Alarm of War, Book II: The Other Side of Fear (17 page)

Instantly, the thirty plus Dominion ships broke out of their line of advance and either climbed “up” or dove “down” out of the horizontal plane, forcing the pursuing missiles to separate in order to chase them.  Decoys darted off from the warships, luring away some of the missiles, while anti-missile defenses came on line and picked off the rest one-by-one.  When the threat had passed, the Dominion warships regrouped inside the protective cordon of the hedgehogs.  Two more Dominion destroyers were missing and sensors showed only debris where they had been.

The attack was a shambles, Kaeser acknowledged, but he could still save his remaining ships.  The Dominion force continued to wheel to the right, so now they were almost on a line to take them back to the wormhole. 

Then a new threat emerged. 

The Sensors Officer called out:  “Vicky warships are attacking through the minefield!  Estimate twenty-five ships, including at least six cruisers and many destroyers!”

“Get it on the battle plot!” Kaeser snapped.  He zoomed out a bit as the new sensor data was posted.  So, ships coming from the minefield while the Vicky missile platforms on the left and right shot missiles into the kill zone.  He chuckled ruefully.  Bad as it was, the Vickies had actually sprung their trap too early.  They had probably wanted him in the minefield before the tugboats brought out the missile platforms.  Then his escape route to the wormhole would have been closed.  He wondered uneasily what nastiness the Vickies had waiting for him in the minefield and was relieved he didn’t have to find out.

But then the next warning came.

“Gunboats!  Gunboats attacking on the vertical axis from above and below line of advance!”  The Sensors Officer’s voice was strained.  “Our attack force is almost surrounded!”

Two hundred or more of the tiny Refuge gunboats dropped from above or sprang from below.  Admiral Kaeser had encountered the gunboats before.  They were a threat, but they were small, carrying only three missiles and a single laser.  They had no armor and once they fired their missiles, they were toothless.  And there was more: the missiles the gunboats carried were small, with a limited range and a rather undersized warhead. They could kill, all right, but they had to get in very close and it took a lot of gunboats to effectively take on a destroyer, let alone a cruiser.

He didn’t think the gunboats would do very well against his hedgehogs.

“Hedgehogs to redeploy!  Two to the rear, four above and four below.  All ships, chaff and jammers to our rear, but concentrate all fire on the gunboats.  Their missiles are only effective within seven hundred miles, so intercept them beyond that.  Zone defensive fire!  Execute!”

For three long minutes, there was nothing.  The Vicky cruisers and destroyers coming from their stern were trying to burn through the jammers to get a decent lock on the fleeing Dominions, while the gunboats coming from above and below were not yet in missile range.  The Dominion warships, accelerating madly, sprinted for the safety of the wormhole.

And Admiral Kaeser prepared a little ambush of his own.

The gunboats finally got within range, shot one missile each and then pressed closer for their second shot.  The hedgehogs went into a flurry of activity as they met the initial threat and the heavier warships targeted the gunboats themselves, which suffered cruelly from the attention.  The space around the fleeing Dominions roiled with missile tracks, laser shots, explosions from the zone defenses and millions of projectile pellets from the Bofors.  The gunboats reached their firing line for the second round and another hundred and fifty missiles shot out to wreak havoc on the Dominions.  But as they came closer, their vulnerability to defensive fire soared.  First one, then five, then thirty gunboats blossomed into fiery slag as missiles, energy beams and heavy metal pellets slammed into them.

Still they pressed in, now firing their lasers, then desperately firing their last missiles and dropping jammers and decoys as they tried to turn and get out of the kill zone.  Seven Dominion ships, including two of the precious cruisers, staggered out of line and went ballistic, or began a sickening tumble.  Or simply blew up.  Every one of the surviving Dominions took damage, but they pumped more defensive fire into the ranks of the tiny gunboats, blotting them out of existence in furious payback.  The gunboats could only flee, their missile racks empty and their lasers recharging and, in any event, pointed the wrong way. Twenty more fell, then another twenty, and another.  The survivors twisted and turned, dumped chaff and jammers and wept with frustration until they were finally out of range.

