Falcone Strike (33 page)
Authors: Christopher Nuttall
Tags: #Science Fiction & Fantasy, #Science Fiction, #Adventure, #Galactic Empire, #Military, #Space Fleet, #Space Marine, #Space Opera
“We’ll depart in two hours, if
Mermaid
is ready,” she said. An idea crossed her mind and she smiled. “I want you to speak to our spy and put together a message for the enemy. Tell them . . . tell them that we’re getting reinforcements and we intend to resume full-scale offenses as soon as possible.”
“I’m sure that will worry them,” the XO said after a moment. He didn’t sound convinced. “Do you have something in mind?
”
“
I have a vague idea,” Kat said. It wasn’t something she wanted to discuss, not until it had jelled into something useful, but she might as well start laying the groundwork. “They had a good idea of our strength from Verdean, saw the same number of ships at Ringer, and then they kicked our asses at Morningside. They know they inflicted enough damage to put some of our ships out of commission permanently.”
She smiled. “Let them think we’re getting reinforcements,” she concluded. “They’ll stop being reluctant to send ships away from Aswan if they think we have a serious chance at ripping away the defenses of another planet.”
The XO frowned. “You plan to lure them away?
”
“
It’s something to consider,” Kat said. No matter how she looked at it, there was no way her squadron could beat eighteen superdreadnoughts. It would be a minor miracle if she managed to scratch their paint, let alone inflict any real damage. “They won’t lower the defenses of Aswan enough for us to attack the naval base, but we might be able to do something to the POW camp.”
“Understood,” the XO said. “But they’ll be doing their best not to dance to our tune.”
“I know,” Kat said. She met his eyes. “Prepare the message. Let them
think
we have reinforcements. And then we can see what we can do with it.”
“We do have a handful of decoy drones left,” the XO said. “But will they be enough to fool the enemy?
”
Kat shrugged. “We’ll find out,” she said. It was quite possible that the enemy would refuse to allow her to lead them by the nose. Or perhaps they would be
too
convinced by the drones and decline the opportunity to do real harm. “I’ll see you on the bridge just before we depart.”
She watched him go, then looked up at the star chart. POWs! That changed everything. She knew she couldn’t leave POWs in enemy custody, not after the horror stories from Cadiz and the other occupied worlds. Leaving them in enemy hands would be a betrayal of everything the oath she’d sworn stood for. But the enemy would have their own plans for the POWs . . . and they would probably have taken precautions to ensure that escape was impossible. If there were prisons on Tyre where prisoners were implanted with a device just to knock them out if they ever left, why couldn’t the Theocracy do the same? Or worse? Give the prisoners explosive collars to make sure they couldn’t leave without permission?
And if we try to take them by force
, she thought,
they might kill the prisoners
.
She shook her head as she rose and headed for the hatch. There was no way she could talk herself into abandoning the POWs, not as long as there was a slight chance they could be rescued.
Mermaid
would sweep around Redemption; Davidson and his men would take a look at the records and determine if there was any way to pull off a rescue. And if it was possible, Kat would move heaven and earth to carry it out.
“Set course for Aswan,” she ordered as she stepped onto the bridge. They were only a couple of days from Aswan, although the remainder of the squadron would have to reposition again. They’d meet up once they’d completed the raid on Aswan and slipped away from any pursuit. “Mr. XO?
”
“
Mermaid
has her orders, Captain,” the XO said. “She’s ready to depart with us. The remainder of the squadron will move to the next RV point, after we depart.”
“Good,” Kat said. She looked at the status display, then cleared her throat. “Helm, take us to Aswan.”
“Aye, Captain,” Weiberg said.
“I have the report for you here, Admiral.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Admiral Junayd said. “Rather odd, don’t you think, that a base such as Aswan would suffer a malfunction that destroyed an entire shuttle in transit?
”
Captain Haran frowned. “I wouldn’t know, sir.”
“Did they have a maintenance issue that finally caught up with them,” Admiral Junayd asked, “or was it something more sinister?” He smiled to himself, then took the datapad and scanned the report. It wasn’t very informative, but the investigative team—if only to escape the charge of being lax when a valuable shuttle had been lost—had managed to write fifty pages that boiled down to a simple observation that they didn’t know
how
the shuttle had been lost. Seventeen people were dead and, while most of them had been civilians, it was still inconvenient. The best maintenance crews had all been for warded to the front.
“Have the remaining shuttles examined, just in case,” he ordered finally. An explosion when the shuttle was entering atmosphere smacked of a maintenance error, suggesting the crews were lazy or incompetent or both. “I wouldn’t want this to be held against me.”
“No, sir,” Captain Haran said. “I’ll get right on it.”
He saluted and then walked out of the hatch. Admiral Junayd smiled thinly, then turned his attention to the star chart. The victory against the raiding squadron had been a success—and the propagandists back home had turned it into a truly staggering victory against overwhelming force—but he knew, all too well, that it wasn’t perfect. A number of ships had escaped and some of them, he was sure, would be repaired quickly. And then the raiders would start raiding again.
