Alarm of War, Book II: The Other Side of Fear (14 page)

Emily pursed her lips.  The news only confirmed what she had been thinking, but it still stung.  “When did you find out?”

              “Last week, when you were still dirt side in the Atlas Mountains.”  He shrugged.  “I thought this might give you a leg up on your assignment.  It
is
an important assignment, Em.”

              “And the
New Zealand?”
she asked, with a note of despair.

              “She’s going to someone more senior,” Hiram told her gently.  “Douthat is doing a general shake-up.  Five captains have been reassigned to non-combat duties.  You and Grant are being reassigned to make room for officers with more time in grade and more, uh, more-“

              “More experience?” Emily asked bitterly.  “We haven’t had a fighting war in the history of Victoria until six weeks ago and I commanded the
New Zealand
through most of it.”

              “I’m not saying it’s fair, Em, but I think that we have to make the gunboat squadrons a real, effective fighting force and soon if we’re going to stand a chance.  It is a huge undertaking and Admiral Douthat is giving it to you.”  He stopped then and watched her.

              Emily thought for a long moment more about the
New Zealand
and what she’d gone through on her.  Half the time she couldn’t believe she had survived.  Now it was over.  Then she recalled a scene from the battle simulations, watching the Dominion cruisers cut a deadly swath through the attacking gunboats.  The brave, glorious idiots had continued attacking even though their missile racks were empty and the most they could shoot at the Ducks were underpowered lasers.  What could a force like that do if it was disciplined, had better ships and had a viable tactical doctrine?

              It could be very interesting to find out.

              “You know, Em, there is still one question that you haven’t asked yet about revamping the gunboat program,” Hiram said.  Emily looked at him.

              “And that would be?”

              “Whose ox is going to be gored if you take the gunboat concept away from Refuge and make it better?”

              Emily blinked.  She hadn’t thought about that at all, but it was an obvious point.  Someone on Refuge was going to complain bitterly about the types of changes she was proposing.  “You
have
been hanging around political types, haven’t you?” she said with a bit of an edge.

              “I am an aide to the Queen,” he replied seriously.  “One thing you learn fast is that it is
all
politics.”

* * * *

Two hours later, Emily and Grant marched into Admiral Douthat’s office and presented themselves, as ordered.

“Sit down,” Douthat said.  She studied the two of them for a long moment, then sighed and sat back in her chair.  There was fatigue visible in every movement of her body and dark pouches under her eyes.

“I suspect the two of you know why you are here,” she said quietly.

“You want to take away our ships,” Grant said bluntly.

“You need to overhaul the gunboat program,” Emily said at the same time.

Admiral Douthat cracked a small smile.  “You’re both right.  I
am
taking you off your ships, but the consolation prize is the gunboat program.  You know the statistics,” Douthat continued.  “A month ago Victoria had three Fleets totaling more than two hundred ships, two large manufacturing space stations and access to five worlds and a large population for our various manpower and sundry needs.  Today we have approximately thirty ships, one space station and the support of only one enthusiastic but tiny nation, Refuge.  Our enemies have more ships, more men and ready access to supplies.  We still have the Atlas, of course, but only a little time in which to use her before the Dominion launches an overwhelming attack.”

“Why not build more battleships?” Grant asked.  “More cruisers, more destroyers?”  His tone bordered on disrespect and Douthat eyed him coolly.

“We would, if we could, but we don’t have either the time or the resources.  The minerals we need are in short supply in this asteroid belt and the construction cycle for the larger ships is simply too long.  We think we’ve got four months, five at the most, but the fact is the Ducks could come through the wormhole in force any day.  We’ve got to be as ready as we can when they come.”

“Pre-emptive strike through the wormhole?” Grant pushed.  “Knock them on their ass and slow them down.”

“Could work,” Douthat agreed judiciously, “but if it doesn’t it could leave us weaker than we are now and invite an early attack by the Ducks.  We haven’t entirely ruled out a spoiling attack, but the risk is very great.”

“Gunboats,” Emily said.  “Not the gunboats Refuge has now, they don’t pack enough of a punch and their range is too limited, but heavy gunboats and lots of them.  They’re a pretty simple design, not too hard to build, and they use relatively little in the way of resources.  If we have enough of them, we can deploy them in carriers and-“

“You saw the summaries of how poorly the Refuge gunboats fared against the Dominions?” Admiral Douthat asked. 

“Yes, Ma’am, but they don’t have any tactical doctrine to use their strengths; they just charge in in a horde, hoping to get close enough to get off a good shot.  And there is no command and control structure, no one directing them, no one calling the shots.”  Emily stopped herself, suddenly appalled by how much planning they would have to do to use the new gunboats as they should be used.  Douthat eyed her with amused expectation.

Emily took a breath.  “There’s a ton of work to be done to make this work, Ma’am.  How much time do we have? “

“Not much,” the Admiral replied.

“Where do we find crews?  How can I train them?  We have neither ships nor simulators to work with.”

“You have some serious challenges facing you, Tuttle.”

“Gods of Our Mothers!” Emily breathed.

