Counterstrike (Black Fleet Trilogy, Book 3) (20 page)

“Fucking idiots,” he mumbled as he walked out of the last meeting, not caring a bit if the Tsuyo and Fleet bureaucrats heard him.

After realizing that he was neither needed nor wanted in the area while the crews were fitting the new engine to the pylons and shipyard personnel crawled through every part of his ship with abandon, Jackson sequestered himself in the plush visiting dignitaries’ quarters in the upper part of the orbital platform. There he called up a secure connection and began going through the entire list of ships in the formations flying past the small porthole in his room. He cataloged the class, type, and origin of each ship and went so far as to pull up the service records of their commanding officers. The results of his research were not encouraging.

For all their bluster it seemed First and Fourth Fleet had let their ships fall into the same state of disrepair that Black Fleet had, and their crews displayed the same lack of readiness. The ships that had filtered in from the Warsaw Alliance were an utter disaster, six of which Jackson seriously considered recommending for decommission, and the Asianic Union had a lot of ships, but none that packed much of a punch.

It was these particular ships that Jackson was most concerned about. They were small, lacked any serious armor, and had short legs so they would need replenishing from the supply convoys much more often. Their lack of any serious armament also made them more of a liability than a help. He knew Marcum was looking at the raw numbers, but he recognized these ships for what they were: cannon fodder. Without anything to offer other than the ability to fill out their ranks, Marcum would have little choice but to either order these ships to stay back out of the way or advance them into the line of fire and get thousands of brave AU spacers needlessly killed.

After he compared their raw numbers to what the Phage were just suspected to have in the system they had dubbed the “Hive” Jackson had to suppress the urge to vomit.

“There is no way we can win,” he said to the empty room. “I’m going to get them all killed.” He shut down his tile and tossed it on the table, leaning back to rub his temples. What was he missing?”

“Come in!”

“Do you have a moment, Captain?”

“Colonel, come on in and grab a seat.” Jackson waved Blake into the room. “I didn’t know you were aboard.”

“I just docked about twenty minutes ago,” Blake said. “After convincing the Tsuyo techs that they would be killed if they attempted to force their way onto my ship I came looking for you.”

“Something important?” Jackson frowned.

“Maybe.” Blake was evasive. “Let’s just call it a curiosity for now. I don’t want to taint your interpretation of what I’m about to show you.”

“Let’s see it.” Jackson slid his drink on the desk with a slightly embarrassed look on his face.

For the next five hours straight the two looked over the raw sensor feeds from Blake’s ship, discussed it, argued over it, and tried to pick apart each other’s analysis just as an intellectual exercise. Even after the marathon session, however, Jackson was more certain of what he was seeing than he had been about anything else in his life. The elegance of the solution made complete sense, and once the initial shock of it wore off he was convinced that this was the
only
answer that made sense.

“Grab your shit,” Jackson stood up. “We need to see the admiral.”

“It’s 0330 ship’s time,” Blake pointed out.

“Then grab your shit. We’re going to hit the mess deck for coffee and some decent food and then wake his ass up.”

“Right behind you, sir,” Blake said with enthusiasm.

****

“We have the wrong target,” Jackson said without preamble when Marcum’s bleary-eyed face appeared at the door.

“Wolfe,” he growled. “Have you been fucking drinking?”

“A little, sir,” Jackson admitted. “But that’s not the point.”

“I see you have the colonel with you.” Marcum stepped aside and let them in. “Let’s hope for your sake that this isn’t a waste of my time. I’m trying to keep myself on
Amsterdam
’s time and I just got to sleep. Now what in the hell are you babbling about.”

“Admiral,” Blake stepped in smoothly, “I’d like to show you some sensor footage from my ship I recorded while we were searching for the core mind. At the time the significance of the anomaly I was seeing didn’t quite sink in, but now, combined with the collated data from my ship, I believe we’ve stumbled upon the actual location of the target.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Marcum waved his hands in front of his face as if waving off something rancid. “
Your
goddamn people gave us a target package that your Vruahn handlers have assured us is the core mind. They gave us a ninety-nine percent probability. What the hell could you have found that disputes that?”

“Let me show you.” Blake spun a strange-looking device around to show the admiral. It looked like a tile display that had a mechanical keyboard attached to it by a hinge. The more Jackson saw the colonel using it the more he liked the idea.

