It would be fun, he thought, a little wistfully, but too much danger for no return.
He sighed, then moved to the second report. General Mathis confirmed that the CEF was loaded onboard its ships, with no desertions and only a handful of minor disciplinary problems. Ed hadn't expected anything else, if he had to be honest; the CEF was far better trained and motivated than any comparable unit from the Imperial Army. And then, there were very real consequences for anyone who dared return to their post late, unlike in the army. A soldier who overstayed his leave could expect nothing more than a slap on the wrist.
Which explains why so many units did so badly when they were tried in combat, he thought, peering out the porthole as the shuttle passed through the upper wisps of atmosphere and entered orbit. They’d allowed themselves to get sloppy long before they faced their first combat test.
He clicked through the remaining reports on the datapad - ammunition stockpiles, medical supplies, emergency procedures - and returned it to his belt, taking a moment to close his eyes and centre himself. Even with modern starships, it would take three weeks to reach Corinthian - older ships needed over a month - and he would have plenty of time to catch up with his exercises. And yet, he’d probably find himself going stir-crazy inside a week. The stasis tubes had made so much more sense.
And yet we can't devote the resources to producing them here, he thought, tiredly. It will be years before we have the productive capability of Earth, let alone the Core Worlds.
The thought was a bitter one. All the old certainties about orbital industries had fallen with the Empire itself, once workers were allowed to think for themselves again. Ed - and the Commonwealth - had developed a system for rewarding innovation, rather than squashing it out of hand. And the results were all around him: faster, better-armed starships that could outrun or outfight anything of comparable size from the Imperial Navy. And a hundred other innovations that would change the universe forever.
A few more years, he thought, in quiet frustration. A few more years and we would have overrun Wolfbane and the rest of the former Empire with ease.
He opened his eyes as a low thump ran through the shuttle, the artificial gravity field quivering for a long moment before settling down. The hatch opened seconds later as the atmosphere matched, automated systems checking everything before allowing the passengers to leave the shuttle and board the ship. Ed found the delay inconvenient, as he rose to his feet, but he had to admit it was necessary. The extensive safety regulations written into law by bean-counting paper-pushers hadn’t prevented accidents when hatches were inadvertently opened to vacuum. It was far better to give the people on the spot the responsibility for handling the matter.
“Colonel,” a young man said. “I’m Commander Tygart, XO. Welcome onboard CSS Defiant. I’m to escort you to your quarters.”
“Thank you,” Ed said. He saluted the Commonwealth flag, then turned to the XO. “Shall we go?”
He smiled at the young man’s back as Commander Tygart led him through a maze of corridors, feeling the starship humming around him as if she was eagerly anticipating the chance to set sail on the interstellar sea. There was little pomp and ceremony in the Commonwealth - certainly not the hour-long ceremonies the Imperial Navy had been fond of, once upon a time - but there were certain matters that still needed to be honoured. The vessel’s commander was her commander, no matter how badly she was outranked by her ship’s guests. An Imperial Navy admiral would probably insist on being taken to the bridge, or the CIC, but Ed knew better. He would wait until the captain called on him.
I’d hate it if someone was looking over my shoulder too, he thought. It would certainly undermine me in front of the crew.
“You and your Sergeant have been assigned the same cabin,” Tygart informed him, as they stopped in front of a hatch. “I was given to understand that that would be acceptable ...?”
Ed concealed his amusement with an effort. “More than suitable, Commander,” he said. The shipboard officer would probably be horrified at the thought of trying to catch forty winks in a foxhole, with enemy shells landing all around the position. “Indeed, it is quite luxurious.”
Tygart gave him a surprised look and keyed the hatch. It opened, revealing a small cabin with barely enough room to swing a cat. Two beds, a small food dispenser and a single terminal ... it was hardly the peak of luxury. Ed hated to think what Admiral Valentine would have said, if he’d been told he was expected to share such a tiny space with someone else; he was used to cabins that could have passed for football fields. Probably have ordered the starship’s commander removed from command and put in front of a court martial board, he suspected. It wasn't as if it was a harmless little prank like stealing supplies, abusing one’s crew and plotting barratry.
“Thank you,” Ed said. He dropped his carryall on the bunk, remembering the younger man’s shock when he’d insisted on carrying it for himself. “I’ll be in here until departure.”
“Yes, sir,” Tygart said.
He saluted, then turned and left the tiny compartment. Ed watched him go, fighting down a flicker of amusement mixed with concern. The Commonwealth Navy was young - it was barely six years old - yet far too many of its experienced officers had picked up bad habits from the Imperial Navy. Pomp and circumstance was all very well, in its place, but it was far more important that the navy knew how to fight. The only consolation was that the war had been doing an excellent job of burning out the deadwood.
Except they lose ships when they die, Ed thought. And crewmen we cannot afford to lose.
He sat down at the desk and keyed the terminal. As he’d expected, there were a hundred new messages, all of which demanded his attention. He sighed, forwarded half of them to Grosskopf and started to read through the rest. Anyone who believed he would overrule Grosskopf without very good reason needed to be sent away with a flea in their ear. If Ed hadn't had total confidence in the older man, he wouldn't have left him in command on Avalon.
