Hell or Highwater (Hell's Jesters, #5), page 1
Hell or Highwater
Hell's Jesters, Volume 5
K.J. Coble
Published by K.J. Coble, 2022.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
HELL OR HIGHWATER
First edition. July 26, 2022.
Copyright © 2022 K.J. Coble.
ISBN: 978-1393876595
Written by K.J. Coble.
Also by K.J. Coble
Hell's Jesters
Hell's Jesters
Cry Havoc
Rebel Hell
Back Into The Fire
Hell or Highwater
Last Call (Coming Soon)
Heroes of the Valley
Defenders of the Valley
Blood in the Valley
Stand in the Valley
Warlock of the Valley
Scourge of the Valley
Curse of the Valley (Coming Soon)
The Quintorius Chronicles
Lord of Exiles
Legion of Exiles
Republic of Exiles
The Vothan Guard
The Tome of Flesh
Crypt of the Violator
The Witch of Vendar
The Witch of Vendar
Hell at the Gates
Twilight in the City of God
Standalone
Magic Fire - Metal Storm
The Shadows of Maunathyrr
Ashes of Freedom
Beyond the Bulwarks
Watch for more at K.J. Coble’s site.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Also By K.J. Coble
Dedication
Part 1 – Storms Gather
Part 2 – Rising Tides
Part 3 – The Levee Cracks
Part 4 – The Deluge
Part 5 – The Flood
Part 6 – The Remnants
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Further Reading: Last Call
Also By K.J. Coble
About the Author
For the heroes of Taffy 3.
And for anyone who's ever stood up for those in need.
Part 1 – Storms Gather
Like the Dires, wolf-like hexa-pedal predators found on the Outegion world, Loudon, Alexi Noovin could smell fear. And the briefing room he’d had set up in the highest level of his space-elevator offices reeked of it.
A holographic map of eye-popping detail rotated slowly in the center of the chamber, displaying the galactic arm of the Milky Way settled by humankind in the last three centuries, nearly a thousand inhabited worlds, and many more that weren’t. Notations accompanied each speck, names, statistics, color-coding to indicate political alignment. Dotted lines linked most, hyper-lanes, an intricate web of transit routes and connectivity, the sinews of galactic civilization.
A figure stepped through the hologram, for a moment fracturing the illusion. Coming to stand before an audience seated in a half-circle of opulent comfort, he halted and folded his hands behind him, the picture of military authority in his crimson and black uniform of the Fleet. Only the faint glimmer of sweat along his hairline undermined it.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “the forecast is even more precarious than we’d previously been led to believe. At its current rate of consumption, the Alliance will have exhausted its supply of the transuranic ore in seven months, galactic standard time.”
Noovin glanced at the other High Councilors. Nine of them, they represented entire sectors of the Grand Galactic Alliance, the highest elected executives for hundreds of worlds, each of them. But as the words echoed in the still, recycled air of the chamber and the moment of shock passed, they erupted like a schoolyard of children who’d just been told recess was over early.
“Preposterous!” spluttered a whip thin woman of bleached hair and a hatchet-narrow face. She sat up from the couch upon which she’d recline and jabbed a finger at the naval officer. “We had assurances only weeks ago that there was over a year remaining!”
The officer nodded grimly. “That is so, Councilor Moffit. And at the behest of this august body, Naval Intelligence conducted an independent audit of the Bureau of Transportation’s analysis, and found numerous discrepancies.”
“Discrepancies?” Another Councilor slammed his fist upon the coffee table before him. “The bastards lied to us, Admiral!”
“Relax, Chambris,” Noovin growled from his own recliner.
“Relax?!?!” the High Councilor from the planet Breckenridge squawked back at him. A man given to putting on weight with stress—and there’d been plenty of that in the last two and a half years of war—he jiggled as he turned to glower at Noovin. “The man’s saying the galactic order is on the brink of collapse, Alexi!”
“That’s not what he saying—”
“Are you absolutely daft, Noovin?” Moffit snapped over the rising babble of the other Councilors and their attendant staffs. “Mobility amongst the stars will all but cease. It’ll be a New Dark Age!”
“It won’t be for them!” Chambris barked and pointed at the holographic map.
The color-coding of the worlds showed an obvious division, roughly two thirds shaded gray, the rest a baleful orange. Chambris’ shivering digit skewered the latter: the planets of the so-called Union of Free Stars, who’d broken away from the rest of the Grand Galactic Alliance and had fought for their independence ever since.
“They will still be able power their hyper-drives,” Chambris seethed. “And you can bet that as soon as they realize our weakness, they will pounce!”
And that was the truth of it, plainly said. The central, older worlds of the Alliance had stripped themselves bare of the ore and come to rely on its extraction from newfound worlds, further out towards the galactic rim. That extraction, that all-consuming hunger had been the fatal flaw in the balance of power. The Alliance had become so ravenous, so uncaring, someone had finally had enough.
Looking over the orange worlds of the Union, Noovin couldn’t help a derisive twist of his lip. The upstarts. The fools. This game was longer than any one war, any single crisis.
