Empire in Crisis (11 page)

“No word from Major
Ryan yet?” asked DeChastelaine. 

“Nothing yet, My
Emperor.” 

“If Hiakawa knows that
the marines are on our side, then we won’t be giving away anything by calling
Ryan now. Establish communications with the 9077th. I want to talk with Ryan
myself, Captain.” 

“Right away, My Emperor!” 

Ryan felt someone touch
his arm and looked around. It was the Command vehicle’s Comm. Tech. “Major,
we’re being hailed by someone who claims to be calling on behalf of the
Emperor.” 

“Is it on a secure
line, McCluskey?” The Comm. Tech nodded. “Okay, let me hear it.” Ryan waited
until the Comm. Tech pointed his finger at him. “Major Ryan, 9077th Marine
Battalion. Who am I speaking with?” 

“Stand by for Emperor
DeChastelaine, Major,” said a perfectly calm voice. 

“Major Ryan, this is
the Emperor. Do you recognize my voice?” 

“I do, My
Emperor.” 

“Listen carefully,
Major. Hiakawa is trying to order orbiting ships to fire on your marines. I
don’t need to tell you that you have to get on the ground as fast as possible
to avoid being blown out of the sky. Don’t leave your vehicles out in the open.
Crash them into the target building if you feel it necessary. Your vehicles
have enough armor to take it. We have the upper hand right now, but this
operation is not a done deal yet, Major. It could still go the other way. Do
what you have to do, understand?” 

“Completely, My
Emperor. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m about to get very busy.” 

He heard his Emperor
laugh. “Carry on, Major. Out.” 

Hiakawa allowed himself
a grin when the communications officer told him that Fleet Group Admiral
Romanov was on the line. 

“Sergei! It’s about
damned time you answered our calls! What the hell is going on up there?” 

“One of my lieutenants
locked down the Comm. Section. What’s happening, Admiral? Is this marine drill
legit or not?” 

“No it’s not legit, God
dammit! They’re coming to assault HQ! Fire at them, Admiral, and do it
fast!” 

Hiakawa heard Romanov
giving orders and then a few seconds of static. Hiakawa was just about to speak
again when he felt a vibration through the floor. Turning to his Aide he said,
“Find out what that was.” 

As the Aide left,
Romanov came back on the line. “It’s too late, Admiral. All the marine assault
vehicles are on the ground, and we no longer have direct line-of-sight on them.
It seems they’ve crashed into HQ in order to avoid being targeted with direct
energy fire. I recommend that you—“ 

“DON’T YOU DARE
RECOMMEND ANYTHING, YOU INCOMPETENT PIECE OF SHIT! CUT THIS BASTARD OFF!” said
Hiakawa to the shocked Comm. Officer. 

By the time his Aide
had returned with the news that marines wearing powered combat armor were
inside the building, Hiakawa had calmed down. It was over. He had gambled and
lost. He shook his head in dismay. So close. He had gotten so close to being
Emperor. 

“Lieutenant? Go out
there and find a marine officer. Try not to get yourself shot. When you find
one, tell him or her that Senior Grand Admiral Hiakawa wishes to
surrender.” 

DeChastelaine let
himself drop into one of the comfortable chairs in his private quarters and
felt the wave of fatigue that without fail eventually followed a surge of
adrenaline. The immediate crisis was over. Hiakawa had surrendered. Space Force
HQ was now under Imperial Guard control. Every admiral with at least three
stars had been rounded up and ‘detained’ until they could be vetted by verifier
tests to see who was part of the coup attempt. Capital Fleet was no longer a
worry. Fleet Group Admiral Romanov had been relieved of command, and his
temporary replacement was a two-star squadron leader who had passed a secret
verifier test for loyalty some time back. Lt. Merrick had been released from
the brig where Romanov had put her, and Jordania’s body was in the process of
being flown down to the Palace where she would be buried with full Imperial
Guard honors. The 9077th marine battalion was in the process of standing down.
DeChastelaine had promised that the battalion would get an Imperial Unit
Citation for their successful mission with minimal casualties on both sides,
and Ryan was promised a double promotion to General. It felt good to be able to
relax, if only for a little while. 