Admiral Douthat smiled a thin smile.  “Welcome back from vacation.”

* * * *

Much later, Alyce Douthat sat in her quarters with Martha Wilkinson, the Admiral sipping a glass of pinot noir and the Chief Medical Officer happily drinking gin.

“I’m relieved that Tuttle took it so well,” Wilkinson said.  “Not entirely surprised, mind you, but relieved nonetheless.  Losing your ship is always a nasty business.”  She contemplated her next sip of gin.  “Still…”

Admiral Douthat frowned and glanced at her friend.  “‘Still’ what?”

Wilkinson shrugged. “Well, you’ve given the task of building a gunboat wing to the youngest Commander in the Fleet, the one with the least experience.  I’m a big fan of Tuttle’s, but you had others you could choose from, including several senior captains and even a rear admiral or two.  So why Tuttle?”

Douthat sipped her wine.  “Martha, I am the senior admiral in the Fleet.  I am the First Sea Lord.  Do you know how much experience I have with carriers and gunboats?”

“Very little, I would imagine,” Wilkinson replied.  “I don’t recall the Fleet ever using carriers.”

“That’s my point,” Douthat said firmly.  “I don’t have
any
carrier experience, nor do any of my rear admirals or captains.  But more than that, if I gave one of my captains the job of building a carrier fleet from nothing in just four to five months, they’d laugh at me.  And do you know why?” Douthat demanded.

Wilkinson shook her head.  “No, but I can’t tell you how very happy I am that you are about to tell me.”

Douthat ignored her.  “Because it’s impossible!  No one with experience in large projects would think they could create a gunboat wing from thin air in two years, let alone five months.  That is why I choose Tuttle; she’s too young and inexperienced to know the job can’t be done.”

“You are that optimistic?”

Douthat shook her head grimly.  “No, I am that desperate.” 

“Gods preserve us!” Wilkinson muttered and took a large swallow of gin.

“It may come to that,” Douthat agreed.

Chapter 12

Atlas Space Station, in Refuge Space

              When Hiram arrived at his office the next morning, he had a visitor waiting for him.  Hiram placed the palms of his hands together and bowed.  “There are many paths to The Light” he said in greeting.

              “And each man must find his own,” Brother Jong replied. 

              “Thank you for coming,” Hiram said.  “May I offer you tea?”

              Brother Jong nodded and sat down on one of Hiram’s two chairs, glancing about casually.  Hiram’s quarters on Atlas were not as Spartan as Jong suspected he’d find on a warship, but they were austere nonetheless.  A small kitchen table, two chairs, a couch in the living room, one easy chair, several lamps and bookshelves on every wall.  No vid screen, no music center, and only one picture of a strong looking woman with light brown skin and dark brown eyes filled with laughter.

              “You shame me, Commander,” Jong said.  “You live more simply than most of our monks.”

              Hiram finished whisking the tea so that its surface was covered with a delicate froth, then put the ceramic cup in front of the monk and sat down in the other chair.

“Brother Jong, can you please tell me about Canaan?” Hiram asked.

The unexpectedness of the question caught Jong off-guard.  Canaan was a breath-taking, beautiful world with miles of sculptured gardens that had been crafted and nurtured over centuries.  One of the tenets of The Light was that in order to achieve spiritual harmony, a person had to live in his world without marring it.  It meant that Canaan’s architecture melded buildings into the landscape, with structures built into hills or camouflaged as part of the woodlands.  It was a beautiful, soothing world that always made him feel a little closer to God.  He missed it every day he was away.

“It is the most beautiful world in all of Human Space,” Jong said simply, “surpassing even Darwin.  If there is a place where souls reside, my soul resides in Canaan.”  He closed his eyes and pictured the meadow at the bottom of the hill, looking out over the large lake where his house stood.  He could almost hear his children’s shouts and laughter as they played.

“Then I envy you deeply,” Hiram said, “and feel your loss at being away from it.  May I ask, how long has it been since you have seen Canaan?” He swirled the tea around in his cup, then sipped it.

“Oh, it’s been almost a month, now,” he said, a touch of wistfulness in his voice.  “Someday, Commander, I will show you my world.  It is very fine, very fine indeed.”

Hiram smiled and nodded, sipping his tea.  “Were you able to stay long, what with the war and everything?”

“Never long enough, but in the few days I was there I took care of business and managed to visit my family.” 

“And how did you come back to Refuge, Brother Jong?”  Hiram asked softly.  The question was so matter-of-fact, so innocuous that Jong actually opened his mouth to speak before he realized the trap he had fallen into.  Excoriating himself for his lack of mindfulness, he pressed his lips together and stared sourly at Hiram.

“The thing is,” Hiram continued pleasantly, “the wormhole between Refuge and Victoria is locked down tight.  We monitor every inch of the border and track every ship coming in.  We have no record of your ship either entering Refuge, leaving it or reentering it.  Yet you were there, Brother Jong, and now you are here. And you never went through the wormhole.  How can that be?”