“When I was sitting in this system there was nothing of note, but I kept receiving a blip on what we’ve identified as the carrier signal for the Phage networked consciousness.”

“Go on.” Marcum assumed a defensive posture while looking at the display.

“At first they didn’t mean anything,” Blake continued. “As I said: anomalies. But the longer I observed, the more of them were detected. I had the ship run a full spectrum passive scan, which is a massive amount of raw information, and then process it as resources became available. To get to the point, each time there were one of these blips, look at what showed up at the edge of the system.” Blake hit the long, thin key at the bottom of his device and a grainy thermal image showed up that made Marcum suck in his breath.

“An Alpha,” he said.

“A Super Alpha,” Jackson corrected. “The Vruahn have the ability to differentiate between the two even on passives. The point is that the signal originated from somewhere in the system, and each time there was a Super Alpha lurking along the perimeter to receive it. On two occasions there were burst broadcasts from the Alpha back into the system.”

“You’re not exactly blowing my dress up, Wolfe,” Marcum said.

“Think about it, sir,” Blake stepped back in. “The core mind sits isolated in a system that holds zero strategic or logistic value. Why would anyone search there? It can sit silently and pass specific instructions out to the Alphas via these burst transmissions and allow them to propagate the orders out to the rest of the Phage.”

“I still think this is a steaming load, Colonel.” Marcum’s jaw set. “Let’s be objective about this, boys. You’ve captured something … interesting, yes. But you expect me to divert the entire fleet to this bit of nowhere on something so thin? Wolfe, I expected better of you.”

“Not the whole fleet, sir,” Jackson shook his head. “Just the
Ares
and—”

“Absolutely not!” Marcum said. “That destroyer will be leading the charge, along with the giblets you yanked out of that other Alpha, flying the flag for all the rest of the fleet to see. This attack falls apart without at least some measure of blind faith, Senior Captain, and that is you. For some reason God has decided that you need to survive every desperate situation you get into and I want my other COs thinking that some of that can rub off on them.”

“Sir, if we could just—”

“We’re done discussing this, gentlemen,” Marcum said. “While I am dutifully impressed with your enthusiasm, I cannot ignore the mountain of evidence provided by Colonel Blake’s people that the core mind is sitting behind an impenetrable wall of Phage ships. The attack goes on as planned, and if you try to pull any of your usual shit when you don’t get your way, Wolfe, so help me God I will have you keelhauled. I’m not even sure how the hell that will work on a starship but I
will
find a way. Dismissed.”

“Well that could have gone better,” Blake said in the corridor after Marcum had slammed the door to his quarters.

“It actually went about as I expected,” Jackson said. “The admiral has an obligation to pick the course that has the greatest chance of success, and all the information he has is pointing big flashing arrows at the system your wingman found. I can’t say I’d have made a different call if I was in his position.”

“Then why the hell did we bother coming down here?” Blake asked.

“Due diligence,” Jackson said. “We had to at least give him the chance to make the call before we struck out on our own.”

“You can’t be serious,” Blake whispered. “You heard him, didn’t you?”

“Loud and clear,” Jackson said confidently. “I also know how to read between the lines.”

“Oh, shit.”

****

“Have you ever had real Kentucky bourbon before, Specialist?” Jackson asked, pouring the amber liquid into a glass.

“N-n-no, sir,” Accari said, his eyes as big as the glass bottom.

“You nervous?” Pike asked him. “You get used to it after the first sip.”

“It’s not that—”

“Just Pike.”

“It’s not that, Pike,” Accari said. “I’m just wondering why I’m in the captain’s office being offered a drink along with the XO and a CIS agent. Is this about—”

“No,” Jackson held up his hand. “And I’m certain I don’t want to know what you were about to confess to. Here’s the thing, Specialist … I need your help with something. It’s something big, something that could have vast implications for the war and whether we win or lose, but if I’m wrong it could cost you your career and probably your freedom. If you want to leave right now, I’ll understand.”

“I trust you, sir,” Accari said after taking a deep breath and accepting the glass from Pike. “I’ll at least stay and listen.”

“Good man,” Pike nodded.

Over the next ninety minutes Jackson made his case to the young enlisted spacer and explained to him how vital his role would be. Accari agreed almost immediately, despite the three officers warning him how much trouble he would be in if they were wrong, and possibly even if they were right. Jackson was more than a little disturbed by the shining hero worship evident in Accari’s eyes, and he hated himself for using that to get what he needed, but he’d done far worse for much less.

