Auberon (The Jessica Keller Chronicles Book 1) (3 page)

He smiled at her. “Okay, Provisional–Cornet Keller,” he said, also falling back eighteen years, “how would you have handled the Order of Battle and why? Please show your work.”

Jessica let go of a breathe she had not realized she was holding. The stress and heat seemed to flow out of her fingertips and ground into the cool wood of the desk. She smiled warmly for the first time today.

“I would have sent both wings of fighters under the southern pole hot and fast, with the destroyers right behind them, then the battlecruiser followed by the Fleet Carriers, with the two light cruisers in the rear providing flanking protection.”

The First Lord cocked his head at her in wonder. “And what are the probabilities, cadet?”

She ticked them off on the desk with one hand. “First. If the patrol fighters are paying attention and are any good, they see us as soon as we clear the horizon, panic, and emergency scramble the wing. Considering that they had a supply tug modified to hold fighters and an older escort carrier, they can probably get ten fighters up by the time we arrive, so five to one odds, plus their carrier is outgunned by a factor of about fifty to one. Maybe they fight, maybe they strike. Depends on how stupid or crazy their commanding officer is.”

“Second,” she continued, tapping the desk in rhythm with her words. “They are not looking down like they should, and we get on top of them before they can do anything. Two patrol fighters facing fifty–four armed opponents, plus an enemy fleet, point blank. They strike immediately. We put crews aboard the Imperial vessels, ignore
Iger
completely, and fly home like rich pirates, laughing at them. Major tactical victory for us, possibly a significant strategic win across the entire sector, considering the loss of material resources on their side that have to then be replaced. They go on the defensive for at least a year.”

He leaned back and watched her as she spoke.

Jessica blinked as she fell silent. It felt like squadron command school all over again. One of the Noble Lords would have probably just failed her out of his class for such reckless audacity.

Nils Kasum was a Fighting Lord. Had been one of the best of them.

“Very well analyzed, Cadet,” he smiled at her. “When the fleet returned home, I had a group of friends game out the scenario at
Iger
over a case of wine. Most came to the same consensus you did. Two of them would have gone on and attacked
Iger
anyway.”

Jessica pursed her lips, but refrained from commenting.

Kasum noticed and stopped.

“You disapprove, Jessica,” he asked honestly. “You? One of my most aggressive destroyer squadron commanders? Why? Why not attack
Iger
, having stripped her defenses?”

“Pushing your luck, First Lord,” she whispered. “A good commander knows when to take all the credits off the table and go home laughing. That one, last, seductive call of the dice is what breaks you. Every time.”

His smile said something. She wasn’t exactly sure. Perhaps she had just passed a test she didn’t even know she was taking?

He leaned forward to rest his elbows on the desk and lace his fingers under his chin. She felt like a minnow facing a shark.

“What I’m about to tell you, Command Centurion Keller,” he began formally, all the banter gone from his voice, “does not leave this room. Ever. Am I clear?”

Jessica nodded, suddenly understanding the little hints around her in the last month led here. The Court Martial. The media stories. The leaks to the press. The acquittal. Even the banter with her old mentor. She felt doors closing around her while she waited for him to open the one in front of her. “Aye, sir.”

“It’s very simple, Jessica. We’re losing the war.”

The whole universe slid out from under Jessica. The room grew cold. She felt her eyes grow a little, but quickly brought her face back under control. The hot fire of rage in her belly refused to settle, though.

“Losing, First Lord?” she asked, unable to regain her calmness. Her life had been dedicated to the war. Fighting it. Winning it.

“Losing,” he said simply. “It isn’t obvious, and won’t be for a decade or more, but we are losing. Or rather, the Empire has a small tactical advantage and they have begun to push us back in a way that will accelerate slowly over time. It’s only visible as a shadow on the largest pictures of the war front.”

“I see,” Jessica muttered.

“The thrust at
Iger
was intended to open a new front,” Kasum said. “Drive a wedge into a major trade route. Force them onto the defensive for a few years so we could rebuild the fleet. Their advantage isn’t much right now. Perhaps an extra cruiser laid down every year. But those things build up over time.”

