“The Squadron.” The others raised their glasses.
“Captain Neco?” A young sub-lieutenant stood at the door.
“Yes, Sub?”
“Sir, your boat has arrived to return you to Typhoon.” She looked about the room, in awe of the five captains.
Neco smiled at her. “Thank you, Sub. If you’ll do me the honor of escort...”
The sub-lieutenant flushed and nodded. Neco grinned at the others and followed the young woman from the room.
A small explosion of laughter erupted after the door closed. “He’ll do.”
“Ten, you have to stop encouraging him. He looks up to you, gods know why, and you know, probably better than any of us, just how far we are from being battle ready.”
“Nothing wrong with him looking up to me, Ulla. I think I make a fine role model.” He frowned at the snorts he received. “However, his point is valid. We know...” he cursed under his breath and pounded at his prosthetic leg. “Wretched thing. Ah, where was I? Oh yes. We know how unready we actually are, and if the crews know that, too, they’ll lose any battle we get into. If,” he spread his hands palms up in front of him, “if they don’t know how unready they are, they just might win it for us.”
Smiles died. Mesicsah frowned. “You’re right. Morale is the best thing we have going for us at the moment. Point taken, Captain.”
Lemm Fronel, who had remained silent up to that point, cleared his throat. “On that note, Gentlemen, Ladies, I believe it is time to go. Your boats will dock shortly, and we have another exercise to run before we jump. Perhaps a ‘well done’ to the crews wouldn’t be out of order should the exercise go reasonably well.”
PRIME STATION ALPHA, LORMAR
“Please be seated, Commodore,” Vice Admiral Knerden requested. “I’ll bring you up to speed.”
The Commodore sat and accepted a glass of wine. He sipped, then sighed appreciatively. “It’s good to be here, sir. I feel a new man. A year ago I was almost ready for retirement; now I’m commanding a squadron. By the way, congratulations on your promotion.”
The Vice Admiral smiled. “Thank you. Gets in the blood, doesn’t it? So, Tag, how are they shaping up?”
“Quickly. We’ve enough old hands to keep the young pups in line and to show them what they need to know. Steady improvement all through the voyage. They’ll do just fine, sir.”
“I hope so.” The Vice Admiral ran his hand back through his thick grey hair. He hesitated.
“When we dropped out of hyperspace, my detectors picked up a lot fewer ships than I expected.” Taglini gave him the opening he wanted.
“Yes, Tag. Headquarters sent Second Fleet to the Combine front. Fourth left a week later.”
Taglini’s eyes widened. “That leaves just First Fleet to protect this entire sector!”
“First Fleet and the ships we’ve recommissioned, yes. It should be enough, don’t you think?” Vice Admiral Knerden’s sharp eyes watched the incredulity leap to his old classmate’s face.
“No, I do not think! With only First and the recommissions, at best we can fight a delaying action. We won’t even be able to hold—My God!” Taglini stared in disbelief.
“You should have made Admiral, Tag. You have a gift for seeing situations clearly.”
“I wasn’t political enough and had no heavy friends,” Taglini said absently.
“Yes, a pity about that,” Vice Admiral Knerden replied coldly. He did not miss the implication.
Taglini, however, had his mind elsewhere, and was not aware he’d given offense. His gaze rested on the star chart. It all came back to him. Move and countermove.
“We will have to evacuate the Pensor asteroid mining operation. With the resources at hand we can’t defend it, and the civilian morale on Lormar will plummet if we lose the miners.” He looked further and the Vice Admiral sat back and let him go on. When he finally finished Knerden just smiled.
“Of course, it doesn’t mean a damn, does it, sir? We’ll fight our way back to Lormar, but we won’t be able to stop them here, either.”
“Yes, Tag, it does mean a damn. Lormar produces many components Fleet needs. We need to produce to the last possible moment, then get away with as much as possible. So we delay, delay, delay. Fight and run. Harass.” He emphasized each point with his forefinger.
“And then abandon the planet to the Tlartox.” The bitter words came out before Taglini could stop them. “And, naturally, we destroy the four Prime Stations before leaving.” He stood and began pacing back and forth.
