Desperate Glory (Morningstar, #4), page 35
“We’ll do our best, sir,” Leo assured him.
“It won’t be a great victory, unless the enemy makes a horrific mistake,” Admiral Blackthrone said. “Don’t be in any doubt about it. We will give them a bloody nose, but this war will not be won or lost because of a single battle. We may never win a complete victory. But as long as we keep up the fight, we can deny them a victory too.”
“Wars are not won by evacuations,” Leo quoted.
“Quite,” Admiral Blackthrone agreed. “My planning staff is waiting for you. Given that you’ll be in command of an independent force, I will be giving you considerable freedom to plan and execute your side of the operation. You know the goal, Commander. Make it happen.”
“Yes, sir,” Leo said.
“I’ll be assigning Francis to serve as your de facto XO,” Admiral Blackthrone continued. “He’ll help sort out any issues you might have with other commanding officers.”
“Yes, sir,” Leo said.
Admiral Blackthrone hesitated, as if he wanted to say something else, then visibly changed his mind. “I’m formally promoting you to Commander. Given your time in grade, and relative youth, I am not doing you any favours. I’ve updated my report to Daybreak to explain my reasoning, and I have asked my relatives to intervene on your behalf, but I can’t make any promises. I may have damaged your long-term career, for which I am truly sorry.”
He took a box from his pocket and held it out. “There’s no time for a proper ceremony,” he added. “But you might be better off without one.”
Leo nodded slowly, taking the box and opening it to reveal a Commander’s insignia. “I ... thank you, sir.”
“Good luck, Commander,” Admiral Blackthrone said. “Dismissed.”
Leo saluted, then left the compartment.
***
Admiral Alexander Blackthrone watched Commander Morningstar leave, feeling oddly guilty. The young man was impressive – in hindsight, it would have been wiser to offer him patronage rather than a rebuke – and it felt wrong to assign him to a mission that would likely get him killed. No competent naval officer would have any doubt about the risks inherent in the operation, when the enemy could trap the fleet in realspace and blow it apart from a safe distance ... Alexander had done what he could, over the last few days, to minimise the threat as much as possible, but there was no way to remove it completely. There was a very good chance the whole operation would end in disaster.
And are you signing off on the plan because you need to save the governor and give the rebels a bloody nose, he asked himself, or because you want to restore some of your honour before you face a court martial back home?
The thought mocked him. A Daybreaker was supposed to set a good example – and sometimes that meant admitting to the crime, then taking whatever punishment was coming his way like a man. It was his duty to live his life as an example to everyone else and yet ... the idea of just tamely conceding defeat was unthinkable. He owed it to himself to take one final shot at the enemy. If he couldn’t beat them himself, and it was growing clear that they’d underestimated the rebels from the start, then he could at least make sure they knew they’d been in a fight. He would buy time for the rest of the navy to mobilise and take the offensive.
His hatch hissed open. Francis stepped into the chamber.
“Uncle?” Francis sounded worried. “You wanted to see me?”
“I read your report very carefully,” Alexander said, motioning Francis to a chair. “Why did you complain about the lack of punitive strikes on Yalta?”
Francis sat, reddening. “They betrayed us, sir,” he said. “They needed to be taught a lesson.”
“A dead man cannot learn anything,” Alexander pointed out, dryly. “And while fear can keep people in line, sometimes, it can also provoke resistance. Punishment, by its very nature, must not be either arbitrary or excessive. One would not punish a small child by cutting off his head, I assume, nor would one let a rapist go with a caning. A reputation for inconsistent punishment will only undermine us, in the years to come. We are at war.”
He studied his nephew carefully for a long moment. Francis was growing up, a little, but the changes were coming in fits and starts. It was a shame there weren’t many commanding officers willing and able to take him in hand, steering him to make use of his undoubted talents while mitigating his less positive traits. Francis lacked the tactical skill of a Leo Morningstar; he also lacked the thirst to succeed, the drive and determination his rival had in spades. Alexander understood, better than he would ever admit to anyone. Francis had grown up with a silver spoon in his mouth, provided with everything he needed to do well. Leo had grown up with nothing. It had hardened him in a way Francis could never match.
If only there were more years between them, Alexander mused. It would be easier to ask an older Leo to take care of a younger Francis.
“You’ll remain with Commander Morningstar, for the moment,” he said, out loud. “On paper, you will be his XO. As far as we are concerned, you are there to learn from him. This is not going to be a short war, Francis, and it is vitally important you prepare yourself for the challenges to come. Leo Morningstar can teach you things you need to know.”
Francis looked mulish. Alexander understood. There were three years between the two young men, and the social gap was nearly unbridgeable. It was hardly uncommon for a younger officer to be in command of an elder, but in this case ...
“I know it will be difficult,” Alexander said. “But wartime brings opportunities as well as dangers. You do well here and you’ll likely see promotion sooner rather than later; you do poorly and ... any hope of promotion will vanish. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, sir,” Francis managed. He was too young to hide his feelings, not from an older and far more experienced officer. “I won’t let you down.”
“Learn from your experiences,” Alexander said. “And good luck.”