DeChastelaine knew that
he had a tiger by the tail. Capital Fleet was secure and the 107th was secure
under Logan, but that still left 32 other fleets whose loyalty to DeChastelaine
were questionable. The fleets controlled by Hiakawa’s son and his nephew were
the most likely to pose a military threat. If they were smart, they would
decide between them who would take the lead and then try to convince as many of
the other Fleet Admirals to join them as possible. They wouldn’t even need to
get a majority of the others. If it came to an open break with DeChastelaine,
some of the admirals would simply stay neutral. The side that had the most
committed fleets would probably win, but it also depended on where those fleets
were, how good the fleet commanders were and how quickly each side could react.
In his haste to goad Hiakawa into a showdown, DeChastelaine hadn’t fully
realized what the aftermath of foiling the coup would be. The prospect of
having to fight a civil war at the same time as trying to defend the Empire
from the alien incursion was terrifying. The only silver lining to the whole
thing was that he didn’t have to pussyfoot around anymore. He was already
committed, so there was no longer any benefit to hold back on reforming the
command structure. 

He opened his eyes to
see his favorite sexbot standing in front of him. DeChastelaine spoke before
the sexbot could say anything. “Not tonight. I’m too tired.” 

“Not even a back rub,
My Emperor?” 

He shook his head. “Not
even a back rub.” The sexbot turned and walked slowly away. DeChastelaine got
up and, opening his robe and letting it fall to the floor, fell face down on
the nearby bed. Sleep came mercifully quickly.

Logan stared at the
holographic main display with dread. Almost twenty-four hours had passed since
the reply from Hood, and he was about to find out if he had made a huge mistake
in his strategic decision. He had taken McKeon’s advice about sending the two
light cruiser squadrons all the way to TD39 as well as redeploying the heavies
back into the TE33 system to keep an eye on the approaches to the other
wormholes that could potentially be used to flank the 107th. Any minute now he
expected to get the first report from one of those heavy cruiser squadrons. The
55th had been the first to reach its wormhole assignment. As per Logan’s
instructions, two cruisers had stayed on this side of the wormhole, while the
rest had gone through it to the other side. Of those, two cruisers were holding
station at that end, and the rest had dispersed to within detection range of
the four other wormholes in that system.  The idea was that if any alien ships emerged
from or headed towards any wormhole in that system, a ship from the 55th would
detect their warp emissions and transmit the data back to the two ships holding
station at the wormhole exit point. They would then send a message drone
through the wormhole back into the TE33 system, and the two cruisers on this
end would transmit the data back to the TE33 starbase where the bulk of the
107th was now waiting. What Logan dreaded was the time factor. Travelling
through a wormhole was not instantaneous. Depending on what, if anything, the
55th found on the other side, there might not be enough time for them to send
the information to Logan, and then for him to get a reply back to them. And it
wasn’t just the 55th that had the potential to ruin Logan’s day. Three more
heavy cruiser squadrons were doing the exact same thing with three other
wormholes. 

“Incoming transmission
from heavy cruiser Jutland.” The computer’s electronic voice was annoyingly
calm. Logan waited for the relayed text message to scroll across the bottom of
the tactical display.

[Sanchez to FC.
Thirteen unidentified and presumed hostile ships detected travelling at 4.6C on
a vector leading from TD41 wormhole to TF40 wormhole. Data follows. Request
instructions. End of message.] 

Logan heard someone say
‘shit!’ and then realized that he had said it. The tactical display quickly
updated itself with the data on the alien ships and zoomed into the TE34
system. Ships of the 55th squadron had gotten to that system just in time to
catch the transit of the alien fleet crossing from the wormhole leading back to
TD41 and heading for the wormhole leading to system TF40. The display was now
showing the actual position at the point of detection and also the projected
position if the alien fleet maintained its course and speed, and that was the
bad news. The projected position was almost at the wormhole leading to Tango
Foxtrot 40. TF40 was in the general direction of the Capital. Could it be that
the alien fleet was attempting a daring end run around TE33 to head straight
for Earth? There was another possibility too. Maybe they were trying to enter
the TE33 system from the rear instead of the sides. Logan hoped it was the
latter because if they were headed for Earth, the 107th, as a whole, was too slow
to intercept them. His battlecruisers might be able to do it, but they might
not be able to stop that fleet. He had to make a decision fast. 