Knerden let him pace. The Commodore was soft; lucky he never made Flag rank. His mind should be on the battles to come, the glory, and the joy of outthinking the enemy. Knerden remembered how he, himself, had felt when given the briefing. Excitement had rippled through him. The chance to prove his worth against a numerically superior foe! The way Taglini carried on about trivialities sickened him. Finally he decided that he’d given the Commodore enough time.
“Tag, our orders are to delay the Tlartox Fleet until reinforcements arrive. We give up the minimum, but keep our force intact. If we lose First Fleet, the enemy will overrun the Confederation and there will be no hope.”
Taglini stopped his pacing. “Reinforcements? What reinforcements?”
“Well, not your ‘Ghost Fleet,’” Knerden laughed. “Yes, I heard about Searcher’s mission. No, I mean the rest of the Fleet. We transferred Second and Fourth for a reason. Fleet HQ ordered the Navy to bring a significant part of the Combine Fleet to battle, destroy it and return here as quickly as possible. The Combine will never expect us to denude our Tlartox Front. We’ll hit them hard enough to set them back a decade. Then we deal with the Empire.”
“If we can hold them.”
“We’ll hold them,” Knerden affirmed. “Now, to our mission. I’ve called a meeting of the Tenth Fleet captains, Section Three. We meet here in two hours. I just wanted to put you in the picture first, everyone else knows.”
“Tenth Fleet?”
“The B and C-class recommissions, along with two cruisers and four frigates from First Fleet. I’ll command First and Third Sections from Honor. Your squadron will join Section Three.”
* * *
“Gentlemen, Ladies, your attention please,” Vice Admiral Knerden called the meeting to order. The captains and commodores took their seats. All watched him expectantly.
“The Tlartox Fleet masses at our borders. We expect the first incursions to come at any time now.” The silence of space descended upon the room. “First Fleet is moving to intercept, but will not engage in fleet battle. The stakes are too high for that.” An uneasy murmur rose. “While First Fleet captures the enemy’s attention, we—Tenth Fleet—will go to war.”
Commodore Taglini watched how Vice Admiral Knerden manipulated his captains. The man was a master. Though the situation dire, he talked as if the assortment of relics called Tenth Fleet could take on the Tlartox Empire by itself.
“We shall make the Tlartox think we are everywhere. We’ll raid their convoys, attack their stations and frighten their planets. They will have to assign substantial assets to patrol. This will buy us time and will lower enemy morale.”
Knerden moved to the star map. The holo lit and all officers shifted their attention to the flashing red star in the center.
“Here we are at Lormar. First Section, Tenth Fleet, with both cruisers, will remain here guarding against any Tlartox probe. Second and Fourth Sections will guard against similar threats here and here. Third section, that’s you, will go to hyperspace upon commencement of hostilities and go deep into enemy space.”
One by one Knerden detailed the assignments. The optimism the officers showed impressed Taglini. Knerden had done his job again. They were to raid only, avoiding battle with elements of the Tlartox Fleet—so far as possible. Hit and run, hit and run. Make the enemy think that Tenth Fleet had four or five times the ships they actually had. His attention sharpened as his own assignment came up.
“Comm
odore Taglini’s squadron will hit the enemy base at Tlenfro.”
A heavy silence smothered the room. The base at Tlenfro had the firepower of several cruisers all by itself. After the Confederation had taken the planet three hundred years earlier, the Empire had heavily armed the base to ensure no repetition of the humiliation. Doubtless the station would have attendant frigates as well, perhaps even a cruiser.
The Vice Admiral’s chuckle broke the silence. “People. We do not expect Commodore Taglini to commit suicide, nor do we expect him to do any lasting damage. He will drop from hyperspace as close to the station as possible, rake it with his weapons, jump immediately back into hyperspace and get his tail out of there. We probably won’t even damage their shields. If we take out a satellite or two as we leave, it will be a bonus.
“What we wish to impress upon the Empire is that even their bases are not immune from attack. If we do this once we can do it again. They’ll be forced to station squadrons at each base. That, too, will buy us time.
