Virtues of War (56 page)

When Thomas Kane arrived he went and sat with the man, confirming her instincts. He studiously refused to look at Breeze.

As the other members of the command staff began arriving she found a seat at the end of the front row, close to the podium. Colonel Korolev arrived without ceremony, as always, but everyone floated to attention when the great one finally made his entrance.

Chandler made some opening remarks, then called on the new AVW commander, formerly the CO of
Miami
, to deliver a brief on the orders of battle. These details Breeze already knew.

The Centauris had a battle cruiser and five frigates guarding the jump gate, pretty much the same size force that had attacked the EF over Laika. The EF had three destroyers and a stealth ship guarding the main body of
Normandy, Troy
, and the two supply ships. About a hundred star fighters were still serviceable, housed in the four ships of the main body. The hundred or more strike fighters were also being prepped for combat. Add in five surviving fast-attack craft and a handful of Hawks, and it all added up to having their ass kicked.

And then Breeze was invited to the stage to present the plan. She smiled warmly at the AVW controller as they passed—pleasant, name of Karen, post-traumatic struggles at losing her ship, family connections in Terra—and pulled herself in behind the podium. The assembled crowd stared expectantly, and as she looked back she was shocked at how empty the theater seemed. Nevertheless, she put on an expression of suitably grave professionalism and began to speak.

“As Commander Holmes has made clear, the EF is seriously out-matched in a direct confrontation with the enemy force. However, we have science on our side. Through the diligent efforts of our personnel, we have determined how we can use a modified version of our standard torpedo to disrupt and distract the Centauri force.”

The large 3-D display activated beside her, configured to give a 4-D representation of space, and Breeze gave her viewers a few moments to adapt their thinking to include the added spatial dimension.

“I’ll save you the equations, but very briefly the theory is this: the Bulk extends to infinity in the fourth dimension, but the region we are generally familiar with only extends for sixteen peets. Beyond this, the characteristics of the fundamental forces take a radical shift, perhaps due to the existence of a strongbrane, commonly referred to as the Erebos Layer.”

She checked her notes to ensure she’d said that right, then scanned ahead for the next dose of multidimensional physics.

“Beyond the Erebos Layer lies the Chthonian Deep, into which scientists have been able to make only a few direct observations. It is theorized, however, that this region of the Bulk is dense in dark energy which, if properly manipulated, can undergo a…” She checked her notes. “…tenebral implosion and transform into dark matter.

“At this extreme range into the Bulk, the force of gravity starts to increase exponentially and is so strong that objects in the Chthonian Deep can have a direct effect on objects here on the brane. It’s theorized that we never see this phenomenon in reality due to the extremely homogenous density of dark energy that far into the Bulk.”

She gauged her audience, noting an awful lot of blank stares and one or two approving nods. She didn’t even pretend to guess whether the theory was valid or not, but it was solidly backed by the brightest of Astral minds.

“Basically, we’re going to drop a modified torpedo right into the center of the Centauri force, seventeen peets in, and yank up some dark energy. The resultant massive object far in the Bulk is going to seriously mess with them. This will give us the chance we need to race past them and jump for Terra.”

More nods. Korolev leaned over and said something quietly to Chandler, glancing at Breeze. The commodore nodded and turned his attention back to her presentation.

“Are there any questions?” she asked.

Scattered laughter rippled through the uncertain crowd.

“Who’s delivering the torpedo?” someone in the second row asked.

This was the part of the plan Breeze liked the most.

“The modified fast-attack craft
Rapier
is the ideal insertion vehicle. She’s well-armed and fast enough to do the insertion, and she’s equipped with ASW gear and the ability to fire torpedoes.”

And it’s pretty likely she’ll never make it back.
Breeze was willing to have Thomas and Katja both be remembered as heroes, if it gave her the assurance that she’d never have to worry about them stealing her limelight again.

Thomas’s expression was grim but determined. His reaction had been her one worry, but it turned out she knew him well after all. He so desperately wanted to regain Chandler’s respect that he’d take on whatever suicide mission she thrust at him.

