Alarm of War (46 page)

She walked slowly, thinking about Hiram’s words. If the last few days were any indication, she was good at warfare, perhaps even very good. And she had to admit that she liked the contest, the anticipating what the enemy would do and how best to beat him. But the deaths, Gods of Our Mothers, all the deaths. She was honest enough to admit she didn’t really care about the enemy deaths, but she wailed inwardly when her own people died, and she cringed in shame as she thought again at how many had died because she of her orders.

At the entrance to the
New Zealand
, a Marine guard in full battle rattle stiffened to attention and saluted as she boarded. “Morning, Captain!” So word was already out. Probably Alex Rudd had alerted everyone on board that she would remain as captain.

“Captain?” It was the guard. “There is a visitor waiting for you in your day cabin.” Emily focused on him for the first time. He was very young. Had he been through Camp Gettysburg? Had he fought at Killarney Bridge?

When she reached her day cabin, she found a hard-looking Marine Corporal. “Cookie!”

Cookie laughed as Emily hugged her. “My, oh my, how you have come up in the world, girl. Once a dumb recruit at Camp Gettysburg and now eatin’ truffles and drinkin’ champagne on your own ship! Who would have guessed?”

Emily eyed her. The flashing-eyed girl from training camp was gone, replaced by a confident woman with lines that only hard experience can bring.

And two red tears tattooed under her left eye.

Emily reached out and rubbed the tears with the ball of her thumb. “They don’t come out,” she murmured.

“They ain’t never comin’ out,” Cookie said solemnly. “And I hope to hell I’m never in a situation to get me a third one. The first two damn near killed me.”

“Bad?” Emily asked, knowing the answer.

Cookie told her about the Tilleke commandos, the teleportation device, the bloody fights through dark corridors, the desperate race to get off the
London
, and the repeated boardings of the
Yorkshire
. Emily looked at her incredulously.

“You’ve got three of these machines, these transporter widgets?

“Yep,” Cookie answered, and grinned wickedly. “And they work, too.”

“What?”

“Tested ‘em just a few hours ago. I got this Artificial Intelligence boffin, smart as a whip. She’s got the equipment up and running. Once we reached Atlas, she found a store that sells pet rabbits, put one into the transporter and, presto!, transported it to the shuttle bay. One seriously pissed off bunny, let me tell you. But alive and kickin’. Damn thing took off like a bat out of hell and we can’t find it anywhere, but it worked.”

Emily was astounded. “Cookie, this could be really important.”

Cookie shook her head. “Won’t help much, we don’t have enough Marines on the
Yorkshire
to make use of them and we still don’t know what the effective range is of the damn things.”

“How many Marines do you need?”

Cookie considered. “Well, three transporters with forty seats each. Pretty quick recycle time. With a lot of luck, we could maybe send two hundred forty soldiers through. Course, some of them would only be carrying wooden clubs; we don’t have nearly enough weapons.” They had a hundred and fifty of the air guns and a bunch of swords. The swords would be hard to make, but maybe they could make spears. Say a seven foot plastic pole with a hardened, sharp point and a cutting edge along the first two feet? That should be doable just using the
Yorkshire’s
work shop. She grimaced. Sending a Marine into combat with nothing more than a sharp stick as a weapon was not an attractive thought. But what else was there?

Emily meanwhile was on her comm. “Captain Rowe,” she said briskly. “I need your authority to place two hundred and forty Marines on the
Yorkshire
.” She explained everything Cookie had told her. “Yes, sir. Thank you.” She closed her comm and looked at Cookie. “You’ll have them in an hour.”

Cookie blinked in surprise, then smiled and stood up. “Damn, nice to have friends in high places.” Suddenly there was a lot to do in a very short time. She paused. “Emily, thank you for the time with Hirii. We – well, thank you.”

Emily was suddenly very somber. “Hiram asked me to make sure to bring you back. I’ll try, Cookie, I’ll try my best.”

Cookie half laughed, half sobbed. “Emily, I spend all my time thinkin’ about how to kill people, ‘bout how to make sure I get the other guy before he gets me. Last few days I shot people, stabbed ‘em and beat one of the bastards to death with a chair. Then, thanks to you, I get to see Hirii and he treats me like a piece of delicate china, like a lady.”

