Falcone Strike (12 page)

“Transit complete, Captain,” Weiberg said.

“No enemy vessels detected,” Roach added. The display flickered, then started to fill up with a handful of tactical icons. “There’s no hint they may be under cloak.”

“Take us into cloak,” Kat ordered. The UNAS-RD-46785 system might be useless—apart from the red star itself, the only items on the display were a handful of comets and asteroids—but if the Theocracy
was
using it as a waypoint, there might be an observer or two watching the system from a safe distance. “Mr. XO?
”

“
The squadron reports ready, Captain,” the XO said. “They’re going into cloak now.”

Kat nodded, feeling something churning in her stomach. They could be wrong . . . and if they were, they were going to waste at least a week, a week they could be using to wreak havoc elsewhere. On an interstellar scale, a week probably didn’t really matter, but it was still worrying. The best guesses of worlds important to the Theocracy were just that, guesses.

She might as well start pulling names and targets out of a hat. “Hold position here,” she ordered. She briefly considered deploying drones, then decided it might alert any prowling enemy ships to their presence. So far, it didn’t
look
as though they’d been detected, but that could change at any moment. “Keep a sharp eye on the passive sensors and inform me if anything appears.”

She keyed her console, then brought up the XO’s report on his discussion with the observer and read it for the third time. The observer was going to be trouble, Kat knew, even though she had a point. Maybe she would do something relatively harmless, even beneficial, by urging the expansion of Piker’s Peak . . . or maybe she would press for something far more dangerous, something that would tear the Navy apart. She cursed under her breath, then brought up her own report to her father and read it once again. There was no hope of sending it home unless she detached a ship, but at least it would be ready.

The day passed slowly. Kat handed command to the XO, slept for several hours, and then returned to the bridge. The XO ran training and tracking exercises for the crew, reporting to her that gunnery competitions between the tactical officers were keeping them all on their toes. Kat allowed herself a smile, then told him to make sure he got some sleep for himself before the shit hit the fan. God alone knew how long it would be before the next convoy came along, assuming they weren’t completely wrong about the enemy still using UNAS-RD-46785 as a waypoint, but they’d need to be alert when the time came. It was four days before the tactical officer sounded the alert. “Captain,” Roach said, as a red icon blinked into existence in front of her. “A courier boat just popped out of hyperspace.”

Kat frowned. “Just one?
”

“
Yes, Captain,” Roach said. “It’s hard to be sure, but I’d say she came over the border.”

The former border
, Kat thought. Cadiz was now firmly in enemy hands and, even though the inhabitants had resisted the Commonwealth with bitter determination, she couldn’t help feeling sorry for them. The Theocracy was a far worse enemy.
And are they here to meet someone or what
? “Sound yellow alert,” she ordered. It was unlikely a courier boat could detect the squadron, unless they got
very
unlucky, but its presence strongly suggested that someone else was on the way. “Do
not
do anything that might imperil the cloaking device.”

“Aye, Captain,” Roach said.

Kat studied the courier boat as it held position, drifting in orbit around the red star. It was really nothing more than a giant drive section with a tiny crew compartment at the front; indeed, it was clear the Theocracy had merely copied and updated a UN design that had been brought into service before the Breakaway Wars.
She
wouldn’t have cared to serve on a courier boat, where there was barely enough room for two crewmen to swing a cat. In her experience, their crews tended to be a little weird. Some were lovers, enjoying their privacy as they flew from system to system; others hated each other so thoroughly that they couldn’t stand to be in the same room once they reached their destination. And yet they kept flying together . . . she shook her head, pushing the matter aside. No doubt an overpaid psychologist would come up with an elaborate theory to explain it if anyone asked . . .

Maybe they just know the other is reliable
, she thought, after a moment. She’d learned the difference between someone reliable and someone likable very early on and, in her training, the former was always preferable.
They rely on each other even though they detest each other
.

An alarm sounded. “Captain, a hyperspace gate is opening,” Roach said. “I’m counting seven starships . . . no, twelve. Three destroyers, one cruiser, and eight freighters.”

Kat tensed as the display updated. “Sound red alert,” she ordered. Alarms howled through the ship. “Bring the ship to battle stations, but keep the cloak in place.”

“Aye, Captain,” Roach said.

The XO hurried onto the bridge and took his console. “All ships report ready, Captain,” he said after a moment. “They’re red and hot.” Kat nodded, running through possible options in her mind. The cruiser looked to be modern; the destroyers were probably refitted . . . and the freighters were very much a mixed bag. It was unlikely, though, that any of them lacked a hyperdrive. They’d be grossly inefficient if they needed to travel without a larger ship to open the gateways into hyperspace for them.

But that might suit the enemy fine
, she thought, recalling just how many ships had limped across the border.
You can’t run away if you’re restricted to STL speeds
.

“Lock weapons on the enemy warships,” she ordered. If the cruiser happened to be looking for trouble, they
might
detect the cloaking fields. “Target secondary missiles on the freighters. If they start preparing to escape, I want them destroyed.”

“Aye, Captain,” Roach said.

Kat nodded. “Take us into firing range,” she ordered. “And prepare to fire.”

“Aye, Captain,” Weiberg said.

“Watch them carefully,” Kat added. “If they sweep us, fire at once; don’t wait for orders, just fire at once.”

“Aye, Captain,” Roach said again.

Kat smiled, then keyed her console, hastily checking her calculations against the tactical computers. How long would it take for the enemy to recycle their hyperdrives and jump back out? Long enough for them to be caught by her missiles? It wasn’t standard procedure to keep the drives warmed up, not when it put a great deal of wear and tear on the system, but this was wartime. She could see advantages in keeping her drives ready to open a gateway, even if it meant they would have to be replaced sooner rather than later. It all depended on just how para noid the enemy was feeling.

