The Unincorporated War (30 page)

“You’re right, Lieutenant Esparza. Our assault miners could take the whole lot with only a small loss of time and momentum. But then we’d be dead in space with depleted boarding parties and forty ships coming at us from two different directions. With ten more ships I might have risked it, but not now. Bring the main batteries to bear and destroy the ships while they’re still entangled.”

“Yes, sir. Main batteries to bear!” barked the lieutenant. “Fire at will!”

In the next ten minutes twenty of Earth’s finest and most modern warships were blown to bits with only three able to break away from the space dock
before being themselves destroyed. In the melee not one Confederation ship had been able to bring their main battery to bear. The magnetically propelled death from the Alliance rail guns had assured the Confederation ships’ complete and catastrophic end. Then, without fanfare or communication of any kind, the Alliance fleet turned and boosted at full acceleration toward the perimeter of the resource field and into the fray.

Bridge of the TFS Vishnu

“Sir, there are reports that the ice ships are breaking up—”

With a sudden horror Admiral Gupta realized exactly where the other ships were and almost as quickly that he had just lost the second great battle of the war. He remembered giving the right orders. He remembered commanding his ships to gain speed and run for the orbital batteries of Mars. He’d been able to return fire on the ridiculous jury-rigged ships of the Alliance that suddenly started to attack his fleet like a pack of crazed hyenas. He’d swallowed his pride and run from them hoping to build up enough speed. Speed to escape the enemy coming at him from both sides—an impossible situation. He’d even considered accepting Admiral Black’s offer of surrender. He believed that she’d see his people treated well and not harmed or audited. But he also knew that any ship he surrendered would be used against the men and women of the Confederation in the next battle. He knew he’d lost, but now he was determined to make sure her victory wouldn’t come cheap.

It had been his last order to Commodore Diep that had turned out to have the only real and lasting damage on the Alliance. Over strong protest he ordered and then had to practically beg Commodore Diep to abandon her course and return to the orbital defenses of Mars. It was only when he reminded Diep that his ships were dying in order to buy her the time to prepare Mars for attack that she finally agreed. That last order and the pride he felt for his soldiers were the only honorable things he remembered. His ships fought with bravery and some skill against hopeless odds. Their dedication and sacrifice, he thought sadly, deserved a better leader than they got. His last act before the power faded on the wrecked ship and the sounds of battle from inside the
Vishnu
grew too loud to ignore was to recommend commendations for his now-destroyed task force. As soon as he was done the bulkhead door blasted open and thankfully he remembered nothing more of the terrible battle he’d just lost.

Bridge of the AWS War Prize

“Admiral, a.m.’s reporting bridge of enemy flag ship secured … enemy admiral wounded and unconscious, but in stable condition … rest of their task force is
surrendering … two of the enemy ships escaped and are boosting toward Mars … Captain Sadma reports her ship is capable of pursuing.” The lieutenant looked up. “Orders?”

J.D. considered refusing but figured two more inoperative ships wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Plus she didn’t want to dampen Christina Sadma’s aggressive spirit. “Put her and Captain Omad in the tank.” J.D. waited while her two best captains appeared in all their holographic glory. “Are your ships capable of pursuit?”

“Yes, Admiral,” they replied in unison.

“Omad’s in overall command,” said J.D., and then held up her hand to stifle the complaint she knew was already coming. “Christina, you’d pursue them to the steps of the Martian capital … tell me I’m wrong.”

J.D. saw the young woman wince but then smile mischievously. “Omad will at least stop before you get yourselves killed. “You’re both worth more to me than ten warships, remember that … now good hunting, Black out.” J.D. turned back to Marilynn. “Prelim damage report?”

“Admiral, of the forty ships engaged we’ve lost four,
Freedom, F the Dividend, Eternal Light,
and
Sandscrapper
. Another twelve can only be classified as severely damaged. They’ll have to be towed back to repair facilities. Of the twenty ships in the enemy formation, ten have been destroyed, two escaped, and the remaining eight are severely damaged. We may get lucky, but we must assume they’ll have to be towed as well. Of the twenty-four thousand personnel in the Alliance fleet we have over eleven thousand casualties. Of those it’s believed that there may be as many as … as five thousand p.d.’s, sir.”

