Falcone Strike (21 page)
Authors: Christopher Nuttall
Tags: #Science Fiction & Fantasy, #Science Fiction, #Adventure, #Galactic Empire, #Military, #Space Fleet, #Space Marine, #Space Opera
“The enemy ships will be within firing range in seventeen minutes,” Roach reported. “I don’t
think
they’ve seen through our ECM, but they’re launching probes and it’s only a matter of time.”
Kat nodded shortly. “Take us into hyperspace in ten minutes, unless the situation changes,” she ordered. She was mildly surprised the enemy had bothered to give chase, although if
she’d
been in the enemy CO’s shoes she would probably have wanted to claim she’d done everything she could to catch the imprudent raiders too. “And launch a flight of our own probes back at them. I want a complete breakdown on that squadron before we leave.”
“Aye, Captain,” Roach said.
We could outrun the bastards with ease if it was just us
, Kat thought sourly.
Lightning
wasn’t the fastest thing in space, but she was certainly faster than a bunch of lumbering superdreadnoughts. The enemy destroyers were the only ships that could keep up with her and they’d be reluctant to tangle with a heavy cruiser on their own.
Of course, they might try to delay us long enough for the bigger boys to catch up and smash us into atoms
.
“Probes away,” Roach said. He frowned. “Captain, the enemy probes are closing in sharply. I don’t know how long the ECM will hold up.”
“Hold our course and speed,” Kat ordered. As far as the enemy could see, they were facing the whole squadron, not a single heavy cruiser and a handful of ECM-projecting drones. What would they do when they finally realized the truth? Push the destroyers forward? Give up? Something else? “And watch for the moment they burn through the ECM.”
“Aye, Captain,” Roach said.
The XO opened a private channel. “Captain, they may not tip us off,” he said. “If they hold
their
nerve, they may try to slip into firing range without revealing that they know there’s only one real starship present.”
“I know,” Kat sent back. It was frustrating; she could fire on the enemy probes, but that would reveal she had only one starship capable of mounting weapons. It wouldn’t be hard for the enemy to guess the truth. “But I want to learn as much as we can about them before we have to take our leave.”
“Captain,” Roach said. “The enemy ships are picking off our drones. Their targeting is unfortunately good.”
“So it would seem,” Kat agreed. She’d hoped the enemy training schedules had suffered along with their maintenance cycles, but apparently not. Perhaps Verdean was a trap after all. Or, perhaps, their CO had been doing the best he could with the tools he had on hand. It didn’t seem as though there was any point in sticking around. “I want to jump out in five minutes.”
“Aye, Captain,” Weiberg said.
Lightning’s
tactical processors ran through the entire ship, a redundancy built into the system to make it hard for a single lucky hit to disable the datanet and cripple the ship’s ability to fight. At worst, the designers had planned it that other elements of the datanet could abandon their regular tasks and assume control of the ship’s defenses. It had never occurred to them that a program, slipped into the datanet in the tactical department, could make its way—undetected—into the communications system, then order a signal blister to send a single message to one of the enemy ships. But then, the human element had always been the weakest of any secure system.
The spy uploaded the program, then waited. It sent its message, then erased all traces of its passage before wiping itself from existence. And no one knew what it had done.
Kat took a breath as the enemy ships lumbered closer. “Jump us out,” she ordered. “And then generate static as we go.”
“Aye, Captain,” Weiberg said.
A gateway blossomed to life in front of
Lightning
. The ship shuddered, then plunged forward into hyperspace, followed by the ECM drones. Kat braced herself, half expecting to run into an ambush, but there was nothing more than the flickering lights and energy storms of hyperspace waiting for them. The drones switched to static mode, generating tiny disruptions to make it harder for the enemy to follow their mothership, then started the countdown to self-destruct.
Light ning
picked up speed rapidly, looping around the nexus of gravimetric force representing the primary star, then headed away from the system on an evasive course.
Kat allowed herself a moment of relief. She had assumed the Theocracy would give chase, even through hyperspace, yet it seemed the enemy had other ideas. Perhaps they had a point. She knew, from bitter experience, just how easy it was to lose an advantage if one fought in hyperspace.
