Extremis (78 page)

“A most able presentation, Admiral,” said Trevayne, and the two exchanged a barely perceptible smile that most of those present didn’t even catch. Krishmahnta, seated directly across from Li-Trevayne Magda, did.

Treavayne looked around the table. “Under the circumstances…,” he began—and let the words linger.

Everyone, Krishmahnta was sure, understood what
the circumstances
were without having to be told. Trevayne was fleet commander and could, in theory, simply overrule his wife and impose his view. But—completely aside from their marriage—the politics of the situation were more complicated than that. The fact of the matter was that his heavy striking power—the devastators and superdevastators—was all provided by the Terran Republic. And Li-Trevayne Magda was the natural (if unofficial) spokesperson for the TRN here.

“Under the circumstances,” Trevayne repeated after a moment, “it seems prudent to do more than simply solicit the opinions of our own experts. There is one group of seasoned officers—arguably the most experienced in dealing with this enemy—from whom we have not heard. I refer to the veterans of the Further Rim Fleet, Admirals Krishmahnta and Yoshikuni.” Ian Trevayne and Magda Li-Trevyane both turned to face Krishmahnta
.
Erica commanded herself not to bite her lip: after all, she had known this moment was coming when she got the summons to the meeting—and the request for her opinion—two days ago. But that advance knowledge hadn’t made this moment any easier.

Trevayne nodded at her. “Admiral Krishmahnta, what is your opinion on this matter?” Among Trevayne’s staff, the postures all bespoke easy confidence; after all, Krishmahnta was a fellow RFN officer. Li-Trevayne’s Terran Republic staffers were, obversely, rigidly motionless.

Krishmahnta managed not to swallow loudly before saying, “Admiral Trevayne, both plans have obvious and powerful merit, but I am in favor of Admiral Li-Trevayne’s approach. The attack on BR-02 seems the most prudent path.”

If Trevayne was shocked, he did not show it: he simply nodded. His staff was not so restrained. Several of them jerked forward in their seats; more than a few brows lowered and remained fixed there, deep, resentful scowls building around them. In Admiral Li-Trevayne’s staff, eyebrows headed the other direction: they rose into quizzical surprise.

“I see,” said Trevayne. “And your staff?”

“Sir, I only had time to consult directly with Admiral Yoshikuni and Commander Wethermere, but we were all of the same opinion, Admiral.” Krishmahnta wanted very badly to add
I’m sorry
, but nothing could have been more against decorum. So she tried to put the regret she felt into her unblinking eyes.

Trevayne nodded again. “Well, I believe this decides the matter. Our next objective is the BR-02 warp point. I promised a short meeting, and I mean to keep my word, so I will not ask Admiral Krishmahnta or her staff to detail their analyses at this time. Rather, a synopsis of their rationale will be circulated within the next day or so.” Trevayne rose and looked back to Krishmahnta. “Pursuant to compiling that synopsis, I will ask you and your staff to join me in my ready room, where you can brief me in detail—and where I might officially welcome you to the van of the Allied Fleet. I hope, Admiral Krishmahnta, that you will not mind that I have tasked you to take overall command of our smaller capital ships—the supermonitors and monitors—but you do have a singular degree of experience commanding them against the Baldies.”

“I consider the assignment an honor, sir.”

Trevayne’s gaze softened just the faintest measure. “It means you’re first in—and without support, Admiral. As you know.”

“Knowing that makes the honor that much greater, sir. We’ll get the Kasugawa generator in place and dredge that warp point, sir. You may rely on us.”

“I do, Admiral Krishmahnta. Indeed, all of us will be relying on you.” Trevayne swung his gaze around the perimeter of the conference table. “That will be all. Dismissed.”

* * *

Ian Trevayne poured the drinks himself; he did not inquire as to preferences. It was a double scotch for everyone: his ship, his rules. And since they had all rejected his choice regarding the next step in the campaign strategy—well, he was at least going to choose the drink of the day.

He put the tray in the center of the table and took one of the amber-laden tumblers. He took an assessing sip, leaned back and looked at the faces around him. “Very well, let’s hear it.”

Yoshikuni looked surprised. Krishmahnta was unreadable. And that blasted Wethermere looked almost a bit relieved—as if he had seen this coming and was glad to get it over with.

“Hear what, sir?” asked Krishmahnta. The tone wasn’t quite innocent, but Trevayne reflected that, at this very moment, clarified Hindu butter would not melt in her mouth.

