Desperate Glory (Morningstar, #4), page 31
Leo studied it for a long moment. The pattern was slightly random, suggesting the starship wasn’t another sensor ghost ... although it was hard to be sure. The starship design was definitely odd ... the rebels might have come up with a new design, getting as far as putting the lead ship into production before discovering the design wasn’t as good as they thought. It would hardly be the first time. Daybreak had a handful of unique ships in service, vessels that had never quite lived up to their potential. It was good to know the rebels had the problem too.
“Keep an eye on her,” Leo ordered. The squadron was drawing near its target. “Are the system defences online?”
“A handful of platforms are active,” Anderson reported. “The remainder appear to be powered down.”
Which doesn’t mean they can’t be brought up in a hurry, Leo mused. No military force could remain at peak readiness forever, no matter what journalists and bad fiction writers thought. The wear and tear, on men and machines, would prove unsustainable very quickly. Even a wholly automated defence system, rare when keeping a human crew in the loop was often the only thing standing between the automated platforms and disaster, couldn’t operate for long without maintenance and rest. They’ll bring them online the moment they get a sniff of our presence.
“Helm, alter course,” he ordered. “Aim to keep the rebel cruiser between us and the planet.”
“Aye, sir.” Maurice sounded doubtful. The lone cruiser wouldn’t mask the oncoming ships if the planetary defences brought their active sensors online. The locals would certainly know what to expect from the region of space surrounding them. “We’ll be in effective weapons range in ten minutes.”
“Hold your course,” Leo ordered. “And reduce speed when we reach extreme missile range.”
“Aye, sir.”
Leo felt sweat prickling down his back as he waited, feeling the seconds crawling by. The enemy ship was an unconventional design, which hinted it might carry unconventional weaponry. A gravity generator? Leo wished, not for the first time, that they had some hard specs on the wretched design. There was no way to know if the analysts had a proper grasp on its power demands, for example, or if their estimates were so wildly wrong that they didn’t even count as guesswork. If the device was easier to power than they thought, a mere destroyer could pin his squadron in realspace and shoot his ships to pieces from a safe distance. The lack of information was worse than anything else. Who knew what else the rebels could do?
“Sir, the freighters are being hailed by the locals,” Anderson reported. “They’re being told to prepare themselves to be boarded.”
“Smart move,” Leo muttered. No planetary defence command with half a brain would let a trio of unknown starships into the high orbitals without making very sure of their bona fides ... not in the middle of a shooting war. “Order the freighters to jump out when the shooting starts” – he ignored the little voice at the back of his mind, whispering the freighters might be pinned down when the gravity generators were activated – “or when the locals try to board.”
“Aye, sir,” Anderson said.
Leo counted down the last few seconds as his ships slipped into engagement range. The lone cruiser didn’t seem to have spotted them, but that was meaningless. Leo would have pretended not to see the incoming ships, if he’d been in command, while plotting their courses and preparing a missile strike. There was just no way to be sure what the enemy had seen – if anything. Perhaps it would have been wiser to come in under cloak, but the freighters would have disrupted the cloaking device when they arrived and that would have given the game away.
Maurice didn’t look up from his console. “Sir, we’re entering missile range now.”
Leo leaned forward. “Lock weapons on target,” he said. “Fire on my command.”
He sucked in his breath. Firing from extreme range was a risk – and probably a waste – but closing the range against an enemy that presumably outgunned him was asking for trouble. A handful of ideas ran through his mind, too late to be used in the ongoing engagement; he made a mental note to consider them once he returned to Morningstar II. He could have a planning session with Madeleine and ... he forced the thought out of his mind. This was not the time to let himself become distracted. The enemy ship would try to kill him the moment she realised he was sneaking up on her.
“Weapons locked,” Maurice reported.