Emily raised an eyebrow. “Hirii?”

Cookie smiled softly. “‘Hirii’ is my name for him. He hates it, but I love it. You all know him as Hiram. A little stiff, straight as an arrow, always frettin’ ‘bout stuff, worryin’ all the time.” She shook her head. “That’s Hiram for sure, it is, but when I look at him, I see Hirii inside him, clever, funny, always thinking and seeing stuff I can’t see no matter how hard I try. You see Hiram, methodical and sorta boring; I see Hirii, takin’ horrendous risks that just scare the beejesus out of him because he knows that’s what we got to do.”

She looked Emily, eyes shining. “That’s Hirii, and he’s mine.”

• • • • •

Hiram Brill finally got back to his apartment. It was empty and too quiet. He walked through it slowly, trying to recapture every minute he and Cookie had had together. The bed was a wreck and he smiled. He sat on the edge and brought the pillow up to his face, breathing in to catch the faintest smell of her.

In the kitchen there was a note. He didn’t really want to read it; reading it somehow meant that she really was gone again, but he sat down and unfolded the paper.

My beloved Hirii:

P.S. I think we broke your bed.

His comm buzzed. Reluctantly, he pushed the reply button. “Brill here, what is it?”

“The Black Watch and Queen’s Own have sortied, sir. Coldstream Guard will depart in twenty minutes.”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes,” he said. He raised Cookie’s note to his lips, then put it carefully back on the table, as if it were a precious jewel.

T
he thirty nine remaining ships of the Black Watch and Queen’s Own were now four hours ahead of Atlas, well clear of the sphere-shaped shell of mines and missile platforms that encircled the space station. Together with the three Arks of the Home Fleet, they headed directly toward the Dominion blocking force.

On board the battleship
Lionheart,
Admiral Douthat could direct the upcoming battle and stay in touch with Atlas and the Coldstream Guards. Her monitors showed that the worm hole to Refuge was already moving to the left as they approached it, and the Dominion blocking force was falling back with it. No matter. She would press forward until they gave battle. She knew she was outnumbered, but she didn’t have to win the fight, only slow the Dominions enough so that they could not prevent Atlas from slipping through the wormhole when it finally stopped moving. So let the Dominions fall back. Every mile they moved further west put them a mile further from Atlas, assuming the damn worm hole really did move back to the east like the Light promised it would.

It should work.

Admiral Douthat snorted derisively. What could possibly go wrong with a plan like this one? Gods of Our Mothers, she thought, if my old tactics instructor from the Academy could see me now, he’d give me a failing grade for sure.

• • • • •

On board the Dominion battleship
Vengeance,
Admiral Mello glowered at Captain Pattin. “Are you sure, Jodi?”

“Quite positive, sir.” Captain Pattin had learned never to show the slightest doubt around Admiral Mello. Doubt implied weakness, and Admiral Mello instinctively attacked any sign of weakness. “We’ve triple checked. Although the worm hole is moving to the west as seen from our plane of approach, the Victorian space station is turning to the
east.”

Admiral Mello shook his head. This didn’t make any sense. Why were the Victorians making such a blatant mistake? The space station was huge; it had to be difficult to turn. Were they pulling some sort of feint on him?

He turned back to Pattin. “Do you have any idea what they’re doing?”

She shook her head. “No, sir. Unless they think they’re going to miss the worm hole and they are turning around to make a run for Darwin.”

“But the Refuge worm hole is moving west?”

“Absolutely, sir.” Captain Pattin hesitated. “Shall I order the attack to be moved up, sir?”

He looked again at the holo display. Feint or no, at the end of the day the Vickies had to go to the worm hole, it was their only open path of escape. Let them twist and turn, that is where he would find them. Mello smiled. “No, Jodi. Let them continue to turn the wrong way. A very famous Old Earth general said, ‘Never interrupt an enemy when he is making a mistake.’ We’ll let the Victorians continue their mistake a while longer, then finish them.”

• • • • •

Two hours later the Refuge worm hole suddenly changed direction. One second it was moving west, then abruptly it was moving back east along the same path it taken earlier. The leader of the Dominion blocking force blanched.

