The Oncoming Storm (48 page)

They wouldn’t have risked such a disaster, he told himself. An operation of that magnitude would be such a violent breach of the KISS principle that it would almost certainly be guaranteed disaster for anyone stupid enough to try. If their attacks failed, they’d cripple themselves in an afternoon.

“Captain,” Midshipwoman Han said. “We’re nearing the remote platform.”

“Query it,” Pete ordered. “Tactical, stand by all weapons.”

“Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Commander David White said. “Weapons ready . . .”

Pete braced himself. The platforms were—in theory—undetectable, unless someone literally stumbled over one of them. The spy probes were also meant to be undetectable, though, and the Theocracy had managed to detect one of them. If someone had managed to detect the platform, they might have staked it out rather than simply destroying it, watching and waiting for a Commonwealth starship to come along. And if the ship was engaged completely without warning, there would be no time to escape before it was blown into debris.

“Captain,” Han said, “the platform is requesting a full data dump. Every last scrap of tactical data we have.”

“Send it,” Pete ordered. Was someone planning to attack the system? It didn’t seem likely. The 7th Fleet was far too degraded to take the offensive. And yet there was no need for the data unless someone was planning to attack the system. “And then hold us steady.”

“Aye, Captain,” Davidson said.

There was a long pause. “The data dump has been sent,” Han then reported. “There’s no saved response.”

Pete nodded. “Take us away from the platform,” he ordered. By now, the signal would be racing across the system, where . . . someone was waiting for it. “And then sneak back towards the planet.”

Davidson looked up. “Sir?”

“Someone needs tactical data,” Pete said. “Let us see what we can provide.”

Admiral Christian was so much more efficient than Admiral Morrison that it wasn’t even remotely funny, Kat decided as she sipped her tea. Apart from their first private meeting, he’d insisted that all meetings be held electronically, allowing all of his senior officers to attend. Admiral Morrison, she knew, would have insisted on his officers meeting him on the planet. Ironically, that might just have worked in 7th Fleet’s favor.

“The data collected by the destroyers suggests the enemy are guarding Cadiz extensively,” an analyst said. “One squadron of superdreadnoughts has apparently reinforced the fleet—we must assume those ships have full magazines—but there does not appear to be a fleet train in the system. We dare not take that for granted, of course.”

Kat nodded in agreement. Cadiz was largely valueless now the war had begun, save for the facilities orbiting Cadiz VII. If those superdreadnoughts had been able to take the offensive, she was sure they would have attacked Gamma Base by now. The base was only meant as a stopgap, but it was the most likely target. Instead, the superdreadnoughts had sat on their butts and done nothing.

“A smaller formation, composed largely of battle cruisers, is covering Cadiz VII,” the analyst continued. “We must assume that the industrial platforms have been occupied and their crews have been captured. The enemy has clearly decided they are vitally important.”

She took a breath. “I believe the plan remains sound,” she concluded. “They are more likely to defend Cadiz VII than Cadiz itself.”

“Good,” Admiral Christian said. “Are there any questions?”

Kat keyed a switch. “What about ground forces?”

“As far as we can tell, the PDC is still in our hands,” the analyst said. “Her force field is definitely still active and Theocratic warships seem to be avoiding entering weapons range. However, it has proven impossible to activate a communications link so we have no way of knowing the situation on the ground. Nor do we have any links with anyone else on the surface.”

Patrick, Kat thought, feeling a twinge of guilt. He wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be dead. And yet part of her was convinced she’d sent him to his death. I’m sorry.

Admiral Christian waited to see if anyone else had a question, then pressed forward. “There is no need to alter our basic operational plan,” he said. “Force One will jump into the system in thirty minutes, once we are in position near Cadiz VII. Force Two will wait until hearing from Force One”—he glanced at Kat’s image, sharply—“then jump out near Cadiz, sweep orbital space of any unexpected surprises, and then send down shuttles to rescue our personnel.”

He took a breath. “It is possible the Theocracy won’t take the bait,” he added. “In that case, Force One will destroy the facilities orbiting Cadiz VII and then withdraw.”

Kat couldn’t imagine the Theocrats not taking the bait. The extra squadron of superdreadnoughts had been a nasty surprise. Combined with what they already knew about enemy superdreadnoughts, the Theocrats would have a pronounced firepower advantage . . . and Admiral Christian would be tempting them with the prospect of catching 6th Fleet in a gravitational well. A fleet couldn’t open enough vortexes to escape so close to a gas giant. Even one ship would be pushing her luck if she tried to escape . . .

And yet they might well have shot their bolt, she thought. If only we knew for certain . . .

She shook her head. The cadets had been told, often enough, that there were no certainties in war. War was a democracy. The enemy got a vote too. Whatever choices the enemy CO made could be relied upon to screw up or limit the choices available to his opponents.

“We could always go after their superdreadnoughts,” a captain she didn’t recognize said. Her data console identified him as CAPTAIN YU. “They would be a tempting target.”

“We may do so,” Admiral Christian said. “But our first priority is destroying the facilities and trying to recover our people.” He looked down at his wristcom, making a show of it. “Are there any final issues to discuss?”

There were none. Kat was silently relieved. A handful of officers from 6th Fleet had complained about her being given command of Force Two, even though it was composed of starships from 7th Fleet. The admiral had pointed out that Kat was the only commanding officer they knew and there was no time to get the ships and crews used to a newcomer, while 6th Fleet had drilled as a unit. They would be a match, she had told herself after watching one of their exercises, for a superior number of Theocratic superdreadnoughts. And they had the training and discipline to stand off gunboats.

“Very well,” Admiral Christian said. “Force One will begin the offensive in thirty minutes.”