Marilynn reported the last figure of the permanent deaths in a whisper and J.D. saw the shock on the faces of those nearest to her. She cut it off quickly. “We’ll mourn later,” she said in a voice stripped of emotion. “We still have a job to do and we dishonor the dead if we waste their sacrifice with our grief now. Lieutenant Nitelowsen, continue.”

“Admiral, enemy casualties are harder to calculate accurately. Two-thirds of the enemy fleet has been effectively neutralized. That is roughly forty thousand personnel, of whom it is believed twenty-four thousand are p.d.’s.”

“Prepare a report for Fleet HQ and the President and let’s get our fleet to those space yards. Tell Admiral Sinclair we can begin Operation Vulture.”

Justin was listening to Admiral Sinclair’s briefing on the balcony overlooking the thoroughfare below. At the table were Cyrus Anjou, Kirk Olmstead, and Padamir Singh. They could all see the crowds gathering below. It was impossible, thought Justin, for the Cereans not to know that a battle had been brewing. After all, the fleet had just upped and left. But now there were rumors that it had
already been fought, and given the spontaneous outburst of music and dancing below, most seemed to have figured out it was another victory for the Alliance. But before Justin could say anything to anyone, he needed to know what type and how big a victory it was.

“Sir,” beamed Sinclair, “I’m happy to report that the shipyard’s been taken and secured. Our salvage and reclamation fleet is in place.”

“Good. What else?”

“It’ll take about a week for the cleanup; once that’s done we should have that shipyard in Alliance space in a little less than two weeks.”

“Now comes the fun part,” Kirk chortled. “There’s already quite a fight brewing in Congress about where to send the damned thing.”

Justin nodded grimly. “Cyrus?”

“Mr. President, this issue is not about NoShare versus Shareholder. On this it’s a straight colony vote.”

“Meaning?”

“It’s the one issue that both those factions can agree on,” answered Kirk. “Greed.”

Justin sighed at what was turning into another Political donnybrook. “Admiral,” he asked, “where does the military feel it should go?”

“Jupiter,” answered Sinclair without a moment’s hesitation, “and stop looking so smug, Cyrus. I didn’t arrive at that answer easily.” Sinclair then called up a hologram with a detailed map of Alliance space. “Besides being my home
and
the most beautiful part of the solar system, Saturn may have the advantage of being farthest away with a good resource base, but any ships made there would be at the effective end of the supply chain. And no offense to Neptune, but even the TNOs,” said Sinclair, using the standard acronym for Trans Neptunian Objects, “are more developed than that planetary unit.”

“Security-wise,” added Kirk, “Saturn would be my preferred location.”

“True,” agreed Sinclair, “but unfortunately, your security considerations are diametrically opposed to the military’s need for a viable, uninterrupted supply line. On top of that, when you take into account that Saturn’s not nearly as developed economically as Jupiter you arrive at a whole other host of problems.”

“Please elaborate,” said Justin.

“Well, for one, specialists would have to be shipped in from all over the Alliance, primarily from the industrial zones of the belt, which would decrease output in other areas of production by the amount of travel time involved. In my opinion, just not worth it. If this were a peacetime situation I’d be with Kirk and Saturn would win it hands down. Trust me, I’d love to develop the exterior of our territory away from the corporate core.”

“Just so when I have to argue with Congress,” said Justin “and correct me if
I’m wrong on this, but didn’t you just make a good argument for the Belters getting the shipyard? I mean based on Saturn’s weaknesses combined with the ongoing war, it seems to me we should be parking the shipyard fifty thousand clicks from this office.”

“Um, well, Mr. President,” said Kirk, “it’s a specious argument—at least from a security standpoint.”

“How so, Kirk?”

