Virtues of War (16 page)

“Even though you knew where to look?”

“What would you be saying right now if he’d been the Centauri spy? What if he’d gotten away while we were following your recommendations?”

“You might have at least started with the designated buildings, rather than searching everywhere
but
.”

Chang didn’t answer right away, and she thought she could feel his frown in the darkness.

“How many field missions have you done?” he asked.

She hated that question, especially from someone in Chang’s position.

“I’m a support operative,” she replied. “I get the missions prepped.”

“Then leave the execution to us,” he said. “If we’d gone straight to the target, anybody with any smarts would have been tipped off that we knew where to search. That would have risked our sources on the ground. That’s why we tried to get a local to spill the beans.”

She gave up—there was no point in arguing. Instead she switched topics.

“You handled your officer pretty well. Pity she’s so green. That little execution will probably cause some problems down the road.”

Chang didn’t reply. He just looked out the window again.

Loyalty within the Corps always amazed Breeze. She made a show of looking out the window, and chose her words carefully.

“Scary to think that a Centauri stealth ship might be right in front of our eyes, but we’ll never see it. I think things are heating up.”

Chang nodded, the movement barely visible. Then he pushed away from the bulkhead and headed toward the door.

“That’s why you’re an intelligence officer,” he said, “and I’m just a jar-head… ma’am. I don’t have to worry about stuff like that.” He moved with surprising grace for such a big man, and disappeared out into the flats without another word.

Breeze sighed and moved to prepare a squeeze-bulb of coffee at the forward drink station. Field operatives didn’t like being criticized, she knew, but she didn’t think her words had been too damning. Maybe there was a reason Chang wasn’t on the highly classified lists.

On an impulse, she made a second bulb of coffee and headed for the bridge.

Chief Tamma had the watch. He was in his usual seat—forward and starboard, next to Breeze’s—and surrounded by the small galaxy of readings that made up the OOW console. He smiled in surprise as she pulled herself down into her seat and flicked him the coffee bulb.

“Hey, Breeze. Thanks.”

She hefted her own coffee in salute.

“I know how hard it is to stay awake these days. Almost as hard as trying to get some sleep.”

He chuckled in appreciation. As the ship’s cox’n he was the senior enlisted person on board, but his long career as a pilot made it nearly impossible for him to bark and growl like a cox’n was supposed to. He was a great leader for the troops, though—fit, good-looking, and charismatic.

“Maybe you should try reading one of your intelligence reports,” he said. “Those always put me to sleep.”

She laughed and kicked him playfully. “If it wasn’t for my reports, you’d never get to do anything interesting.”

He shrugged. “Sitting here at a dead stop isn’t top of my list of interesting things.”

“Consider it a stakeout.”

“Sure, and we all know how interesting those are.” His wry smile robbed the words of any real malice.

“So where’s our friend now?”

Tamma pointed at the 3-D display. “Making decent time, but not in a hurry, it seems. I expect her to reach our position in about ten hours.”

“Well, we’ll be here when she arrives.”

Rapier
was holding position one thousand kilometers from where the mystery merchant
Astrid
had dumped her cargo, before fleeing noisily back toward the jump gate. The little FAC could become very dark and quiet when she wanted to, hopefully enough so that no Centauri stealth ship could detect her.

And now, according to an intelligence report, a certain Cerberan vessel of interest, or VOI, had left orbit and was on a direct heading for the dumped cargo.
Kristiansand
had given the area a wide berth on her way to deliver humanitarian supplies, but both Terran warships remained very aware of the unfolding operation.

“I have a burst report ready to send to Command,” Tamma said.

“No,” Breeze said, and she shook her head. “We stay silent for now. I don’t want to risk giving away our presence, especially if that stealth ship is still out there. Let the VOI pick up the cargo. Then we’ve got him red-handed.”

“I’m worried, though, that with all the traffic in the Anubian system, our signal might not get through to the EF.”

“It’s a risk,” she said, “but there’s nothing Command can do, anyhow. We’ll report to them after the pickup.” She paused, then added, “Have the EF exercises begun yet?”

