Impávido (46 page)

Desjani frowned in turn. “Syndics follow orders rigidly,” she finally declared.

That was a fair assessment, reflecting everything Geary had once known and what he’d seen now. “Then they’ve been ordered to run.”

“To report on our arrival in Sutrah System,” Desjani concluded. “But what’s the point of that? If they’ve got light units posted at the other jump points, and we can see that as of a few hours ago they did, what advantage do they gain by having someone right here? Their report still goes out at light speed, and since they can’t get through us to the nearest jump point, they won’t be able to jump out quickly.”

Geary brooded over the display. “True enough. So why?” He took another look at his fleet’s formation, still holding together, and breathed a prayer of thanks to the living stars. “Wait a minute.” Within a solar system, directional references were always made to the world outside a ship so other ships could understand them. Anything above the plane of the system was up, anything below it down. The direction toward the sun was right, or starboard, (or even starward as some urged), while the direction away from the sun was left, or port. Using that standard convention, the Syndic light warships had been below the position of his fleet and were now fleeing up and slightly to the left. Why would they run in a way that brought them closer to his fleet? Unless running in that way had another purpose.

Geary drew an intercept line from his ships to the Syndics, the curving course tracing through a region the Syndics hadn’t gone through. “Get me a real good look at this area. Fast.”

Desjani gave Geary a startled glance but passed the order on. Geary was still waiting for the reply when he saw three destroyers and a heavy cruiser suddenly break formation, leaping forward under full acceleration to intercept the fleeing Syndics. No! You fools! Without waiting another moment, Geary keyed the fleet command circuit. “All units, alter course up three zero degrees. I say again, up three zero degrees. Immediate execute. There are mines along our projected track.”

He took a moment to identify the units that had broken formation. “Anelace, Baselard, Mace, Cuirass!

Break up from your current course immediately! Up three zero degrees. You are entering a minefield.”

Then all Geary could do was stare at the display. The Alliance fleet was spread across light-minutes of distance. The farthest ships wouldn’t receive his order for another two minutes. The ones in greatest danger, those three destroyers and the cruiser Cuirass, wouldn’t hear it for at least a minute. At full acceleration they’d cover a lot of ground in that minute.

A watch-stander on the bridge of Dauntless was making her report in a loud voice. “Anomalies detected along the track indicated. Assess better than eighty percent probability of stealth mines in the area.

Recommend avoidance course now.”

Desjani held up a hand to acknowledge the report, then gazed at Geary, her eyes filled with admiration.

Geary realized that the eyes of the other officers and sailors on the bridge reflected the same amazement as well as the hero worship he really hated seeing, even after months of it. “How did you know, Captain Geary?” Desjani asked.

“It was just too obvious,” he explained, shifting uncomfortably in his seat under the regard of the other officers on the bridge. “The warships positioned far enough from the jump point to avoid incoming enemies but close enough to warn off friendly shipping. Then that course they took, which seemed aimed at taking us through a certain area when we pursued.” He left off something they both knew, that if this fleet had been the same one he’d brought into Corvus, most of his ships would be rushing headlong into that minefield right now, instead of only four lighter units.

The widespread formation of the Alliance fleet began bending in the middle as the nearest ships reacted to the order, then as the order reached farther ships, they responded, too. The overall image almost resembled a manta ray, Geary realized, flexing up in the middle with the “wings” still drooping lower.

He waited, seeing the three destroyers and the cruiser maintaining their courses, as if the pursuit was all that mattered. Geary checked the time. Five minutes had passed. Give it one minute for the order to arrive at the speed of light, then another minute for him to finally see whatever course change the ships started. That left three minutes, which was way too slow a response in an emergency. “Anelace, Baselard, Mace, Cuirass! Alter course upward immediately, maximum turn. We’ve detected a minefield across your tracks. Acknowledge order and start turn immediately!”

Another minute. “How far away are they from those anomalies?” Geary asked, trying to keep his voice level.

