“Cease fire,” I ordered cautiously. “Skippy, signal them that we don’t want to fight, and- Oh, hell.” Just then, the destroyer’s missile launchers began ripple-firing deadly weapons at us. Already, I could hear the high-pitched whine of our point-defense cannons sending maser energy at the incoming threats. “Simms, give those idiots what they asked for.”
She took control of one weapon station, selecting a single railgun and sent a dart straight at a missile magazine that we knew was buried at the center of the destroyer. One hit, that’s all it took to shatter that little ship, and we jumped away before we wasted any more maser fire on fending off missiles.
That ended our thirteenth attack, which was outstandingly successful for us, despite the enemy’s attempt to lure us into a trap. We accounted for two heavy cruisers, a star carrier, four patrol cruisers and five destroyers blown to hell. Plus two heavy cruisers and a star carrier sustained significant damage. The damage to our ship was either repaired or soon would be. In fact, the fight gave Skippy an opportunity to refine his damage control procedures, so his bots could in the future respond faster and more efficiently. In addition to the combat action itself, we had been able to use the battle to develop, test and implement a new technique for countering enemy damping fields. Finally, we demonstrated a new ability to jump deep into the atmosphere of a gas giant planet and conceal our presence there. Like, I said, it was an outstandingly successful mission.
Oh, you don’t think our attack was the smashing success that I described? Then obviously, you have never written an after-action report. The key is to make yourself look good, no matter how badly you screwed up. Believe me, plenty of other people will point out your screw-ups in their own reports on the battle, there is no need for you to rat yourself out. The Army will read between the lines and figure out what really happened, and anyway, everything I said was true. Twenty enemy ships entered the fight, and we destroyed or severely damaged fifteen of them, without us losing our ship or suffering a single casualty. One of the apex species in the galaxy set a clever trap for us, and we not only got away, we ended the fight by taunting them, assuring the Maxolhx fleet would be chasing their own tails trying to catch us for months or even years to come, without us having to do anything.
Yes, we barely escaped, but the Maxolhx threw a supremely powerful force at us, and they came away with nothing. That was good news and bad news for us. The good news was, many or most of their heavy warships would be tied up by having to provide escorts for cargo vessels, and light warships could not risk traveling without a heavy escort. Even large capital ships could not travel alone, a fact that would greatly restrict the unchallenged freedom of movement the kitties had enjoyed for millennia. More importantly, and more satisfying to us, was that we had the Maxolhx seriously humiliated and pissed off. They no longer had the aura of invulnerability, and their client species knew it. No more could the kitties rule their empire by fear and intimidation alone, they had to take direct action to enforce their will across their far-flung territory. We knew from intercepted messages that the Maxolhx leadership was very concerned about other clients following the lead of the Bosphuraq, and either actively breaking away, or pushing for looser restrictions on their actions. The Maxolhx were so worried about their coalition squabbling internally, they were debating what concessions to offer the Bosphuraq in exchange for stopping the ghost ship attacks.
So, that was all goodness to us.
The bad news was, our target-rich environment was rapidly disappearing. Any Maxolhx ships away from the security of their bases would be in formations large and strong enough to deter us from attacking. Our options for the ghost ship continuing to hit the kitties were shrinking and soon would effectively be gone.
Our Happy Time was over.
That wasn’t my real worry.
What I feared was that, even if we did find a target that was worth the risk, we couldn’t trust our intel. The kitties had fooled Skippy once, they could do it again. The only certainty was that the enemy would try to set another trap for us, and the next time, they would not be taking any chances. We would not be fighting slow heavy cruisers and a handful of lightly-armed escorts. The enemy would be sure to throw battleships and battlecruisers at us, and a lot of them. Whatever we did next, we had to be extra careful. Unless someone dreamed up a better idea, my plan was for the ghost ship to appear in Bosphuraq star systems, broadcast propaganda and jump away before any Maxolhx ships in the area could react. My plan was a minimum-risk way to remind the kitties that we were still flying around and still a threat, plus encourage the Bosphuraq to keep resisting their masters in small ways.
