Michael Anderle - [Heretic of the Federation 03]

by Time to Fear (epub)

  John rolled with the attack and came up fast as she followed.

  Amaratne and Remy moved back to the wall to give the young couple the full width of the room to work in. For them, it was like watching two dancers moving in close synchronicity.

  When Ivy struck, John deflected. When he counterattacked, she had already moved and sometimes retaliated with an attack that he blocked. When she blocked, he was already moving to defend against her.

  “It’s like they’re both Talents,” Amaratne murmured and nudged Remy. “Ones who can read each other’s minds.”

  “That’s not my gift,” the young mage told him, breathing heavily. “At least not that I know of.”

  “And I don’t have any gifts,” Ivy informed him and dove past John in a roll that made him lash out but miss as she went past.

  “Well, one of you has to use what you’ve been given,” Amaratne told them, “or you’ll both collapse from exhaustion before either of you can win the fight.”

  “Well, I guess,” Ivy said and increased the speed of her attacks.

  John yelped in surprise as she bounced in, swept his feet out from under him and landed on him, then twisted him onto his stomach and leveraged a pressure point.

  He slapped the mat and laughed. “My turn.”

  “Uh-oh,” was as far as Ivy got before he wrapped her in a halo of blue, flipped her upside down, and lifted her six feet above the floor.

  “Ha. Ha. Very funny,” she snarked, but she grinned as she put her hands on her hips and tried to glare at him.

  John lowered her gently to the floor and released her from the blue glow as she landed.

  “Well, that was an education,” he said, and Ivy smiled and stepped closer to punch him lightly on the shoulder.

  He caught her wrist and pulled her in close.

  “We’re more in sync than we knew,” Ivy told him and wound her arms around his waist, and Amaratne looked at Remy.

  “I think I might be sick.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  The early-warning relay blew apart in a short-lived flash of heat and debris.

  “That’s the last of them,” Fleet Captain Thiele said. “Who knew they had an alert system so far out.”

  No one had, but the captain was sure someone would get a kicking for not noticing and sending in the report—if that person was even still alive.

  So many of their scout pilots weren’t. They’d either fallen afoul of the Dreth Navy, or they’d simply disappeared while unearthing the secrets of Dreth space.

  The captain pulled at his lower lip and glared at the screen. “Make sure the crew is prepared. We’re going to war.”

  He returned slowly to his console as the comms officers relayed his orders.

  “Get me the other captains,” he ordered. “We need to talk.”

  As fleet captain, it was up to him to dictate the tactics they’d use in the coming battle, and he had two choices. He could either come up with a plan himself and order them to follow it, or he could consult with them and design a plan they all agreed on.

  There was a third option, and that was for him to leave each captain to their own devices. The consequences, if they failed, would be the same for him as if he’d given the orders in that he’d be stripped of his command and publicly spaced for failing to win. If they succeeded, he’d be promoted and feted a hero.

  Thiele didn’t feel like a hero. He didn’t even want to be a hero. What he wanted was to do his time and live long enough to retire—far away from the homeworld and its savage politics.

  Honestly, he’d had enough of living in fear.

  The comms unit pinged, and the communications officer looked at him.

  “I have Captains Canavan, Rogers, Ironside, and Ambrose standing by, sir.”

  He sighed. “Put them through.”

  Rogers was his age and also looked forward to retirement, but Canavan, Ironside, and Ambrose were all young men in the mid-thirties and all bucking for the next fleet captain’s slot—his position—if they could take it. He wouldn’t trust the three of them as far as he could throw them.

  “Good evening, gentlemen,” he began. “How are your preparations going?”

  “The crews are hot to trot,” Canavan told him. “Most of them are looking forward to the battle.”

  Thiele would have bet that most of them were not but he didn’t say it. “Ambrose?”

  “We’re locked and loaded and ready to go,” he said, and Thiele caught his Intel officer shaking his head and making horizontal motions across his throat with his fingertips.

  A report popped up on his console and he flicked it a glance.

  “So you’ve managed to find the flaw in your shield circuitry?” he asked, and Ambrose’s eyes widened.

  He smiled on the inside but kept his face stern.

  “Uh…that, sir, is taking longer to repair than we’d like.”

  “And the Pride’s nav system?” He glanced again at the report.

  The captain paled. The Thomason’s Pride was the second ship in his flotilla, and its navigation system had developed a fatal flaw halfway out. They only managed to get it through the last two transitions by slaving the Pride’s guidance system to Ambrose’s flagship.

  “We’re still working on that, sir.” His face brightened. “But we have ruled out sabotage on the ship, sir. It appears the flaw was introduced during installation.”

  Well, that was something. Thiele afforded the younger captain a small smile. “Very good, Ambrose. Let me know if you need anything to repair or correct it.”

  Personally, he had his doubts as to when the flaw had been introduced, but it didn’t matter. He turned to the next captain.

  "Ironsides?"

  “Our crews are ready for action, sir,” the man answered. “We’ve spent the afternoon doing firing drills and practicing fleet maneuvers.”

  This much was true and the fleet captain believed such diligence should be rewarded.