“If they scan us, or open fire, fire at once,” Leo ordered. The narrower the range, the greater the chance of scoring a hit ... but also the greater risk of being detected. What sort of sensor suite did that ship have? A modern ship would be bound to see them at a certain point ... she’d probably open fire on anything that got too close, on the assumption that anyone who tried had very bad intentions. “Don’t wait for orders.”
“Aye, sir,” Anderson said. “I ...”
The alarms howled. “She pinged us,” Anderson added. “Firing ... now!”
Gypsy shuddered as she unleashed her first salvo. The remainder of the squadron opened fire a second later. Leo cursed the timing under his breath ... a few moments more and they’d have been in sprint mode range, cutting the time the enemy would have to react down sharply. The enemy crew were well trained, their automated servants coming online and spewing plasma bolts towards the oncoming missiles; their ship belched a salvo of missiles a moment later, aimed at two of Leo’s ships. He guessed their sensors hadn’t quite isolated their targets before all hell broke loose. Bad luck on their part, although it was easily fixed. They’d have no trouble locating ships that had opened fire. It was the one thing decoys and sensor drones couldn’t do.
“Bring the point defence online,” Leo ordered, sharply. His datanet was already up and running. “Fire at will.”
“Aye, sir.”
Leo leaned forward, watching his missiles slice into the enemy point defence. Their crews were very good. They’d been caught by surprise, rushing to battle stations even as his first salvo came howling in, yet they were still swatting missiles out of space before it was too late. Good, but not good enough. Their ship was about to be battered into a pulp, bomb-pumped laser beams stabbing into their hull while nuclear warheads slammed into their armour, shattering it beyond repair ...
The enemy ship vanished. Leo cursed.
“She jumped clear, Captain,” Anderson reported. “I couldn’t get a proper read on her jump field, but it seems she made a random jump.”
Leo nodded, gritting his teeth in frustration. Either the enemy captain had kept his jumpdrive on standby, despite the risk of damaging systems that couldn’t be easily replaced, or he'd had the wit to order his jumpdrive flash-woken regardless of the danger of accidentally crippling his own ship. A brave man ... or a coward. Perhaps both. It had been the right thing to do despite the near-certainty of facing pointed questions from his superiors when he returned to base. A destroyed ship was useless. Hell, depending on how matters shook out, the rebels might not even have found out what happened to her for quite some time.
“Noted,” he said. “Can you get an idea of distance?”
“No, sir,” Anderson said. “Computer analysis suggests she jumped at least one light-year, but it is impossible to be sure.”
“Never mind.” Leo hadn’t expected anything better. They’d been too far away for a proper read, and the missiles would have distorted their readings even if they’d been a great deal closer. The enemy ship wouldn’t be back in a hurry, and that was all that mattered. Her engineers would need to check her jumpdrive with a fine-toothed comb before she could return to the battlefield. “Order the missiles to self-destruct.”
“Aye, sir.” Anderson sounded surprised, but did as she was told. “Done.”
Leo nodded. It was wasteful, although there was little chance of recovering and refurbishing the missiles even if they enjoyed unchallenged control over the system. Their drives weren’t designed for repeated use, quite reasonably, and it was normally cheaper to churn out new missiles from scratch. Better to blow them himself than risk accidentally striking a planet. Or create a major hazard for spacefarers.
“Signal the planet,” he ordered. The planetary defences were online now, but making no attempt to engage his forces. That wasn’t surprising. The defenders didn’t have much of a mobile force, and nothing larger than a gunboat, and unless he screwed up by the numbers he could just keep plinking at the planet from a safe distance until the defences were smashed beyond repair. “I want to speak to the planetary leader.”
“Aye, sir,” Anderson said. Leo doubted there’d be any delay. The Prime Minister would have been alerted the moment his fleet showed its hand. His security staff had probably taken him to the bunker by now, if they had any sense. “He’s online.”
Leo nodded as the Prime Minister’s image appeared on the display. “Prime Minister,” he said. “I am Commander Leo Morningstar, Daybreak Navy. You may have heard of me.”