The final message was from Kitty Stevenson. Ed read it twice, then fed the message into the starship’s internal shredder. It was impossible to delete all traces of a message from the datanet - which was how the spy ring had been detected - but he could make life difficult for anyone who tried. If Kitty was right, the messages that should inform Admiral Singh that Corinthian was going to be stripped of everything vital were well on their way. The trap had been laid ...
And now we have to see if she falls into it, he thought. He stood, wishing he could pace in the tiny cabin, then forced himself to lie down on the bunk. The starship was quivering slightly, indicating that she was finally leaving orbit. The die is cast now ...
There was nothing else he could do, he knew; not now. All he could do was wait.
***
Jasmine allowed herself a tight little smile as she stopped outside an unmarked hatch, then pressed her finger against the buzzer. Defiant had left orbit an hour ago, entering communications blackout almost at once. She rather suspected that General Mathis was dealing with a swarm of complaints from his subordinates, who’d expected to be able to send messages until the ship crossed the phase limit and jumped into phase space, but her marines were more experienced. They would have rewritten their wills and sent their last messages long before boarding the shuttles and heading to orbit.
And they’d know to be careful what they said, too, Jasmine thought. They learned about communications security at the Slaughterhouse.
She smiled to herself as the hatch slide open. Her entire body was aching, in a manner she hadn't felt since Boot Camp and the Slaughterhouse, but the pain was weakness - her weakness - leaving her body. She hadn't really grasped just how far she’d fallen, despite everything she’d done on Meridian, until she’d run through the training course again and again. A marine platoon could not afford a weak link, she knew through experience, and she was damned if she was becoming a weak link. The pain was deserved, but it was also proof that she was getting better ...
; “Jasmine,” Emmanuel said. He turned in his chair and smiled at her. “Why am I not surprised to see you?”
“You have a working brain,” Jasmine said. She stepped into the compartment, allowing the hatch to close behind her. She’d been twitted, more than once, about sleeping with a reporter - wasn’t that sleeping with the enemy? - but Emmanuel did have both a brain and common sense. “And you knew I wouldn’t be around for a while.”
“I went straight into the lockbox,” Emmanuel said. He didn’t sound angry, somewhat to her surprise. Most of the reporters she’d met on Han would have been furious, if someone had dared suggest they couldn't be trusted. But there was no choice. Even an accidental mistake - as opposed to deliberate wilful stupidity - could be disastrous. “But if what the colonel said was true, it will be worth it.”
“I certainly hope so,” Jasmine agreed. She looked around the cabin. “You’re in the lap of luxury here, you know?”
Emmanuel looked doubtful. “Really?”
“Oh, yes,” Jasmine said. “I’m crammed into a smaller cabin with six other marines.”
“I don’t believe you could all fit in,” Emmanuel said. He waved a hand at the bulkheads, barely two metres apart. “Can you?”
“With great difficulty,” Jasmine said. She shook her head. “But we have to get used to living in one another’s pockets now.”
“You would be welcome to stay here,” Emmanuel said. “The bunk isn't much ...”
Jasmine shook her head. “I have to stay with them,” she said. “And I can’t come visit you very often, either.”
“It’s three weeks,” Emmanuel protested.
“And no one else is going to get their rocks hauled either,” Jasmine said. “I can't take too much advantage of you.”
She sighed, recalling the courses on group dynamics she’d been forced to endure at the Slaughterhouse. People - even marines - tended to get pissed if someone had an unearned advantage. As far as she knew, she was the only marine who had a lover on Defiant, although she was sure the other marines would be trying to get crewmen or crewwomen into bed. She wouldn’t care, either, as long as they showed up for their training sessions.
“I don’t mind you taking advantage of me,” Emmanuel said, with a wink. “What do you make of the ship’s crew?”
“Frightfully keen,” Jasmine said. Promotion was fast in the Commonwealth Navy, thanks to the demands of rapid expansion. Mandy was certainly proof of that. “But largely inexperienced in warfare.”
“The war’s been going on for over a year,” Emmanuel reminded her.
“Yes,” Jasmine agreed. “But how many engagements has this ship seen?”
She shrugged. “Are you planning to write a story about it?”
“Maybe,” Emmanuel said. “People do want to know what their tax credits are being spent on, you know.”
“I know,” Jasmine agreed. “Just remember to tell them that all this” - she waved a hand at the bulkhead - “is a paragon of efficiency, compared to the Imperial Navy.”
“I will,” Emmanuel said. “But I don’t know how many people will believe it.”
Jasmine shrugged. “There’s a difference between looking good and actually being good,” she said. “And often those military units that manage the former fail at the latter.”
Chapter Nine
And they were lucky, indeed, that the planetary government had already settled on a political solution. The loss of so many trained fighters - and irreplaceable equipment - would have crippled their cause for generations to come. Sheer bad luck and worse timing would have broken them.
- Professor Leo Caesius. The Role of Randomness In War.
General Mark Haverford had come to detest Thule.