“Just drop, shoot and jump, Commodore. Get out before the base can even get to action stations.” He grinned at the somber faces in front of him. “After that, they will remain at action stations for a week. That’ll put paid to morale, hey?” He received a few laughs, but not enough. Knerden knew when to move on, and he did.
Taglini looked at the five captains of his squadron. Each looked like death, except the inexperienced Neco, who appeared to relish the challenge. He remembered the faces from his yearbook. Soon others might discuss him the same way—if any remained. Very soon. He caught surreptitious glances from his captains. Without acknowledging he’d seen, Taglini began jotting nonsense words and doodles upon his pad. Occasionally he’d smile to himself. Out of the corner of his eye he noted one captain nudging another. The somberness lifted and Taglini smiled again.
He’d never felt less like smiling. He knew what they were thinking. ‘Look at the Commodore. He has a plan. See him smile? We might have a chance after all.’ He was giving them the confidence that he himself did not feel.
He almost thought it funny. He did as Knerden had done, and his captains would do the same thing in their own ways for their crews. It was a leadership thing. Each knew, yet each would fall for this little act. No, it wasn’t funny. It was sad. These brave men and women allowed themselves to believe they had a chance, made themselves believe so they could go on living without breaking. Just as he would buy the idea that First Fleet and a bunch of obsolete ships with green crews could hold off the whole Tlartox navy until the other Fleets could defeat the Combine and return.
The Vice Admiral finished. The meeting broke up. Taglini realized he hadn’t heard Knerden’s summation. It didn’t matter, his recorder had picked it up and he could listen to it at his leisure.
Before anyone could leave, the Vice Admiral’s Flag Lieutenant burst into the room with a message stick for Knerden. Knerden held up his hand and expectant faces watched him insert it into his reader.
“Gentlemen, Ladies, it has begun. The Tlartox Fleet is on the move. Let’s go get them!” A ragged cheer was raised.
ADIA
Britlot’s trip to the capital had taken two days in a windowless craft. He had overnighted in the aircraft at an airport and had then been subjected to hours more of flying the following morning. He had tried his best to sleep, but merely managed fitful dozing. He knew his big chance approached. If successful, he might soon return to the Confederation at the head of an Adian fleet. He didn’t want to think about being unsuccessful.
After landing, a blacked-out landcruiser carried him to the council building. He wasn’t allowed to even see the city. He wondered why. His escort showed him to a small windowless apartment and there he finally slept.
Britlot found the waiting room at the Council building nice enough as waiting rooms went. He had his choice of several comfortable chairs or a long sofa. He could lie down if he so desired. He grinned at the thought. Wrinkle his uniform? He’d just changed into a new one and he would remain standing until called.
The room smelled faintly of flowers, though he saw none. His hosts had made a music selection available, but Britlot preferred silence. He began a quiet meditation.
“Lieutenant-Commander.”
Britlot blinked and turned to the voice. An aged, white-haired usher motioned to him. Britlot followed the man into the chamber. The large oval room had four tiers of chairs rising up from the central floor. Above that he could see glassed-in galleries. The rooms behind the windows were in darkness, yet there were hints of movement. People watched.
About one-third of the chairs sat empty. Perhaps the Adians found his visit less important to them than he would have liked. He would have to be very persuasive, very eloquent.
The usher led him to a podium facing one of the narrow ends of the room. It unsettled him. He would have people behind him. No matter which way he turned, he would appear to snub someone.
“The ruling council sits directly in front of you,” the usher whispered helpfully. “The government is to your left and the opposition members are to your right. Behind you sit functionaries who are at the call of the members. You can safely ignore them.” He turned and left the young Confederation officer alone.
Britlot made a mental note to thank the man. Once more he called upon his memory, trying to place what he’d learned about Adian custom. Forthright, he’d heard.
“Council, Gentlemen, Ladies. Lieutenant-Commander Britlot of the Confederation.” There were murmurs then a hush. Britlot swallowed.