He paused, then looked from image to image. “The war began in the most treacherous manner possible,” he said. “They struck directly at Tyre itself and countless other worlds, leaving thousands of dead civilians in their wake. This isn’t a localized border dispute, nor is it a rebellion against tyrannical central authority. This is all-out war aimed at shaping the future of the entire galaxy. If we lose, the worlds we have sworn to defend will fall under the rule of a religious society intent on crushing all its rivals. We dare not lose.

“We will not lose.

“We will fight,” he continued. “We will fight them at Cadiz. We will fight them at Gamma Base. We will fight them at Cottbus, Hebrides, and Iceland. We will fight until they are pushed out of our space, then carry the offensive into their territory. We will keep fighting until we are standing in the ruins of Ahura Mazda, dictating peace terms to the so-called believers. For who can dare claim to believe in God when they slaughter civilians merely to gain a slight advantage?”

He took a long breath. “We will win this war,” he concluded. “And when we are done, the galaxy will be a better place.

“Dismissed.”

Kat cut the channel and watched as the images of her fellow commanding officers popped like soap bubbles. Thirty minutes. Thirty minutes before they would know if Force Two would have its chance to redeem itself or if they would just fall back into hyperspace and wait for the admiral. She sat for a long moment, then rose to her feet and headed for the bridge. Whatever happened, she told herself as she walked through the hatch, she would meet it squarely.

“Captain on the bridge,” the XO said.

“I have the bridge,” Kat said. She sat in her chair and surveyed the display. “Do we have direct datalinks established with Force Two?”

“Aye, Captain,” the XO said. He sounded confident. They’d improved the command and control system considerably during their flight from Cadiz. “They’re reporting that they’re ready to move.”

Kat nodded, although she had her doubts. They’d only had two days outside hyperspace to exercise the nine warships and five troop transports the admiral had placed under her command. If she’d had more time . . . she smiled, tightly. If there had been more time, the admiral might have put someone else in command, reasoning that the new commander would have enough time to meet his subordinates and learn how they thought. She knew she wouldn’t be allowed to retain command once the front lines settled, but for the moment she would enjoy it.

And give the Theocracy one hell of a bloody nose, she thought.

“Then take us to the first waypoint,” she ordered. On the display, Force One was already heading towards its target. It looked invincible . . . and yet she knew the Theocracy had more raw firepower. “Try to keep us away from any potential guardships.”

She thought briefly of the message her father had sent to her. It had been short and sweet, sweeter than she’d expected. He’d told her about his new job, at least in vague terms, yet thankfully, he hadn’t tried to pressure her to return to Tyre. Even in wartime, her father could presumably have influenced her commanding officers to order her home. Kat was relieved, more than she cared to admit.

I will see this out to the end, she thought, coldly. And I will not leave anyone behind this time.

“We’re approaching the first waypoint,” Weiberg reported.

“No sign of any guardships,” Roach reported. He sounded perplexed. They’d trained to avoid any starships near the planet. “Local hyperspace near Cadiz appears clear.”

Kat and the XO exchanged a look. Standard procedure was to keep a guardship in hyperspace near a planet, particularly in a war zone. Who knew when the enemy might be sneaking up on an unsuspecting target? But the Theocracy might have concluded there would be no immediate counterattack . . .

. . . or they might have something else up their sleeve.

“Hold us here,” she ordered. There was no time for worrying, not now. “We’ll wait for the admiral’s signal.”

And then go on the offensive, her own thoughts added. Let the dice fly high!

“Admiral, I’m picking up vortexes—multiple vortexes,” the sensor officer snapped, as alarms howled through the Sword of God. “They’re opening near Cadiz VII.”

“Show me,” Admiral Junayd ordered. “And then bring the fleet to battle stations!”

He looked up at the display, thinking hard. Commonwealth’s 7th Fleet was in no state for a counterattack—unless, of course, the current fleet commander preferred to die heroically rather than report home and face the Commonwealth’s judgment for losing a battle. And there were more superdreadnought-sized vortexes than there should have been, if it were 7th Fleet alone. It suggested the Commonwealth had moved reinforcements into the sector quicker than he would have believed possible.

The display cleared as the vortexes closed. There was no way to track the intruding starships in real-time, not now. They’d have to take the fleet a great deal closer to have a hope of tracking, then engaging the enemy. He thought fast. Cadiz was important, but right now the facilities orbiting Cadiz VII were far more important. Losing them and their crews to enemy fire would make his deployment’s supply problems, already bad, far worse. The facilities had to be defended.

And yet, the enemy would know he had to cover Cadiz VII. They could be setting a trap.

“Set course for Cadiz VII,” Junayd ordered. The forces on the ground could take care of themselves now that his fleet had deployed the orbital bombardment platforms, which would hammer any traces of opposition from high overhead. “Open vortexes on my mark, then plot exit coordinates here.”

He tapped a point on the display, well outside Cadiz VII’s gravity well. If this was a trap, if the enemy outgunned him significantly, he could retreat back into hyperspace rather than fight a losing battle. Theocratic intelligence had already failed once. If there were more than three squadrons of superdreadnoughts waiting for him, he wasn’t too proud to retreat.

“That’s quite some distance from the planet,” the cleric observed. “Are you sure you don’t want to come out closer to the facilities?”

“We need room to maneuver,” Junayd pointed out. The hell of it was that the infidels could devastate the platforms before his fleet arrived if they hurled themselves straight into the gravity well. There was simply no way to rewrite the laws of interstellar travel to get the fleet there any faster. “And we can try to trap them against the planet.”

Assuming they don’t outgun us, he added, in the privacy of his head.

“Vortex generators online,” the helmsman said.