“We appear to have broken contact successfully, Captain,” Roach said.
“Keep us on our evasive course, for the moment,” Kat ordered. There was no point in taking chances. “We’ll head around to link up with the rest of the squadron in a day or two.”
“Aye, Captain,” Weiberg said.
We gave the Theocracy a bloody nose
, Kat thought, settling into her command chair. She couldn’t help feeling torn between glee and a bitter helpless guilt.
But they’ll take it out on the planet, now that we’re gone
.
“The enemy fleet has escaped, Admiral,” the tactical officer said. He sounded nervous, no doubt expecting the blame. “We could follow them into hyperspace . . .”
“That won’t be necessary,” Admiral Junayd said. Hyperspace would give a small squadron advantages against his fleet, advantages he would be foolish to ignore. “Reverse course and take us back to the planet, best possible speed.”
“Aye, Admiral,” the fleet coordination officer said. “They sent us a message,” the communications officer added. “It was encoded; standard intelligence protocols, identifying the sender.”
“Route it down to the intelligence staff,” Admiral Junayd ordered. He’d expected the enemy to taunt him, but an encoded message? Had God blessed them with a spy on the enemy ship or was it nothing more than an attempt to bait a trap? Intelligence scheming lacked the beautiful simplicity—and openness—of space warfare; it was quite possible that their spy had been turned, if he’d ever been theirs in the first place. “And then forget you ever saw it.”
“Aye, Admiral,” the communications officer said.
Admiral Junayd nodded curtly, then switched the display back to the live feed from the light cruisers. The Commonwealth ships
had
hammered the occupation forces on Verdean into the ground, he noted; he would have been impressed, really, if it hadn’t been a major headache for him to solve. He didn’t have the ground forces sufficient to regain control of the surface, nor could he reasonably slaughter the entire planet. They were, after all, potential believers.
“Get me a direct link to the bunker as soon as you can,” he ordered. They’d be within effective communications range in twenty minutes. “And then see if you can raise anyone else.”
He shook his head, knowing it was probably futile. The industries of Verdean had been smashed, along with the colonies on the outer worlds and the cloudscoop. There was literally nothing left, apart from the population—and
they
were largely useless. He had a feeling that the Commonwealth, which could be as ruthless as his own people, had either kidnapped the trained workers or simply killed them. It was what
he
would have done.
The planet won’t starve
, he thought,
but losing the cloudscoop will cause fuel prices across the sector to rise
.
It wasn’t a pleasant thought. The Theocracy had used its monopoly of HE3 to keep planets under control, as well as supervising the handful of independent shippers allowed within its territory. Now, dozens of planets would suffer shortages, which would provoke unrest and even riots. In hindsight, it might have been wiser to copy the Commonwealth’s practice of establishing a cloudscoop in every system, but that wouldn’t have been good for keeping those worlds under control. The weakness of that policy had come back to bite them in the rear.
And it would be damn near impossible to establish a replacement cloud scoop now, in wartime
, he added mentally.
The technicians who would put one together have been diverted to support the offensive
.
He cursed inwardly. Years ago, he’d been taught an old rhyme about the loss of a nail. It was hardly significant in itself, but if the loss of a nail could spell the loss of a horseshoe, and if the loss of a horseshoe could spell the loss of a horse, and if the loss of a horse could spell the loss of a messenger, and if the loss of a messenger could spell the loss of a battle . . . he couldn’t help wondering if the attack on Verdean would trigger a similar series of disasters that eventually led to the loss of the war. Or perhaps he was just panicking over nothing. HE3 was stockpiled; there
were
freighters that could ship fuel from Aswan to a dozen other worlds . . . a few worlds might go cold for lack of fusion power, but by then the war would be won or lost anyway. They could endure.
Our ancestors endured hardships when they first spoke the words of the true faith
, he reminded himself sternly.
How can we endure any less? It’s not a fair comparison
, his own thoughts mockingly replied.
Your ancestors didn’t have to keep the galaxy’s mightiest military machine going . . .