“Council, Gentlemen, Ladies, I am Lieutenant-Commander Britlot of the Confederation Navy. The situation in the Confederation requires that I ask for your help. A forty-year war with a regime called The Combine continues. The momentum of that war has gone back and forth. As of the last I heard, The Combine had a slight advantage, but nothing our forces could not deal with.
“Unfortunately, our old enemy—your old enemy, too—the Tlartox Empire has taken this opportunity to mobilize and will soon—if they haven’t already—attack us.”
That prompted a reaction. A sudden rumble of conversation rose, then subsided. He prepared to continue when Foreign Minister Jalketh stood.
“Are we to understand that the Confederation sent you to express their desire that we declare war upon the Tlartox Empire?”
Dead silence.
Britlot took a deep breath. “The Confederation would, no doubt, enjoy that act. However, the Confederation has not sent me to express that. The Confederation does not know,” how far should he go, he wondered, “in fact, does not even believe that you exist.” The silence persisted.
“Then why did they send you?” An older woman with a hooknose and long grey hair asked the question.
Britlot grinned. “Mostly, I think, to rid themselves of me for a while.” That stopped them cold, he thought. “As you are most likely aware, I am in possession of information which suggests that not all of the Émigrés,” bad word, he thought, “perished when you encountered the Phenomenon. That, along with several sightings of vessels of war which we no longer have in service, which could only be from the 22nd, led me to believe you still existed.” That caused a stir. Britlot pressed on. “I believed that you might help us ... and in helping us, help yourselves.”
This was not going over as well as he had hoped it might. “I believe, not know, but believe that if the Confederation falls, either the Tlartox or the Combine will eventually discover your whereabouts and you will be next.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant-Commander Britlot.” A somewhat familiar-looking man stood. Britlot tried to recall where they’d met, but couldn’t place it. “We ask you to return to the antechamber while we discuss what you have placed before us. We will undoubtedly have questions for you. We beg your indulgence.”
“Of course, sir.” Britlot paused. “If one might enquire as to your name?”
The man smiled a familiar smile. “Of course, Lieutenant-Commander. I am Industry Minister for Adia. Industry
Minister Tremm Britlot.”
CHAPTER 13
TLARTOX FLAGSHIP PREDATOR
“It makes no sense, Sab,” Fleet Admiral Tood Tlomega told her chief aid. “Why would the humans send two entire fleets away from us? They must know an attack is imminent.”
The low growl set the fur on Sab’s back on end and she tried to hide her discomfort. Still, the question had validity and neither she nor their strategists could adequately answer it.
“It could be a ruse,” Sab offered, extending her claws into the thick carpet of Tlomega’s day cabin. “It might pay to go cautiously.”
“Bah! We have more than enough ships to take on the entire human navy. Still, let’s see what they do when we send Tlorang’s fleet in to take out their forward posts.” Tlomega dismissed the puzzle from her mind. Something else replaced it. “Have you seen the propaganda?” Tlomega’s ears went back and Sab wished she were elsewhere. “Clever sewer-rats,” she snarled.
“Is there something new?” Sab asked, not wanting to inquire but knowing that Tlomega expected it.
“First there were the posters: The Hunt Begins Again.”
Sab remembered. Initially she’d thought the posters intended to rouse the population in support of the war. They showed an armed spacer standing in the foreground with a Tlartox Cruiser in the background. The words under the spacer seemed to leave little room for doubt. And Tlar Spoke, saying, ‘Never Abandon the Hunt.’ I go with Tlomega and the Hunt continues.
“Then came the posters asking: Who are the Hunters?”
Sab remembered them, too, with less joy. Again they depicted a spacer, this time a cook frying a Kreeser steak in what was obviously a ship’s galley. A viewscreen on one wall showed a Confederation frigate in ruins. The cook had his teeth bared, his ears cocked in the joy of victory and the caption read: I hunt with Tlomega! On the other half of the poster stood a blood-spattered commando, assault weapon in one hand, grenade in the other, with several humans dead on the deck. That Tox looked grimly out and her caption read: There are hunters, and then there are Hunters.
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