A Call to Insurrection, page 23
part #4 of Manticore Ascendant Series Series
“Signal Drachen to suspend acceleration, then do likewise,” Basaltberg ordered.
It took a bit longer for a ship the size of Zhong Kui to go to zero acceleration, but the usual Andermani efficiency was again on display. Ninety seconds after Damocles dropped into ballistic trajectory, the entire four-ship group was likewise.
Though the staggered time frame in which that had taken place meant that the four ships were now strung out over a long stretch of space instead of being in a compact travel formation. If there was an enemy out there waiting to pick them off one by one, the uncomfortable thought flicked through Travis’s mind, Basaltberg had just handed him a golden opportunity—
“Hyper footprint, Herr Admiral!” Schlamme snapped. “Just outside hyper limit, almost directly behind us.”
“Set Readiness Two,” Basaltberg ordered calmly.
“Travis?” Winterfall murmured, his voice tense.
Travis looked at the displays. The newcomer had made translation about eighteen light-seconds behind them. “We should know in about ten seconds,” he murmured back. Automatically, he began mentally counting down the time as he watched the bridge crew coolly and efficiently move the battlecruiser toward a war footing. His count ran to zero—
“We have transponder ID, Herr Admiral,” Schlamme said. “It’s München.”
“München is signaling,” Westgate added. He touched a switch—
“Fregattenkapitänin Deutschmann to Admiral Basaltberg,” a woman’s voice came over the bridge speaker. She sounded tired, Travis thought, but fully alert. “Be advised that Preussen is in hostile hands and Rotte has been destroyed. Beware unseen enemy forces.”
“Such as that one,” Travis said to Winterfall, nudging his brother and gesturing toward the spot on the tactical marking the mystery ship. “Probably been waiting for München to come out of hyper, hoping she would drop in close enough for an attack.”
“Send acknowledgment,” Basaltberg ordered. His voice hadn’t changed, but Travis could feel the sudden tension filling the flag bridge. “Order all ships to return at once to our entry point at their best possible speed.” He keyed a set of coordinates over to the comm officer. “Also signal all ships—including München—that we’ll rendezvous at this point.”
He looked at Travis, and Travis felt a chill run through him. “And,” the admiral added, “bring the formation to Readiness One.”
* * *
Preussen’s bridge had gone unnaturally silent. But then, Llyn thought darkly, there really wasn’t much to be said. Zhong Kui had been warned, and was running for the hyper limit, along with the Manticorans and the elusive München.
And there wasn’t a single damn thing any of them could do about it.
He looked at the tactical again, just to be sure. The Norfolk-class destroyer that Quint had sent to the hyper limit in hopes that München would pop back in for another intel sweep was still in position, and coincidently was lurking close to where Basaltberg had arrived.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t nearly close enough to get to the admiral’s force. It certainly was too far away to get to München.
Anyway, right now there were more urgent matters to deal with than Basaltberg’s inevitable escape. Llyn had noted the fact that the Andermani and Manticoran ships had stopped their inward acceleration well before they received München’s warning. That meant that somewhere in the brief message Hansen had allowed Jachmann there’d been a signal or warning that had alerted Basaltberg to the danger awaiting him in the inner system.
Which further meant that the support Hansen had hoped to obtain from the Flotillenadmiral was no longer on the table.
From the expression on Hansen’s face as she turned to her former commander, she knew it, too.
“A wasted effort, mein Herr,” she said, her voice under rigid control. “They will still come—alerted and better prepared than they would have otherwise, perhaps, but still with no true understanding of what they face. The end will still be the same.”
“An interesting analysis, Captain,” Jachmann said in a voice that perfectly matched hers, “given that I was about to give you the same warning in reverse.”
“My rank is Kapitänin der Sterne.”
“No,” Jachmann said flatly. “When you committed treason you lost the right to be treated as an officer of the Andermani.”
“Treason?” Hansen spat out the word. “You saw the evidence of my claim.”
Llyn frowned. The evidence of Hansen’s claim? What the hell did that mean?
