Rebel (16 page)

The screen came alive. “Ališ, you there?”

“Yes, Engle. Are you finally free to talk?”

“Free and then some. Those landlubbers have no idea how
to survive aboard ship. The Count of Me thought we were sissies with our high-gee stations since we weren’t doing more than one gee. He and his henchmen have been prancing around our ships like they owned them. Now most of them are up against a bulkhead with a broken back, broken neck, or busted head. Amazing, they actually had brains in those skulls. I wonder what they’ve been using them for.”

He paused to glance off screen and grinned. “That wiped the smirk off their faces. What a time I will have telling this story! Oh, and you will get credit, Ališ. You made it quite clear that you could hit my ship where you wanted to and burn right through me on your second salvo. Thanks for not doing it.”

“You’re welcome. Thanks for not playing the lamb dragged to the slaughter.”

“Yeah, it was pretty clear to me and
Revenge
that we’d be toast as soon as you started hitting us with full broadsides. It was pretty clear what side we wanted to be on. Is that the Grand Duchess at your elbow?”

“The full and gracious Grand Duchess herself,” Captain Bolesław said, nodding to Vicky.

“Your Grace, I surrender my command to you, having earned the full honors of war. I will lay my sword at your feet, and, if you will allow me, pick it up in your service.”

“You always were good at slinging the bull,” Captain Bolesław muttered.

“I accept your surrender,” Vicky said, formally. She expected that she’d better get very good at this. “I will also accept you in my service. The 16th Marines just surrendered to me but laid down their arms for fear that harm might come to their families.”

“I don’t think we have that problem. Most of my officers moved their families to Navy colonies when we saw the way the wind was blowing. Strange they still ordered us into the Empress’s service, but I think the clowns they’ve got working for them are not all that up to snuff.”

“Let us hope so,” Captain Bolesław said. “Captain Rachinsky, please bring your squadron in line behind my squadron. If any of your ships are retaken by Security Contractors, my squadron will be in a position to shoot out its engines.”

“If any of those security goons retake one of our ships, we
will shoot it out of space, never fear. We’ve had enough of being their lapdogs.”

They fell in line behind the St. Petersburg squadron, decelerating at one gee. Their vulnerable engines and reactors were submissively pointed at the
Retribution
’s lasers.

Vicky breathed a sigh of relief; Admiral Krätz would be proud of his student. With a little help from Captain Bolesław, she had persuaded the right people in a Marine battalion to surrender, then did the same for a battle squadron. Two sets of commanders had looked at the likely price of victory and found it not worth the blood price of a fight.

You got lucky, girl. Every day ain’t gonna be like this.

Vicky suppressed a snort at her cynical self. No doubt worse was coming, but for now, she, and those both with her and against her, had proven more rational than bloodthirsty. Or maybe the bloodthirsty had proven incompetent.

This would not last. There must be some experienced Navy and Marine officers willing to throw in with the Empress for gold or glory.

Make that gold
and
glory.

CHAPTER 23

T
HE
landings at High Brunswick were carefully done.
Koln
went in first, followed closely by Vicky’s
Wittenberg
. Then
Emden
and
Augsburg
berthed at piers across from each other. The
Revenge
and
Slinger
were the next pair. Finally, the
Reprisal
went in, followed immediately by
Retribution
.

Only when all pier tie-downs were locked tight and air locks open did Captain Bolesław breathe a sigh of relief. “I thought we could pull that off. I can hardly believe we did.”

“The way you damaged the
Reprisal
and
Revenge
,” Vicky said, “you were showing them what you could do while pulling your punches.”

“Yes. Engle could have gotten mad and gone all macho on me, or he could see what he faced—and that I wasn’t going for his jugular—and do what he did. He’s grown up a lot since he was a plebe at the academy.”

“Should I formally take his surrender?”

