Michael was emphatic.
“I can only speak for myself, sir,” Rao said, “but I’m sure we can-”
“Sorry to interrupt, Kelli, but I am, too,” Machar said, “and I didn’t mean to suggest otherwise. I just wanted to be sure the powers that be understood, you know …”
“That dreadnoughts are still an unknown quantity?” Michael said. “Yes, they understand that, even though the First has runs on the scoreboard. Anyway, you both did well this week, so it’s not such a risk. In any case, needs must. Throwing Salvation to the wolves is not an option. Think of a
ll those bilateral security treaties that define our sphere of influence. If planets like Salvation, not to mention Kalici, New Kashmir, Bennet’s World, Panguna, Covoti-B, Lagerfeld, Gok-3, Yushiro-I can go on for hours, there are so many of them-cannot depend on the Federation’s promise to keep the Hammers at bay, we are in trouble. And here’s one other thing you need to think about. An operation to protect Salvation might be a distraction, but I cannot think of a better way to conceal the preparations for Opera. When we make our move, any intelligence the Hammers have on our buildup for Opera will be ascribed to the Salvation operation.”
Rao nodded. “One thing is for sure,” she said thoughtfully. “With all the pressure Fleet’s under, the last thing those scum-sucking Hammers will expect is a battle fleet operation against a tough Hammer target like SuppFac27 only weeks after having their asses kicked at Salvation … well, so we hope,” she added.
“That point had occurred to the admiral,” Michael said drily.
“But even so, sir, why use the dreadnoughts?”
“You know what, Kelli? That was my first question when the admiral told me we were tasked. The answer’s simple. Fleet is under enormous pressure; it’s barely holding the line against the Hammers. The dreadnoughts are the largest single tactical unit in Fleet’s order of battle that is not committed to current operations. Thirty capital ships, sitting around, not fighting the Hammers like every other ship in the Fleet. Everyone knows they are committed to Opera in just over a month, but beggars cannot be choosers. They are the only warships available.”
Rao and Machar both nodded, though Michael could see that neither was convinced. He was not concerned. Good officers-and his two dreadnought captains were good-always had doubts. It was only the bad ones who let those doubts stop them doing what had to be done.
“One look at Fleet’s current tasking,” he continued, “tells you why they need us. There is nobody else. Any way you look at it, the timing’s lousy. To take pressure off our trade routes, Fleet has task groups en route to twenty major Hammer targets as we speak. Even if Fleet recalled them, they cannot get to Salvation in time to be of any use. And with resources stretched so thin, there’s not a cat in hell’s chance of diverting ships away from planetary defense. Unless,” Michael added pointedly, “the minister issues a directive telling the commander in chief otherwise.”
The battle of Devastation reef hw-3 Page 19