Jong’s forehead wrinkled in apparent thought.  “Ah, perhaps we came through when the wormhole had moved,” he suggested.  “I would have to ask my pilot and navigator, of course, but certainly that would explain it.”  He smiled.

Hiram pursed his lips.  “Mmmm.  That would explain it, but I checked; the wormhole was stable and motionless during this entire period.”  He took the tea pot and carefully poured more into Brother Jong’s cup, then his own.

“Brother Jong, the events of recent weeks are changing us, Victoria and The Light.  Our nations have never been close, but nor have we been enemies.  But now, well, the Dominions have kicked over the table; everything is changed.  Victoria will never again hold the position that it did just a few months ago, but neither will The Light.”

“Really, Commander, you sound like Sir Henry,” Jong said, smiling, looking for some way to steer the conversation away from wormholes.

Hiram smiled.  “Forgive me, I do not mean to stray from my area of expertise.  But Brother Jong, twice now you have intervened to help Victoria. I think that you have chosen sides, whether that was really your intent or not. You tried to warn us that the Tilleke were up to something and we failed to heed your warning.  Then you told us that the wormhole to Refuge was going to move and where it would move to.  By doing that, you saved us from almost certain destruction by the Dominion.”  Hiram paused, but Jong said nothing, gazing impassively at him over the rim of the tea cup.

“I was glad to be of service,” Jong said neutrally.

“I think there is more, Brother Jong.  I think that you know how to travel from The Light to Refuge without going through the Refuge/Victoria wormhole.  That should be impossible, and yet you do it, don’t you?”

“I really don’t understand what you are talking about,” Jong said, but his eyes dropped as he said it.

“Now,” Hiram continued as if Jong had not spoken, “I have to ask you to once again side with Victoria.”

Jong silently cursed himself for getting into this situation, but then considered. 
There are many ways to The Light, and each man must find his own.
  He gently placed the tea cup on the table and sat back.  “The Dominion will launch another attack through the wormhole within five days.  Preparations have already commenced,” the monk said.

Hiram felt a stab of jealousy at the mastery of The Light’s intelligence gathering.  “And we will defeat them,” Hiram said.

“Probably,” Jong agreed, “but not certainly.”

“If we defeat this next attack, then we will have enough time to build the warships we need to rebuild our Fleet,” Hiram observed.

Jong shook his head regretfully.  “This cannot be assumed.  Within a few weeks you will discover that the suitable mineral content of these asteroid belts is lower than you projected.  You have based your production projections on the assumption that the asteroid belts here in Refuge have the same density of the ores you need as do the asteroid belts in Victoria.  I fear that assumption is incorrect.”

“So we won’t be able to build the number of warships we need,” Hiram said flatly.

Jong shrugged.  “It will take you longer.  The Dominions currently have a capacity for ship building that is quite large.  For every cruiser you build, they can build two, maybe even three.  For every battleship you can build, they can build one and a half or two.”

“Which brings us to Siegestor,” Hiram said, watching Brother Jong closely.

Jong said nothing, but despite himself there was an almost imperceptible tightening around his mouth and eyes.  Hiram waited for a moment longer, and then tried a different tact.

“Here’s what I think will happen, Brother Jong, if this war continues the way it is right now:  The Dominion will simply out-build us.  They will have more warships and will grind us down in a war of attrition.”

Jong said nothing, so Hiram continued.  “You and I both know that once the Dominion beat us, the Tilleke will step in and take out the Dominions.  If I’m right, the Emperor has been pitting Victoria and the Dominion against each other.  He doesn’t care much who the winner is, as long as the winner is weakened and vulnerable so that he can step in and sweep them aside before the dust has settled.”

Jong frowned.  “I am not sure what you think The Light can do, Commander Brill.  We have no navy to speak of-“

“You told me once that if the Tilleke ruled Human Space, the Emperor would not tolerate The Light,” Hiram said.  “Do you have children, Brother Jong?  I seem to recall that even those in your religious orders can marry.”

“Yes,” Brother Jong replied in a low voice.  “Two blessed daughters and a son.”

Hiram nodded.  “The Dominions used nuclear weapons on Cornwall just to kill our Queen. They devastated an entire city,
millions
of people, just to kill one person. If the Dominions were willing to do that, what do you think the
Tilleke
might do?  Do you think the Emperor would suffer anyone to live on Canaan?”

“We can offer you intelligence reports-“ Jong began, but Hiram interrupted.

“I intend to send a force to destroy Siegestor, Brother Jong, but I can’t send them through the Refuge/Victorian wormhole.  I think you know of a way to do this.”

And it finally comes to this,
thought Jong. 

Hiram played his last card.  “I think you know of a way to travel from Refuge to a place deep in Dominion space, without having to go through the Refuge/Victoria wormhole,” Hiram said.  “You know how to do that, somehow.  If Victoria is to survive, The Light must help us.  And if you don’t help us, then you’d better pray that your God will help you, because after we’re gone, there will be no one left to stop the Emperor.”

Back aboard his ship, Brother Jong immediately called for Sister Takeko, his navigator.  He needed to return home quickly and she would know the best way to do it.