First Strike (34 page)

Adrienne couldn't disagree with his assessment. Earth had undergone a major panic attack as soon as the news of Third Garston had reached home. Judging from some of the reports, large parts of the human race expected a massive fleet of invincible superdreadnoughts to jump into orbit and bombard Earth into radioactive debris. The fact that the assault had been beaten off didn't seem to matter too much. Pundits had been pointing out gleefully that the Hegemony’s total losses were tiny, compared to its entire navy. They’d been forced to keep silent about humanity’s losses, but it didn't take an expert to realise that every human loss had a greater effect than every Hegemony loss.

“But the Funks themselves are not represented in your army,” she said. “How do you expect them to react to us arming and training the others?”

“I do not expect them to react well to anything we will do,” Chekov said, slowly. “Their districts have become armed camps. Gangs of every race have been practicing ethnic cleansing on their neighbours, whenever they think they can get away with it. We simply do not have the manpower to stop them from paying off every petty dispute over the last hundred years.”

Adrienne snorted. “But your army might turn on the Funks,” she pointed out. “Won’t that just make us look bad before the Galactics?”

Chekov placed a hand on her shoulder, swinging her around to face him. “Let me put it as simply as I can,” he said. “When the Funks occupied Terra Nova and enslaved thousands of humans, the Galactics did nothing. The Funks claimed a fig leaf of legality and the Commune used it as an excuse to avoid confronting the Hegemony. When the Funks started to slowly increase the pressure on Earth, what did the Commune do? Nothing. The Association’s glory days are long over. Galactic opinion doesn't care what happens to us, so why should we care about what they think of us?”

He snorted. “You Americans always expect war to be clean,” he added. “It should be a nice tidy affair, with only a few enemy killed and none of your own lost in combat. But war doesn't work out that way, does it? The Federation Council has ordered this world to be pacified. I do not have the manpower to convince everyone on this goddamned world to play nicely, so I am doing the only thing I can do to actually carry out my orders. And if the Funks don’t like it...

“Tell me; when was the last time the Funks liked anything we did?”

“I see your point,” Adrienne said. She could too, although she wasn't so inclined to dismiss Galactic opinion. It might have been difficult to restrain the Funks, but intervening against Earth would have to look a great deal easier. All the Galactics would have to do was threaten to call in their markers and demand immediate repayment of their loans. “But do you feel that the locals can be trusted?”

“I have faith that none of them want the Funks to return and reassert control over this planet,” Chekov informed her. “That should keep them motivated to work with us – or to put up a fight, should the Funks return to Garston. The recent battle concentrated a few minds on the prospect of hanging.”

Adrienne grinned. “And on the fact they were going to be hanged?”

“But enough of this matter,” Chekov added, thawing a little. “I’m not at liberty to talk about our current deployments, but I would be happy to discuss the early stages of the occupation. We’ve actually managed to pacify a few additional cities. We may have to start moving the Funks and isolating them from everyone else…”

“Maybe,” Adrienne said. “But how do you intend to do it fairly?”

“We can’t,” Chekov admitted. “But since when were the Funks fair to everyone else?”

“Congratulations on your victory, Your Majesty.”

“And thank you for your contribution,” the Empress said. She’d claimed personal credit for the plan that had bled the humans at Garston. “Your position has been secured, for the moment.”

Lady Dalsha nodded, careful not to betray her relief. The Empress would need a scapegoat for the defeats the Hegemony had suffered so far and she knew that she was the prime candidate. Ironically, having been disowned by her clan gave her a freedom shared by few others among the Hegemony. There was something to be said for living an independent life.

“We have also crippled the human raiding operation,” the Empress added. Lady Dalsha wasn’t so sure – the humans understood basic security far better than most Galactics – but there was no point in contradicting the Empress directly. “One hopes that we will shortly be able to reassert our position against the human invaders and evict them from our space.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Lady Dalsha said. Personally, she was less confident. The Empress might have proclaimed Third Garston a glorious victory, but it had cost – badly. At least the force’s commander had had the sense to break off from Garston when human reinforcements had arrived. Intelligence hadn't been able to provide any definite figures for how many long-range missile pods the humans possessed, but no one wanted to find out the hard way that the humans had more than expected. Given enough time, someone would duplicate the human system, yet would it come in time to reshape the course of the war? “I have proposed two more plans for raiding human space.”

“So I have seen,” the Empress said. “My advisors inform me that cutting loose so many squadrons will weaken Hammerfall and allow the humans to claim the system. To lose another world would be a grave defeat…?”