“So, when you tell me to relax, Alexi,” Chambris was bleating, “you’ll have to forgive me when I tell you to go to hell!”
The other Councilors growled as one and turned their ire towards him.
Noovin had to suppress a snarl of disgust with these lesser humans, these mortals. He couldn’t let any of his true nature show. The short-lived creatures, they couldn’t begin to see the possibilities in this calamity. Only one as long-lived as he, a Methuselah, one of the last of the Sabbat that had once guided all affairs in the galaxy, could have the vision to see beyond.
But it was too soon for them to know it—too soon for them to learn respect, fear.
So, Alexi Noovin, who’d had many other names, had seen many other ages, let the guise of a Foundation World politician settle back upon him like a heavy coat and sighed. “For pity’s sake, Chambris—all of you—let’s let Admiral Severson at least finish before we start the bickering, why don’t we?”
With grumbling, the others settled back into their chairs and couches. Even Chambris waved off another glass of wine brought on a tray by one of Noovin’s servants, focused his bleary eyes.
Grand Admiral Timothy Severson nodded once, caused the row of ruby stars on his high collar to wink in the holographic light. “Thank you all.” He turned to Moffit. “It doesn’t appear to have been any kind of nefariousness, to your point, High Councilor. More, it seems the Bureau was rushed.”
“More likely incompetent,” she sneered.
Severson shrugged, rather than argue the point. Noovin almost felt sorry for him, having to navigate this viper’s nest. But rumor was, Severson had his mind set on a Council seat for himself, after the Fleet. Have to watch that one, Noovin thought, ambitious and dangerous.
“The Navy’s assessment,” Severson went on, “has been triple-checked. I’ve seen the numbers myself. Our conclusions are solid.”
“So, what do we do?” Chambris groaned.
“What about the new worlds?” Moffit asked. “What about the fresh mining efforts down the galactic arm?”
“The Galactic Survey Corps has uncovered fresh veins,” Severson replied with a nod. “You’ve all seen the early findings. And extraction is well under way. But it will be years, conservatively, before they begin yielding enough to support the Alliance’s current appetites. And the transit times are long.”
“You said seven months, Admiral,” Noovin spoke up. “That’s how long before exhaustion of our current supply. Did your staff estimate contingencies? How long can we sustain with rationing?”
“With severe rationing,” Severson replied, “we can perhaps stretch out the key trade and communication lines for another eighteen months. But that will mean a significant reduction in the quality of life for the average citizen, likely a damaging economic downturn” his nostrils flared slightly “certainly a slashing in luxuries.”
“Unrest,” Chambris proclaimed. “We’re already seeing it! Riots and crime and desperation. And with every new restriction, the radicals get louder. The people begin to wonder if the Union had a point all along.”
“We see no such thing in the Foundation Worlds,” Moffit scoffed. “The citizenry is stoic and resigned to the long fight.”<
Noovin couldn’t help a little smirk at her words. Nothing spoke to her utter detachment from the reality of the planets she was supposed to represent more than her ignorance of their actual state of affairs. He’d seen the holo-recordings of bank runs on her own home world of Plymouth, food riots between rag-clad vagrants and fur-clad matrons.
“Well, not all of us have the benefit of Council Guard legions to ‘stiffen’ their resolve,” Chambris sneered.
“Enough of that,” Noovin rumbled, feeling a chill in his blood. The Guard was his special project. Chambris had no idea. None of these fools did. But the project had certainly gotten off to a rough start. “The HoloMedia already has enough fodder for that particular attack, without us throwing it around amongst ourselves.” He fixed the man with a baleful stare. “Of course, if you feel your local forces aren’t sufficient to maintain order, Councilor, we can always provide you a garrison.”
Chambris smirked, but a twitch at the corner of one of his eyes betrayed unease. “No thanks,” he replied coolly. “My security details are quite sufficient.”
“You let me know,” Noovin said with equal chilliness. They matched glares for another moment before he turned his gaze back upon Severson. “Admiral, the Councilor did ask a pertinent question earlier. What does the Admiralty recommend we do?”
Severson fixed him with a ferocious grin. “We do have an opportunity, sir. The battles of the last month have been costly—”
“I should say!” Moffit exclaimed.
“For us, certainly,” Severson replied without showing annoyance at the interruption, “for the Union, assuredly. And while we face a fuel crisis in the longer-term, in the short-term we still have far more ships and a window of opportunity to use them.”
“Wasn’t that what we hoped with Bolingbroke?” Chambris asked, pointing at the huge star map. “And then with Fury? Yet the Union still holds both.”
“Admiral Harrison had only the Fringe World Fleet,” Severson replied, “and really only part of it, the rest attempting to hold gains elsewhere.” He cocked an eyebrow theatrically. “Next time, we will bring the entirety of the Alliance Navy to bear.”
Shocked silence greeted his proclamation. Even Noovin, whose informants had given him no reason to expect this, struggled to respond.