He stood and held out a hand. Francis shook it, then paused.
“Sir ... Uncle ... are you not expecting to return?”
“I don’t know yet,” Alexander said. His court martial was a certainty ... and so was the outcome. “But whatever happens, I expect you to do your duty. You have promise, Francis. Live up to it.”
Francis hesitated, then nodded. “Aye, sir.”
“Good,” Alexander said. A dozen other thoughts crossed his mind, only to be put aside. He had said all he needed to say. Francis would be on his own soon enough. He would make his own fate. “Dismissed.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
“It seems one hell of a gamble,” Madeleine observed. “Are you sure the admiral isn’t trying to get you killed?”
Leo shrugged, admiring her naked body as she squatted on the bed. It was a risk, turning their planning session into a sexual liaison, but ... it was a risk he chose to take. The discussion he’d had with the staff officers had made it clear that the odds were not in their favour and, depending on how heavily the enemy had fortified Yangtze, there was a very good chance the whole plan would fail spectacularly. Leo disliked the idea of planning for failure – he considered the whole concept defeatist – but the simulations they’d run suggested there were only a handful of points when the whole mission could be aborted, if the enemy proved to be tougher than expected. The worst-case scenarios pointed out that they could get in too deep, before realising they’d bitten off more than they could chew, and get pounded to pieces before they managed to get out again. Leo hoped to hell the enemy weren’t as capable as those simulations suggested. If they were, the entire war was within shouting distance of being lost.
“I don’t think so,” Leo said. “He put his nephew on this ship too.”
“Maybe he wants both of you killed,” Madeleine said. Her tone was light, but there was an edge to it that suggested she wasn’t entirely joking. “You’re both embarrassments as far as he’s concerned.”
Leo considered it for a moment, then shook his head. He had never thought the admiral liked him, and Francis had had plenty of time to whisper poison in his uncle’s ear, but risking ninety starships to get rid of one person struck him as overkill. The admiral had plenty of other options, from reassigning Leo to a larger starship under another captain to simply sending him back home for rest and relaxation. A man with so many strings to pull might even be able to send Leo to a career-ending post on an asteroid mining station. And besides, the admiral wouldn’t intentionally send his nephew to his death.
“I don’t think so,” he repeated. “He’s done everything in his power to give us a fighting chance.”
“Assuming all his assumptions are correct,” Madeleine pointed out. “Remind me what they say about the word assume again?”
“That it makes an ass out of you and me,” Leo said. His instructors had drilled that into his head time and time again, reminding the cadets never to take anything for granted no matter how many times they were assured they could. The intelligence staff had been known to make mistakes, they’d said, and if they’d missed something important – like a whole fleet of battleships lurking under cloak – the fleet would be blown away before they realised how badly they’d screwed up. “We won’t be taking anything for granted.”
He tapped his console, bringing up the latest report from Yangtze. The enemy appeared to have secured the industrial nodes, their owners clearly reluctant to trigger the self-destructs before it was too late, but they’d missed their chance to capture most of the orbital defences. Admiral Blackthrone had destroyed as much as possible, before jumping out, and what had been left behind shouldn’t be much of a problem. It wasn’t clear if the rebels had been able to improve the defences since then, but unless the rebels had something completely new there should be hard limits on just how much they’d been able to bring into the system over the last few weeks. Leo wasn’t expecting anything larger than automated weapons platforms, certainly not prefabricated orbital fortresses. The defence of the planet would rest on the mobile fleet.
Which means we have the edge for once, he told himself, and they’re the ones who’ll be pinned down.
“If everything here is accurate,” he said, “we should be able to get in and out before it’s too late.”
“Yeah,” Madeleine said. “If.”
She scowled. The plan didn’t quite rely on the enemy doing the wrong thing at the wrong time, but if they realised what they were facing and reacted, they’d have an excellent chance to drive the relief force away before it was too late. Ironically ... if they did that, according to the simulations, they’d actually give the relief force a chance to extract itself before the rebels could blow it to atoms. The rebels might actually decide to accept the challenge and ... he gritted his teeth. There would be a moment when the fleet would be dangerously exposed, unable to either attack or retreat, and if the rebels attacked then ...
“There’s not much of a choice,” he said. The enemy troops were advancing on Yangtze City. It was just a matter of time before the city, and the PDCs, were taken on the ground. Once they fell ... the formal battle would be over. “We act now or we don’t act at all.”
Madeleine leaned back on the bed. “And if the operation fails?”
“Then we’re fucked anyway,” Leo said. “And not in a good way.”
He scowled as he contemplated the starchart. The rebels were advancing into a vacuum. There weren’t anything like enough starships in the neighbouring sectors to do more than slow them down, at least until they reached older fortifications and fleet bases, and even when the navy mobilised, it was going to take years for the rebels to be pushed out again. He’d seen some of the more pessimistic projections, the ones that suggested the rebels would have several years to develop the occupied sectors and make full use of captured industrial nodes and local manpower. It was going to be a long, hard fight even if the autonomous worlds didn’t switch sides ...