She waited, inviting Lady Dalsha to have her say. The Empress’s position was not enviable, not now that the humans were raiding other worlds along the borders, worlds that belonged to powerful clans whose interests were threatened. They might all be publicly allying themselves with the Empress, but in private they would be considering other options. What was their loyalty to the Hegemony when they faced – at the very least – massive expenditures in rebuilding the installations the humans had destroyed? An unfavourable peace could only be tolerated if it happened over the Empress’ dead body.

In some ways, that would be the ideal solution. Few of the human weapons were really
 
new
, at least according to the Hegemony’s contacts among the Galactics. They were really applications that the Association had either never considered or never put into practice, something that made a certain kind of sense. The Cats had been the unquestioned masters of the universe for thousands of years. They wouldn't want a new weapons system coming online that threatened their dominance. What if someone
 
did
 
develop a weapon that could blow apart a superdreadnought with a single shot? Every navy in the galaxy would be instantly rendered obsolete.

The study of human history hadn't found favour among the Hegemony, not when it was an article of faith that no other race had anything to teach the heirs to the galaxy. Human history was very short compared to the Cats, but a surprising amount had leaked out into the galaxy after the Galactics had realised that a rogue Cat had invited the humans to join the interstellar community. It was difficult to be sure – humans just didn't think like her people – yet it seemed that much of human history was based around developing new weapons that altered the balance of power. The steam-powered ironclad, the tank, the aircraft, the machine gun, the dreadnought, the aircraft carrier, the precision-guided missile… and even the atomic bomb. Even the human superpowers had been forced to press ahead with weapons development, if only because their competitors would certainly do the same, seeking something that would alter the balance of power in their favour.

And the Hegemony clans had completely skipped that part of history. They’d never had to advance beyond mounted riders and spears; even basic metalworking had been limited before the Cats arrived. And like most of the Galactics, the Hegemony had accepted the myth that the Association had taken technology as far as it could go. But...what if the Cats, with the long-term perspective granted by immortality, had seeded that myth throughout the galaxy? They would never have to worry about being overthrown if everyone believed that they could never be matched, let alone surpassed.

But what if the other Galactics
 
didn't
 
buy into the myth? The galaxy was a big place and even the Cats couldn't hope to watch it all. What if the other Galactics had been running their own research and development programs into surpassing the technology they’d received from the Cats? The thought was terrifying, for the Hegemony’s supremacy rested upon brute force and a willingness to do whatever it took to maintain their power. And yet, of all the major powers, the Hegemony was the
 
least
 
capable of operating its own independent research and development programs. It was quite possible that the other Galactic powers had already built their own advanced weapons long before humanity exploded onto the galactic stage.

It didn't seem likely, viewed through bright red eyes. Given superiority over an outsider, the Hegemony’s first step would be to make sure that that outsider understood that the Hegemony
 
was
 
superior, that their mere survival would be only on the Hegemony’s terms. And yet it was true that other races didn’t think like her own people. What if one of the Galactics had developed superior weapons and merely decided to keep them to themselves? The long-term plan to replace the Cats as masters of the universe might be doomed from the start…

She outlined her thoughts to the Empress, who didn't seem amused. Humanity simply didn't have the numbers to crush the Hegemony; they had a quantitative answer to qualitative superiority. But the Tarn, or the Melkot, or even the Yel-Throd…
 
they
 
could combine advanced technology with the numbers required to win a decisive victory. None of the brushfire wars had grown out of control because the combatants had known that victory would come at a staggeringly high cost, but with advanced weapons...that might change.

And even if the Galactics
 
hadn’t
 
developed advanced weapons, there was no reason why the humans couldn't start selling their wares on the arms market.

“There is little we can do about that at the moment,” the Empress said. “Our priority remains the defeat of the human race before some of the other Galactics decide to join the war on their side. Your planned operations are approved, but you will not be commanding them.”

Lady Dalsha felt cold ice trickling down the back of her neck. The Empress might have decided that she needed a scapegoat immediately. Her position wasn't very strong, even if there
 
had
 
been a victory at Garston. Lady Dalsha had hoped that commanding the operations would give her a degree of protection, assuming that the humans didn't manage to kill her when they struck back. But there was one definite advantage for the Hegemony in humanity’s limited number of ships. Technologically superior they might be, but they couldn't be in two places at once.

“I have given orders to withdraw three squadrons of superdreadnoughts and escorts from the Tarn border,” the Empress said. “They will travel to a position near Hammerfall, where you will assume command of the ships and take them directly to Earth. Once in orbit, you will force the humans to surrender or systematically destroy every last piece of military hardware and industry in the system. The humans do not have a secondary shipyard complex – destroying their industry will certainly cripple their war effort. They will be forced to surrender or we will force them into a war of attrition.”