“On current track,” Desjani tapped her own controls rapidly, running the calculation, “they’ll be in among them in thirty seconds.” Desjani’s voice was calm, disciplined. She had seen a lot of Alliance ships die, a lot of Alliance sailors die, in her fairly short career. Geary had only gradually learned that, and realized that now Desjani was drawing on her experience to numb herself to what seemed inevitable.

Thirty seconds. Too late to even try broadcasting another order. Geary knew some of the commanding officers in his fleet weren’t really qualified for command, knew that many others still clung to the idea of all-out glorious charges into the enemy without hesitation or thinking. It would be a long time before he could, hopefully, teach those warriors the value of fighting wisely as well as bravely. But even knowing that, Geary wondered what insanity had led those four captains to ignore his orders and his warning about the minefield. Their minds must be fixed on their chosen targets, oblivious to anything else as they tried to close to engagement range.

Maybe the ships would survive in the minefield long enough for another warning to work. Trying to keep his voice from betraying desperation, Geary called them again. “Anelace, Baselard, Mace, Cuirass, this is the fleet commander. You are entering a confirmed minefield. Alter course up immediately. Maximum turn.”

They were entering the minefield now, he knew. The light from the four ships was half a minute old, so the ships that he could see proud and intact were already in the minefield, might already have hit mines.

All he could do was stare at the display, waiting for the inevitable, knowing there was nothing that could save the crews of those ships now but an actual miracle. He prayed silently, wishing for that miracle.

It didn’t happen. Exactly one minute, seven seconds after Desjani’s warning, Geary saw his display reporting multiple explosions as the three destroyers leading the charge ran into the dense minefield. The small, relatively frail destroyers simply disintegrated under the hammer blows of the mines, shattering into fragments of men, women, and ships that the smart fuses of unexploded mines simply ignored.

A few seconds after that, Geary saw the Cuirass finally trying to turn. It was far too late, though, as momentum carried the cruiser into the mines. One punched a crater amidships, then a second blew away a good part of the stern, then the optical sensors on the Dauntless momentarily lost sight of the cruiser as the debris field from it and the destroyers blocked the view of the destruction.

Geary licked lips suddenly gone dry, thinking of the sailors who’d just died to no purpose. He blocked out emotion, concentrating on the mechanics of his next task as he studied the display. “Second Destroyer Squadron, you are to make a cautious approach to the vicinity of the minefield in search of survivors. Do not enter the minefield without approval from me.” Odds were there wasn’t a single survivor. The four ships had been destroyed so quickly it seemed unlikely anyone could’ve reached a survival pod. But it was necessary to ensure no one was left behind to the tender mercies of the Syndic labor camps.

A slow minute passed. “Second Destroyer Squadron, aye. Proceeding to search for survivors.” The voice of the squadron commander was subdued.

Geary took another look at his formation, all on the new course, rising above the plane of the Sutrah System, coursing above the minefield area now prominently labeled with danger signs on the display. “All units, alter course two zero degrees down at time one five.”

Everyone was looking at him, perhaps expecting some speech about the heroism of the crews of the four ships. Geary stood up, his mouth a thin line, shook his head, and walked off the bridge, not trusting his voice. The dead shouldn’t be spoken ill of. He didn’t want to publicly lash the commanders of those ships as vainglorious fools who’d murdered their crews.

Even though that was exactly what had happened.

VICTORIA Rione, co-president of the Callas Republic and a member of the Alliance senate, was waiting for him at the entry to his stateroom. Geary nodded to her with one quick jerk of his head, then entered without inviting her inside. She came anyway, standing silently while he glowered at the starscape that decorated one bulkhead. She didn’t have any command authority in the fleet, but as a senator she was a senior enough representative of the Alliance government that Geary certainly couldn’t just throw her out. Besides, the ships of both the Callas Republic and the Rift Federation, which made up part of his fleet, would listen to orders given by Rione if she decided to buck Geary. He had to be diplomatic with this civilian politician even when all he wanted to do was yell at someone.