And we still don’t know who’s backing the rebels, Leo reminded himself. There could be an entire fleet lurking near Daybreak itself, just waiting for the chance to strike.
Madeleine met his eyes. “I will carry out my duty, if you’re wondering,” she said, tartly. “But I’m not happy about this mission.”
“Neither am I,” Leo admitted. The plan was a good one. They’d run it through a dozen simulations, each one giving the rebels a fair edge, and the good guys had won more often than they’d lost. But who would care about simulated battles, when the real engagement was lost? “If we win, we buy time and knock the rebels back; if we lose, we lose everything.”
“Not quite everything,” Madeleine agreed. “But yeah, it will be bad.”
Leo snorted. “Do you think you made the wrong choice?”
“I swore an oath,” Madeleine said. She stretched, drawing attention to her breasts. “And yeah, I could have taken your offer of early retirement without having to go home, but that oath meant something to me. How about you?”
“I could have refused federal service,” Leo said. There was no penalty for not working to earn citizenship, save one. You wouldn’t be a citizen. “Or I could have signed up for something, anything, that didn’t require me to put my ass in harm’s way. Digging ditches, perhaps, or something – anything – along those lines. Instead ...”
He shrugged. “I knew the job was dangerous when I applied for it.”
His lips twitched. There had been a couple of cadets, in his first year, who’d acted as if they didn’t know what they’d let themselves in for, when they’d joined the navy. It wasn’t as if they’d walked into a recruiting station and been sweet-talked into signing up either. They were attending the Naval Academy! The other cadets had joked that they’d thought they were visiting a hotel, or an adventure camp, but ... he shook his head. Neither cadet had made it through the first year.
“You could have joined a freighter crew,” he pointed out. “Why didn’t you?”
“I needed to prove myself,” Madeleine said. “I earned my place here. And just because some uniformed fool thinks I don’t belong ... I’m not going to leave.”
She pushed him down and straddled him, rubbing her vagina against his manhood. Leo felt himself stiffen, his body all too aware that there might never be a second chance. If the admiral’s plan went according to schedule, they’d be departing tomorrow and then ... victory or death. She pinned him to the mattress as she lowered herself onto him, moving with increasing speed as he thrust into her. It was wild and abandoned, without any commitment ...
His wristcom bleeped.
Madeleine snarled. “I’m going to kill whoever called you.”
Leo snorted. He knew exactly what she meant, but ignoring a call was asking for trouble. It wasn’t as if they were on shore leave, or even in their cabin on Morningstar Base, or somewhere – anywhere – where they could expect to be left alone. The admiral’s makeshift base was supposed to be off the books, but they couldn’t take it for granted. The enemy might be preparing a spoiler attack even now, their ships readying themselves to jump in, shoot off a few dozen missiles, and jump out again. It was what he would do.
He tapped his wristcom. “Yes?”
“Sir,” Anderson said. Her tone was professional, businesslike. Leo still had to remind himself, sharply, not to bite her head off. She hadn’t known what he was doing, when she’d made the call. “The remaining ships have arrived, along with the stockpiles.”
“Distribute the stockpiles as planned,” Leo ordered. The ships had arrived earlier than expected ... probably a good sign. “And inform the senior officers that they’re invited to join me on Gypsy, two hours from now.”
He closed the connection. “It wasn’t her fault.”
Madeleine grinned, her hips starting to move again. “I know,” she said. “But ...”
She moved faster, riding him until he exploded. She sagged, her weight pressing him down ... Leo kissed her forehead, feeling a twinge of warmth and something he didn’t care to look at too closely, even as she rolled off him and lay beside him. He’d never had any real illusions about any of his love affairs, except Gayle, and she’d ... he wondered, suddenly, if Gayle had returned to Yangtze. Probably, if he was any judge. She’d loved her homeworld so much she’d been prepared to commit high treason to save it.
Why does treason never prosper? His history and moral philosophy teacher had been fond of saying that, using it to explain why so many societies had fallen into self-inflicted ruin. Because if it prosper, none dare call it treason.
“You know, afterwards, we could go on leave together,” Leo said. “I’m sure they owe us both some time off.”
Madeleine elbowed him. “You know better,” she said. “And really ...”
She stood and headed for the shower. Leo admired her toned legs and shapely rear, feeling a twinge of ... he wasn’t sure. He liked her and respected her and they had fun together and ... was there anything else there? Or was it just a shared desire not to be alone, to lose their fears in orgasm and then spend the night together? Or ... he didn’t know. They’d be reassigned soon enough and then ... their relationship might end, with a whimper rather than a bang. He told himself he shouldn’t expect too much. Their relationship was alarmingly close to breaking regulations ...
And technically it is, he reminded himself. I got promoted.
Madeleine didn’t say anything as she emerged from the shower, dressed with practiced efficiency, and left the compartment. Leo wondered what she was thinking as he forced himself to stand and stagger into the shower, then decided it didn’t matter. They would be jumping out tomorrow, heading out to face the enemy one final time ... no, it wouldn’t be the last time. The simulations were useless when it came to projecting the course of the war, because they knew very little about who was backing the rebels, but it was clear the war was going to last for years.