“Why don’t we invite him to dinner tonight? I think he’d much rather share a good glass of wine with you than swap his cake cutter. Oh, and if I might suggest, wear one of your Grand Duchess dresses. It will be harder for a captain to admit he surrendered to you if you’re showing lieutenant commander’s stripes.”

“Thank you, Captain, I will follow your advice.”

What she wanted to do was invite him to her quarters, strip him bare in a flash, and have her and the two assassins show him what heaven could be like.

Unfortunately, she’d had her computer check his file. He was very married to a lovely woman, doted on his four boys, and worshipped his daughter. She might find him irresistible for a postbattle romp, but he’d likely find the offer far from the Navy Way.

Besides, her computer was becoming most insistent that she was wanted below on Brunswick.

Like a good Grand Duchess, she collected her critical entourage, Commander Boch, Lieutenant Blue, Mr. Smith, and her two bantam assassins for security before heading for the space elevator.

En route, they were held at a police line while a couple of Marines smoked one of the security thugs out of his hiding place. Since those Marines were young and likely had no family at risk, they had happily joined with the locals in flushing out the hated redcoats.

At the elevator station, she was held up further, waiting for a platoon of Marines and another of Rangers to arrive. When finally ready, they were sandwiched between crates of trading goods while boarding, but the VIP lounge was pretty much devoted to them as they began the fast drop to the capital of Brunswick, Laatzen.

Someone was arranging meetings for her, even more bloody meetings as she dropped. Unfortunately, with the battles over, she couldn’t kill him.

She was greeted at the beanstalk station by the Governor General, a white-haired gentleman who offered her the key to the planet before a crowd of fawning newsies. Governor General Wilhelm Welf had held his position for nearly twenty years. Father would no doubt include him among his appointments who had gone native and gone to seed. Still, Welf had managed to dodge all the deadly tides of the last few years and hadn’t lost his head either to State Security or the Empress’s Security Consultants.

That might have changed, had Vicky and her squadron not arrived in the nick of time. Welf knew it, and was rather profuse with his thanks as they waited for transportation to be rounded up for all of Vicky’s security escort.

The destination of their quick drive was one of the towering skyscrapers that dotted the center of Laatzen. Again, Vicky was driven down to the secure bottom basement before being whisked up to the penthouse, where she could see all the powers of this world though she was offered little of it.

A Commander Strauss of the Supply Corps was waiting for her at the doorway to the penthouse conference room. He was rather proud of all the meetings he had arranged for Vicky and had no idea how close he came to having Vicky order one of her diminutive killers to take his head off at the navel.

Vicky took in all the burly men with tight haircuts and bulging shoulders lounging about the foyer, and recognized this meeting as not one for her entire team. Captain Inez Torrago, commander of 1st Ranger’s Company C, had drawn the job of riding with the freighters. She’d also chosen to lead the platoon of Rangers escorting Vicky today. The Marines had sent a lieutenant.

“Inez, have your Rangers and the Marines secure a perimeter around this room as best you can. Mr. Smith, you, Kit, and Kat see that there are no holes in that perimeter that something slimy can slip through. Commander Boch, you and Lieutenant Blue will secure this door from the inside. Any questions?”

There were none. Vicky allowed Commander Strauss to lead them into a room filled with one huge table with twenty cool men and two women seated around it.

Commander Boch and the lieutenant took station at parade rest beside the door. When the other commander made to follow Vicky, she dismissed him with “Thank you. Please wait outside.”

The man looked none too eager to go, but Vicky showed him the door with her eyes, and he left. Turning to face the table, she once again found one chair waiting for her at the foot of the table. She went to it and settled herself comfortably, then eyed those watching her silently.

A full minute went by before the middle-aged man at the head of the table cleared his throat, and said, “That was some interesting fighting you did up there this morning.”

Vicky dismissed his concern casually. “We are fortunate that the blackhearted Empress still sees no need to reach outside the ranks of her father’s financial empire to hire men
competent in commanding other men when battle beckons. No doubt, that will not continue forever.”