“Admiral Krishmahnta, you bloody well know what I mean. Your staff’s unanimity is a bit of a surprise—and I’d like to understand what led you to your conclusion.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Trevayne saw Mags dip her nose into her own drink and then indulge in a smile which, had she been a cat, would surely have signified that she had gulped down a canary.

“Admiral,” replied Krishmahnta, who had taken a polite sip of the scotch and now pushed it away with an almost completely suppressed shudder, “our conclusions were all the same, but they were
not a product of unified deliberation.”

Oh, and that’s supposed to make me feel
better
? Three separate reasons for rejecting my plan?
Trevayne resisted the impulse to take another defiant pull at his whiskey. “Then perhaps I’d better hear them. Separately.”

“Yes, sir,” answered Krishmahnta. “My reason was pure math, sir. Your SDTs and DTs enjoy their greatest advantage when they are dealing with the Baldy SDHs and smaller—and that means going to BR-02. Yes, it takes time to chase all those nimble enemy ships down—but with respect, sir, where are they going to go? Whether we win BR-02 in a day or a week or a month probably doesn’t alter the final equation very much. Once we’ve dredged that point and secured that system, the Baldies know their days are numbered. And then there’s the issue of probable losses. We’ll need all the big ships we can get when it comes time to assault into Bellerophon. If we go back to Charlotte, we have no choice but to slug it out, our heavies against their heavies: our DTs and SDTs against their SDSs. A lot of big hulls—and big crews—will be lost. I say avoid that.”

Trevayne nodded. Not exactly his wife’s logic, but a close cousin, at least. “Admiral Yoshikuni?”

The heretofore unperturbable Iron Admiral sat up very straight, and her eyes opened very wide. “Permission to speak freely, Admiral.”

“Granted.”

“Sir, we adapt to new conditions and situations more quickly, and more successfully, than Baldy. To me, that means that a war of maneuver—tactical maneuver—favors us, because it plays to our strengths. Baldy has shown a lot more inventiveness in situations where he’s on the defensive, has had time to consider his options and lay a trap.”

“So you feel that Charlotte holds more traps, Admiral?”

“It might. There’s no way to know that for sure. But we
can
be sure that we’re going to get into a set-piece slugging match there. It will be a war of attrition, not surprise or tactical exploitation. Will we win? Sure. Probably. But can we control the costs?” She shook her head: her fine, straight hair swept from side to side like a shining wave of black silk. “I doubt it—and the butcher’s bill is going to be high. Very high.”

Trevayne nodded. Yoshikuni’s analysis wasn’t based on quantifiable data, but then again, not all decisive truths could be boiled down to numbers. Trevayne let his eyes roll around to Ossian Wethermere. “Mr. Wethermere, I’m going to hazard a guess that not only did you have your own opinion on this matter, but that it is the most unconventional of all three.”

Wethermere nodded. “Yes, sir—but I’m not sure that its difference vests in its unconventionality.”

“No?”

“No, sir. I guess I looked at the question from the opposite end of the strategic pipe.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Wethermere spread his hands. “Admiral, I think all our battlefield confidence is richly warranted—but what if the upcoming attack
fails
?”

Trevayne found himself caught between two reflexes. The first was the seasoned commander’s instinct to immediately quell any talk of defeat or failure: the Fleet had had only one genuine setback—the First Battle of Charlotte—and now had the necessary momentum and strategic initiative to remain victorious. But Trevayne’s equally powerful, and converse, reflex emerged as a sudden insight:
Damn it, Wethermere’s right. We’re all so close to the turning point that none of us is thinking about a reversal, about failure. It’s almost as though we are presuming success. But this Wethermere chap doesn’t seem to presume anything—for which I guess I should be grateful.
“Very well, Commander. So, tell me—why is it better to attack BR-02 if we should find ourselves repulsed?”

“Well, actually, the key factor is something you pointed out during today’s presentation.”

“Something
I
pointed out?”

“Yes, sir. I made a note of it. You said, ‘The Baldies will be expecting us to follow up our success here by continuing on to BR-02, and I’m willing to wager that they’re rushing every available mobile unit there.’ ”

“And you disagree with that assessment?”

“No, sir. I completely concur.
Completely
concur.”

