Winds of Vengeance (30 page)

“We haven’t been attacked in more than twenty years.” Erika West’s tone was no less dark than Harmon’s had been, perhaps more so. “There is something different this time. The fleet is out there…facing God knows what…”

“You think she made a mistake, don’t you? You think she should have turned back.”

West forced herself to look back at Harmon. “Yes, sir…” Another pause. “I don’t know, sir…I’m just worried…”

Harmon nodded, giving West a sympathetic glance. “Nicki knows what she is doing, Erika. She can take care of her people…and herself.” He said the words, but he wasn’t sure he believed it. He owed his life to Frette, and she was among those few he counted among his true friends, but he found himself wishing West was with the fleet instead. For all her skill and courage, he knew Frette was treading new ground…while West had more than her share of fleet command experience. He scolded himself for sending Frette, for not taking the threat seriously enough.

West just nodded, looking just as uncertain as Harmon felt.

“I’m also concerned about these minor discrepancies in ship masses and designs. Are these newer ships than the ones we fought before? Or older ones that had been deployed on this far frontier?” Harmon wasn’t expecting an answer, but he looked around the table anyway, gauging reactions.

“It seems we have two choices. Do we send reinforcements to Admiral Frette, another fleet to meet her forces…and bring them back to Earth Two? Or do we stand here, prepare our defenses…and wait to see what happens?”

West fidgeted in her seat, but she didn’t answer. Harmon knew what she wanted to say. West was a fighter, and her every instinct would drive her to offensive action. But it was more than just that. West’s thoughts would be on Nicki Frette. She would want to go to the aid of her lover, that was a natural enough reaction on its own, but he suspected there was more. He guessed that West was also afraid Frette was in over her head, that if no aid was sent, she would die…and the fleet would be destroyed. He guessed she was thinking that for a simple reason. He was thinking it too.

“My first impulse is to send a relief force. We do not leave our people out there alone, not when we have the strength to come to their aid. It is not who we are. I learned that at the side of Admiral Compton, and I know if he were here with us, he would send the fleet.” Harmon paused, his eyes dropping from West’s gaze to the floor. “But the admiral would have thought of his duty to Earth Two as well, to the people of the republic. If we send another significant fleet, will we have enough to defend our home system if we are attacked? Admiral Frette took a significant percentage of our active and commissioned ships…sending another force that size would gut the Home Fleet.

“Our fixed defenses are strong, sir. Even with a skeletal fleet remaining, we can protect ourselves.” Connor Frasier spoke tentatively. Harmon suspected Frasier considered naval affairs outside his area of expertise, but he also knew the Marine believed one thing to his core. You didn’t forsake your people when they were in trouble. It was almost a religion to the Marines. He knew Frasier would support a relief mission…but he wasn’t sure how much he should listen to his old friend’s words. The Marines would always choose death over dishonor, but Harmon was responsible for the life of every man and woman in the republic, and his position denied him such noble stands.

“Perhaps, Connor…but we are talking about gambling the lives of every man and woman on Earth Two.” Harmon paused…then he turned his head as the door to the conference room opened.

Hieronymus Cutter came walking through, followed by Ana Zhukov…and Achilles and H2.

“Achilles, thank you for coming.” Harmon stood up, extending his hand, not entirely sure how the Mule would react. The two had been commanding opposing forces on the verge of combat…but immediately after declaring martial law, Harmon had ordered the Marines to stand down, and to fall back several kilometers from the compound. It had been a difficult decision, a show of faith, an attempt to defuse a conflict he knew should never have happened. He’d been nervous about what the Mules would do, but that concern only lasted a moment before he saw the battle bots also pulling back. Achilles’ response had been immediate, and he had answered Harmon’s good faith gesture with one of his own. After that, the two men had resolved their issues with a com session. The peace still hung on each man’s willingness to honor their word, but each one had decided to trust the other.

“Of course, Mr. President. It seems we have a major problem; one I trust my people can help to resolve.” Harmon noted the Mule’s use of his title.

