In Her Name: The Last War (96 page)

“Can you still fly?”

Faraday grinned. “Are you giving me a choice, sir?”

“No,” Grishin said, offering a smile in return. “I wish I could, but it appears that you are not going to get out of work so easily.”

“In that case,” Faraday said quietly, looking at the crushed remains of the flight deck and the blood that was the only trace of the copilot, “I can fly, sir. I just hope that tub out there is spaceworthy.”

“As do I,” Grishin agreed, fervently wishing that the rest of the brigade arrived soon.

* * *

Tesh-Dar did not know what to make of the disappearance of the human fleet. From what she had learned of the humans since first contact, she suspected they would be back, and soon. Tactically, it was a good move, and the same that she would have made had she been in their position: jump away, regroup, and then reenter the fight. Depending on the timing, it would work out well, for the invasion force would only be in orbit just long enough to drop the warriors and their supplies. After that, the great ships would return to the Empire, while Tesh-Dar’s ships would remain here to do battle with the humans.

The temporary lull afforded her an opportunity to go planetside, and she took one of the ship’s shuttles — like the ships themselves, very primitive affairs compared to the Empire’s modern starships, but necessary to allow a fair fight with the humans — and docked with one of the many assault craft that had been disgorged by the gigantic transports. With another check on Li’ara-Zhurah through her spiritual second sight, Tesh-Dar noted that she was well, if injured, and was continuing on her quest to save the Messenger, Tesh-Dar boarded the assault craft that would take her to the planet.

Not content to join the many warriors dropping into the unpopulated areas to establish the roots of a wartime colony, she ordered her pilot to join in the assaults against the planet’s population centers, choosing to participate in the attack against the largest city. 

Flexing her massive hands in anticipation, she looked forward to again facing human warriors in battle. Humans, even many at a time, were not a challenge in combat against a warrior priestess such as she. Her powers, greater than any other living warrior priestess, were not understood among her own people; to the humans they were nothing less than magic.

* * *

“We must sound the invasion alert, comrade chairman!” Marshal Antonov stated flatly to a stunned Chairman Korolev. The display screens in the underground command center were painted with red icons, showing the massive enemy fleet that was now sending forth a torrent of landing craft. 

“I do not believe these are aliens!” Korolev grated. “It is simply a ruse!”

“It does not matter, sir,” Antonov persisted, “if they are aliens or Confederation troops. We are being invaded by
someone
, and we must prepare!”

With that, Korolev could not argue. “Very well,” he said. “Initiate the invasion protocols. And find out where that bastard Voroshilov and his expensive fleet disappeared to!”

“Yes, sir,” Antonov said before moving over to the control center’s communications section. “Sound the invasion alert,” he told them. “All Red Army units are to report to their invasion defense positions, and recall all reserve personnel immediately.” Every able-bodied man, along with women who had no young children, were part of the reserve, from age fifteen on up. If they could stand and hold a weapon of any kind, they met the necessary qualifications. “Notify all commands that they have full authority to engage enemy forces at will: weapons free. The Air Force and surface-to-air elements are to engage the landing craft.”

“What about the Confederation Marines at the spaceport and the others trying to join them?”

With a sideways glance in Korolev’s direction, Antonov lowered his voice and said, “Let them be. Call off the pursuit. If the invaders are who and what I think they are, every human being who can hold a weapon may be of use. Let them spill their blood for our cause.”

“Sir, what should we do if they are successful in stealing a ship?”

“Do nothing. Conserve our weapons,” Antonov answered, gesturing toward the display and the mass of red icons for enemy ships. “Where could they go? Which brings us to the next question: have you had contact with Admiral Voroshilov?”

“No sir,” one of the other controllers answered. “We have had no contact since the fleet jumped. But we do know that they jumped from a pre-designated jump point that corresponds to one of the positions near Riga.”

Antonov nodded, considering. “Very well. Notify me immediately when you regain contact. And update the tactical display as our forces come to full readiness.”

“Yes, sir!” they chorused in response.