“Get McKeon on my
station display,” said Logan. Undaunted’s CO appeared quickly. 

“You saw the message
and realize the implications?” asked Logan. 

“Yessir. They’re either
trying to hit us from the rear or they’re lunging for the Capital.” 

Logan nodded. “And
depending on which it is, our response will be different. If they’re going to
attack us from the rear, then our best countermove is to move the 107th to
cover their exit wormhole and ambush them as they emerge, but if they’re headed
for Earth, Capital Fleet might not be able to stop them without our help. What
would you recommend, Commander?” 

McKeon took a deep
breath before speaking. “The obvious first thing is to send a warning to Space
Force HQ. At least they’ll be able to put recon assets into nearby systems so
that they’ll know from which wormhole the enemy is coming. Second, I would
order the 55th and the other heavies to maintain their surveillance of the
adjacent systems just in case there’s another formation of alien ships moving
along a different path. Third, the 107th’s battlecruisers should be detached
and moved into TF33 to confirm if the enemy fleet is headed back this way. If
they are, then our battlecruisers should return to this system to link up with
the capital ships and engage the enemy when they emerge into this system. If
the enemy fleet is continuing towards the Capital, the battlecruisers just
might be fast enough to get there first, IF they don’t run into the enemy fleet
on the way back.” 

Logan nodded, but he
wasn’t agreeing with McKeon’s recommended plan. He was acknowledging what
McKeon has left unsaid. TF33 was the next star system in the chain leading back
to the Capital. If the battlecruisers stayed there long enough to determine
what the enemy fleet was doing, they might still have enough time to get back
to the Capital and reinforce Capital Fleet. But if they didn’t stop in TF33 and
instead kept right on going to the Capital, their chances of getting there
first would go up tremendously. The risk there was if the enemy really was
intending to attack this system from the rear. Without the battlecruiser
squadrons, what was left of the 107th might have a hard time defending the
starbase and would be too slow to disengage. The alien fleet could potentially
wipe out the capital ship squadrons, then the starbase and then chew up the
heavy cruiser squadrons one at a time. That would leave the two light cruiser
squadrons hopelessly outclassed and hanging in the wind with little hope of
making it back to safety. 

Logan weighed the risks
and made his decision. “I accept your recommendations, Commander, with a slight
modification. The main elements of the 107th will move into TF33 so that I can
exercise direct control of the situation there. If we detect the enemy moving
toward this system, we’ll pull back and ambush them here. Otherwise I’ll detach
the battlecruisers and send them home. The heavies will stay where they are.
Who would you recommend I put in command of the detached battlecruisers?” 

After a short pause,
McKeon responded. “Well, in all honesty, none of the battlecruiser squadron
leaders are particularly adept at fleet tactics, but if I had to choose one of
them, I’d pick Alistair Wolf, sir.” 

Now it was Logan’s turn
to hesitate. So far, McKeon had been a pleasant surprise in terms of his advice
and understanding of the complexities of the situation, in spite of his less
than stellar service record. That was the problem with making judgements about
someone from their service record. Performance evaluations sometimes reflected
biases that could make someone look better than they were, or worse. McKeon was
at the age where most officers would have risen to at least 1-star flag rank.
That he wasn’t was a strike against him, but the fact that he commanded a
super-dreadnought that was also the Fleet flagship, was a plus. Logan had
looked at Wolf’s service record and wasn’t impressed. 

“Is your XO capable of
commanding this ship, Commander?” asked Logan. 

McKeon was clearly
surprised by the question. “My XO? Well, ah yes, I would say that he is
capable, but I don’t see what that has to do with—“ 

“If I detach the
battlecruiser squadrons and send them home, you’ll be given a field promotion
to Vice-Admiral, and you’ll be leading them, not Wolf.” 

“Can you do that?”
McKeon was so incredulous that his voice was almost a whisper. 

Logan laughed. “Oh yes,
I can do that. What I can’t do is guarantee how long you’ll keep that one star.
You ponder that possible assignment while I get the rest of the plan into
action, Commander.” Logan cut off the connection and started giving
orders. 