Of the two hundred gunboats in the attack, eighty survived. 

But the battle was not yet over.  From the rear of the Dominions, the attacking Victorians finally burned through the jamming and found target locks.  Twenty-five heavy lasers lanced out to the fleeing Dominions, followed by two hundred and sixty missiles.  Missile racks rotated to load fresh missiles and capacitors whined with the effort of recharging the lasers.  Four Dominion ships fell to the lasers and the missiles and a dozen more were badly damaged.

The Dominion force sprinted for the wormhole now, red-lining their engines, firing a steady torrent of missiles to distract the pursuing Victorians and leaving a trail of chaff, jammers and decoys in their wake.  By the time the Victorians readied the next missile load, the Dominions’ superior speed had widened the gap and the missiles had difficulty finding their targets through the expanding cloud of confusion and distraction.  A few got through and added to the damage already inflicted on the Dominions, but the majority lost their way and detonated when their safety programs kicked in.

Six minutes later the Dominions plunged into the wormhole and were gone.  The Victorians began braking, the Dark Matter Brakes pinpointing their locations with a huge glow of light.  The Victorians, chagrined at their failure, began to wheel about, assuming the battle was over.

That was when the Dominion reserve force emerged from stealth right in front of them and fired everything they had.  The
Vengeance
, the largest battleship in human space, fired all sixty of its missiles and its dozen heavy lasers at point blank range.  The fifteen destroyers contributed over a hundred more.  The twenty-five Victorian ships frantically weaved and dodged and their computer controlled anti-missile defenses activated in a frenzied barrage, but two cruisers and seven destroyers were blown to atoms.  No survivors.

The
Vengeance
and its cohort of destroyers turned and plunged through the wormhole.

On board the Victorian battleship
Lionheart,
Admiral Douthat watched the computer tally of lost and damaged ships grow and lengthen. 

“Crap!” she muttered.  “What a complete balls up.”

On the other side of the wormhole, Admiral Kaeser looked at the list of lost and damaged ships. 

“Crap!” he snarled.  It was every bit as bad as he feared.  The Dominion assault force had taken a beating.  Now he would have to wait much longer than four months before he would be ready to attack Refuge space again.

As he finished reviewing his losses, Michael Hudis entered the room, his face pale.  Kaeser stared at him with loathing.  Hudis, adept at political infighting of the highest order, glared back.  “Admiral, your incompetence has caused the Dominion of Unified Citizenry to suffer a terrible defeat,” he said coldly.

Kaeser turned to the ever-present Captain of the Guard, who was always stationed on the bridge whenever the Admiral was there.  “Captain, place Mr. Hudis under arrest and confine him to a cell.  No one is allowed to speak to him without my express order.  Search him to make sure he has no communication devices.”

The Captain took Hudis by the arm.  “Arrest me?” sputtered Hudis, caught off guard by the turn of events.  “Are you mad?  On what charge?”

“On the charge of treason and criminal negligence in carrying out your duties, Mr. Hudis.”  Kaeser gestured to the Captain of the Guard.  “Take him away.  If he keeps making noise, gag him.”

“The Citizen Director will hear of this, Kaeser!” Hudis shouted.  “You just killed yourself, you stupid idiot!”  His voice receded as the Captain of the Guard pushed him into the elevator.

“Just so,” Admiral Kaeser said.  “Just so.” 

And Admiral Scott Kaeser, who had never done an impulsive or imprudent thing in his fifty-five years, wondered with quiet amazement at the path he had just stepped onto and where it might lead.

Chapter 14

Onboard the Dominion Prison Ship Tartarus

For Cookie, her day-to-day life was safer, but still intolerable.  Karl brought her from her cell most afternoons after he finished his shift and she cooked for him and cleaned his quarters.  Sometimes he would open a bottle of wine and they would eat and he would tell her about his day, the funny incidents that he had seen, even share with her some war news, which mostly depressed her.  She would do the dishes and they might watch a movie, or he might kiss her and fondle her and then strip her and have sex with her. 

Cookie never thought of it as making love.

