The Lost Colony (Lost Starship Series Book 4) (2 page)

-2-

SEVEN MONTHS LATER

JUNCTION SYSTEM, “C” QUADRANT

Fletcher had been dreading this moment for a long time. He had seen the cracks growing but hadn’t expected the earl to move this soon.

“You do realize this is exactly what the New Men want us to do, don’t you?”

“Nonsense,” Third Admiral Bishop replied.

The pale-skinned earl was the image of a quintessential British military man of old: tall, with a long face, a monocle over his left eye and a chest full of medals.

“The scoundrels are counting on our fear,” Bishop added. “They need time, clearly. I expect that’s what motivated their ruthlessness. The New Men did not anticipate our united and swift effort, especially after sending the horrible Destroyer at the Wahhabi homeworld.”

Fletcher leaned back in his chair. They were in Flagship
Antietam’s
conference chamber. The “they” were the leaders of the coalition forces that made up the Grand Fleet.

Being in charge these past seven months had reinvigorated Fletcher. The Grand Fleet had already passed through the Caria 323 System. It was the same there as elsewhere: radioactive wastelands and smoking craters where cities once flourished. So far, they hadn’t found any planetary survivors anywhere in “C” Quadrant. Instead of facing the Grand Fleet, the New Men had retreated without a trace of a sighting. As the enemy pulled back, they burned the inhabitable worlds, slaughtering the people in the process.

“The New Men are playing for time,” Bishop was saying. “We simply cannot allow them the luxury any longer.”

“I agree,” Sub-commander Ko said, as if on cue, which it probably was.

“So we’ll split our forces,” Fletcher said, “making everything easier for them?”

“You fear a sudden ambush,” Bishop said. “I’m afraid we’re giving the New Men too much time to find another preposterous weapon. We must defeat their armada
before
they achieve whatever their next goal is. That means we must
thrust
at the enemy, not tiptoe like thieves in a dark house.”

“Exactly,” Sub-commander Ko said, slapping the table.

Fletcher felt heat rise in his neck, but he worked on maintaining a stoic face as he waited for Bishop to continue.

The earl plucked the monocle from his eye, polishing it on a sleeve and replacing it to squint at Fletcher.

“I’m not suggesting we face the New Men divided in battle,” the earl said. “That would be operational folly. I am suggesting we find the extent of their destruction as quickly as possible. We must also discover how far they’ve pulled back and where they’re willing to stand and fight. Our spreading out to scout the various star systems will considerably speed up the process. Naturally, we shall keep in constant communication through courier vessels. If the New Men show themselves somewhere in force, that group retreats as the rest of the Grand Fleet rushes to their aid. It should be obvious that my idea will bring about the battle we crave. Don’t you agree?”

Fletcher did not agree, not in the slightest. But instead of answering verbally, he used silence to convey his reply.

The earl withdrew a handkerchief from a sleeve, coughing into it several times. “I hesitate to say this…”

“Please,” Fletcher said, “don’t stop now.”

“We lead fighting men,” Bishop said quietly, as if it pained him to talk about this. “Undue caution breeds hesitation among the officers, which trickles down to the men. Hesitation can turn into fear all too quickly. We’re supposed to be advancing against the enemy, not shivering at shadows. Each jump takes days to complete because we have to move such a vast force through a single Laumer-Point. The wormholes have become chokepoints instead of stellar pathways.”

“We move slowly but forcefully,” Fletcher said, “using our size to shield ourselves. That saves us from attritional losses.”

Bishop tucked the handkerchief back into a sleeve, possibly giving himself time to think.

“We can defeat the enemy,” Bishop said, “but only if we can catch him in time. That implies a modicum of speed on our part, not this…tepid advance. My men are becoming restless. They desire battle and wonder why we move so slowly against the foe. It is my duty to keep his Majesty’s hammership crews fit for combat, which includes keeping their spirits high.”

“I have a similar duty to the Social Syndicate crews,” Sub-commander Ko added.

Bishop nodded, spreading his hands imploringly. “Let us keep the Grand Fleet intact in spirit but not necessarily in body. Order the dispersion as we spread out, scouting many star systems at a time. We must pressure the New Men with speed. Let them fear us for a change as they run away faster.”

Fletcher had seen this coming for some time. He wondered if he should let Bishop have his way for a time in order to show everyone how foolish that would be. Doing so was a risk. But as Cook had said, “War was a gamble.” The wise commander knew when to take the right risk.

“As you wish,” Fletcher said quietly.

The answer seemed to surprise Bishop, as he allowed his monocle to drop out of his eye. The earl neatly caught the eyepiece, though. He glanced at the monocle before polishing it on his sleeve again.