“You’re talking about stripping other sectors of their forces and gathering them in one place?” Chambris asked. “For a knockout blow?”
“That’s exactly what we propose.”
“But from where?” Moffit asked. “If you pull out from the front along the Outregion anywhere, the Union will take notice and strike. They’ve done it before. Those accursed Hell’s Jesters specialize in such raids!”
Noovin grimaced at the mention of the partisan band that had become all too dangerous of a threat, of late—not just to the Alliance, but to plans that when far beyond anything discussed in this room. But since the fighting in the Fury System, a month ago, there’d been little word of them.
Severson turned back to the massive hologram and touched the dust mote of light representing the world of Nova Terra, capital of the entire Alliance. A globular hologram sprang out and within it in prowled a swarm of lesser lights around an image of the planet. “The Foundation Fleet,” Severson said, “while no longer the most modern formation in the Navy, boasts the highest concentration of capital ships, outside of an active zone.”
Moffit stiffened. “Your plan is to strip our defenses?”
“The Foundation Worlds have not seen a serious threat since the war began,” Severson replied. “And that fleet contains fifteen battlecruisers, not to mention heavy and medium cruisers and their attendant escort groups.”
“No carriers,” Noovin pointed out. “Few starfighters.”
“We believe the carrier assets still with Harrison’s Fringe World Fleet will be adequate for the operation we have in mind.”
“What operation?” Chambris asked.
Severson glanced at a cluster of his lesser officers lurking in the far corner of the chamber, seemed to gauge the moment before touching the hologram again. All of the display fell away for a moment, before being replaced with a dizzying shift in orientation by a regional star map.
Noovin recognized it; the Galactic South Theater—the strip of space and star systems out along the thinly-spread fingers of the galactic arm, furthest from the heart of the Milky Way. Several of these systems winked to indicate recent activity, were joined by crimson swarms of prowling starships. Noovin read familiar names, too, places that had become depressingly familiar. For defeats. Bolingbroke, Fury, Saipan...
“Surigao,” Severson proclaimed, pointing to a particular point of light. “Like several of the other systems in this region, it declared for the Union in the last six months. Like several other systems, it boasts rich deposits of the transuranic ore.” He turned to glower fully at his audience. “Like several others, its relatively small population means it cannot defend itself, alone.”
“That’s your target?” Noovin asked.
“The Union Fleet is our target, Councilor,” Severson replied. He turned and pointed again, each gesture causing a different world to flare. “They’ve concentrated their forces here, here, and here, close enough to one another for mutual support, but far enough apart to respond to multiple axes of attack. A thrust at Surigao will draw them even further. It’d be the deepest penetration we’ve attempted.”
“A lure,” Chambris said.
“Yes,” Severson answered, “into the largest fleet engagement of the war. Admiral Greer of the Union has made his reputation not so much by winning battles, but by keeping their Navy intact after so many setbacks.”
“He seems to have won plenty,” Moffit said snidely.
“He has handed us in defeats in detail,” Severson responded with an edge to his voice. “He has dazzled us with grand raids. But when forced to stand in place, such as at Loudon, he’s been compelled to retreat.”
“They retook Loudon, eventually,” Chambris pointed out. “And we’ve been stymied elsewhere.”
“Because we have held back,” Severson insisted.
“And why have we done so?’ Moffit demanded.
Severson hesitated and now Noovin really felt sorry for the man. The answer to Moffit’s question sat in the room around her, and she a part of it. The High Council couldn’t afford debacles and deprivations. Their minds always on the next election, they couldn’t afford to ask the citizenry to bear too much. Ironically, their timidity had led to that very thing, and they were all now very desperate.
“Our war aims to this point have focused upon star systems, worlds lost, taken back, or preserved,” Severson replied finally. “But as I said before, I propose a change in focus. Our aim now should be to destroy the Union’s means of defending those.”
“And Surigao’s the place?” Noovin asked.
Severson’s nodded with obvious relief to move on. “That’s right, Councilor.” He touched the pinpoint of the star and the holographic perspective changed once more, zooming in with dizzying speed to show the single system. A common G1 yellow sun burned at its heart, circled by two worlds at close proximity—long-since scorched to cinders—a larger marble of rich blue-green, hinting at oceans and tropics and life, then a vast belt of asteroids.
“The third world’s the populated one,” Severson explained, “Surigao Prime. But it’s the belt where the transuranic ore was discovered, notably on some of the larger semi-planetoids. Of course, the logistics of extraction require the resources and work force of the third planet. So, it won’t be sufficient to simply seize the outer orbits and cut the rest off. At least not right away.”
“But the ore isn’t the point here, is it?” Noovin pointed out.
“No, it’s not.” Severson shook his head. “The battles of the last month have isolated Surigao. Union forces that had been patrolling its space have been siphoned off.” The Admiral smiled hungrily at his audience. “It’s vulnerable, exposed, a pressure point we can strike to compel an instant response.”
“And you think you have the forces,” Moffit asked warily, “and the fuel?”