His lips twitched. He’d be surprised if the Prime Minister hadn’t heard of him. He’d been the most famous Daybreaker in the sector ... probably still was, with the possible exception of Admiral Blackthrone or Governor Steven Brighton. Leo had never met the Prime Minister personally, never taken any real notice of him, but ... the PM didn’t have that luxury.
“Commander,” the Prime Minister said. He sounded as though he was trying to be firm and failing miserably. “Welcome to ...”
Leo cut him off. “I’m not a diplomat, so I’ll keep this short. The rebels – the Secessionists – have told you their fleet gave us a bloody nose. They’re right” – there was no point in denying it, not when the rebels had enough hard sensor data to convince even the most sceptical person in the galaxy that the battle had been fought and won – “but we are far from defeated. We have lost battles before, true, yet we have never lost a war. We will recover, we will go on the offensive, and we will eventually defeat our enemies.
“You have to make a choice. The rebels will lose. You don’t have to take your planet down with them. Stay out of the fighting, remain neutral, refrain from giving aid and comfort to the enemy and we will be understanding, when the time comes for accountability. However, if you join the enemy, we will show no mercy. There will not be a second chance.”
He tapped his console, closing the channel. It was debatable if he had the ability to offer any sort of guarantees to worlds and systems caught in the middle, and it was quite possible Admiral Blackthrone’s successor would disavow him. That would make life interesting ... he felt a twinge of pity for the PM, mixed with a grim awareness the older man could hardly be let off the hook. If he took his planet wholly into the rebel camp ...
“Helm, jump us out,” he ordered. The mission hadn’t been a complete success, but ... it would hopefully knock the rebels back, just a little, and force them to rethink their deployments. The more time Leo bought for the navy, the better. “Take us home.”
“Aye, sir.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
“I have good news and bad news,” Flower said, when Gypsy and her escorts returned to Morningstar II. Leo braced himself. He’d feared the worst the moment she’d contacted him and requested a private chat. “The good news is that Francis has returned. The bad news is that Francis has returned.”
“More good than bad,” Leo said, although he wasn’t sure of that. “Tell him to meet me – us – in the conference room, once we’re back on the base.”
He leaned back in his chair, hoping to hell it was definitely good news. Francis wasn’t quite the person he’d been, but still ... he was overdue too, something that bothered Leo more than he cared to admit. He hadn’t been caught and forced to lead the rebels to the base – he hadn’t known where to find the base – and yet ... Leo shook his head and watched as Maurice moved the ship into her slot. Thankfully, the rebels didn’t seem to have inspected the system. There was no reason to think they’d need to move in a hurry.
Which makes life tricky, because we have to prepare for the worst, Leo mused. A mobile fleet train would be wonderful, but the navy had never felt the need to produce an entire fleet of dedicated support ships. They’d always had sector capitals and garrison worlds to meet the need for such establishments ... in hindsight, that had been a serious misjudgement. There are limits to how much we can use, while at the same time packing up to run.
He put the thought aside as the airlock hissed open, allowing him to step onto the asteroid base. The air smelled faintly of charred stone, with engineers continuing to hew out caves and converting them into living spaces even as the rest of his crew prepared for war. It looked and felt like a refugee camp ... hell, that was exactly what it was. The giant caves had piles of bedding, cheap water and ration dispensers and makeshift toilets, a far cry from even the basic facilities offered to crewmen on Waterhen. The showers were even worse, bending hygiene regulations to the breaking point. Leo wondered what the IG would say, if they ever inspected the base, then shook his head. Right now, that was the least of his problems.
A memory darted through his head. “Cadet,” his old instructor had bellowed. He’d had nothing resembling an inside voice. “Are you washing your privates as per regulations?”
Leo’s lips twitched, the smile fading as he stepped into the equally makeshift conference room. A handful of folding chairs, a folding table, a drinks dispenser and a holoprojector ... Francis sat in one chair, his face grim. Boothroyd and Flower sat beside him, and Madeleine leaned against the far wall. Leo guessed it wasn’t good news.