It was nine hours later
when the 107th emerged from the wormhole exit into TF33, and Logan was tired.
He should have been asleep now, but holding the fleet back while he slept would
have given the enemy too much of a time advantage. There were no surprises as
the fleet settled down into a standard formation. Even at 4.6 times the speed
of light, the enemy fleet wasn’t fast enough to move into TF40, cross that
system, enter another wormhole, emerge into TF33 and cross that system to the
vicinity of the wormhole leading to and from TE33. As planned, one of the
battlecruisers took off for the wormhole leading to TF40. It would use its
long-range warp detectors to look ahead. Careful astrogational calculation had
revealed that if the enemy fleet was headed here, the battlecruiser would
detect them accelerating away at warp speed from the TF40 wormhole. 

The wait for the recon
battlecruiser to make its way across the system was agonizing for Logan. He
tried walking around the Flag Bridge but gave that up when it became obvious
that he was distracting the other personnel. Caffeine-laden drinks helped a
little, and he had a powerful stimulant requisitioned from the ship’s medical
personnel, but he was holding that back as a last resort. When it wore off, he
would literally lose consciousness for a while, and he needed to make sure that
was after any battle. As the chronometer counted down until the estimated
contact point, Logan opened a video channel to McKeon who was on the ship’s
Main Bridge. Neither man spoke. 

Eventually, after what
seemed a lifetime, the countdown clock hit zero without any incoming
transmission. Logan reminded himself that the astrogation wasn’t precise enough
to be able to predict the exact second, and a delay was to be expected, but his
sluggish brain told him to shut up and let it sleep. Just as his eyelids
started to close, he heard the tactical display ping with that telltale sound
of an incoming FTL text transmission.  

[Excalibur to FC.
Thirteen ships detected travelling at 4.61C from TF40 wormhole on a heading to
TE33 wormhole. Excalibur is returning as ordered. Data to follow. End of
message.] 

Logan looked at
McKeon’s image on the small display. “Well, Commander McKeon, it looks like
you’ll be staying here as Undaunted’s CO after all.” 

McKeon smiled.
“Actually, I’m relieved that I won’t be commanding four full squadrons of
battlecruisers on a risky dash home, sir. Undaunted and I are old friends. I’d
hate to have to leave her.” 

“I understand. Let’s
get the fleet back over to the other side, Commander.” 

As the ship entered the
wormhole, Logan decided to take a quick nap in his quarters. Transiting the
wormhole itself would take almost an hour, and there was no point in sitting on
the Flag Bridge during that time since he couldn’t communicate with any other
ship or change any order. An hour’s sleep wouldn’t be enough to completely
refresh him mentally, but it would help. The fleet already had all the
instructions they needed to get ready for the ambush. The enemy fleet wouldn’t
be arriving in TE33 for another two and a half hours. Excalibur would be the
last ship to emerge from the wormhole and would still be far enough ahead of
the alien fleet that it could position itself in the ambush
formation.  

Half an hour before the
enemy was expected, Logan took the medical stimulant. It had a duration of
about 90 minutes. If the battle were still raging at the end of that time, then
something would have gone wrong. The Flag Bridge was a hum of activity and
sound now. Each individual manning a console was talking with someone somewhere
else in the ship or on some other ship. Logan walked casually over to the Fleet
Tactical Officer. 

“What’s the status of
the fire plan, Lieutenant?” 

The tall young woman
smiled a feral grin and said, “Every ship’s missile barrage is programmed and
ready to fire, Fleet Commander.”

Logan was impressed by
her lack of fear and apparent enthusiasm. The FTO position was usually assigned
to a SubCommander. For a Senior Lieutenant to be put in charge of an entire
fleet’s tactical planning and execution was a real coup for the officer. Logan
had checked her service and academic records. She did have an above average
tactical skills rating, although it wasn’t exceptionally good. Her service
record showed consistently good performance reviews. After a little more
digging, he had found what seemed to be the real reason why she was given this
plum assignment. She was Admiral Corvosier’s niece. That relationship cast a
shadow of doubt over her service record. Maybe she was as good as her record
seemed to suggest, but she might also be the beneficiary of the desire of her
supervising officers to ingratiate themselves with her uncle by giving her
better reviews than were actually warranted. Right now there was no way to
know, and he didn’t have time to personally check every missile’s
programming.