Tamma checked the watch notes. “All five battle groups are in the Anubian system, but the first rendezvous isn’t for another few hours.” He read further. “They’ve moved the underway replenishment to low orbit over Laika… I guess that stealth attack got everyone’s attention.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ships are pretty vulnerable in an UNREP. Stealth warfare’s a lot harder close to massive bodies, because the spacetime curvatures mask ship movements both on the brane and in the Bulk. Anubis is big even for a gas giant, and with fifty or so moons swirling around it.”

Breeze remembered once, as a subbie, being aboard a ship doing a low-orbit UNREP over Mars. The red planet had filled half the sky and she’d felt like they were low enough to bump into one of the high mountains. She’d even been able to make out some of the bigger cities by eye.

“Even so, they’ll still be vulnerable if somebody on Laika’s surface wants to take a shot at them.”

“Not likely. The entire Expeditionary Force will be there—they’d flatten the shooter and turn his whole region into glass.”

“True,” Breeze admitted. Plus, she thought, the moon of Laika was one of the only civilized places in all of Sirius. She couldn’t imagine them wanting to bring down Terra’s wrath on their home… not again.

Besides, the Terran space station positioned permanently at the jump gate monitored all traffic in and out of the Sirian system, and had reported a grand total of three Centauri frigates and one stealth ship. A big showing for the Centauris, but hardly anything a Terran expeditionary force needed concern itself with.

“Well, that’s it for me,” she said, unhooking from her seat. As she left the bridge, Breeze enjoyed an unusual feeling of inner peace. Dangerous though it might have been, the ship had survived the action. Terran forces were asserting their dominance in the Anubian system while the diplomats came down on Centauria with evidence her ship had provided.

If
Rapier
could trail the approaching VOI back to Cerberus with its smuggled weapons, some brutal Cerberan warlords would earn a bruising. And then, finally, she might get some credit for all her hard work.

J
ack was glad the seat in his Hawk was so comfortable—because he seemed to be spending a lot of time in it. But at least he wasn’t bored.

Every mission was different lately, from discovering mystery vessels to tracking Centauri stealth ships. And as Jack ran through his pre-flight checklist, he realized that this latest one was quite different indeed.

Entry into the atmosphere was enough to test any pilot’s nerves. So he checked on the status of the Hawk’s heat shield, then checked it again. He re-familiarized himself with the operation of the flaps, ailerons, rudders, and all of the other flight surfaces that would affect the ship while planetside.

While he finished up, he could hear the busy murmur of
Kristiansand
’s supply department as they prepared for the delivery. Looking back over his shoulder, he saw the stack of plastic crates being strapped to the deck of the Hawk’s after cabin. No less than seven crew members were coming along for the trip, and they were being led by Carmen Hathaway herself.

Just then, the supply officer stepped up through the Hawk’s rear cargo door and squeezed past the crates. She—like everyone on the mission—was wearing her undress blues. Since this was a humanitarian mission, it had been decided that everyone should look sharp. One never knew when the local media would be around.

She greeted him with her usual smile.

“Hi Jack,” she said. “You’re looking smart. I almost feel like a diplomat, having my pilot so well turned out.”

Jack returned her smile. “I’ve never flown in undress blues before. I’m just glad we’re not in high-collar whites.”

“There are limits,” she replied. “They need us to make Terra look good on this mission, but I refuse to turn it into a parade.” She scoffed. “Hell, why don’t we just pull out an honor guard, to escort the supplies off with six pall-bearers?”

Jack laughed. “Hey, don’t moan at me—I’m just the chauffeur.”

Carmen gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Get us there and back safe—that’s all I ask. Oh, and maybe pose for a photo or two, if the media show up.”

She retreated to check on her team, leaving Jack to ponder the idea of being on the front page of the local paper back home. He could just picture himself holding a small Sirian child, with his Hawk in the background and an expression that combined heroic concern with carefree confidence in Terra’s actions. That would certainly please the family and friends. Maybe he’d even get a parade…

“Hey, you ready?”

Carmen’s words snapped him out of his daydream. He looked back and saw that the Hawk’s cargo door was closing. The supply team were belting into their seats. Jack did a quick survey of the visual, the flight controls, and the hunt controls. The ground crew outside gave him the thumbs-up.