“
Rapier
will launch from
Normandy
six hours prior to our approach on the jump gate,” she continued, “displacing herself so that she can attack from a different bearing and seek to avoid detection until she’s within torpedo firing range. To help her, every ship in the EF will switch on AG and start radiating as if for battle, hopefully capturing the full attention of the enemy.”

“What happens if the magic torpedo doesn’t work?” someone else asked.

She knew Chandler wanted to answer this question. Plan B had been his main contribution to the strategy. He was already pushing off from his seat and turning to face the audience. By the time he reached the podium, Breeze had switched the display to tactical.

She half listened as she retook her seat, amused how much Chandler enjoyed the spotlight when he knew what he was talking about. With great dramatic effect he laid out the backup plan, in which the sole remaining stealth ship,
Viper
, would be hiding in the gravimetric signature of
Normandy
and
Troy
until the Centauris got within range. Then she would strike out as only a stealth ship could.

By the end of the briefing, everyone was fired up and ready to go. It never ceased to amaze Breeze how people could convince themselves that charging in to get killed was a good idea. There were a lot of handshakes as farewells were made. She was just about to slip out when she noticed Thomas floating forward to speak to Chandler.

She pushed off her chair to join the conversation.

“…I’m sure you will,” Chandler was saying, shaking his hand. “Make me proud.” She saw the glimmer of a smile cross Thomas’s face, but it faded as soon as he noticed her.

He turned back to Chandler like she wasn’t there.

“Just in case something goes wrong, sir, please send my love to Soma. Tell her I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to the wedding, but my heart will be there.”

Chandler gave a short laugh. “You can tell her yourself, son.”

“Yes,” Breeze said, stopping her forward momentum with a hand on the commodore’s shoulder. “We all know you’ll make it, Thomas. That’s why the commodore chose
Rapier
for this mission. Not for the ship, but for the captain.” Could he tell that she was oh-so-subtly mocking him?

She suspected so.

He looked very tired, and much older. But he forced a smile.

“Well, I’ll see you around, sir,” he said to Chandler. “Thank you, sir.”

Then Thomas rejoined his friend Shane—no, Sean—as they left the briefing room.

“It really was big of him,” Chandler commented, “recommending one of his own subordinates for promotion ahead of himself.”

“Sir?”

Chandler turned to her. “He recommended you for this promotion. I was already thinking it, but his letter really sealed the deal.”

She put on her best look of surprise. “I had no idea!” She took in a fluttery breath and looked to where Thomas had disappeared. “I’m honored. Thank you for telling me, sir. Thomas would never have said anything.”

“He’s a good man. Let’s hope he can pull it off.”

“If anyone can, it’s Thomas Kane.” He was going to be dead within twelve hours, so she didn’t mind singing his praises. “Either way he’ll be remembered as the hero of the day.”

Chandler nodded and moved off.

Breeze looked around for Karen, formerly of
Miami
. The older woman seemed to have taken to her, and it never hurt to have more contacts. Should she lie low, sow business contacts and wait for her term of service to end next year? Or should she stick close to Chandler and ride his coattails?

So much to plan.

K
atja tried to stretch in her seat. With the shoulder straps, the bulk of her spacesuit, and her sore ribcage it was pretty much impossible. Which of course made her want to do it even more. She shifted slightly, wincing at the pain in her kidneys.

Thomas looked over at her in the near-darkness of
Rapier
’s bridge.

“You’re unusually restless, OpsO.”

She sighed. “I guess it’s all that running I’ve been doing lately. Sitting here growing my ass isn’t as much fun as I thought.”

“I’m a master at it,” Jack said from his seat in the front row. “It just takes patience.”

But Katja’s patience was in short supply, five hours into
Rapier
’s flanking maneuver on the Centauri force. With most systems off, and bridge instrumentation down to the lowest possible illumination, there had been little to do but wait as the ship moved gently along her long, curved intercept path.