And my superiors were already talking about cancelling the planned supplies
, he thought sourly.
It was a galling thought. The higher authorities had been forwarding everything
but
reinforcements to him, yet now they were talking about cutting back. There was no shortage of demand, after all, and only a limited supply. Maybe Admiral Junayd no longer
needed
resupply now that he’d given the enemy a bloody nose. But he knew the enemy hadn’t been beaten, certainly not completely. It was frustrating, incredibly so, to realize that the victory had safeguarded his personal position—even Commodore Isaac had been quiet since the enemy had been forced to flee—but not secured the sector. He needed to capitalize on his victory, to prepare defenses for the time the enemy showed themselves again, yet he lacked even the bare bones of war material to do it. And when the enemy struck, they would undermine his position, even if their offensive did nothing more than annoy him. He looked at the timetables, then sighed. One convoy due to arrive within hours, several more, including two sent to Aswan itself, due over the next few weeks. Perhaps the enemy would wait long enough for him to do
something
, but what? The best idea he’d had, so far, was stripping Aswan of its fixed defenses to give the rest of the sector additional protection, yet he knew he’d be executed if he tried. Aswan could not be left undefended.
But it will have a squadron of superdreadnoughts to protect it, unless they get called to the front
, he thought savagely. There were already reports that the front might well start demanding his mobile units, even though he desperately needed them himself. He’d heard rumors, whispered from officer to officer, that the officers in command were plotting a major offensive against the Commonwealth.
But if they take my superdreadnoughts, I won’t have a hope of stopping even a minor attack on a weakly defended world
.
“I’ll just have to pray,” he said to himself. God could help him, if He would, but no one else could. “And see just what happens.”
Kat couldn’t help feeling cold as
Lightning
slipped towards Aswan, protected by her cloaking device and distance from the enemy defenses. It didn’t look as though the enemy had expanded their fixed defenses, although the presence of two squadrons of superdreadnoughts was a powerful argument against attacking the planet directly. The swarming activity around one of the squadrons—and the repair yard—worried her more than she cared to admit. If the defector had been telling the truth, if the Theocracy truly had too few repair yards, it was possible the enemy was seeking to expand its facilities. And that would only make them more dangerous, in the future.
From a practical point of view, the Theocracy’s internal structure seemed absurd. Kat had been half inclined to dismiss some of what she’d heard because it was unbelievable, before she’d recalled some of the lessons from her youth. There had been no shortage of business models that had called for massive expansion, concentrating on a single core competency and trying to snatch as much of the market share as possible before their debts and overextension caught up with them. Sometimes it worked; often, far more often, the business collapsed into chaos and failure, the best of its facilities and staff snatched up by other businesses or its creditors. The Theocracy had, quite literally, mortgaged its future to establish itself as a serious galactic power.
But they don’t have the staying power for a long war
, she thought grimly.
If we can hold on long enough to get our industrial might into play, we can kick their ass from here to the other side of the universe
.
It was a tempting thought. Wait a year, then launch another series of raids into enemy territory, using modern ships and improved weapons. The Theocracy’s industrial base, already tiny, could be hammered down to nothing, cutting off their lines of supply. Their fleets would grind to a halt for lack of supplies, allowing them to be picked off at will; their occupied worlds, already seething with unrest, would overthrow their tormentors and declare independence. And the Commonwealth, powered by a mighty industrial base, would sweep through the enemy systems and invade their homeworld itself.
Sure
, her own thoughts mocked her.
And what will we do with the spoils of victory
? “Captain,” Weiberg said. “We have reached our destination.”
“Hold us here,” Kat ordered. Like most worlds, Aswan had a dedicated emergence zone for starships, although, unusually, it was some distance from the planet itself. She wasn’t sure if it was a sign of paranoia—Tyre’s emergence zone had been put back after the first attacks on the planet’s surface—or a simple acknowledgment that the Theocracy’s navigation was far from perfect. “Passive sensors only. I don’t want anything that might betray our presence to the enemy.”
She settled back in her command chair and forced herself to wait. Assuming the convoy hadn’t been delayed, there would be no more than an hour before they dropped out of hyperspace, but even a rigid structure like the Theocracy had to know that convoys could easily be late. There was no point in killing someone for a harmless mistake, was there? But if some of the stories from the defector were accurate, it was quite common for the Theocracy’s officers to kill their subordinates if they needed a scapegoat. The prospect of being executed to cover his superior’s dealings had prompted the defector to plan a successful escape.
And now he’s going to lose his wives and children
, Kat thought. It was hard to feel any guilt, even though she knew it would be a problem. She’d prepared adoption papers for the girls, just in case, but she had a feeling the matter would be settled out of court.
I would feel sorry for him if he hadn’t arranged for his wife to be stripped of her free will
.
She’d rarely had nightmares after Piker’s Peak, even after the first time she’d been at true risk of losing her life. But she’d had nightmares after looking into the poor woman’s eyes, nightmares in which she too was a slave, trapped by her own mind . . . nightmares in which she was shattered by her friends and family. Whatever happened, Kat promised herself, the story would not be lost. The entire galaxy would hear about what had happened, about what the Theocracy was prepared to do to an innocent girl. Maybe then the morons who thought it was possible to make a just peace would shut up . . .