“What the hell is it doing?” he shouted at the hapless Sensors Officer.

“I don’t know, Captain!” the man stammered. “It simply changed direction and is moving east.”

“Well, where is it going?” On the holograph display, the captain could see that it was coming up fast behind them and would go past them, toward the Victorians, in less than an hour.

“I— there is no way of knowing, Captain,” the hapless Sensors Officer confessed.

The captain cursed loudly and eloquently, displaying a rich vocabulary gathered during a lifetime of service in the Dominion Fleet. Then he sent a message to Admiral Mello. Several minutes later, he received a one word reply.

Attack!

“I
ncoming missiles!” the Sensors Officer said. Not quite a shout, but hardly his normal voice, either. “The Dominion blocking force has fired on us!” The H.M.S.
Lionheart
was in the middle of the Victorian formation, where it could both monitor the course of the upcoming battle and quickly go to the assistance of any Victorian ship that needed it.

“A full report would be appreciated, Chief Kunnin. Tell me how many and when they arrive,” Captain Eder said calmly.

“Yes, sir,” the Chief said sheepishly. “Uh, Mildred counts four hundred and fifty missiles, ETA in fifteen minutes.”

“That’s better, thank you. All frigates and destroyers, deploy anti-missile drones. Prepare to engage any leakers. All ships, go active with computer controlled anti-missile fire in ten minutes.”

“Sensors show large number of enemy ships accelerating towards us, Captain,” the Sensors Officer said, his voice tightly controlled. “Sixty plus ships.”

“Target locks, Chief?” Eder asked.

“Not yet, Captain. There is a lot of jamming, probably some jammers mixed in with the incoming missiles. No firm locks yet.”

“Send some recon birds out,” Eder ordered. “I want to cut through all this crap and see what we’re up against.” Something seemed wrong, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

The screening frigates fired reconnaissance drones toward the oncoming Dominion force and reports began to filter back. The Dominion forces had assumed a wide crescent shape, with a concentration of ships in the center, and in the very center, a positively huge ship. The recon drones reported that most of the ships were cruiser strength, with three battleships and whatever the hell the big ship was. Interspersed among the war ships were numerous small vessels.

“Jeez,” someone breathed. “There’s a lot of them.”

“Too many,” said the Sensors Chief. “Coldstream Guards only counted sixty seven. We’re getting readings for well over a hundred, so there are a lot of decoys out there.”

Even if there were only sixty ships or so, four hundred and fifty missiles was not a very heavy barrage, Eder mused. He wouldn’t have been surprised if there had been over a thousand. Or more. Why such a light volley? “Can you get a firm lock on them, enough to get a clear ID?” he asked.

“Not yet, sir. Recon drones are still working their way in.”

But as they watched, the Dominion blocking force saturated the area with its anti-missile defense and one by one, the recon drones fell before they could burn through the jamming and the decoys and get a clear picture of what the Dominions had.

“Not very anxious for us to see what they’ve got, are they?” Eder mused.

In the meantime, the four hundred and fifty Dominion missiles reached the outer range of the anti-missile drones, which fired small, fast rockets and guided them close enough to the enemy missiles so that the weak onboard sensors could lock on. There were a series of explosions, and then there were only four hundred and twenty missiles.

The anti-missile drones fired a second volley of the mini-missiles. More explosions, but then the Dominion missiles flashed past them and continued toward the Victorian ships, getting closer.

The second line of Victorian drones fired, and so the dance continued until the Dominion missiles reached reliable laser range and the frigates opened up. Thirty of the missiles locked onto two of the frigates and bore in on them. Captain Eder had kept the cruisers and his precious battleship just far enough behind the frigates so that they could not readily help them, and now one of the frigates paid for this tactic with its life. It turned sharply, and then used a full Hong Brake to sharply decelerate, hoping to break the missiles’ lock. Six did lose their lock on the hapless ship and began a long, curving turn, hoping to acquire a new target. But the remaining nine stubbornly closed in. Bofor guns took out two more while they were still fifty miles out and a lucky laser shot caught another, but the last six reached their target, exploding within five hundred yards of the frigate and hurtling shrapnel through the frigate’s hull and into the corridors and work spaces.