Lady Dalsha had devised that original plan, but now she hesitated. “The Tarn have been fortifying their border,” she warned. “They may take advantage of our weakness.”

“Which is why we will not broadcast anything about this operation,” the Empress said. “Officially, the superdreadnoughts are on routine patrol. The remaining ships in the sector will switch their IFF signals routinely, disguising their absence until it is far too late. And the Tarn do not appear to have developed any new weapons. They will be bogged down if they try to invade our space, giving us time to beat the humans and then turn on the Tarn.”

“It should work,” Lady Dalsha said, finally. “But what if it fails?”

“Neither of us will see the end of the war,” the Empress said. She would throw Lady Dalsha to the wolves, but they wouldn't be satisfied with a mere outcast, not if three entire squadrons had been lost. It took two years to build a superdreadnought from scratch and the war had already destroyed or crippled twenty of the most powerful ships in the galaxy. Replacing what they’d lost would take decades. “I suggest you bear that in mind.”

* * *

 
Markus painted a smile on his face as he stopped in front of the armed Marines guarding the Admiral’s office. The summons to
 
Nimitz
 
had come during his rest period, after spending hours trying to put Grumble Squadron back together again and deflecting ‘suggestions’ from superior officers that perhaps it was time to disband the remains of Grumble and have her pilots and gunboats distributed to other squadrons. At least Admiral Sampson hadn't weighed in so far, but perhaps that was about to change. He could imagine no other reason for the Admiral to order him to report in person. Electronic communications worked perfectly for most discussions.

The Marines nodded and stepped aside, allowing him to pass through the hatch and into the office. It was smaller than Markus had expected, even though he’d known that human-built starships simply didn't have the colossal interior space of Association-designed superdreadnoughts. Some of the reports from the post-battle assessment teams crawling over the captured ships had made entertaining reading; Hegemony superior officers, it seemed, had huge quarters, including what appeared to be private mud baths. It was hard to think of any human officer who would want the mud baths, but they’d probably take everything else if they could. The quarters for junior officers and enlisted crewmen were, as expected, tiny. Some things were universal.

Admiral Sampson looked up at Markus as he saluted, returning the salute before waving him to a chair. They’d met several times before, but Markus couldn't have said that he knew the Admiral socially. He’d had to report on the progress of the gunboat program, receive one of the medals a grateful Earth had granted to her pilots, and commend a handful of the maggots who’d fought at Third Garston. The survivors would never be called maggots again.

“Commander,” Admiral Sampson said. “Captain Walsh is dead.”

Markus looked up, sharply. He’d worked closely with Captain Walsh on
 
Formidable
; he’d been one of the few officers who had believed in the gunboats from the start. The program had now been amply justified, but losing him was still a blow. And if he was dead...

“
Formidable
,” he said. He’d had friends on the ship. “Is she…”

“Intact,” Sampson said. “The Funks managed to score a lucky hit that took out the main bridge. Commander Rogers took command and managed to pull the carrier out before we lost her, but he’s too inexperienced with the gunboats to retain command. I’d like you to take Captain Walsh’s position.”

Markus stared at the Admiral. One rule he’d learned as a cadet was that if you declined promotion when it was offered to you, it was never offered to you again. An officer who considered himself unfit for higher position was likely to find his superiors agreeing with him. But command of
 
Formidable
 
would mean that he couldn't fly a gunboat any longer. The Captain had no business abandoning his ship to fight the enemy directly, not when his ship was the only way out of the target system for the gunboats. He would have to watch helplessly from a safe distance as the three squadrons went up against the enemy.

But it hadn't been a safe distance for Captain Walsh, had it?

“Grumble Squadron needs me,” he said, finally. “Surely Commander Rogers could remain in command.”

“I’ve ordered him transferred to
 
Pinafore
,” Sampson said. “She needs a CO and Rogers has had considerable experience on destroyers. I think he’ll do fine as her commander, but whoever commands
 
Formidable
 
has to have experience with gunboats, experience that tells him what they can and cannot do. And
 
Formidable
 
has been placed to one side for a special operation. She needs you in command.”

It wasn't really a choice, Markus realised. Take command… or see his naval career stagnate and eventually decline. “I will take command,” he said, finally. “But you do realise that my own command experience is limited to gunboats?”

“I have to balance the options,” Sampson admitted. “Lieutenant-Commander Spinner is also being promoted and will take up the post of XO. He was earmarked for the position when Walsh or Rogers went to
 
Lexington
, once she finishes her trials and is declared ready to join the fleet. I think you’ll get along.”

His voice hardened. “And if you have problems with each other, I expect you to button them up and do your duty,” he added. “This is war. I don’t have time for officers who let their personal issues get in the way of serving the navy.”