As the earl replaced the eyepiece, he said, “That is an excellent decision, Admiral. I wish—”

“Just a moment,” Fletcher said, interrupting the earl. He leaned near, putting a hand on the man’s right arm the way a superior would toward an inferior. “I’ll agree to the dispersion if we operate it on my schedule.”

“Eh?” Bishop asked, staring at the offensive hand.

Fletcher removed it by reaching into a pocket, pulling up a memory stick. He slid the stick into a computer slot. He’d dreaded this moment for some time but had expected it nonetheless. The trick today was to keep the Grand Fleet operative as a unit, not letting it fall apart into its component pieces.
That
would be a disaster in the making. Nor could he let command pass to the cunning third admiral.

“I like your idea of courier vessels,” Fletcher said. “We will divide the fleet to move but be ready to unite in a day or so to meet the New Men with our combined forces.”

The earl studied Fletcher. At last, he smiled. “You anticipated me, I see. That is a good thing, is it not?” he asked the sub-commander?

“I suppose,” Ko growled.

“It is indeed,” Bishop said, “for it implies a strategic mind of some scope. Please, show us our new marching orders, Admiral.”

Fletcher picked up a clicker, switching on a holomap of “C” Quadrant. It would appear he still had nominal command of the Grand Fleet. One step back to take two forward, as the old saying went. The trick would be to prove to the others that he was right about remaining united without losing too many vessels in the coming object lesson. It was a mistake of the first order to split the Grand Fleet against the New Men. Fletcher knew that all too well. The New Men were going to make them pay for doing it. It was simply a matter of where and how.

Fletcher pushed the thought aside. He would give the riskiest assignments to the most troublesome commander. That was Third Admiral Bishop, of course. Sub-commander Ko merely followed the earl’s lead. As he told them their new travel routes, Fletcher recalled the monitors he’d lost in the Battle of Caria 323. The Windsor League hammerships were critical to the Grand Fleet. Vessel for vessel, they were the toughest ships they had. He couldn’t afford to lose too many of them.

How many star cruisers do the New Men have left? What is their plan?

Fletcher continued to show the others their new paths as he worried about the future encounter. The New Men were out here, waiting, plotting and preparing. The realization brought a cold knot of doubt to the admiral’s gut, one that he worked hard to keep off his face.

Bishop was right about one thing. Fear was contagious. But so was courage.

Fletcher had to make sure the New Men’s coming trick didn’t steal the courage the Grand Fleet already possessed due to its exalted size. That’s what Bishop and Ko didn’t seem to understand. Humanity needed a giant fleet to give the soldiers enough courage to come out here in the shadows and face the impossible New Men.

-3-

Three weeks later, Fletcher scowled at a holoimage in his ready room. It showed the city of Caracas on New Venezuela III. Unlike anything else they’d seen in “C” Quadrant, the buildings were intact.

“This is from a strikefighter skirting the planetary atmosphere,” the briefing officer explained.

Fletcher made a pass in the air, bringing the holoimage closer. He spread two fingers, zooming in on the ground.

“There aren’t any bomb craters,” he said.

“No, sir,” the briefing officer said.

Fletcher continued to study the city. “I don’t see any traffic.”

“There wasn’t any, sir.”

“No?”

“According to the pilots—the
Excalibur’s
commander ordered a second pass. According to them, nothing moves on the ground.”

“Not even animals?” the admiral asked.

“Nothing, sir. It’s a ghost town.”

“I wonder why the New Men didn’t drop any hell-burners here. What’s different about New Venezuela III?”

The briefing officer shook her head, clearly not knowing.

Fletcher looked up. “What about the planet’s other cities?”

“They’re all like this, sir. Nothing stirs anywhere but there’s no sign of destruction.”

“Right,” Fletcher said. “I’m sending down a landing party. I want them to scour Caracas. I want to know what happened. I want to speak to a survivor. As far as I know, no one has survived a New Men-conquered planet. We may have just had our first breakthrough.”

***

The majority of the Star Watch warships in the Grand Fleet were presently in the New Venezuela System. There were three Laumer-Points here, all of them spread out. It meant days of normal space travel for the vessels to go from one wormhole entrance to another.

Only one carrier—the
Excalibur
—orbited New Venezuela III, along with several destroyers and two escorts. The rest of the fleet waited in the middle of the star system, ready to accelerate to a needed Laumer-Point in case a courier ship popped through and told them the enemy fleet had made its move against a different detachment.