It was a good plan, a safe plan.
And it really didn’t do anything to change the fact that Earth would soon be subjected to a brutal bombardment by a very pissed off species of kitties, who would be eager to punish a victim that couldn’t fight back.
So, hooray for me, I had once again made the situation worse.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
After jumping away from the destroyer that had committed suicide-by-battlecruiser, we jumped to that day’s alternate rendezvous site to meet the Flying Dutchman. It was great seeing our old star carrier again, it was even better seeing all the spare Lego pieces clustered around that ship’s shortened frame. The Dutchman also carried supplies like extra missiles that didn’t fit into Valkyrie’s magazines, various spare parts we had stripped out of the ships we captured, and anything else that we might need in the future.
Standing orders for Chang were to wait in stealth a few lighthours from a battle zone, far enough away for safety and close enough to rescue Skippy, if Valkyrie got into serious trouble or was destroyed. Skippy’s new super-sized mancave escape pod aboard our stolen battlecruiser was almost like a small dropship, it even was equipped with its own stealth field. If Valkyrie had been lost in our thirteenth battle, Chang would have waited days or weeks until he was sure the area was clear, then he would have jumped his ship in to ping Skippy. If we had lost Valkyrie in the clouds of the gas giant, the escape pod would automatically take Skippy up into orbit, to wait for eventual rescue. Maybe some of the crew could have boarded escape pods also, that was not really a priority for us. If the situation was so bad that we needed to eject Skippy’s pod, the odds were no humans were getting out of there alive. Plus, we couldn’t risk an enemy capturing a pod and finding humans huddled in there. Skippy’s pod was modified so that if it was about to be captured, it would self-destruct, and Skippy would float away with the rest of the debris. If that ever happened, SOP was for the Dutchman to wait in stealth for ten days to make sure the area was clear, then jump in to search for the beer can.
Anyway, fortunately Chang hadn’t needed to do anything. I did feel bad for him and everyone else aboard his ship, including Nagatha. They had all waited and worried for over a week after we jumped away from the battle. Nagatha had painstakingly analyzed the sensor data, and determined Valkyrie had somehow managed a very chaotic and short jump, but then we didn’t appear anywhere they could detect. Nagatha had gotten into a loop of analyzing the limited data, making guesses about what could have happened, dismissing her theories and starting over. It wasn’t healthy, and Chang had been worried about her. She was pissed at me, for making her fear we had all been killed. No amount of apologies from me made her feel better, until Chang and I swapped jobs and I came aboard the Dutchman for a few days while Skippy directed his bots to make repairs to Valkyrie. She calmed down by the second day. Part of her better mood was from having me aboard, but mostly, she was happy that I confessed I could not see a way for us to continue the ghost ship attacks.
When our break was over, I flew back to Valkyrie and Chang returned to his own ship. Simms had stayed aboard Valkyrie, I had authorized a free exchange of crews, so her sweetie Frank Muller had flown over to our mighty battlecruiser, and my executive officer was in a pretty good mood most of the time. Her good mood was gone when she walked into my office, holding a tablet. It was our regular
morning meeting and I hadn’t expected anything unusual, Skippy was still working hard to get the ship fixed and upgraded, so we were just drifting in deep space. Exercises outside the ship were cancelled until all repairs were completed, there was no flight training except in simulators, and the STAR team was keeping fit as best they could.
Simms sat down, looked at that tablet in her hands, took a breath, and looked up at me. “Sir, I, I went into Desai’s cabin. It needed to be done, and,” she let out a breath. What she didn’t say was that I should have taken care of that task. She flipped her tablet around so it faced me. “I’ve got most of her TA-50, some of it-”
“Oh, you’ve got to be kid- Seriously?” I exploded at her and immediately regretted it. “Sorry.”
“All property has to be accounted for. Those are the regs,” she gave me a shrug.