With that, he turned and headed back to join Korolev, thinking,
Voroshilov, you old bastard, I hope you know what you are doing
.

* * *

“
Collision alarm!
” Hanson heard someone shout as the
Constellation’s
klaxons bleated their warning tones through the ship. In the tactical display, just moments after emerging from the micro-jump, she saw that the combined human fleet had indeed emerged on the far side of Riga, but their formation — or, rather, the Confederation ships’ formation, she thought bitterly — was a deadly mess. Untrained in the peculiarities of this type of jump, there had been small inconsistencies in their formation and velocity that had been magnified tremendously during the micro-jump, putting some of the ships in dangerously close proximity.

“Task force base direction zero-nine-zero mark zero!” she shouted at her flag captain, ordering her ships to turn to the same heading to help avoid colliding with one another. “All ships reduce speed to station-keeping until we get this sorted out! Communications,” she barked to the flag communications officer, “get me Admiral Voroshilov!”

“Aye, commodore!”

On the main display, her ships quickly wheeled around to their new heading and reduced speed, and in a few moments were starting to slide back into their assigned positions in the formation.

“Damage report?” Hanson asked.

“None, commodore,” her flag captain reported, relieved. “Some close calls, but not so much as any scraped paint. We made it.”

Hanson nodded, greatly relieved. It could easily have been a disaster, but certainly no worse than going up against a vastly superior Kreelan fleet.
On the other hand
, she thought acidly,
Voroshilov could have given us some warning as to the dangers
.

“Commodore,” Admiral Voroshilov’s image suddenly appeared on her vidcom, “welcome to Riga, an autonomous republic under Saint Petersburg’s beneficent protection.” He gave her another one of his mirthless smiles. “I congratulate you on your successful jump, commodore, and my compliments to your crews. On our first task force micro-jump during an exercise, we lost two ships to interpenetration. You did very well.”

Hanson choked down the hot remarks she had been about to give the admiral. The Russians had made it look easy, their ships still in perfect formation. But many had obviously died in the perfection of their technique.
Maybe we didn’t do so badly, after all
, she consoled herself. Instead of biting his head off, she said, “Thank you, sir, I’ll do that. What do we do now?”

“We must regroup quickly, before we move out of Riga’s shadow and again come under direct observation of the enemy,” he told her. The jump point had left them on the far side of Riga from Saint Petersburg, temporarily shielding them. “I believe that the large transports will stay only long enough to deploy their troops, then they will leave. After that, we may stand a fighting chance against the remaining covering forces. In the meantime,” he went on, “I must make contact with the Rigan government: they must prepare as best they can.” While the Party had decreed that the Kreelan menace was nothing more than Confederation propaganda, Voroshilov had seen more than enough to convince him the alien threat was real. 

“What about Chairman Korolev?” she asked him.

Voroshilov shrugged. “I am already a dead man in his eyes, I am sure. Giving him one more reason to have me shot is a worthwhile trade for saving human lives.” He paused. “My wife is from Riga. Something tells me she would not be happy if I did not warn them of what is coming. While I am doing that, get your ships in order and prepare to reengage the enemy, commodore.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” she said. “We’re with you.”

* * *

After closing the connection with Hanson, Voroshilov told his communications officer, “Get me President Roze.” The officer merely gaped at him. “Did you hear me, comrade?”

“Yes...yes, comrade admiral,” the man answered uneasily, turning away to his console, his face bearing a fearful expression.

“Sir,” his flag captain asked quietly, “may I ask what you are doing? Some of the officers are not...” He paused and looked around quickly before whispering, “Some of the men are beginning to be concerned over your actions, comrade admiral. You have so much as declared that you are committing mutiny by allying us with the Confederation fleet. And now contacting Roze directly?” He looked at Voroshilov with undisguised concern. “The crews in the fleet know your wife is Rigan, sir, and they will think you are doing this only for her sake. You know this is a political decision that must be made by the Party leadership, comrade admiral. Please, I beg you to reconsider!”