“I saw your evidence,” Jachmann countered. “Given that it can’t be confirmed out here, I have no reason to believe it.”
“The confirmation is on Potsdam.”
“You’ll never reach Potsdam,” Jachmann said. “You’ll die here in Tomlinson. One way or another.”
“Andrew will never push things that far.”
“You may be surprised.”
“I’m already surprised,” Hansen said, a flicker of pain crossing her face. “I thought you were a man of honor.”
Jachmann snorted. “You have no idea what true honor means. Furthermore, I never said I was joining you, Captain. I made the mewings of defeat and acceptance, and you simply heard what you wished to hear.”
“If you think Andrew is the leader the Empire needs, you’re a fool.”
“My thoughts and opinions are irrelevant,” Jachmann said. “Andrew is the rightful heir to the throne.”
“You saw the—” Hansen broke off. “So that’s it? You’re just going to yield to some rigid tradition?”
“Of course not.” Jachmann drew himself up. “When you first pleaded your case in front of me, Captain, you made a point of telling me that you’d kept casualties to a minimum. In fact, you seemed rather proud of that.”
“You would have preferred a mass slaughter?”
Jachmann shook his head. “You really don’t understand do you? It never even occurred to you that there was only one number of casualties I would find acceptable. The number zero.”
Once again, the bridge descended into silence. Once again, Llyn knew, there really wasn’t anything more to say.
This time it was Bajer who spoke first. “Request permission to relieve the Flotillenadmiral of his life, meine Kapitänin,” he said coldly.
For a moment it looked to Llyn like Hansen was going to agree. Then, she shook her head. “You will escort the Flotillenadmiral to his quarters,” she said. “I may wish to talk to him later.”
“Jawohl, meine Kapitänin,” Bajer said. He drew his sidearm and gestured, and Jachmann and his two Tomlinson guards headed for the hatch.
Llyn moved closer to Quint. “So what are we looking at?” he asked quietly.
“Your basic two-point split,” she said. Her voice was calm, but Llyn could tell she wasn’t any happier at how this had gone down than any of the rest of them. “Option one: Basaltberg collects his ships and Gustav’s cortège and charges straight into battle. Option two: they all scamper off to New Berlin and return with everything that can fight.”
Llyn winced. And given the size of the Andermani fleet, that would be a very bad thing. “Which do you think they’ll go with?”
She shrugged. “Hard to say. If I were in charge, I’d go with number two. From what we let München see of our forces, Basaltberg may figure he already has enough of an edge for a likely win, so he might be tempted toward number one. But the fact that someone successfully ambushed Preussen and Rotte strongly suggests a bunch of hidden aces, and I’d be very leery about charging into anything that looks too easy. Even given that postponing a confrontation gives Hansen and the Tomlinsons more time to repair and consolidate, that’s still where I’d go.”
“Especially when you had four more battleships and the rest of the Andermani navy to play with?”
“Especially then,” she agreed. “Actually, in this case there may be a third option. Our new Emperor Andrew might look at the situation, do some math on what it would cost him to retake Tomlinson, and decide to negotiate. Hansen is probably hoping it’ll break that direction.” She smiled crookedly. “As is your employer, I presume.”
“It would make things easier,” Llyn conceded. Certainly Lucretia Tomlinson and PFT were hoping Andrew would make a deal. Axelrod, for its part, didn’t really care one way or the other. “You think he’ll do that?”
Quint shrugged again. “Impossible to say with such an unknown quantity. My guess is that he’ll want to follow in his father’s footsteps and charge in for flag and Empire. What will happen once he’s had his nose bloodied, though, is anyone’s guess.”
Across the bridge, Jachmann and his guards disappeared through the hatch. “Any idea what Hansen meant about a claim? A claim to what?”
Quint hesitated. “I’m sorry, but I can’t talk about that. Not because I don’t trust you,” she added, “but because Kapitänin der Sterne Hansen has something of a mistrust for civilians. Particularly civilians whose life details are, shall we say, as sparse as yours.”
“There are reasons for me to keep a low profile.”