The splitting of the Grand Fleet three weeks ago had begun in a high state of anxiety for the admiral. Every day, Fletcher had expected the enemy to pounce on the weakest element of the Grand Fleet. Instead, the combined fleets moved faster through “C” Quadrant, gathering information at five times the previous rate. Despite that, the admiral kept a tight reign over the movement schedules. It didn’t take a genius to see the New Men were going to let them get overconfident and then sloppy. Fletcher was determined to prevent that.

Now, though, the holoimages he’d seen… Could Bishop have been right? By traveling faster, scouting more systems at an accelerated rate, could that have pressured the New Men into making a mistake?

Fletcher wanted more information before he made that decision. Where were the people of New Venezuela III? He had to know.

The admiral clicked on an intercom. “Any word yet from the landing party?”

“No, sir,”
Antietam’s
captain said.

The bulk of the warships were over one point five billion kilometers away from New Venezuela III. Messages took time to travel the distance. Launching shuttles from
Excalibur
took more time. So did actually traveling down to the planet and then walking around, recording whatever there was to see.

Fletcher forced himself to sit back. The data would arrive when it came and no faster. He wasn’t going to hurry it like this. Instead, he was showing the captain and her bridge crew that the admiral was anxious. No, that wouldn’t do.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Yes, sir.”

Fletcher put his hands over his stomach. He hated waiting. It was always the worst part. When would he know what had happened to the people of Caracas? This was driving him crazy.

***

Finally, the landing party sent its data packet to
Excalibur
. The carrier’s intelligence officer beamed it via the laser lightguide link to
Antietam
. Soon, the flagship’s briefing officer knocked on the ready room door.

“Enter,” Fletcher said.

“I have the Caracas report, sir,” she said.

The admiral waved her inside. Soon, he studied the holoimages of empty stores, empty houses and unmade beds. Everywhere the landing party went, it was the same. The people had obviously left in a hurry. The landing party had not found anyone to interrogate.

“What’s this?” Fletcher said, spying movement in the holo-vid.

A second later, as the landing party person zoomed in, a red and white cat hissed. Then, it disappeared around a corner.

“Did you notice that?” Fletcher asked.

“I did, sir.”

“Well? What do you think?”

“I-I don’t know, sir,” the briefing officer said, looking confused.

“I was referring to the cat’s collar. You did see that, right?”

“Oh,” she said, “the collar. Why, yes, of course.” A moment passed. “Sir, I must admit that I didn’t notice the collar.”

“Hmmm,” Fletcher said, thinking. “It was a house cat. I’m certain. I suspect it means the New Men did not gas the city.”

“Sir?”

“That will be all,” the admiral said.

The briefing officer nodded before saluting, turning sharply and leaving.

Fletcher waited another minute, collecting his thoughts. Then, he told the captain to send a message to the
Excalibur
. The landing party was to search for mass graves.

“May I ask a question, Admiral?” the captain said.

“The cat could have been away when the New Men gassed the others.”

“Sir?” the captain asked, confused.

“Send the message. The sooner the landing parties start searching, the sooner I’ll know the truth.”

“Yes, sir,” the captain said. “I will send the message.”

***

Two days later, Fletcher ordered the fleet out of the New Venezuela System. He was behind his own maneuver schedule, having given the landing parties more time to hunt for mass graves. They had found nothing. As far as anyone knew, no people were on New Venezuela III. It was a ghost planet.

Fletcher was stretched on his cot in his quarters. He had his hands behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling bulkhead.

The landing parties had found no traces of gas. That theory seemed wrong. Could the New Men have forced everyone onto shuttles, carrying them into waiting cargo haulers? The implication was too…staggering. Moving several million people would take a vast logistical effort. Yes, New Venezuela had been under the enemy’s control for almost two years. Yet, that would imply the New Men had been moving people from the beginning. Did that make sense?

“If I knew the reason it might,” Fletcher told himself.

Why would the enemy drop hell-burners on one planet and take the people from another? Maybe New Venezuela III was an anomaly.

The Grand Fleet was halfway through “C” Quadrant already. More data would soon begin to flow in from the courier ships. He would simply have to bide his time for now.

A grim smile touched the admiral’s lips. Finally, they had found something different, not just a radioactive planet. That would indicate…what exactly?

Fletcher shook his head. He didn’t know. His gut told him it was time to recall all the ships and begin tiptoeing again as a giant group. He hated having the fleet spread out like this among several star systems. Was the enemy trying to lull them?

Yes. I know they are. We’re just going to have to be smarter than that
.

He would have to let the enemy strike one of the elements in order for the others to believe his caution was the best course.

Hannibal taught the Romans that, although the Carthaginian almost destroyed them before they learned their lesson. I’m going to have to play this just right
.

Thinking about it kept the admiral awake for hours.