  “I saw,” he told the young man, “and I believe your flotilla is the best prepared to lead the transition into the battle zone. Do you think you’re up to it?”

  Ironsides’ jaw dropped. “Sir! Yes, sir.”

  To be the tip of the spear in any engagement was to take the most risk, but it also offered the most chance for recognition and reward. The leading flotilla would most often be the first to make contact with the enemy fleet, either visually or in battle, and usually suffered the most losses.

  It was also, however, the one that garnered the most recognition, and Ironsides’ preparation had been impeccable. As far as Thiele could tell, it was the most likely to survive a hostile first contact situation.

  “Then you will lead.”

  He caught the look of envy that was quickly smoothed from Ambrose’s face and suppressed a smile of satisfaction. That young man had much to learn about being a flotilla captain, and his lack would become plain in the action to come.

  The simple truth was he could put the man in the safest place in the fleet and he would still suffer the worst casualties. His flotilla showed none of the cohesiveness Ironsides’ ships did. Instead, his captains constantly sniped at each other and jostled for approval from their leader.

  They couldn’t work together if their lives depended on it—which was a pity because they did. It would probably be for the best if he made Ambrose take the rear but it would also be for the worse.

  Thiele couldn’t be sure that man wouldn’t put a torpedo up his tailpipe in the heat of battle. In fact, he was almost certain a “heat-of-battle” friendly fire incident was right up the young man’s alley.

  He looked at Ironsides.

  “We’ll fly a standard eagle formation. My flotilla will cover the starboard flank, and Captain Rogers will take the port. Captains Ambrose and Canavan will take the inner starboard and inner port flanks respectively.”

  “Yes, sir,” the young captain replied, then asked. “Any other instructions, sir?”

  “Yes. We need to make sure
we destroy the enemy ships with all crew. I want no survivors and no pods. Dead Dreth tell no tales.”

  “A mercy killing, sir?” the youngster asked.

  “Better the beasts go down with their ships than die a slow death in a fading pod.” Thiele told him. “Your job is to break the backbone of their fleet. Our job is to protect you and take the ribs as we pass. No survivors means no suicide runs. Got that?”

  Ironsides straightened. “Yes, sir.”

  Thiele liked the kid’s spirit, and while he didn’t like putting the less experienced captains at the spear’s tip, he and Rogers were the only ones experienced enough to fly shotgun.

  He was doing their retirement plans no favors and everyone knew it. According to their intel, they’d be holding the second most dangerous positions.

  The captains between only had to hold their positions and shoot straight. They also had to fill any gaps that appeared in the lead flotilla. If they did that and pushed through the main body of the enemy fleet, they might all survive.

  While Ambrose’s and Canavan’s flotillas would be protected on both sides, he and Rogers would take the brunt of fire coming in from the flanks, and the Dreth were cunning enough to have reserves away from the main body of the fleet.

  It was an old pirate trick.

  The reserves kept out of sight and radar reach and appeared out of nowhere to ravage the edges and tail of an enemy fleet. They worked the outer edges while the main fleet demolished the center.

  He and Rogers would have to rely on their captains to be alert for the attacks, even as they looked for ways to bolster the other flotillas. They would have to have everyone’s backs.

  Although he said nothing to indicate his thoughts, he didn’t like their chances.

  “Does anyone have anything to add?”

  The captains looked at each other. The younger ones clearly tried to think of something they could add while Rogers merely tilted his head in acknowledgment. When the junior captains seemed lost for words, he spoke.

  “It will be my honor to protect the port flank. With your leave, I must brief my captains and prepare.”

  “Granted,” Thiele said and looked at the other captains. “If you do come across something to enhance the plan, you have my comm.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Ironsides answered, and the remaining two men followed his lead.

  As soon as the last captain had ended their call, Thiele flicked to the surveillance cams to see how his crew was progressing.

  Unaware of their captain’s watchful eyes, several Talents were suiting up and sliding into combat armor under the watchful eye of their Marines. Observing them, he found it difficult to believe they were anything but human, and his Marines treated them with respect.

  One of the Marines glanced at the nearest Talent.

  “Hey, hold up there,” he called and reached across to take hold of the back of the suit and straighten it. “We can’t have you going into combat like that.”

  The Talent looked at him. “Can you check it?”

  The other man stepped in and went over the Talent’s gear with swift professionalism.

  “We need you at your best,” he told the man, “not distracted by something rubbing where it shouldn’t.”

  “That’s right,” another Marine told him. “We need you to fry those things before they can get to us.”

  The Talent snorted. “And we need you to eliminate them before they get close.”

  The Marine looked taken aback. “I thought that was your job!”

  “And I thought that was your job!”

  “No, my job is to make sure you don’t get your tail shot off before you do your job. It gives you a chance to use your skillz, man. Your skillzzz.”

  It was typical pre-combat banter and the captain smiled. What was the ancient term for them? “Misguided children?”

  This was their way to put the Talents at ease and remind them they were part of a team even if they didn’t get to share their teammates’ off-duty privileges and that they had Talent the rest of them didn’t.

  Captain Thiele nodded and studied the group. Some of the Talents bought it, but others remained wary. He shrugged. It didn’t matter how they felt as long as they did their jobs when the time came.