“Admiral,” the communications officer said, “I have a direct link to the bunker.”
“Put the CO through,” Admiral Junayd ordered.
He groaned inwardly as a face appeared on the display. Bearded, unkempt—a sure sign of a fanatic or an Inquisitor. “Admiral,” the man said shortly. A line of text under his image identified him as Inquisitor Frazil. “Bombard the enemy positions at once.”
“I believe that
I
am the sector commander,” Admiral Junayd said. It was hard to keep the surge of anger from his voice, but he kept his tone under firm control. “And we have yet to locate any
enemy positions
. There seems to be a lack of tanks or mobile guns or anything else that might draw the eye.”
The Inquisitor glared at him. “It is your duty to reassume control of this world so that the great work may continue,” he snapped. “Years of patient work have been destroyed overnight. Many believers have been lost to unbelief.”
“We will target enemy positions when they are located,” Admiral Junayd said firmly. “However, I do not have the manpower on hand to replenish the occupation force. I will merely take control of the high orbitals, then wait for my superiors to dispatch reinforcements.”
“There’s no time,” the Inquisitor insisted. “I will not see our work wasted!
”
“
I am in command here,” Admiral Junayd said, feeling his temper snap. “You are under my orders. If you refuse to obey, place yourself under arrest on the charge of disobeying orders in the face of the enemy. I
suggest
”—he allowed his voice to harden—“that you do as you’re told. We do not have the resources to engage in a bloody pacification campaign and I will not waste what little I have without reinforcements. Do you understand me?
”
There was a long pause. An Inquisitor
might
get away with disobeying orders . . . but
someone
would have to take the blame for the disaster. Admiral Junayd waited, his dark eyes daring the younger man to cross the line. The Inquisitor scowled, then lowered his eyes, conceding the point.
“I understand you,” he said. “But the believers on the surface will probably be killed!
”
“
We will do what we can to protect them,” Admiral Junayd said. “Now, once we enter orbit, I will send a shuttle for you. I expect to see you on my ship shortly afterwards. Bring with you a complete report and a tactical breakdown. Both of them will be added to my report.”
He closed the channel without waiting for a reply, then sighed. “Captain Haran?
”
“
Yes, Admiral?
”
“
I want a full report within an hour,” Admiral Junayd ordered. “And make sure you put it together independently of our friend below. He will not hesitate to try to make himself look good.”
“Yes, sir,” Captain Haran said.
Commander Amman was a slight young man, too thin and effeminate for Admiral Junayd’s tastes. Or, perhaps, that was a reaction to his lifelong disdain for intelligence analysts; they either got it right, in which case they would brag about their cleverness until he just wanted them to shut up, or they would come up with excellent excuses for getting it wrong. But Commander Amman came with good references, including some from one of Admiral Junayd’s old comrades. It made him wonder why the commander had been assigned to Aswan in the first place.
“The message was designed to identify the originator, Admiral,” Amman said. “Any intelligence section could decrypt the message, but only the person with the private key could have encrypted it. However, we lack access to the files that would do more than identify the spy as one of ours.”
“Of course,” Admiral Junayd said. Intelligence officers had a terrible habit of telling him things he already knew. Had he not worked closely with intelligence assets during the planning stage of the attack on Cadiz? “Do you know if this spy is a true believer, someone under threat, or an enemy agent?”
“No, Admiral,” Amman said. “There was no warning in the files that this particular private key might have been compromised, but that may be meaningless. The enemy would not wish to advertise that they have turned one of our spies.”
“Not if they wished to use him against us,” Admiral Junayd muttered. “And what are the odds of one of the spies being assigned to a deep-raid mission?”
“Impossible to say,” Amman said. “We know nothing of how the mission was put together, or what criteria they used to choose personnel. The spy might have engineered his transfer to put himself somewhere useful.”
“Or his handlers might have put him there so he can mislead us,” Admiral Junayd commented. “And without knowing much about the spy, we cannot guess if he may have been turned or not.”