After stressing to the young spacer the need for absolute and utter secrecy, Jackson and his cohorts got down to the business of working out the details of the rest of their plan and whom they would have to bring on board to make it happen.

“So what about that Phage swarm in the other system?” Davis asked as they were wrapping things up. “What is that for if not to protect the core mind?”

“My gut tells me it’s being staged for something,” Jackson said. “Maybe even one huge push into Terran space given the composition of the swarm. Either way, one destroyer won’t make a difference one way or the other if we’re wrong. But if I’m right—” He left it hanging as the other two shared a meaningful look.

“I better get back to my ship,” Blake stood up. “I’ve got a lot to do.”

“We all do,” Jackson nodded. “Let’s get to it.”

****

“Thank you for indulging me, Captain,” Jackson said. “I appreciated the tour.”

“It was our honor to have you aboard the
Icarus
, Senior Captain,” Celesta nodded, laying it on thick in front of her staff officers. “I wish you could stay for Captain’s Mess.”

“As do I,” Jackson smiled. “But the
Ares
is still not quite one hundred percent and Admiral Marcum has been quite clear that the Ninth will be mobilizing with the rest of the fleet.”

“I understand, sir,” Celesta said. “I trust you can find your way back to your shuttle?”

“I can,” Jackson shook her hand. “Thanks again.”

Jackson turned and walked quickly back down the corridor, his prosthetic starting that annoying squeak again that Daya swore he’d taken care of. He wanted to make sure he was back aboard the
Ares
and ready for power testing on the main engines now that she was out of the dock and being prepped for powered flight. There was also the fact that he’d like to get the overly large cargo shuttle back aboard his own ship before the
Amsterdam
came back around the planet and uncomfortable questions were raised about why he hadn’t just taken a tender out on his unannounced inspection of the
Icarus
.

****

“Engineering reports that the primary flight systems have passed all tests with flying colors, Captain,” Hayashi read off his terminal. “Commander Singh says he is clearing the
Ares
for full duty.”

“Give Engineering my compliments, Lieutenant,” Jackson stood. “And then inform the rest of the crew that we are now at full operational status and normal watches are to resume immediately.”

“Aye, sir.”

“XO, prepare the
Ares
for departure,” Jackson ordered. “We will be moving into the lead of the formation ahead of the
Icarus
.”

“Aye, sir,” Davis said.

“Let’s look alive everyone!” Jackson said as he walked off the bridge. “Admiral Marcum wants to depart the DeLonges System in fifteen hours and there will be no excuses accepted for being late for the battle.”

He worried that maybe he and Davis were laying it on a little thick, but he couldn’t help it. For some reason there was a bubbling exuberance in him that he could not explain nor contain. Maybe it was because, for the first time since the war had been brought to them, they were getting ready to take the offensive and punch back. It could be that the thing he thought he would never see, the end of the war in his lifetime, was now just on the horizon. Or maybe it was just true what most of his superiors said about him: he was at his happiest when he was bucking the chain of command regardless of justification. Either way, they were now committed and by the end of the voyage they would either be victors, criminals, or both.

Despite Singh clearing the
Ares
for duty there was still a ton of work to do before she transitioned out of the system with the rest of the fleet. The work crews from New Sierra, most of whom were civilian contractors, had left the ship an utter wreck by Fleet standards. Trash littered the corridors, greasy handprints adorned polished surfaces, and a fine sheen of grime coated most of the decks that had seen heavy repairs.

There was one person who was ecstatic about this: Master Chief Green. He walked through the filthy corridors with a childlike glee as he shouted strings of obscenities about civilians, to and about the spacers trying to clean it up, and to the universe itself. He declared in booming tones that the “party was fucking over” and that “you lazy shitbirds have had it too easy with a brand new ship.” Jackson tried not to crack a smile as miserable faces turned up to him in mute appeal as he walked down the corridors, checking on the rest of his own little side projects.

When all was made as ready as it could be, and he was able to convince Chief Green that the rest of the field day could wait until they were in warp, Jackson went back up to the bridge to wait pensively as Admiral Marcum deployed the rest of the fleet out in the order they would leave the DeLonges System. Soon on the tactical display it looked as if an enormous, pointed comet was streaking through the system as over two thousand Terran starships formed up with the
Ares
at the lead. It was an awesome sight and, for just a second, Jackson had a twinge of doubt about what he was about to do.