  He switched to the weapons decks and scanned along them as the crew moved missiles into position for ease of access and checked the feeding mechanisms for the missiles, plasma, laser, and torpedo batteries. When one of them made a breakthrough that would bring their weapon back online faster, high-fives were exchanged and the tip was passed down the line.

  Ideas were inspected and either implemented or improved on, and friendly challenges were issued between the teams. No one wanted to lose.

  From his vantage point, the ramp-up was proceeding smoothly, and Thiele opened the comms to check in with his flotilla captains and ensure they understood their role.

  “You’re letting the young pups take the lead?” one asked, and he shrugged.

  “They have to learn sometime. The least we can do is make sure they live to implement their lessons.”

  “True, but they have to keep us alive too,” the other man replied gruffly, and Thiele nodded.

  “Ironsides is ready, and he’s been working his flotilla through some good defensive-offensive combinations. He merely needs someone to watch his back.”

  “We can do that, sir.”

  Assured by their confidence, Thiele nodded and dismissed them to their preparations. They would take a planet, whether the Dreth wanted to surrender it or not.

  Alarms rang in the compound and John, Ivy and the admiral rolled out of their beds, silencing them as they woke. They showered and dressed quickly before they stepped into the corridor and headed to the mess.

  The young mage rolled his shoulders and stretched and tendons snapped. Ivy took advantage of his exposed rib cage to poke him in the ribs as she quickened her pace to join him.

  The admiral didn’t stop at the young mage’s shout of surprise. His body might be young enough now that he didn’t feel the strain of yesterday’s training session, but it still craved coffee.

  Remy entered, took a seat beside him, and placed his hat on the table next to him.

  “Are we ready?” he asked, and Amaratne nodded, sipped his coffee, and took the time to savor it. If things went wrong today, there was a good chance it could be his last…unless he had a second one.

  As he took another sip, he looked at the door. “Where are they?”

  The AI glanced toward the door. “In the corridor. I almost told them to get a room, but…”

  Amaratne rolled his eyes. “That would have been a bad idea.”

  He took another sip and pushed to his feet, taking his cup with him. Poking his head out the café door, he shouted, “You have until I finish my coffee and then we’re moving out.”

  Rather than wait for an answer, he strolled to the table again. On the way, the coffee pot caught his eye.

  “Perhaps a second cup wouldn’t be a bad idea.”

  The door opened behind him but he didn’t look back and John and Ivy hurried past and into the kitchen.

  “Don’t be too long!” he called after them, and Remy snickered.

  “You sound like the world’s grumpiest dad,” he said, and the admiral shook his head.

  “Young love,” he replied, “is…”

  He filled his cup, drank quickly, and topped it up a third time.

  “That good, huh?” the AI asked as Amaratne returned to his seat.

  The smell of a cooked breakfast wafted over him. “I only hope they remembered me with that.”

  “I thought you didn’t eat breakfast,” Remy said.

  “I should before a mission.”

  “Exactly,” Ivy agreed and set a large plate of eggs and bacon in front of him. “You old people need as much refueling as the rest of us.”

  He arched his eyebrows. “You’d be surprised.”

  She snickered and glanced at John as he sett
led beside her. “Not really.”

  The young mage touched her knee. “Stop yanking the admiral’s chain.”

  Ivy grinned and they ate in relative silence, cleared the table when they were done, and headed into the corridor.

  “Where to, Roma?” John asked as the admiral and Remy followed.

  “Follow the lighting,” the AI replied, and purple strip-lights blinked on inside the flooring.

  He wasn’t surprised when a wall panel slid back, but Ivy and Amaratne gaped. Roma couldn’t help feeling pleased that she’d surprised them and glad Remy had let her keep her secrets. Sometimes, it was good to have a brother.

  But only sometimes.

  She let them into the elevator, and their eyes widened when they reached the bottom and she revealed the supply room.

  Even Remy seemed surprised.

  “I…” he said. Roma got the feeling he hadn’t expected her to be so well-equipped.

  “I was closer to the supply centers,” she reminded him, “and finished earlier. Our father had more time.”

  Her brother nodded and wondered if the difference was reflected in even fewer supplies being available in the reclamation centers that had been built after his.

  Amaratne stopped beside a shoulder-mounted rocket launcher. “I don’t suppose…”

  Remy shook his head, and John, having caught sight of what the admiral was staring at, sighed.

  “Pity.”

  Ivy, in the meantime, had found the explosives, hacking gear, and side-arms. “I think we’ll need one of these…and one of these…and, ooh, more ammo, and…”

  “Ivy, we’ll be destroying the satellites, not the orbital,” John cautioned.

  “How do you know?” she asked. “It’s a communications hub. It might be necessary.”

  Amaratne sighed. “I’d like to leave some infrastructure for Stephanie to rebuild from.”

  She picked up one of the more powerful compact processors on the shelves. “We’re gonna need it to get this done fast, right?”

  The admiral rolled his eyes. “That you can take.”

  “But don’t leave it up there,” Remy added. “That one was still experimental twenty years ago and I doubt there’s a replacement in easy reach.”