Another gesture…if Achilles really wanted the Mules to be independent, he wouldn’t call me ‘president.’

Harmon picked up a small tablet and handed it to Achilles. “The repeal of the Prohibition, as promised.” Harmon paused. “And my apologies. This should have happened years ago.”

The Mule reached out, took the small device, glancing at it for a second, perhaps two. “That is the last we need speak of it, President Harmon. What is past is past…and it seems our true problem now is what lies ahead. As has so often been the case in human history, an external threat has made our own disputes seem unimportant.”

“Again, thank you, Achilles.” His eyes looked past the Mule toward the others. “Hieronymus, Ana, H2…please sit. We need everything you all have to offer.” He turned his head, looked toward the others at the table. “We have been discussing whether to send reinforcements to Admiral Frette…or whether to concentrate what forces remain here to defend against any attack that may come.”

Achilles sat at one of the empty chairs toward the end of the table. “I believe there is one thing we must consider…forgive me if this has already been discussed…” The Mule paused for a second. “My studies of the war against the First Imperium, and the conflicts back in human space, are noteworthy for the lack of the enemy’s use of weapons of mass destruction against planetary targets…even in response to the coalition’s employment of such ordnance.”

Achilles looked around the table. Everyone else was silent, clearly wondering where he was going with his point.

“The same was true during the fleet’s journey across the imperium…and our study of First Imperium records holds the answer. The Regent, as sophisticated and capable as it was, operated in accordance with a number of directives. This may seem an unlikely fact, to our perspective, and likely that of the Ancients themselves when the Regent turned on them, but it is nonetheless true. And one of the primary directives prohibited the use of nuclear and antimatter warheads against imperial worlds. Indeed, look at the ruins the fleet encountered on so many planets. There was widespread destruction, ruins ravaged by the passage of time, even the remnants of the biological warfare designed to kill the Ancients themselves. But no radioactive wastelands, no worlds bombarded into lifelessness.”

“What you say is true, Achilles. Indeed, the unwillingness of the First Imperium to use such weapons became a major component of coalition strategy during the war.” Harmon wasn’t sure where Achilles was going, but everything the Mule had said so far was correct. “What do you believe we can draw from these facts? That the First Imperium will not bombard Earth Two?”

“No, sir…quite the contrary. My point is simply this. Every analysis we have done, every review of the records left behind by the Ancients suggests one fact irrefutably. The last of the warriors of the Ancients chose this world…they selected it for many reasons, its climate, its resources…and its location.
Outside the borders of the imperium
.” Achilles paused, his words hanging in the air.

Harmon stared back at the Mule. “Are you suggesting the First Imperium forces would not be bound by their previous restrictions. That they would attack Earth Two with weapons of mass destruction?”

Achilles looked back across the table. “I am saying we must consider that a significant possibility. Even a probability.”

“So, you believe we should hold the fleet back to protect Earth Two against such an attack?”

Achilles sat motionless. “No, sir, I am proposing precisely the opposite. We should take the offensive, seek out and engage the enemy as far from Earth Two as possible…and do everything we can to ensure the war is fought far from here.”

“I’m not sure I understand your logic, Achilles.”

“We are not a world, Mr. President, though we possess one. Ninety-six percent of the population lives in Victory City, or within fifteen kilometers of it. The enemy does not need to conduct an extensive bombardment to depopulate the republic. A single antimatter warhead will destroy almost all our physical constructions…and at least nineteen out of twenty of our people. One shot, one missile slipped through the planetary defenses, and the war is lost.”

“Doesn’t that make it all the more crucial to concentrate our forces here? To defend at all costs to prevent such an attack from succeeding?”

Achilles shook his head slowly. “I understand your impulse, Mr. President, but I urge you to consider the facts in greater detail. First Imperium ships have maximum acceleration rates well beyond even those in our newest vessels. Their apparent access to large quantities of antimatter—something that seems to be confirmed by Admiral Frette’s report—allows them to attain maximum thrust of nearly 100g. They have demonstrated their willingness to sacrifice ships in suicide assaults to attain tactical goals. I believe it is unlikely that we could reliably protect Earth Two from a deadly missile attack, even if every ship of the fleet was held back on the defensive.”