She was right. Table of Allowances number 50 was a list of the gear assigned to a soldier, from body armor to canteens. You got whatever gear your unit thought you needed for the situation, and you signed a receipt, I think that one was form DA-2062. Something like that. When the Merry Band of Pirates was made an official unit of UNEF, someone somewhere decided we needed a governing organization that was more of a real bureaucracy than the thrown-together mishmash of the Expeditionary Force. When the ExForce left Earth the first time, each of the five major militaries involved kept their own organizations, gear and rules. The Merry Band of Pirates was small and unified enough that we could use one set of rules, so the question was, whose set of rules? Rather than endlessly arguing over details, UNEF pressed the Easy Button and decided that, since I was a US Army officer, then US Army regulations would be our basic rules for governance. They made me responsible for assuring compliance with a vast set of regs I didn’t even know existed. So, during our current mission, I had dumped the whole mess in the lap of my executive officer. You might think that was not fair of me, but I really did it for the benefit of Simms. The extra work built character. Or it prepared her for a future command. Or some other good reason that I can’t think of right now. All I know is, someone needed to play Super Mario Cart, and Simms wasn’t going to do it.
Anyway, once we jumped away from Earth, I pretty much unofficially tossed the official rulebook in a drawer and forgot about most of it. Yes, I kept up the daily reports that both the Army and UNEF required, but we did not sweat irrelevant details like haircuts. The STAR team let their hair go shaggy and grew beards if they wanted, that had typically been a privilege of the green side special operators, on Earth and beyond. I extended the same lax rules to the blue side. We all got haircuts and shaved or trimmed beards as necessary before returning to Earth anyway, and I had more important shit to worry about.
So, when Simms mentioned that not all the items in Desai’s gear listed in her TA-50 had been located, I was tempted to delete the damned form. That would have been a mistake. If we ever got back to Earth, I would need all the goodwill I could get, and pissing off the United States Army was not a way to get on their good side. Plus, someone somewhere would see that not all of Desai’s issued gear had been accounted for, and dock her pay for the difference. Like I said, the Army is my family. It is also a huge bureaucracy.
Holding out a hand for her tablet, I hoped Simms knew I wasn’t angry with her. “Let me see the list, please. Is any of the missing gear stuff she might have had with her in the dropship?”
“Possibly, some of it.”
“Shit. Whatever we can’t account for, if we get back to Earth,” I looked up at her. “When we get back to Earth, I’ll sign for it. Damn it. We’re going to have the same issue with everyone we lost, aren’t we?”
“We have been a little lax with the rules, Sir.”
“I am not going to tell people they need to lay their gear out for inspection now. Screw it,” I slammed a fist on the table. “None of this shit matters!”
“It’s just us out here. What does matter?”
“Getting home. Saving whatever, whoever we can.”
“And what are we doing about that?”
I knew what she was asking. We had been jumping our mighty Valkyrie around the galaxy, on a campaign that was scaring the shit out of the Maxolhx, and was not doing a damned thing to save our homeworld. “I hear you, XO. I don’t know that there is anything we can do. If we run the blockade with Valkyrie at this point, we will only give the kitties more reason to send more warships to Earth, sooner.”
She reached across the desk, took back her tablet and pointed at the list of gear that was missing. “I will handle this, Sir.”
“What do you need me to do?”
“Put on your thinking cap. Find a way to save Earth.”
“Simms. Come on, give me a break. We both know that’s impossible.”
“Sir, for the Merry Band of Pirates, any situation is only impossible until you decide that it isn’t. Then we get to work.”
“I will,” I looked longingly at the drawer where my tablet was stored. No playing video games for me, until I had thought up a way to save the freakin’ world again. “Well, if you’ve seen my thinking cap lying around somewhere, let me know, Ok? I can use all the help I can get.”
“Hey, Skippy,” I groaned as I took off my boots while sitting on the edge of the bed. The alien bed was still not fully trusted, but I was no longer sleeping on the floor. I did sleep in sweatpants, with a knife and zPhone in the pockets.
“Hey, Joe. You sound tired.”
“It’s been a long day, you know?”