“How can I help, First Lord?” Jessica asked. She could feel her equilibrium slowly return.

“In here, right now, you can call me Nils, Jessica. I’m about to ask you to do something crazy, so I need us to be on a personal level, and not just a professional one.”

“I see…Nils,” she replied.

Just how crazy? Just how personal?
Irrational thoughts flashed across her eyes.
Was he planning to marry her off to one of his relatives in some sort of political alliance? One of his enemies? Her? The Scholarship Student from a blue collar family?

He was smiling at her discomfort, so it must not be too bad.
Right?

Everything she was, everything she had become, was because of this man. From her earliest days as a raw cadet to the youngest–ever squadron commander in the
RAN
. He could reasonably ask for just about anything at his point. And she would find a way to make it happen. Happiness be damned.

“I’m intrigued by your comment on pirates, Jessica,” he finally said.

She thought that anything he might have said would have been less confusing.
Pirates?

“Pirates? Nils?”

“At
Iger
, you would have been happy capturing four squadrons of Imperial fighters and their crews, and a pair of past–their–prime ships, and running away. Other commanders likely would have destroyed everything out of hand, or gambled on attacking
Iger
afterwards.”

“That’s right.” Jessica had no idea where this line of questioning was going. She was an expert on fleet maneuvers, not political ones.

“Right now, I cannot throw another fleet together and make another attempt like
Iger
, anywhere along the war frontier,” Nils said, tapping his finger on the desk.

With a start, Jessica realized where she had picked up the habit. At least she had emulated the best.

“The two sides will both be recovering for a year,” he said.

“What can I do?” Jessica asked simply.

“I want you to think like a pirate,” came the response.

Jessica felt an eyebrow try to climb off of the top of her head. Pirate? Her?

Silence seemed the best course of action right now.

“You are too much of a distraction for the fleet right now, Jessica. Have you been following the media?”

“Yes, sir. Nils.” She just could not fathom either the hero worship or the vitriol her case had sparked. Was she that far out of touch with ordinary people?

“I want to send you someplace quiet for a time, away from the limelight,” he continued. “And turn you loose to act like a pirate.”

“I…see.”

“Your squadron will have to make a lot of noise and distract the
Fribourg Empire
, much like we were trying to do at
Iger
, but you won’t have the resources necessary to invade anywhere or hold enemy systems. I want you on the tactical and strategic offensive, and knock them onto their heels for a while.”

“That’s all well and good, Nils, but
Brightoak
won’t be ready for battle for at least a year.”

“I’m aware of that, Jessica,” he said. “You won’t be taking that squadron with you.”

“No? What will I be using, First Lord?”

She just couldn’t keep calling this man by his given name. It felt so awkward.

“Jessica, the Court of Inquiry struck all charges, and further, they recommended your team for a unit citation and you for a medal. As First Lord, it is in my prerogative to also reward you in a different way.”

She watched him open a desk drawer, dread warring with savage glee as he pulled out a familiar–looking official document, signed it, and slid it across the desk at her.

‘By will of the Republic of Aquitaine Navy and First Lord Nils Kasum, the undersigned, Command Centurion Jessica Keller, is hereby ordered to…’

She quickly read through the document, noting the space at the bottom for her to sign in front of her new crew on the new ship when she took command.

She read it again and looked up at him. “I’m not familiar with this ship, sir.”

“She is an older vessel, Jessica,” he said with a warm smile. “Currently relegated to a quiet frontier sector where she mostly patrols to keep pirates at bay. The fleet occasionally rotates ships and crews through the area when they’ve been at the tip of the spear too long. The
Fribourg
Empire
does the same, across the wide, black gulf between them. I want you to set that part of the border on fire, to make the
Empire
have to spend a lot of time and ships and people stopping you, when they might be better spent stopping me somewhere else.”

“And how do you propose I do that?” she asked. “Which Fleet Lord will I be answering to?”