Kirk manipulated a control and the area around Ceres came up in greater detail. “We can’t put it next to the busiest shipping lanes in the Alliance. Logistically it would be a security nightmare … in essence it would be
too
close to the supply lines, as funny as that sounds. The only reason we can manage security at Gedretar,” he said, referring to the Alliance’s shipyard inside of Ceres, “is because it’s inside the rock itself with only one real point of entry—two if you count anybody crazy enough to try entering from the exit lanes.”

Justin manipulated the screen to another large asteroid. “Just so I cover all the bases, what about Eros, Admiral? It’s in the belt and near enough to the war zone.”

Admiral Sinclair acknowledged Justin’s logic but quickly dispelled his supposition. “Eros might’ve been perfect. It’s an advanced region with great infrastructure. Unfortunately, it’s getting the shipyard to that region that proves to be the Belter in the brothel. Eros is on the complete opposite side of the belt. To have it do the 180 from here or even from its current position would take months because we obviously can’t send it through the core.”

Kirk brought up an image of the newly captured shipyard.

“The thing’s huge, with 360-degree accessibility from all angles,” he said. “I’d have to agree with the admiral. At least at Jupiter we’ll be able to give it an isolated orbit around one of their inner moons. Once properly shielded from the planet’s magnetosphere, that location will actually work in our favor.”

“And if the war continues,” added Sinclair, “we’ll need Jupiter to become our fallback industrial enclave. Against the full resources of the corporate core we must be realistic and dial in the fact that holding the belt will become increasingly difficult.”

Justin sighed. “Hope for the best, plan for the worst. Alright, how do we manage this without it becoming a major Political mess?” As the question left his lips he felt the loss of his wife even more keenly.

“Rip the Band-Aid off quickly, Mr. President,” said Padamir Singh. “The Belters will not be happy with so large a manufacturing center not being within their domain. After all, we do feel we’re the natural center of trade and industry in the solar system.”

“Only the solar system? Ha!” laughed Cyrus.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard so self-evident a truth stated in so clear a manner,” retorted Padamir, “but be that as it may, our plate is full. We’ll pick up enough business keeping the shipyard running to mollify our industrial families. But I can almost guarantee that the Saturnians will be as upset as Terrans owning stock in Erisians. They know what getting this could do for the economy of all Saturn. Might I suggest a solution?”

Justin smiled and then nodded, knowing that Padamir had probably already secured what ever deals necessary to back up his suggestion.

“As you know, we’re starting to receive more casualties than we can handle. I’m talking about mental trauma, Mr. President—the physical part’s easy. Anyhow, there’s a committee in Congress planning to announce the need for a center to treat our wounded.”

“Go on.”

“May I suggest that our good friend Cyrus propose that Jupiter get
both
the shipyard and the trauma center? This will make Mr. Anjou very pop u lar with his people.”

“They’d elect me governor, might even let me marshal the Jovian Mardi Gras,” Cyrus said, beaming.

“Naturally,” continued Padamir, “the Saturnians will scream bloody murder. Then Admiral Sinclair, good Saturnian that he is, will announce that it would be best if the trauma center were built on Saturn, something about those damn rings being soothing.”

“Those damn rings
are
soothing,” protested the admiral.

“Of course they are,” answered Padamir rather unconvincingly. “Anyhow, I will then announce that the President has taken the advice of his Grand Admiral. The Saturnians will be happy that they got something and forced the big evil Jovian to not get everything. The Jovians will be more than happy to get the shipyard.”

“And what will the Belters get out of this deal?” asked Justin.

“Mr. President, there’s always something needed. I’m sure these two fine gentlemen will not begrudge me a small favor in Belter interests in some distant future.” As he said this Padamir looked at both Cyrus Anjou and Joshua Sinclair and did not look away until he got a slight but perceptible nod from both, showing that they acknowledged the debt.

Justin tipped his head. The Political deal making was not the happiest part of the job, but given his former life as a corporate CEO he knew it to be a necessary evil.