He fired up the engines and within thirty seconds his flight controls showed green. Still feeling strange in his uniform, he quickly conducted radio checks with
Kristiansand
flight control, hangar control, and with Carmen on the internal circuit.

Amidst the usual barrage of warning lights, the Hawk rolled forward through the airlock, and Jack waited patiently as the door closed and the air was pumped out. The outer door began to open, and he dropped his visor to shield his eyes from the brilliant light that lay beyond.

Cerberus loomed below, its reddish surface dotted with occasional white clouds. Jack waited until the access light switched to green, then eased his plane forward. He accelerated forward, and the Hawk was flying free.

He took a moment to study his planetary navigation screen and confirmed his intended landing zone. The computer displayed the recommended entry path, and he saw no reason to disagree. So he nudged his controls forward and dipped the Hawk into a gentle dive.

Kristiansand
quickly fell astern as the Hawk began its descent on a path that opposed the Cerberan rotational direction. In essence, by flying “backward” Jack was using his own thrust to bleed off the Hawk’s geo-stationary speed while getting additional braking from the atmosphere. The reverse-orbit entry was standard for all atmosphere-capable spacecraft, and Jack had no desire to buck the system.

The entry was uneventful as the Hawk shed altitude and slipped across the terminator to the Cerberan night-side. Jack kept a careful eye out for other ships, knowing that orbital dhows were notorious for quickly changing course and speed. On any of the Terran worlds he would have checked in with Orbital Control, but out here in the colonies such organizations rarely existed.

It was every ship for herself.

The first signs of atmospheric braking were subtle—a slight change in the rate of deceleration, and a slow rise in the temperature readings from the heat shield. Jack tightened his grip on the controls.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said over the internal circuit, “stand by for turbulence.”

Then the Hawk started to vibrate. The dark Cerberan horizon far ahead began to glow red, then orange. Temperature readings switched to yellow. The blinding orb of Sirius exploded into view in a sunrise far more dramatic than any back home.

The orange glow of super-heated air began to flicker at the edge of his vision. The sky began to brighten. The Hawk lurched to port, but Jack fought it back to a level descent. Sirius climbed higher in the sky, out of direct view. The orange glow began to fade. The heat shield readings began flashing red. The buffeting increased.

Jack struggled to get the feel of his flight surfaces. The Hawk leaned to port, then lurched to starboard as he overcompensated. Shouts of alarm rose dimly behind him. He leveled the Hawk amidst the steady vibrations. Wisps of cloud flashed by his canopy. He checked his altitude—archons ten. He checked his speed—two thousand kph. He checked his entry path.

Right on target.

He eased back on his throttle and continued his slow descent. The Hawk was an aircraft now. Pale blue sky stretched in all directions, dotted by white wisps of distant vapor. Jack eased his jittery control stick to starboard, still bleeding off speed as he moved into a long, curving descent toward the settlement known as Free Lhasa.

The air was filled with ships, all moving with unique courses and speeds, and all much too close for comfort. He brought a map of the terrain up on one of his hunt displays and peered out through the canopy to get his visual bearings. Everything in the soup of air was close—often too close for sensors that were used to dealing in millions of kilometers. The radar was already a mini-galaxy of blips and symbols, and Jack quickly dismissed it as useless.

He used the map to chart his course, and used his eyes to not smash into anything. Terran rules of flight ordered all craft to move at a safe speed based on the traffic density and prevailing weather conditions. As a military pilot Jack had some license to bend those rules, and he had learned long ago the advantage of speed. At twice the speed of sound, the only way he would run into another craft would be if he purposefully aimed directly at it. Otherwise, everything fell behind him, drawing left and right out of his way.

At that speed, however, Free Lhasa came over the horizon very quickly, and Jack pulled back hard on the throttle as the outskirts flashed past underneath him. He overshot, but used the broad turn to drop altitude. Turbulence over the city was troublesome, but he quite enjoyed the challenge, now that he was getting used to atmo again. A quick glance at his terrain map showed the landing point, approaching quickly, and he further reduced speed and altitude.