“I do. It has not been easy for me either. You joke about me being Mad Doctor Skippy, but I have to provide medical care for the crew. It’s hard seeing people in pain.”
“That’s true. Sorry I joked about-”
“Unless they’re assholes. In that case, screw ’em.”
“Oh, sure,” he made me laugh.
“Or if I caused their pain. In that case, hee hee,” he giggled, “it can be funny.”
“Uh, you-”.
“Funny for me, I mean.”
“Yeah, I got that.”
“Unfortunately, this is no fun for anyone. Joe, it is hard seeing Margaret trying to learn how to control her body all over again.”
“She is doing much better. She was dancing, right? That must be good.” Suddenly, I feared maybe the progress I had seen might have been my own wishful thinking. “Is she better?”
He sighed. “She is. Joe, I could not have wished for a better patient. Margaret is usually determined and cheerful about her condition. She doesn’t complain, she does exactly what I recommend she does. She-” He broke off talking, and for a moment it sounded like he was sobbing. “Damn it,” he sniffled. “I wish she would complain, or yell at me, or something. Does that make sense? I feel,” his sigh was utterly miserable. “Like a terrible person.”
“It does make sense, Skippy. And that doesn’t make you a bad person. It just makes you normal. That’s a good thing. You are feeling frustrated and powerless. You want to do more to help her, and your other patients. But you know better than anyone what is possible and what isn’t. You’re doing all you can.”
His avatar balled up its little fists and shook them in anguish and frustration. “It’s not enough, Joe.”
“Skippy, this may be hard to hear, but there are limits to even your awesomeness. Her recovery is proceeding on schedule, right?”
“Well, yes. Better than I expected, actually. She had significant brain damage, Joe. Worse than I thought.”
“Will she be, herself again?”
“Yes. Not exactly, you understand. She went through a terrible trauma, that would affect her even if her brain had not suffered injury. Fortunately, the damage affected her motor function and memories more than the parts of her brain that represent her personality, and her sense of self.”
Acting casual, I asked a question that I feared. “Her personality shouldn’t change much?” My casual attitude was betrayed by the squeak I added to the last word.
“She is certainl
y acting like the Margaret Adams we know. This morning, she was consoling Smythe when he was discouraged about his own progress.”
“She was consoling him?” I could not imagine that.
“Come on, Joe. It’s Margaret. I meant, her kind of consoling.”
“Oh. She bitch-slapped him for whining?”
“You know it,” he chuckled. “She did say ‘Sir’ after she pointed out what a crybaby he was being about the therapy for his bionic legs.”
“Ha! Ok, Ok, maybe she is going to be all right.”
“Anyway, you called me?”
“Yeah. I need your advice. I have decided that continuing the strategy of hit-and-run attacks are our best option, while we still can.” Technically, I had not decided anything. Continuing with that strategy was the choice by default, because I couldn’t think of anything better for us to do.
“Yes, and you know my objections to that plan. We will need to be careful, Joe. Valkyrie barely escaped from our last attack.”
“Ayuh, I agree.” Our fateful, nearly disastrous thirteenth attack had been bad in several ways. It nearly destroyed our mighty ship. In the short term, it prevented us from causing any more havoc. Longer term, the Maxolhx would now be even more determined to trap or destroy us. Having seen that our ghost ship was not invulnerable, they would be predators who sensed weakness in their prey. Before, captains of Maxolhx ships might have hesitated to engage in battle with us. Now, they had tasted blood, we would not be able to scare them. “Don’t worry, we will emphasize the ‘Run’ part of hit-and-run. Like you said, one ship can’t cause significant damage, so what we will try to accomplish is to force the Maxolhx to focus on defense, and keep their attention on this mythical Bosphuraq faction.”
“Hmmph. You say you will be careful, but when we get into action, you will be tempted by targets of opportunity and-”
“I will rely on your judgment to keep me from going off-mission, Skippy. Also, Simms won’t allow me to do any stupid shit.”
Valkyrie (Expeditionary Force Book 9) Page 25