And that was when Trevayne saw it. “Of course. So if we attack Charlotte and lose, the mobile units the Baldies rushed in to
defend
BR-02 can suddenly change roles and go on the
offense.
They would be free—and already in position—to launch a counterattack into Polo when we’re at our weakest.”

“Exactly, Admiral. And if we’ve spent ourselves heavily in Charlotte, or if they surprise us with something new there, and turn the tables on us—”

“Then they’ll guess—rightly—that we probably don’t have enough forces to be holding on to Polo with maximum strength. So they’ll go on the attack and push us out—and we’ll have lost all the ground we’ve gained since recovering from the Battle of Charlotte. And they’ll have bought more time to invest Polo, and BR-02, and Charlotte with forts and other static defenses.”

“That’s what I’d fear, sir. So, all other things being equal, even if we were to lose, I still want to inflict damage upon their mobile forces in BR-02. That way, even if we take severe losses during our attack there, the Baldies still can’t really follow up their victory. So I think that attacking BR-02 minimizes our risk by safeguarding our strategic gains to date.”

Trevayne nodded sharply and regarded the three officers from the battered and well-seasoned Further Rim Fleet. They were all very different, yet their analytical styles were oddly complementary: Krishmahnta thought like a line admiral, Yoshikuni like a knife fighter, Wethermere like a chess master. Trevayne turned to Mags. “Well, it seems like your plan has a decisive mandate, Admiral.”

“Thank you, Admiral,” she said with a nod. Mags shared a small, brief smile with Krishmahnta and Yoshikuni. “I’m glad we—the Admirals and I—were able to convince you.”

“ ‘Convince’ me?” Trevayne harumphed as he refilled his tumbler. “As if my plan ever had any chance—or I any choice.”

“Sir?” Yoshikuni’s perplexity seemed genuine.

“Admiral Yoshikuni,” said a suddenly too-solemn Ian Trevayne, “do you think the demography of this council of war has escaped me? My plan was not overthrown in a fair test of wits and merits. No, it was a victim of the oldest of all wars: the war between the sexes. It seems, judging from the intelligences arrayed against mine, that for now I am, to misquote Knox, sadly subject to the ‘monstrous regiment of women’ here deployed against me.” He toasted the ladies with a mischievous smile.

Before Krishmahnta or Yoshikuni could figure out how to respond to their CO’s fey waggishness, and before Mags’s eyes had stopped rolling, Wethermere started backward with histrionic shock and outrage. “Sir! You are including me in the ranks of that ‘regiment’ of
women
? Really? Sir, I don’t have the appropriate—credentials.”

Trevayne shook his head and tried not to smile. “Nevertheless, your gender allegiance is under question, sir.”

Wethermere smiled back. “With respect, sir—
I’ve
never worn a skirt. But, sir, I’ve seen a picture in which
you
were doing so.”

“That, son, is a kilt.”

“That, sir, is a matter of terminology.”

“And that ends this discussion.” Trevayne turned to Krishmahnta. “I say, Admiral, what dunderhead approved the promotion of this insolent young pup, anyway?”

36

Diminution

The martial character cannot prevail in a whole people but by the diminution of all other virtues.
—Johnson

Punt City, New Ardu/Bellerophon

Narrok, flanked by a double gauntlet of guards—not all of whom were
Destoshaz
—approached what Ankaht’s
selnarm
told him was today’s meeting site.

Narrok did not try to hide his (surprise). “We are not convening in the Council Chambers?”

Ankaht sent an abashed (negative, regret, despair). “No, Senior Admiral. It is no longer safe to do so. We must choose new locations for each meeting—and the site remains undisclosed until a few hours before the gathering itself.”

Narrok, inspecting the small, windowless chamber they were ushered into, queried, “How can the human Resistance hope to penetrate this far into Punt City?”

“Oh, no. They are not the danger, Senior Admiral.”

“Then who is?”

She turned all three eyes upon him and sent (apology). “The radicals of your own caste, respected Narrok: the
Destoshaz’ai-
as
-sulhaji
Martyrs’ Movement.”

“Martyrs?”

“Torhok and Urkhot.”

So it had come to this. Battered at the front lines, and breaking apart behind them, the Children of Illudor were indeed a race
in extremis
. And he had only one answer to the dilemma.

Amunherh’peshef was waiting for them, and seemed anxious. “Our apologies, Senior Admiral, but every minute we tarry in one place increases our vulnerability to possible attack. So, if you would not mind beginning immediately—”