“No doubt,” the man agreed. “Your ships have brought the trade goods we ordered, I see. Is the price going to be more than we can pay, I wonder?”

“The ships with me are not mine. The freighters belong to their owners, who are only too happy to get back in the business of carry and trade. The products are provided by partners on St. Petersburg who hope to open a long and mutually profitable relationship with you.”

“And the warships?”

“Some of those docked at your station came with me. Others have just surrendered to me. They took some hard knocks and learned some hard lessons before matters might have become fatal. Now those ships require repairs and a base of operations that will meet their ongoing logistic needs. In return, they will see to your defense.”

“We didn’t need any defense before you came here,” was spat from midtable.

Vicky waited to see if someone else would parry that jab. She didn’t have to wait long.

“If she hadn’t gotten here when she did, we’d have been bowing and scraping before those damn redcoats next week, and they’d be offering you a few pfennig on the mark for your business, your home, and maybe even your wife and daughter. Come on, Horst, get your head out of the shitter.”

“I’ve got my head on straight, unlike some of you. What happens after she leaves? The Empress will be back, and with more redcoats. It will only get worse.”

The man at the end of the table tapped his water glass with a stylus for silence. He got it quickly. “We’ve been over and over this and gotten nowhere. Your Grace, have you anything to add to our stew?”

Vicky took a deep breath. “You are right. The blackhearted Empress does not give up easily. She’s tried twice to take St. Petersburg and twice to take the crystal mines on Presov. My stepmother is a heartless bitch who wants everything and will stop at nothing until she has it all, and the few survivors of her bloody machinations are kowtowing at her feet. So, do you want to offer her your neck or are you ready to stop her?”

“How
do
we stop her?”

“There are a pair of battleships and cruisers parked at your station. That’s a start. You have young people. Metzburg is putting them to work at both terraforming and defense. I imagine now that shots have been fired, there will be less tree planting and more battle training. They’re creating a Navy from out-of-work merchant ships. If you don’t want your battleships, I’m sure they’d be glad to feed the crews and maintain the ships.”

“They’re ours. Nobody gets them.” That came from the middle of the table. The side across from the one who wanted to surrender. Two men glared at each other.

“I think we have first option on those ships,” the man at the head of the table said dryly. “Your Grace, we have unused merchant ships as well. Though, if we get trade going again, we may find gainful employment for them.”

“You might want to be careful how you balance what you load up with product and what gets 6-inch and 8-inch lasers,” Vicky said.

“Yes, we might,” he said, making a notation on the computer embedded in the table. “Now, the merchant fleet and the four ships you are willing to give to us are a start on a Navy. What about an Army? Where do we get people to teach our young men to study war?”

“I can’t offer you the Marine battalion on the station that surrendered to me this morning. The families of their officers and NCOs are being held hostage on Garnet for their good behavior. Some of the younger other ranks have joined the police force on the station hunting down redcoats, but I don’t see the average private training an Army.”

“No, I don’t either.”

“With your permission,” Vicky said.

“Please.”

“Computer, have Captain Torrago of St. Petersburg’s 1st Rangers report.”

“She is ordered.”

Commander Boch opened the door, and Inez marched in smartly. She presented herself beside Vicky’s chair with a stomp that killed any cockroaches within a ten-mile radius and saluted. “Your Grace.”

“Captain, these people need an Army. Would you tell them how St. Petersburg found one so quickly?”

“Ma’am. You start with people with a will to be free and who know how to shoot and like long, hard days in the sun: farmers, cowboys, surveyors. You bring them together under the command of people who know the gentle art of killing their fellow man. You start with a few and feed in more who like a challenge, getting up at sunrise and working past sunset. You give them challenges, then get out of their way, letting them have the fun of solving them how they damn well please, ma’am. When you’ve got a good bunch, you cream off some of the best and dump the next best people you got in their lap and you go from having a battalion to having a regiment. If you’re lucky, you have a division before too long. Since I doubt Brunswick has much time, I suspect they’ll need to do this fast.”