“I know,” Quint said. “And if it were up to me…but it’s not. Even though you provided the funding, and are therefore technically my employer, Hansen is the task force’s commanding officer. In a military situation, which this is, my first loyalty has to be to her.”
“That makes sense,” Llyn agreed. “And I certainly wouldn’t want to get you in trouble.”
“I appreciate that,” Quint said. “I’ll tell you this much: If things work out the way Hansen expects, we’ll get through this with a minimum of bloodshed. On all sides.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” Llyn warned with mock severity. “Anyway, the excitement appears to be over for the day, so I might as well head back to Retribution. Are you coming?”
“I should probably stay a bit longer,” Quint said. “I imagine Kapitänin der Sterne Hansen will have things she’ll want to discuss. I’ll send word to the shuttle to take you across.”
“Thank you,” Llyn said. “I’ll see you at dinner.”
There was no point going after Preussen’s officers or crew, Llyn knew. Even if any of them were willing to talk to him, they also talked among themselves. There was even less chance he could get anything from Hansen.
But Jachmann was a different story. He also knew what was going on, and he was confined to quarters. No one to talk to in there.
Of course, given what Quint had just told him, Hansen’s people were undoubtedly keeping a close watch on Retribution’s mysterious civilian. If Llyn was seen wandering around Preussen on his own, let alone caught near Jachmann’s quarters, there would be some serious trouble. Not just for himself, but also for Quint. There was no way he could get to Jachmann.
But no one ever noticed stewards.
Amos had been coasting long enough, Llyn decided. Time for him to start earning his keep.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Baronesse Marija Shenoa had known Emperor Andrew for most of his life. She’d started out as his nursemaid, moved from there into the role of guardian and companion, and somehow ended up as one of his most trusted advisors. Along the way she’d seen him happy, sad, frightened, grouchy, and every other mental and emotional state a child, teenager, and young adult could go through.
But sitting a meter to Andrew’s left, close to him but not officially seated at the conference table in SMS Friedrich der Grosse’s flag briefing room, it occurred to her that until today she’d never seen his eyes blazing with such an icy, deadly anger.
Of course, it wasn’t like he was the only one.
“Majestät, this cannot be allowed to stand!” Kanzlerin Wilhelmine Heilbronn, Markgräfin von Schwarzer Flügel, snarled. Her green eyes swept the table, her army uniform in stark contrast with the naval and civilian garb worn by everyone else.
In contrast, but hardly out of place. Schwarzer Flügel had been one of Gustav Anderman’s most reliable army officers since long before he settled down to empire and crown. Along the way she’d been named not only senior ground commander, but also commander of his elite Black Wing assault infantry. Now, well into her seventies, she’d taken on the additional role of kanzlerin, head of the Empire’s government.
Many faced with that mix of age and responsibility would have found themselves softening. Not Schwarzer Flügel. Indeed, as far as Marija could tell, the effect had been to simply wear away the surface layers, leaving nothing but the underlying granite.
“It won’t be, Markgräfin von Schwarzer Flügel,” Andrew replied from the head of table. His tone was milder than his kanzlerin’s and the fire in his eyes not quite so visible. Some at the table, Marija reflected, might even miss that fire completely.
And that would be a mistake.
There were people in the Empire—many people, in fact—who believed Andrew Anderman to be a pale imitation of his father. On one level such a comparison was not only justified but inevitable. Men of Gustav Anderman’s stature were rare, and the shadows they cast over history were long and broad. Expecting anyone to measure up to such a standard was unreasonable, particularly when the person in question was only twenty-three T-years old.
Andrew had graduated from the Interstellare Kriegsakademie barely a year and a half ago and was still, technically at least, a mere leutnant in the Andermani Army. There’d been far too little time for him to build a reputation of his own, far less a reputation that could possibly rival Gustav Anderman’s.
The men and women seated around the conference table knew him better than most, of course. They knew he was a quiet man, and also knew that his relative absence from the public eye hadn’t been merely personality or misanthropy, but also part of Gustav’s strategy of keeping potential assassins looking in a different direction.