“Entering firing range,” Roach reported. “There’s no sign they’ve detected us.”

Unless they’re very cool customers
, Kat thought. A cloaked ship couldn’t raise shields without breaking the cloak. If someone had picked up the flotilla on passive sensors, they might
just
wait until the ship slipped into point-blank range and then open fire before the incoming ship could realize it was under attack and raise its shields.
But would someone with that sort of nerve be left running convoy escort missions?
She took a breath. “Attack pattern beta,” she ordered. “Fire at will.”
Lightning
shuddered as she unleashed the first spread of missiles, aimed right at the enemy cruiser. The display updated rapidly as the other ships fired too, launching enough missiles to overwhelm an enemy force twice the size of the one facing them. Kat hadn’t been inclined to take chances, but as the enemy ships struggled to react, it rapidly became clear that they’d been caught completely by surprise. Their point defense was barely effective and they didn’t even launch a single missile in response.

If nothing else, they’ll be more paranoid after this
, Kat thought.
And the wear and tear on their sensors will make it all worthwhile.
Cold hatred burned through her gut as the enemy cruiser twisted in a desperate attempt to escape the inevitable. Seven missiles slammed into its shields, knocking them down before they could even solidify; three more slammed into its hull, blowing it apart into an expanding ball of plasma. Kat watched the cruiser die, then turned her attention to the destroyers; one of them, with a captain and crew who were clearly on the ball, managed to launch a broadside of their own before they were smashed to atoms. But they’d had no time to target the missiles properly, let alone set up a tactical assault program. The entire spread was wiped out before they could even lock onto their targets. “All four warships and the courier boat have been destroyed,
”

Roach reported. Kat hadn’t seen the tiny starship die. “Missiles locked on enemy freighters.”

“Communications, send the surrender demand,” Kat ordered. “Tactical, prepare to open fire if they try to escape.”

“Aye, Captain,” Nicola said. Roach echoed her a moment later. “Message sent.”

Kat rolled her eyes. She’d originally intended to record the surrender demand herself, but Davidson had pointed out that the Theocracy’s soldiers and spacers wouldn’t want to surrender to a woman. It sounded absurd to her—her gender had no bearing on her ability to command a starship—yet if it prevented unnecessary bloodshed, she could cope with it. And besides, if the enemy was so foolish as to deny themselves the talents of half of their population, she might as well take advantage of it.

There was a certain kind of advantage in being constantly underestimated.
Princess Drusilla certainly took advantage of it
, she thought with wry amusement.
They never anticipated she could actually steal a freighter, let alone make a run for the Commonwealth.

“No response,” Nicola said.

“Two of the freighters are powering up their drives,” Roach added. “Target them with active sensors,” Kat ordered. She didn’t need to refine her targeting data any further, but even civilian-grade equipment couldn’t fail to pick up the sweep. It was a threat, a clear warning that she was prepared to open fire on a defenseless freighter. But then, defenseless or not, it was part of the enemy’s war effort. “And repeat the surrender demand.”

“No response,” Nicola said.

“Target the two runaways,” Kat ordered. They’d make their escape into hyperspace if she hesitated any longer. “Fire!
”

“
Aye, Captain,” Roach said. He tapped his console. The freighters, protected only by civilian-grade shields, were rapidly blown into atoms.

“Targets destroyed.”

“The remaining freighters are signaling their surrender,” Nicola said.

Kat allowed herself a sigh of relief mixed with concern. It was possible that the enemy ships had chosen to surrender, but equally possible they were planning a trap. A crew of fanatics wouldn’t hesitate to blow their drives once her Marines were onboard, killing everyone and leaving her with fewer troops. The safest course of action would be to simply kill all of the remaining freighters, but she needed the ships and their computers intact. And besides, destroying surrendering ships would be cold-blooded murder.

“Inform the Marines that they are cleared to depart,” she ordered. “Communications, inform the enemy that they are to cut their shields, drives, and active sensors. If they comply with our orders, they will be taken into custody and transferred to a POW camp, where they will be held until the end of the war. Any resistance, however, will be met by the destruction of the offending vessel.”

The XO opened a private channel to her implants. “They may not be safe when they return home if we take them as POWs,” he said. “We may want to offer them a permanent home.”

Kat frowned. The idea of butchering one’s own personnel was strange and alien to her, but it fit in with the Theocracy’s system. They wouldn’t want anyone who’d seen a different society to return to the mainstream, certainly not a society as irreligious as the Commonwealth.

No, the XO was right; it was much more likely that returning them to their homeworld would sign their death sentence.

“See to it, if they’re willing to cooperate,” she sent back. “The Marine intelligence officers can interrogate them, then make a few offers.” She closed the channel, then turned to watch as the Marine shuttles slipped closer to their targets. None of the freighters seemed anything but conventional; Kat couldn’t help feeling nervous as the Marines closed in, then docked on the hulls. A single mistake now could lead to disaster. She would have preferred to deal with the freighters one by one, but the Marines had different ideas. The enemy couldn’t be allowed time for second thoughts, let alone a chance to put those thoughts into action. Rigging a freighter to blow, unlike a warship, would take time.
Unless they already have a selfdestruct system
, she thought.
It would be just the sort of thing they’d have
.

There was no point in trying to issue orders, she knew, as the Marines swarmed into the enemy ships. They’d treat everyone they encountered as a potential enemy, at least until they knew better; the crew would be bound, stacked against the wall . . . or stunned, if they tried to put up a fight. At least the Marines might avoid the horrors she’d seen on pirate ships. Kat forced herself to wait, despite her growing nervousness, as one by one the Marine units reported in. The enemy ships had been secured. “Captain,” Davidson reported, “two of the ships are crammed with janissaries.”