Voroshilov looked at him. “Yuri Denisovich, my friend,” he answered quietly, “I am doing what I feel I must. Yes, my wife is Rigan, but that is not why I must speak with Roze. It is because Riga is part of our small star nation that is under attack. It will not help our cause to leave Riga blind and deaf when the invaders turn their attention to them: if Riga is prepared, they will be able to kill far more of the enemy than if they are not. Chairman Korolev does not see this, any more than he believes the invaders are aliens. Tell me, Yuri, do you still believe the invaders come from the Confederation after seeing their ships?”

Captain Yuri Denisovich Borichevsky had known Voroshilov most of his adult life, and had served under him his entire career. More than anyone beyond his immediate family, he trusted Voroshilov. “No, comrade admiral, I do not believe they are from the Confederation,” he said. “That does not help with the crews, however. They are losing faith in you.”

Voroshilov turned again to his communications officer. “Open a channel to the fleet,” he ordered tersely. 

“Including the Confederation ships?” the man asked.

“
Nyet
,” Voroshilov told him. “Only our own.”

“Yes, comrade admiral,” the man answered quietly. “Channel open.”

“Comrades of the Red Navy, men of the fleet!” Voroshilov said. “Some of you no doubt are wondering at the course of the actions we have taken, why we have joined forces with the Confederation ships that we initially fought, and why now we have jumped to Riga while enemy forces surround Saint Petersburg, the motherland to most of us.” The “most of us” was for the benefit of the fleet’s crewmen — mostly officers — who were Rigan. “Many of you have no doubt heard that I took these actions without the consent of the Party leadership, that I acted on my own authority. This is true.”

Around him, every man in sight turned to stare at him. In the last twenty years, since shortly after the war with Earth and the Alliance had ended, such a thing would have been considered unthinkable. The Party had been everything, particularly to the younger officers.

“I assure you, comrades,” he went on, steadily meeting the stares of those around him, “these are not actions that I have taken lightly. Comrade Chairman Korolev and Marshal Antonov are fully occupied with organizing the ground and air defenses of our motherland. I know the chairman still believes that the ships attacking our world are humans from the Confederation. However, I cannot accept this in light of what we have seen with our own eyes and sensors: these ships that have come to our system are not of human design. With our world under attack, we cannot blind ourselves by what we want to see, ignoring what truly is. Our families, our people, are depending on us to save them, and the only way we can hope to do that is to understand what we are up against. In the past, the Party has often tried to shield us from unpleasant truths; in this hour, we cannot afford such a luxury.

“For those who are concerned about why we are now above Riga, it is not because it is the world of my wife’s birth.” Some of the faces around him looked away with embarrassment. Like Flag Captain Borichevsky, they had all served with Voroshilov most of their careers, and had come to know him well. When faced with such a blunt statement, their unvoiced thoughts about him acting purely out of personal desires were shown to be hollow and untrue, yet another manifestation of the negative side of human nature. “We are here because Riga is part of our
kollektiv
, and we have an obligation under the constitution to protect her. This is indisputable, even by the Party. I cannot now spare any ships to stand guard over her people, but I will provide them with information and what encouragement I can by speaking with President Roze. 

“Once that is done and we are again fully prepared for battle,” he continued, “we will mount another attack against the invaders. And
this
time,” he promised, “they will not simply dance away from our guns like ballerinas!

“Comrades,” he concluded, “do your duty to protect the motherland and the Party. Our world depends on it.”

With that, he snapped the connection closed.
And if that does not mollify them
, he told himself,
they can all go to hell
.

“Comrade President Roze is on the vidcom, comrade admiral,” the communications officer informed him. 

Voroshilov glanced at the man and noticed that there was indeed a change in his expression. He was perhaps yet unsure of this strange path they were taking, as in a way was Voroshilov himself, but he was no longer acting like a dog afraid of being whipped. “Thank you, comrade lieutenant,” he said. Then, turning to the face that had appeared on his vidcom, he said, “Hello, Valdis.” Voroshilov had known Valdis Roze for many years: the man’s sister was the admiral’s wife.