The planet had been having a civil war when the Wolves had arrived, a civil war over an interpretation of their constitution that had led to disaster, when the interstellar economy collapsed into ashes. He’d expected, given that there were two sides to the war, that at least one of them would have welcomed the Wolves. But, instead, both sides seemed intent on attacking the Wolves, making it difficult for the planet’s surviving industry to be put to use supporting the fleet as it advanced further into Commonwealth space. There were shootings and bombings on a daily basis, despite the presence of three divisions of heavily-armed soldiers. Indeed, were it not for the orbiting starships and bombardment platforms, he had a nasty feeling that his force would have been defeated long ago.
He scowled at the thought as the shuttlecraft approached the giant battleship, surrounded by five other battleships and forty smaller ships. Admiral Singh - no, Governor-Admiral Singh - had arrived in person, escorted by ships that could have made a difference if they’d been moved to the front instead. The reinforcements she’d brought with her were welcome, he supposed, but he had a feeling he was about to be relieved of command. He’d argued with her, when Thule had fallen to the Wolves, and she wasn't one to forgive and forget a grudge.
Maybe I should have fled, he thought darkly. But where would I have gone?
He rose to his feet as the shuttle docked, the hatch slamming open a moment later. A pair of officers waited for him, rather than the armed guards he’d half-expected. Oddly, it was surprisingly reassuring. Admiral Singh had a determination he had to admire, but she wasn't a particularly subtle woman. If she’d wanted to arrest him, she would have dispatched soldiers or boosted mercenaries, if she didn't trust the soldiers. He followed the officers through a maze of corridors and into the suite Admiral Singh had claimed as her own, reluctantly allowing a handful of bodyguards to confiscate his sidearm and anything else that could be used as a weapon before allowing him to step through the final hatch.
“Mark,” Admiral Rani Singh said. “Welcome onboard.”
“Admiral,” Mark said. He wasn't fooled by her casual tone. She had to be evaluating his loyalties even as she spoke. “Thank you for your invitation.”
He studied her thoughtfully as she studied him back. She was a tall woman, with long dark hair, dark brown skin and eyes so dark they were almost black. Her face was hard, her cheekbones almost patrician, as if she was deliberately projecting a message that she was untouchable. It was easy to see why several of her former superiors had wanted to take her to bed - he’d read between the lines, when he’d accessed her file - and why they might have lashed out at her, when she’d refused them. There was a hardness to her that was both a challenge and a threat.
And her superiors weren’t known for their competence, he reminded himself. He’d been a lowly colonel before Governor Brown had taken control of Wolfbane, purging the sector of hundreds of worthless officers. Someone like her should have been given a position suited to her talents or quietly eliminated.
“Be seated,” Admiral Singh said, finally. “There is much we have to discuss.”
Mark sat, watching as she took the chair facing him. Her dark eyes never left his face, something that bothered him more than he cared to admit. She knew he wasn't one of her biggest fans, let alone a supporter. And yet, if she started lashing out at officers who hadn't proven themselves incompetent, someone would panic and stick a knife in her back before it was too late. She needed to seem willing to tolerate people like him until her position was beyond challenge.
The Admiral tapped a console, sending a command to the projector. A starchart popped into existence in front of them, showing worlds occupied by Wolfbane and worlds that still belonged to the Commonwealth. Mark knew little about interstellar warfare, but it looked as though the Commonwealth was slowly being ground down to nothingness. And yet, he’d been an officer too long to take anything for granted. A world that appeared pacified might no longer be so peaceful, when the occupation forces were drawn down. Thule had never known a day of peace since the war had begun.
“Our agents within the Commonwealth have reported that their government is working to shorten their defence lines,” Admiral Singh said, without preamble. “They are pulling much of their mobile firepower back to the i
nner worlds, abandoning seventeen stars to us whenever we choose to take them. Most of those worlds are largely worthless, I admit. They probably made the right choice in choosing to concede them to us.”
Mark nodded, keeping his expression under tight control. A stage-one or stage-two colony world was useless, as far as supporting the logistics of interstellar war was concerned. He might be able to raid them for food and drink, but little else. Their populations lacked the training to become anything more than conscript soldiers. They certainly couldn't be drafted as spacers!
“If they win the war, they can recover them at leisure,” he agreed. “And if they lose, it doesn’t matter what happens to those colony worlds. We certainly won’t be fighting over them.”
“Correct,” Admiral Singh said. Her lips curved into a cold smile. “And yet, one of those worlds is far from useless.”
She pointed to a single star, blinking red. Corinthian.
Mark frowned, thinking hard. He’d heard that Admiral Singh had been kicked off Corinthian by a general revolt, a revolt sponsored by the Commonwealth. If she hadn't been lucky enough to stumble across the Wolves, she would have died in the vastness of interstellar space when her remaining ships ran out of supplies. It was impossible to believe she was impartial about the whole affair - she was known to be vindictive - and yet, a chance to snatch control of Corinthian was one that couldn't be missed. The planet had had a respectable industrial base even before it had lost touch with the Empire.
They Shall Not Pass (The Empire's Corps Book 12) Page 9
