Opening Moves (18 page)

C H A P T E R  6

Orion Colony

Van Halen's Star, North American Union.

June, 2797 C.E.

Samantha exhaled and laughed a little in relief as she felt the normal force of one gravity pressing back down on her feet. After the best part of a week in a low gravity environment the sudden return to normal was greatly appreciated, even if it was only on a station and not the blue planet itself. The shuttle had docked successfully with them on board and the whole unit had managed to file out in record time, more than eager to get back in a standard gravity environment. Courtesy of the gravity-manipulating field that created the warp 'bubble' around starships, allowing them to move inside foldspace and supporting non-Newtonian flight characteristics outside the pocket universe's whirling grays, modern starships generated some kind of basic gravity for those aboard. Usually that amounted to around forty percent of Earth's standard. Most larger towns and cities on Mars used the same technology. However, since they didn't need to move millions of tons through space at fractional speeds of lightspeed, their efficiency in generating gravity fields was much higher. There still was a difference to what humans were used to as a species, and every time Samantha visited her parents back on Earth she found herself having to adapt to the change for the first few days. But it was a lot more manageable than the low gravity aboard starships. That was one other point why most of the army didn't like to play babysitter aboard those tin cans.

As the elevator from the central docking bay headed for the habitat ring, full gravity returned gradually as centrifugal forces began to take effect, raising it to Earth normal by the time it stopped and opened its doors.

“Praised be the Lord, whoever he might be!” Private Tucker exclaimed. “I'd forgotten what it felt like to have my stomach settled!”

“
Going by the amount of chow you shovel down I'm surprised you don't prefer lower gravity,” Private 'Grunt' Kayser observed.

“
Oi, ya sayin' I'm fat?” Tucker huffed.

“
Nah, just... big boned, sugar.”

“
Save it until we get billeted, boys,” Lieutenant Jones mildly called them to order. “You all got your hall passes?”

A series of affirmative answers met him as they stepped from the large cargo elevator and out onto the transfer station's main corridor, a long plain set of walls stretching right around the station in a great circle. From outside, the base looked like a giant hollow cylinder with a central hub for shuttles and spokes leading to the outer structure. McKenna Station was named after a 27
th
century secretary of defense. It was heavily armed and armored, surrounded by a layer of mines and defensive satellites that also protected the drydocks and supply depots for the Union Fleet's 18
th
and 22
nd
Cruiser Squadrons and their subordinate units. NAU planners had built it to withstand all but the heaviest and most determined attacks, and in conjunction with its mobile space-based assets and defenses on the ground, any forces of the Pacific Alliance or EMC would pay dearly if they tried to take the system and its valuable M-class planet from the Union.

Or alien powers, Sammy thought somberly, remembering the reason for their redeployment. She dug in her pocket and retrieved her billet card – the hall pass, as Jones had jokingly called it – which told her which room she was in and provided access. Though it wasn't really a physical 'billet card' at all but an identity code uploaded on the platoon members' personal comm units.

“All right people, go get settled in. See you all at seventeen hundred in the mess. The captain has your specific assignments and departure times so try and don't be late,” the lieutenant stated, then headed off for his own quarters.

The NCOs and regular troopers were assigned four to a room, while the lieutenant and other junior officers were two to a room. Apparently even the battalion's majors had to bunk together due to a lack of space on McKenna. It seemed like half of the Union's armed forces had just about arrived in this otherwise quiet sector. Sammy thought it was probably a good thing Orion colony was the human holding the farthest away from Sol. A military deployment of this size certainly would have sparked a minor crisis if it had been somewhere within the closer spherical colony zone around humanity's home system. Out here it only served as a warning to the other alien powers and resulted in many a one-system nation getting its panties in a twist.

The latter really didn't bother her one bit. While certainly not everybody living out here on their own was bad, those systems had a suspicious habit of housing pirates and privateers who all too often ended up flying said system's flag once the going got tough. That usually was the point where one of the 'Big Three' put their foot down.

The entrance wall to the station's section housing enlisted personnel and non-commissioned officers showed a painting of a group of men in insanely tight trousers playing drums and some other old instruments. Each and every one of them had longer – and curlier – hair than most women nowadays choose to wear. On the edge of the larger-than-life piece of art someone had scribbled with black permanent marker 'Now they even have a star of their own. God help us all, it's the final countdown...'

Sammy frowned but moved on. She found their quarters and swiped the lock with her comm unit, causing the door to clank open. Samantha threw her kit on the nearest bed while Grunt, Tucker and Private Walters followed her in and tried to make themselves at home.

“
Don't get too comfortable,” she warned, a virtual impossibility in these rather spartan surroundings. “We'll probably be spaceborne again in a day or two. Or down on the planet. Wonder what season it is down there right now. I heard Orion is pretty much Earth-like.”

“
Yeah, the way I understand it, Orion's prime real estate: standard gravity, almost no natural hazards, temperate climate and resource-rich to boot. Wasn't that the reason the Pacs threw such a hissy fit in the first place?”

Sammy sat down on her bed and shrugged. “Bit more complicated than that, but yeah, jealousy's been a big part in that affair.”

“I heard they think because it's so far out in the boondocks we'll use it to stage an attack against'em one day and catch them on the wrong foot,” he held up a tablet computer. “
Xinhua
's also been playing up the angle that a colony this far out has the potential to drag us into an alien war.
Reckless Yankee brinkmanship
, they're calling it.”