“No, sir,” Amman said. Admiral Junayd shrugged. “All right,” he said. “What did the message actually say?
”
“
Very little,” Amman said. “I think there wasn’t much time to compose and send the message without risking detection. It basically warned us that the enemy squadron intended to hit Ringer next . . .”
“I see,” Admiral Junayd said. He tapped his console, bringing up the star chart. Ringer was nothing more than a bunch of asteroid settlements; indeed, if they hadn’t built up a small industrial base of their own, the Theocracy might have either ignored the settlements or transferred their population to an occupied world. “A logical target, would you not say?
”
“
Yes, sir,” Amman said. “Ringer has very little in the way of defenses, beyond a handful of ancient destroyers. However, they do play an important role in providing support to commercial activities throughout the sector. They also have a standing agreement to help train our technicians in exchange for largely being left alone.”
“Which means they are vulnerable,” Admiral Junayd said. “But they could also be a diversion . . .”
He looked up at the star chart and groaned inwardly. It hadn’t been hard to isolate a number of potential targets, but guarding them all was going to be sheer hell. If only he had a dozen StarComs . . . hell, he’d be happy with a couple of dozen additional courier boats! And if he spread his forces too thinly, there was a very real risk of the enemy concentrating their forces, then bringing them to bear against his dispersed units.
And if they launch a major attack on Aswan itself
, he added,
we might lose the base and its facilities before anyone outside the sector knows it’s under attack
.
His terminal bleeped. “Admiral, this is Captain Haran,” a voice said. “Inquisitor Frazil has come aboard and is waiting in Briefing Room A.”
“Understood,” Admiral Junayd said.
He looked at the intelligence officer. “We have a chance to set an ambush here,” he said, “but we don’t dare disperse our forces unless we
know
the spy can be trusted.”
“Yes, sir,” Amman said.
“I’ll detach a couple of cruisers and a courier boat,” Admiral Junayd said after a moment. “It would make sense to check on Ringer, particularly after the attack here. They can take up station there and wait. If the enemy shows up on schedule—or within a reasonable space of time—our forces are to engage or retreat, depending on the situation. We would then know, wouldn’t we, if the spy was to be trusted?
”
“
Yes, Admiral,” Amman said.
Admiral Junayd nodded, then rose to his feet and walked through the corridors to Briefing Room A. The Inquisitor was sitting at the table, looking grim; beside him, Cleric Peter looked surprisingly alert and Captain Haran was expressionless. Admiral Junayd waved them back into their seats as they started to rise, then sat down facing them.
“Captain,” he said. “Your report?
”
“
Every base on the planet, save for the hidden bunker, has been smashed,” Captain Haran said. “The devastation is quite extensive. I believe that collaborators, converts, and others who sided with us have either been killed or removed from the planet. In short, Verdean has returned to its pre-conquest state.”
“There will be converts who have hidden their faith,” the Inquisitor insisted. “We must protect them . . .”
Admiral Junayd held up a hand. He hadn’t expected any change, not given the sheer scope of the enemy bombardment, but he’d had to check.
“I will detach a couple of destroyers and a regiment of janissaries,” he said firmly. “They will be charged with securing the capital city, nothing else. Once reinforcements arrive, the remainder of the planet can be secured. I see no reason to waste my limited resources trying to fix a broken world.”
“The world is not broken,” the Inquisitor insisted. “It has been battered, but remains unbowed.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Admiral Junayd said. “Verdean is no longer important. There are no longer any industries here to be guarded. Nor is there a major force that requires orbital bombardment support. I do not believe the enemy will return and, even if they do, it will make no difference. It will not have an impact on the war if we control every last square inch of the planet or not—or if we surrender control to the resistance. There will be time to deal with the local unbelievers later, once the war is won.”
The Inquisitor stared at him in shock. “Admiral . . .”
Privately, Admiral Junayd felt a surge of elation. It was an article of faith, among the Theocracy, that territory, once occupied, could not be surrendered. The mere act of taking it made it theirs; abandoning it, even for tactical purposes, was a challenge to their faith. He felt an odd sense of liberation at accepting the concept, even though it might get him into more trouble. There was truly no
need
to keep Verdean.