Calm down
, she told herself, firmly.
Calm down and prepare yourself for the coming battle
.
The tension slowly rose on the bridge as the timer ticked down the final minutes before the convoy was due to arrive. Kat forced her breathing to slow to a steady pace as she concentrated her mind, keeping herself as calm as possible. The timer reached zero and began to count up again, reminding her that the convoy was late. She smiled inwardly as Weiberg let out a frustrated sound, as if he’d built up as much anticipation as she had, then shook her head. It wasn’t as though she’d pegged
everything
on the enemy arriving on time.
“Gateways,” Roach snapped. “I say again, gateways!
”
“
Red alert,” Kat ordered quietly. Five gateways were opening up in front of them, revealing seventeen freighters and five destroyers. None of them
looked
particularly alert, but coming out of hyperspace with readied weapons was generally considered a sign of hostile intent. “Lock weapons on target.”
“Aye, Captain,” Roach said. “Weapons locked.”
Kat smiled. “Fire,” she ordered. “Drop the cloak, raise shields!
”
Lightning
shuddered violently as she unleashed a full spread of missiles. The enemy had no idea she was there until it was far too late; the missiles, launched from well within engagement range, zoomed towards targets that had barely any time to react. A handful of point defense crews managed to spit off a shot or two before the first missiles slammed home, ripping into weak shields and undefended hulls. She felt a brilliant surge of excitement as the first freighter died, exploding into a fireball as her missiles ripped it apart, smashing everything it carried in its holds. Three more died in quick succession, followed by seven more. The remaining freighters were lucky enough not to draw the attention of her first barrage.
“Retarget the second spread,” she snapped. “Take out the remaining freighters!
”
“
Aye, Captain,” Roach said. “Enemy destroyers are bringing their weapons to bear on us!
”
“
Ignore them,” Kat ordered. “Deal with the freighters!”
Admiral Junayd hadn’t expected anything to happen, so he’d left command of the system in Commodore Malian’s hands while he’d composed a message for his superiors, explaining why he should be sent additional reinforcements. He was on his feet, running for the command core, before his mind had
quite
realized that alarms were howling through the massive station. By the time he reached the command core, it was clear that all hell had broken loose in the space near the planet. The icons representing the freighter convoy were in disarray, while a large red icon was systematically tearing them apart.
“Admiral,” Commodore Malian said, “the system is under attack!
”
“
The
convoy
is under attack,” Admiral Junayd snarled. The enemy ship, damn her to hell, had singlehandedly smashed an entire convoy. Five destroyers didn’t stand a chance against her, but she could evade anything he dispatched from orbit. And yet he had no choice. “Dispatch the cruisers now!
”
The last of the freighters died in a colossal fireball, followed by
one of the destroyers. Their crews, no doubt anticipating the execution they’d face for allowing the entire convoy to be destroyed, were angling their ships towards the enemy cruiser, but they simply didn’t have the firepower or defenses to stand up to her weapons. Maybe they’d be able to get close enough to ram, yet he rather doubted it. They simply couldn’t hope to survive long enough to slam their hulls into the enemy.
“The enemy ship is pulling back from the planet,” Commodore Malian said. “You scared her off, sir!
”
“
They did what they came here to do,” Admiral Junayd snapped. The attack had been perfect—perfectly timed, perfectly carried out . . . why stick around and risk throwing it all away? He’d already been humiliated in front of the entire sector. The commanders at the front wouldn’t hesitate to use it against him, if only to make him take the blame for their future failures. “They’re not scared at all.”
A second destroyer vanished from the display. “Contact the destroyers,” Admiral Junayd ordered reluctantly. “They are to fall back and wait for the cruisers. Repeat the order if they fail to comply at once.
”
“
Aye, sir,” the coordination officer said.
Admiral Junayd cursed under his breath. It was unlikely the destroyers
would
obey orders . . . unless their commanders believed there was a reasonable chance they would escape execution. It would be better to die quickly, trying to make up for their failure, than to die slowly at the hands of the Inquisition. And their crews would be under a cloud too. It wasn’t impossible, given the scale of the failure, that they would
all
be executed.
And this is the system you are pledged to serve
, he reminded himself.
How can a commander and crew learn from their mistakes if they are killed out of hand
? He shook his head sadly as a third destroyer died, the remaining two falling back on the planet. He’d have to argue that the true failures had already died, scapegoating the dead, if he wanted to save their commanders . . . but he had no choice. The Theocracy didn’t need more dead officers, not when too many had died in the war. It needed people who could learn from their mistakes . . .
“Put a lock on the StarCom,” he ordered. He needed to make the case to his superiors personally, before Commodore Isaac or someone else started muddying the waters. “Until I countermand the order, the only messages going out of the system will be ones I personally authorize.
”
“
Yes, Admiral,” Commodore Malian said. “But what are we going to do?
”
“
Do?” Admiral Junayd asked. “We’re going to do our duty.”