Still, even Andrew’s closest advisors and governmental leaders didn’t know him as well as Marija did. And none of the traitors and rebels on Tomlinson knew him at all.
But they would learn. They would positively, absolutely, and painfully learn.
“First of all,” Andrew continued, shifting his gaze to Admiral Basaltberg, “I want to offer my thanks and special commendation to you and Fregattenkapitänin Deutschmann. Without your quick thinking and perseverance we would have sailed directly into the rebels’ ambush. As my father always said, knowledge of your enemy is what allows you to deal with him effectively. Now, thanks to you, we have the beginnings of that knowledge.”
“I’m only happy we were able to alert you, Eure Majestät,” Basaltberg replied, bowing his head.
But while his voice was confident, Marija could see the quiet caution in his eyes. This was Andrew’s first real challenge, and even a man who’d been as close to Gustav as Basaltberg had been wasn’t at all sure how the young Emperor would respond.
“What I don’t understand is what insanity could have possessed Kapitänin der Sterne Hansen,” Außenminister Yuèguìshù Shān said, looking at Schwarzer Flügel as if expecting the kanzlerin to magically have the answer. Marija had seen that from Shān before, and her best guess was that it was a cultural thing. Thirty years younger than Schwarzer Flügel and steeped in the traditions of Potsdam’s original colonists, Shān perhaps naturally expected her elders to carry an extra depth of knowledge and wisdom. “She was one of Seine Majestät’s most trusted officers.”
“I would give a great deal to know the answer to that question,” Admiral der Flotte Hoher Berg said heavily. The senior uniformed officer of the Imperial Andermani Navy shook his head slowly, his eyes sad. “I’ve known her all her life and cannot conceive of anything that could have driven her to mutiny and treason.”
“Treason is always most painful when it comes from those closest to you,” Andrew said. His voice and eyes were dark, and Marija winced at the event she knew he was drawing from his memory. He’d had first-hand knowledge of that truth when he was barely five years old.
“Indeed, Eure Majestät,” Basaltberg said, his eyes still steady on the Emperor’s face. “And as soon as we can return with a sufficient force, I will personally see to it that she pays the price.”
“Return?” Andrew asked, the calmness in his voice gaining an undertone of challenge, his cold blue eyes taking on an extra layer of ice. “There’s no reason for anyone to return, Admiral. We have sufficient firepower at hand to accomplish that task. Moreover, I think it would please my father if he knew he would be present when it was done.”
“Majestät, I can’t recommend anything that risky,” Schwarzer Flügel spoke up.
“Are you implying such a mission is beyond my capabilities?” Andrew countered. “Or are you suggesting that I wait on Potsdam while officers and spacers of the Empire put their own lives at risk?” He shook his head firmly. “No. My father didn’t hide behind others’ lives. Neither will I.”
“Eure Majestät, it’s true your father risked his life leading his ships and his people in battle,” Basaltberg pointed out. “But only before he became Kaiser. Once he assumed the crown, he recognized he could no longer do that. And he didn’t.”
“Oh?” Andrew cocked his head. “What about the crushing of resistance at Babel?”
“That was a special case,” Basaltberg replied. “Victory was absolutely critical, and we had no sound fallback if we’d lost that battle.”
“This is a special case,” Andrew pointed out. “This is the first time the commander of a capital ship of the Imperial Andermani Navy has committed mutiny and treason. Hundreds of men and women have already been killed. Men and women of my Navy, who died loyal to their oaths and their duty. I will see those men and women avenged, Admiral.”
“And so they shall be, Majestät,” Schwarzer Flügel replied. “But that’s not the chief concern here. The crucial point is that you have no heir. The succession, should something happen to you, is not at all clear.”
Marija blinked. With all the talk of treason and retribution, that aspect of the situation hadn’t even occurred to her. Judging from the expressions of the others around the table, it hadn’t occurred to anyone else, either.
“After your marriage, after you and your Kaiserin have produced an heir,” Schwarzer Flügel continued into the slightly awkward silence, “then you will have the right to risk your life should you decide a situation demands it. But not before, no matter how grave the cause or critical the battle.”