Finally he just glared at her. “What do you want, Madam Co-President?”

“To hear you relieve the anger that is devouring you at the moment,” she replied calmly.

He slumped for a moment, then slammed his fist into the starscape, making it shimmer briefly before returning to normal. “Why? Why would anyone be so stupid?”

“I saw this fleet at Corvus, Captain Geary. The Syndic tactic would’ve worked perfectly there, before the training you insisted upon taught the fleet better discipline.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” he asked bitterly.

“It should.”

Geary rubbed his face with one hand. “Yeah,” he agreed wearily. “It should. But even one ship…and we just lost four.”

Rione gave him a penetrating look. “At least they presented an object lesson on the value of following orders.”

He stared back at her, wondering if she was serious. “That’s a little too cold-blooded for me, Madam Co-President.”

She shrugged. “You have to be realistic, Captain Geary. Unfortunately, there are some people who refuse to learn until they see errors literally blow up their faces.” Her voice fell, and her eyes closed. “As happened just now.”

So she was affected by the losses. Geary felt a surge of relief. As the only civilian in the fleet, the only person not under his command, Rione was the only person he felt able to confide in. He was beginning to discover he also liked her, an unfamiliar feeling for him after the isolation of being in a time a century removed from his own. After the isolation of finding himself among people whose culture had changed in many ways large and small from the one Geary had known.

Rione looked up again. “Why, Captain Geary? I don’t pretend to be an expert on the military, but those four ship commanders had seen that your way of doing things worked. The way the fleet used to fight, back in your time. They’d seen a large Syndic force destroyed to the last ship. How could they possibly believe that charging headlong at the enemy was wise?”

Geary shook his head, not looking at her. “Because, to the great misfortune of humanity, military history is very often the story of commanders repeating the same unsuccessful way of fighting again and again while their own forces are destroyed in droves. I don’t pretend to know why that is, but it’s a sad truth; commanders who don’t learn from immediate or long-term experience, who keep hurling their forces forward as if causing the same useless deaths time and again will eventually change the outcome.”

“Surely not all commanders could be like that.”

“No, of course not. Though it seems they tend to collect in the highest ranks, where they can do the most damage.” Geary finally looked over at Rione. “Many of these ship commanders are good, brave sailors.

But they’ve spent their entire careers being told how to fight one way. It’ll take a while to overcome all of that hidebound experience and convince them that change is not a bad thing. Change doesn’t come easily to the military, even when that change is a return to the professional tactics of the past. It’s still change from the way things are.”

Rione sighed and shook her head. “I’ve seen the many ancient traditions that the military holds dear and sometimes wonder if it thereby attracts too many of those who value lack of change over accomplishment.”

Geary shrugged. “Maybe, but those traditions can be a tremendous source of strength. You told me some time back that this fleet was brittle, prone to break under pressure. If I can successfully reforge it stronger, it’ll be in no small part because of the traditions that I can draw on.”

She accepted his statement without any sign of whether or not she believed it. “I do have some information that may help to partially explain the actions of those four ships. Since we left jump space and the communications net became active, some of my sources have reported that rumors have been spread through ships. Rumors that you, having lost your fighting spirit, would rather allow Syndic warships to escape to fight another day than risk engaging them.”

Geary found himself laughing in disbelief. “How could anyone believe that after Kaliban? We tore that Syndic flotilla apart. Not a one got away.”

“People will believe what they wish to believe,” Rione observed.

“You mean like believing Black Jack Geary is a mythical hero?” he asked sourly. “Half the time they want to worship me, the warrior from the past who’s going to save this fleet and the Alliance by winning a war a century old, and the other half of the time they spread rumors that I’m incompetent or afraid.”

Geary finally sat down, gesturing Rione to a seat opposite him. “So what else are your spies in my fleet telling you, Madam Co-President?”

“Spies?” she repeated in a surprised tone as she sat down. “That’s such a negative term.”