“This world is unimportant,” he said firmly. “What matters, right now, is an enemy fleet in our rear. It is going to do a great deal of damage before it can be stopped. Captain Haran?
”
“
Yes, sir?
”
“
Liaise with Commander Amman,” Admiral Junayd ordered. “I want to dispatch a pair of cruisers and a courier boat to Ringer. After that, copy a full set of reports to a courier boat and send it back to Aswan. I will be requesting reinforcements from the homeworld, both starships and ground troops. The latter can be dispatched to Verdean when they arrive.”
“Yes, sir,” Captain Haran said.
Admiral Junayd nodded, then turned to the Inquisitor. “I will detach a couple of ships, as I said, but no more,” he said. “You are under strict orders, which I will give you in writing, to merely hold your position and nothing else. The world will not be
truly
abandoned as long as we maintain a presence on the surface. These orders will not change until the reinforcements arrive.”
Unless we get ordered to flatten the planet’s remaining cities, if only to remind everyone else of just what happens to rebels, terrorists, and insur gents
, he thought.
And then the entire planet will be largely depopulated
.
“My tactical staff will locate a handful of targets for punishment strikes,” he continued. “I believe those should cow the enemy, at least long enough for reinforcements to arrive.”
And hopefully slake the urge for bloody revenge,
Admiral Junayd added silently.
If the Inquisitor manages to convince the Speakers to authorize a general bombardment . . .
“You will return to the surface and assume command,” Junayd concluded. “My fleet will move in two days; less, perhaps, if we receive word of another attack. Until then, I will be in position to support you, if necessary.”
“Yes, Admiral,” the Inquisitor growled.
Admiral Junayd would have felt sorry for the man if he hadn’t been a complete bastard who was willing to bathe the planet in blood just to compensate for his mistake. Hell, it wasn’t even
his
mistake. He’d been
twelfth
in the chain of command when the Commonwealth forces had attacked; his commander had died in the opening seconds of the battle and everyone else had died when the enemy had started hitting targets on the ground. Logically, he couldn’t be blamed . . .
. . . but logic meant nothing when the Speakers were searching for a scapegoat.
“Good,” Admiral Junayd said. “Go.”
He looked at the cleric, motioning for him to remain behind. “I assume you’ve had a chance to speak to the crew?
”
“
They’re very motivated,” Peter assured him. “But there is one problem.”
Admiral Junayd’s eyes narrowed. “A problem?
”
“
I asked them not to mention it until you and I had a chance to discuss it personally,” Peter said. “We managed to get an ID on the heavy cruiser. It’s
Lightning
.”
“I see,” Admiral Junayd said. Somehow, he wasn’t too surprised. The commanding officer who’d been tapped for the first known covert probe into Theocratic space would be an excellent choice for the first deep-strike raid. “And this is a problem . . . ?
”
“
The defenders were beaten by a
woman
,” Peter insisted. “A
girl
!
”
“
Disastrous,” Admiral Junayd said dryly. “We already knew that some women from the Commonwealth were very unwomanly indeed.”
He wanted to roll his eyes in exasperation. The vast majority of his crew would find the concept of being beaten by a woman embarrassing . . . and there could be no pleasure in
beating
a woman, because she was only a woman. But Admiral Junayd knew better; he’d spent enough time monitoring the Commonwealth to realize that, in many ways, the Commonwealth made far better use of its manpower than the Theocracy. Female spacers could be just as deadly as their male counterparts—and being able to use female labor gave the Commonwealth a far greater pool of trained workers.
“I suggest we keep this to ourselves,” he said. Stupid or not, the cleric had a point. It
would
affect morale. “And if the issue is raised, make it clear she is only a puppet, with her strings pulled by men.”
“Of course,” Peter said. He sounded as though he had solved a complicated puzzle to his satisfaction. “And it would be true.”
No
, Admiral Junayd thought, coldly.
It wouldn’t. But if you want to cling to a delusion . . . then cling to it. But it won’t make any differ ence at all
.