“Myself,” he smiled triumphantly. “This ship is already something of an unofficial flag ship for the sector forces, and there is no Fleet Lord currently assigned. That means the only person giving you orders is me.”

Jessica smiled like a schoolgirl. Or a shark.

She read the name of the ship again. It sounded fierce.

RAN Auberon
.

Chapter IV

Date of the Republic July 2, 392 Anameleck Prime

The sound as the ground vehicle settled to a halt perked up Bogdan Loncar from his fugue.

A doorman in a muted uniform sprang into action and had the rear door open almost before the vehicle stopped.

“Fleet Lord Loncar,” he said with a deep and sincere bow, “allow me to welcome you to the Club this evening.”

Bogdan glanced briefly at the man as he exited. “Good evening, Johnathon.”

The doorman, Johnathon, quickly closed the vehicle door and stepped to the imposing wooden door to the Club. He swung the heavy portal open on massive hinges and gestured Loncar to enter.

Bogdan took a few moments to let his eyes adjust to the dimness as Johnathon closed the vault–like door behind him, cutting off the outside world. The entry smelled vaguely of rich tobacco and warm chocolate, friendly smells trapped in the weave of the lush rug and the tapestried walls.

He glanced to his right and noted the Guardian of the Inner Chamber, the Concierge, patiently awaiting him.

“Matthias,” Bogdan nodded.

The man nodded back. “Fleet Lord Tesar has left a message that he would welcome your company this evening. Last I checked, he was just about to order dinner in the Rockery on the third floor.”

“Very good, Matthias,” the Fleet Lord replied. “Is Samantha available this evening?”

“She is, sir,” the man smiled. “I will have her deliver your drinks immediately.”

“Thank you, Matthias.”

Bogdan stepped deeper into the dimly–lit hallway and climbed the grand staircase. Starships didn’t have elevators, so a proper club that served current and retired naval officers did not either.

Tonight, an elevator might have been more pleasant. Bogdan grumbled to himself as he climbed the stairs, his old knees and back complaining. It had not been a good week.

Upstairs, he passed a variety of men, and a few women, all well dressed, well bred. Proper representatives of the founding Families of the
Republic
. His class of people.

The staff was also proper. Polite, cheerful, discrete, knowledgeable. He could leave his worries and cares outside and relax here, safe.

It was just another reason to stay a day’s sail away from the Capital,
Ladaux
, and all that political mess.
Anameleck Prime
was old money, old industry. It had been one of the first worlds of the future
Republic
to return to space flight after the long darkness when the Homeworld was destroyed, thousands of years ago.

On the third floor, Bogdan made his way past several doorways and side halls. He entered a large door at the end and looked around. The room was large, but broken into a variety of small nooks and cubbyholes by careful use of short walls, plants, and pillars.

“Good evening, Lord Loncar,” a young woman purred as she approached, a brandy snifter on a tray in one hand.

“Good evening, Samantha,” he replied with a polite leer. At his age, he was too old to engage in bedroom gymnastics, but he did appreciate having a beautiful young woman to ogle while doing business. Especially a short brunette with long hair, lush curves, and a ripe bosom. One who understood that the business of Navy men was serious work and that they needed to escape their daily responsibilities occasionally.

“Lord Tesar is this way, sir,” She said, leading him deeper into the room, to a particularly private corner table.

“Evening, Bogdan,” boomed a voice as he approached.

“Bogusław,” he replied, feeling the weight of the day slide off his shoulders as the lovely woman disappeared back into the room.

Bogusław Tesar was a decade older, and had been retired from the Fleet for longer than that. He had begun to go to seed in the way that a previously–active man will when they stop working so hard. He was thick around the middle, but in a stout way. His hair had finally turned completely white after he had stopped coloring it. The shoulders had developed a slouch.

He looked like a man getting ready to die of old age.

“Heard the news,” Tesar said gravely. “Looks like Kasum won this round?”

“Perhaps,” Bogdan said. “Perhaps not. That little minx got away scot free, but I understand that the First Lord is sending her to the
Cahllepp Frontier
instead of back to the main front.”