“You didn’t punish Calypso,” Francis said. He’d probably scanned Leo’s report while Gypsy had been docking. “Why not?”
“I think they had enough of a fright,” Leo said. He had no intention of mounting any punitive strikes, certainly against civilian targets. “And besides, right now we don’t need more enemies.”
“They had already joined the rebels,” Francis pointed out, more out of habit than any real conviction. “You were perfectly within your rights to teach them a lesson.”
“I gave them a chance to back out,” Leo said. The PM wasn’t in an easy spot. Back the wrong side, or even the right one, too openly and his world would pay the price. “I hope they’ll take it.”
He sighed and poured himself a mug of coffee. “We don’t have the ships we need to impose our authority on the sector, not now,” he added. “And if we push too hard they might try to resist.”
Francis looked unconvinced, but didn’t seem inclined to argue any further. “Admiral Blackthrone is alive,” he said, bluntly. “However, his fleet has been badly depleted. Right now, he has only ten capital ships under his command.”
Leo sucked in his breath. Ten ships? Just ten? That was worse than he’d thought.
“There are several others too badly damaged to fight,” Francis continued. “The admiral has sent them back to the nearest military base for repairs. However” – his lips twisted – “those bases may not be safe for much longer. There are reports of uprisings in several sectors. His staff believe there will be others, as word spreads.”
“And we don’t have anything like enough fire-fighters to quench the blazes before they get out of hand,” Boothroyd said. “Are they getting support from offworld?”
“Unknown.” Francis held out a datachip. “That’s the latest intelligence we have. It’s already outdated.”
He gave Leo the datachip, then slumped in his chair. “The situation is dire.”
“I know,” Leo said. “However, the rebels are not invincible. They can be beaten.”
“Yes.” Francis cleared his throat. “Admiral Blackthrone is currently attempting to gather the remains of his fleet, before he can go on the offensive. A number of vessels on patrol duty have not reported in and ... hopefully, they can be contacted and warned before the enemy catches them by surprise. His orders for you” – he produced a second datachip – “are to carry out a punitive strike against Yalta. They did not just switch sides, according to the report; they trapped and destroyed a pair of escort ships before they knew they were under attack. Sensor records also suggest they supplied a handful of refitted warships to the enemy fleet. They need to be taught a lesson.”
“I see,” Leo said.
“There’s also some hints the enemy were running supplies through Yalta,” Francis added. “Their supply line needs to be closed down as swiftly as possible.”
“And so we are to lock the stable door after the horse has bolted,” Madeleine said, curtly. “Is there anything to be gained from raiding Yalta, beyond bloody revenge?”
Francis pulled himself upright and gave her a sharp look. “Are you questioning your orders?”
“No, sir,” Madeleine said, in a tone that suggested she was lying. “I’m questioning the point of punishing a world that is no longer vitally important to the enemy. They no longer need to run covert supply lines through Yalta or any other world ...”
“There’s also the question of just why the supply lines were allowed to operate without impediment,” Leo interrupted. Francis had been about to explode – Leo knew the signs – and if he lashed out at Madeleine, physically or verbally ... it didn’t bear thinking about. “Why weren’t they shut down a long time ago?”
“I don’t know.” Francis slumped again, “They should have been.”
Leo could guess. The spooks had been working overtime to penetrate the enemy supply networks, in hopes of tracing one back to the rebel base. A number of promising leads had dried up after Sun’s exposure as a spy; her superiors no doubt abandoned their agents in place to make sure they couldn’t be traced. Admiral Blackthrone’s spooks had probably had to start again from scratch, while the rebels finalised their plans. And then events had overtaken whatever moves they’d intended to make.
“It’s not important right now,” Leo mused. The prospect of being able to capture a rebel leader, or a datacore, was tempting. “What sort of resistance should we expect?”