It had seemed exciting at first.
Rapier
launched under the cover of four star fighters, the planes squawking ident codes and passing routine chatter among themselves to make sure they were visible. Then, a thousand kilometers out from the EF, the fighters had banked dramatically away, making a show of spreading out in pairs for their assigned defensive stations.

At the same time
Rapier
cut her engines and coasted for fifteen minutes. The intention was for any Centauri spotters to focus on the fighters. When there was no sign of detection by the enemy,
Rapier
nudged forward at her minimum cruising speed and opened the bearing between herself and the EF.

After that, absolutely nothing else happened. Internal lighting was shut down and climate control reduced to wintry levels. Air was circulated through every space, but the filters were shut down, so it would remain breathable for twelve hours at the most.

The crew had been reduced to ten—there was no strike team, and Breeze’s seat remained conspicuously empty. The rest were scattered throughout the craft, one in each turret and four in the engine room. Two of the engineers were volunteers from
Cutlass
, their skills more useful to this mission than any trooper’s. There were no medics, no dedicated damage control teams.

Radio receivers were still operating, but the transmitters were shut down to avoid any possible leakage of signal. Food packs had been issued to all personnel, so the galley was redundant, as were the heads due to the self-contained nature of their spacesuits.

Katja looked again at the display, leaning in to make out the symbols in the dimmed sphere. The Centauri force was holding position, although
Rapier
’s long, elliptical path had brought them considerably closer. The ships were still too far away to see with the naked eye, but Katja needed no imagination to picture their silvery hulls. On the 3-D the EF ships were also visible, closing the Centauris at a leisurely pace. The plan was to fool the enemy into thinking the EF was trying to sneak in close before launching a surprise attack.

And just beyond the enemy position lay the jump gate. The way home. A large, unique symbol marked the location of this beautiful, beautiful thing.

“Pilot,” Thomas said, “come left seven degrees and down five.”

“Roger.”

Jack eased his controls and the stars outside shifted slightly. Thomas had been ordering these minor adjustments every so often for hours.

“Sir, why the minor course changes?” she asked. Thomas frowned thoughtfully at the 3-D display, then glanced over at her.

“Trying to stay off the radar. We don’t know exactly how the Centauris track targets, so I’m doing a bit of everything. We’re not aiming at the enemy ships, because just about any military sensor picks up on closing objects.

“I don’t want to stay on any one course for too long,” he continued, “because if their surveillance gets any hits on us, it’ll register a pattern and project where it should see us next. If it spots us there, according to that projection, then we’re tagged—not to mention screwed.

“At the same time, we can’t make too major a course alteration because there are some sensors that look specifically for changing vectors. Nothing in nature changes direction spontaneously, so an object that’s maneuvering is identified as artificial, and likely a threat.”

She nodded, and for a moment she felt just a
hint
of her old admiration for him. He was still an asshole, but a talented one.

Earlier in the long flight, he and Jack had discussed options for how best to deliver the torpedo, quickly leaving her behind with their talk of dark energy, dark matter, and different layers in the Bulk. Her role was to operate the missiles and guns against brane-based enemy vessels, so she didn’t need to understand. Even so it wasn’t her nature to go into a battle armed only with faith.

“Okay,” she said, “I admit it. I listened to you eggheads earlier but I still don’t get how this torpedo is going to take out an entire Centauri squadron. Give it to me in terms Scott Lahko would understand.”

“Big brick fall on ships,” Jack suggested.

“We’re going to detonate the torpedo way into the Bulk,” Thomas added. “At seventeen peets. We need to go deep to get the gravitons working for us.”

She’d made it that far in her own thinking—gravity was stronger the farther into the Bulk you went. But something wasn’t adding up. “So why wouldn’t we just drop torpedoes at seventeen peets for every engagement and cash in on that powerful gravity? Why would we even have missiles and guns?”

Thomas opened his mouth to answer, but then stopped. A puzzled look creased his features and he blinked in thought.

There was a moment of silence on the bridge.