Sammy rolled her eyes. “Who the hell even talks like that nowadays? I mean,
Yankee
? Really? That was archaic even before my grandpa was born. And why the hell are you reading a rag like
Xinhua
anyways?” The Xinhua newsfeed agency was generally thought to be the Pacific Rim Alliance's government mouthpiece.

The lanky soldier shrugged. “Alert preferences. I wanted to know what's going on back home now that we're back in realspace.” It was impossible to communicate with an object in foldspace from a point in normspace and
vice versa
. “Turns out the other big two aren't too happy with the amount of firepower we're shipping around at the moment. And a whole lot of indies are probably two seconds short of a heart attack, too.”

Samantha scratched her hair. At two inches it was getting dangerously long! “Screw them. Stupid independent systems. If we show up it's always 'Bitch bitch moan moan, freedoms this, tyranny that, leave us alone'. If we keep out of their affairs it's 'Mommy, why don't you help me? Timmy stole my sweets'. If it's a choice between babysitting those guys and staring down an EMC squadron in space I'm all for the space job.”

“Oh. Joy and jubilance,” Tucker grunted with exactly zero enthusiasm.

“
Look at this way: at least in space you won't feel overweight, you just look the part,” Grunt prodded.

“
Solid muscle, this!” Tucker thumped his barrel sized torso. “Anyway, I'd be careful if I were you. Wouldn't wanna wake up outside the station, now would you?”

“
Knock it off, guys,” Lee sighed. “Try and get some sleep with normal gravity. I've got a feeling it'll be the last for a while, so enjoy it.”

Her fellow soldiers relaxed, dropped onto their bunks, and with record speed were asleep. Samantha reached into her uniform pockets, the all resistant fabric of the clothing proof against all known biological agents, and found her most treasured possession. It was a quaint, old school photograph of her wife and child. She pressed it up on the wall beside her bunk, taking a few moments in the dim light to savor the image. “Good night,” she whispered to them, then she too closed her eyes and within minutes was fast asleep.

* * * * * * *

“
Divisions one to fifty are reporting ready, Strategos,” a captain said with undisguised glee, the prospect of battle clearly very exciting to him. “Our airwings are docked and ground forces prepared to follow us into battle.”

“
And the supply situation?” Corr'tane asked calmly, his face a picture of neutrality in the busy command center of the dreadnought CLAWBLADE.

“
Our vessels are freshly loaded, sir. We have fuel and food for a full six months of operations, and approximately two weeks' worth of attack craft ordinance and spares. More than enough for our needs.”

“
Do not be so sure, captain,” Corr'tane commented quietly. “There seems to be an attitude that this war will be over in weeks. I assure you: it will
not
.”

“
I would never question you, Strategos, but our opponents are surely not powerful enough to stop us?” the officer replied respectfully.

“
As a whole? No, they aren't. However, we must be cautious in our planning and execution of this great battle. The initial advantage will be ours. We will dictate the pace and the locations of where the opening moves of this war will be fought. But no matter what we do, how fast and how successful we are: the enemy will find the time and the place to react to our advance. We cannot afford constant heavy losses, and our enemies will fight with courage if not with skill. Be aware of your enemy, captain. That is the first rule of war.”

“
Yes, Strategos,” the officer answered and refrained from further comments.

Corr'tane looked at the banks of screens, each showing statistics and reports from his fleet massing for the assault into Tuathaan space. As the captain had confirmed, everything was ready. And, despite his words of caution, he had also proven the Ashani fleet had the single most crucial weapon in their arsenal prepared: the confidence and willpower to win.

Over a thousand ships had massed in his fleet, with other strategoi farther forward and across the borders of Érenni space commanding similar fleets. The attack was designed as a perfectly simultaneous strike. Two fleets would hit Tuathaan space while another two fleets struck the Érenni colonies. The main reserves would be held centrally to support either operation, but Corr'tane's personal force would act independently, a sign of his esteem in the Supreme Strategos' eyes, and he had decided to personally oversee the breaking of the Tuathaan space forces.

“
I will be in my quarters,” he said. “Inform me when the assault fleets begin moving and we enter the fold.”

“
As you wish, sir.” The officer nodded and saluted.

Corr'tane made his way to the spacious facilities set aside for the fleet commander. They were simple two-roomed quarters and fairly small, but on a warship – even a nine million ton dreadnought – they were considered almost palatial. He settled down and took a quick sip of a potent Ashani wine, then activated the private communications system wired into the cabin's wall display. In a few moments the desired image appeared.

“Sister,” he smiled warmly. “It is good to see you. You are well, I hope?”

“
You don't have to keep checking up on me every week,” Pyshana winced. “I'm capable of taking care of myself, you know. But it is good to hear from you, too.”

“
You can understand my concern,” Corr'tane's smile waned. “I hear you will be at the vanguard of our attack on the Érenni. It is a noble and honorable task.”

“
Indeed, and I wonder if I was assigned this position on your influence?”

He did not answer straight away. Frankly, if he had had the choice he would have made sure that Pyshana was as far from battle as possible. Her command of the leading elements of the fleet was a virtual death sentence. “It's not by my hand, but perhaps someone understands your value,” he said, and recognized the effect of her death on himself. Pyshana was all that was left of his family now. “Just make sure you live long enough to collect your promotion.”

“Consider it a guarantee.” Pyshana smiled. “I know what this battle entails and how the Érenni fight, brother. I have no intention of attacking them head on in a rush for glory like many of our commanders seek to do. I will use some intelligence in the matter and avoid getting my ships cut to ribbons in the guns of the Érenni.”