Achilles turned toward West. “Admiral West, have you considered the tactical problem of dealing with a massive enemy attack, say several hundred ships, that emerge and accelerate at maximum thrust toward Earth Two? Could your forces—and the planetary defense systems—intercept every ship before any are able to fire against the planet? And could you intercept every missile they launch?”

West exhaled softly. “I have never reviewed such a scenario, Achilles.” She paused uncomfortably. “But I am inclined to agree with Achilles’ concerns. If a large force attacked, it is unlikely we could intercept every ship and every missile. If a massive enough force attacked, it would trend toward mathematical certainty that one would manage to get a missile through…particularly since their own survival in the attempt does not appear to be a priority.”

Harmon leaned back in his chair. He looked around the room. Most of the faces staring back at him were non-committal, but the few that weren’t were nodding their agreement. He realized he faced a fundamentally different situation that Terrance Compton had with the fleet. Protecting a hundred or more ships, which could scatter, hide, move…it was different than defending a single, stationary planet. Especially when almost everyone on that world was clustered into one small developed area.

The idea of sending away much of his strength, of leaving only a token force to support Earth Two’s network of fortresses and fixed defenses, seemed reckless…but as he considered Achilles words—and West’s as well—he began to realize what he had to do.

“Erika, I need you to assemble a proposed list of ships for a reinforcement fleet. And make it strong, if we do this, we need to fight this war out there somewhere…and we need to win it.”

“Yes, sir…I will cull out the slower ships to remain on system defense duty. And with your permission, I will give orders to begin activating the mothballed squadrons…and calling the reservists to duty. If we push hard enough, we should be able to get some of the old ships in the line within two weeks…and back up the forces we leave behind.”

Harmon stared across at West. He had a choice to make. Did he put West in command of the fleet, or did he hold her back to command the system defenses? He wanted to keep her, but he could only think of one other naval officer he trusted enough to take one of the two crucial commands. And that officer couldn’t leave the system…his other duties made it impossible.

“You will lead the relief force, Erika, and when you link up with Admiral Frette, you will assume command of the combined grand fleet.”

“Yes, sir.” He could hear the relief in her voice. He suspected she had been ready to give him quite an argument if he’d ordered her to stay. “And who will command the forces in the system?”

“I have someone in mind, but you’ll have to recall him from reserve status.” He stared across the table, amused at the confusion in her expression.

He smiled, looking down at himself, putting his hands on his midsection. “I might have to suck in my gut a little, but I’m willing to bet I can still fit in my old uniform.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

From the Log of Captain Josie Strand

I am commanding twelve vessels…commanding them in a combat situation. How did this happen? The captaincy of
Starfire
was an extraordinary promotion in itself, more than I, twenty-nine years old and unblooded in battle, could have imagined. But now I have other ships, other crews depending on me. And we find ourselves not only in battle, but holding the line against an unstoppable enemy force.

I have long studied the battles of the Pilgrims, the stories of how the old fleet reached Earth Two against the odds, of how the Regent had not only been defeated but destroyed. It is common for those of my age to look at the exploits of our parents with considerable awe…and a certain level of despair. How could we hope to match their exploits, to appear to history as anything less than a disappointment?

But now I see things differently, for the peace we have enjoyed for so long is clearly at an end. And I see the challenge those of my generation will face. The officers and the spacers of the fleet were heroes, men and women who accomplished the near impossible. But they were all veterans, officers and spacers who had fought the First Imperium in human space, and had first faced combat in the Third Frontier War. The captains who commanded battleships—and who led squadrons of ten or twelve vessels—were mostly in their forties, already hardened by war when they first sat in their command chairs. It is that which will be the challenge of my generation, to step forward, to shoulder burdens far too soon, before we are truly ready. And to find a way to step up, to prevail…for excuses have no place in life or death struggles. We will either live or die…and the republic with us.