She demurred once, telling him she didn't want sex.  He didn't say anything, just returned her to her cell and left her there.  For the next three days he left her there with no food or water other than the water she could take from the toilet.  On the fourth day he once again brought her to his quarters and had her make dinner.  After dinner she did the dishes and he took her by the arm and led her to his bedroom, where he took her roughly and in ways that embarrassed and humiliated her.

She said nothing.  He had made his point.  She was his to do with as he pleased, when he pleased, and her own thoughts on the matter were irrelevant.  For Cookie, it took a while to get past the shame of being helpless.    She was no longer raped and beaten, but she was still being raped.  Karl just put a pretty veneer on it, like stabbing you with a knife wrapped in a pink bow. 

Cookie bided her time.  She would wait and watch and sooner or later she would have a chance to do something.  She didn't know what that something would be, but had confidence that she would recognize it when it came.

"Gods of Our Mothers," she would pray in her holding cell, "you have given me blessings and sustained me and brought me to this season.  Your daughter thanks you for the precious gift of life and the hope of opportunity."  This sounded better, she thought, than, ‘Give me a chance to kill these fucking bastards.'

Then, in the fourth month of her captivity, two things happened to change everything.

The first was terrible.  She was sitting in her cell when the door opened.  She looked up, expecting to see Karl, but instead it was Schroder, the informal leader of the five men who had beaten and abused her.  He was a short man, going a little soft, with pock-marked cheeks, bulging watery blue eyes that gave him a distinct insect-like appearance, and thinning hair.  In a fair fight he was no match for her, which is why he always carried a neuro-baton.

He carried one now.

Cookie stood slowly and stepped back, placing the small table Karl had given her between her and Schroder.

Schroder looked around the cell as if he was seeing it for the first time.  "Very nice," he said sarcastically.  "All the comforts of home, not that you'll ever see home again."

Cookie said nothing, but tensed as Schroder took a step closer.  "So, now you are Karl's little fuck toy, eh?" he said, then he leaned forward and smiled.  "I know you must miss me and the boys and all the fun we had together, but don't worry, you little Vicky cunt, Karl is already getting bored with you and soon – very soon, I think – you'll be free to play with us again."  His smile broadened.  "And won't that be nice?  All six of us, just having some good, clean fun, eh?" 

"Go away, Schroder, you know you're not supposed to be here."  She struggled to keep her voice level.

"Oh, what are you going to do, tell Karl?  Karl is just a doctor, and you are just his whore.  Enjoy fucking him while you can, because soon he's going to cut you lose.  He’s going to throw you back to us.  Then the real fun will begin.  Oh my, yes it will."  He winked at her and left, shutting the door behind him.

Shaking badly, Cookie collapsed on the chair.  That night she did not sleep.

If the first incident was terrible, the second was the stuff of nightmares.

Karl entered her cell.  His face was red and blotched, his eyes cold.  Cookie automatically put a smile on her face and stood, a pang of alarm gripping her.  Something was wrong.

Karl stared at her, breathing hard, not saying a word.

"Karl?" Cookie said softly.  "What is it?"  She took a tentative step forward.

"Your Fleet just defeated a major Dominion thrust into Refuge," he said coldly.  "We lost a lot of ships and crews; it might be months before we can go in again."  He stared at her with loathing, as if she were personally responsible.  "When will you people learn you’ve been beaten?" he shouted suddenly.  "We gutted your Second Fleet; we took your planet, killed your fucking queen and chased you across all of Victorian space.  Now you're bottled up in Refuge with no way out and nowhere to go."  He stopped abruptly, his face a dull, angry red.

Inwardly, Cookie was elated, but she needed Karl a little longer, just a little.  Composing herself, she tried to radiate sympathetic concern.  Stepping forward, she touched his arm.  "Karl-" she began.

He slapped her.  Her head rocked back, nostrils flaring in anger, eyes widening, then narrowing into slits.  He raised his arm to hit her again, but Cookie stepped into him, catching his wrist and twisting him around so that his arm was behind his back and her forearm was around his throat.  "Hit me again, you stupid prick,” she snarled, “and I will put you down like a dog."  She pushed him away hard enough to bounce him off the wall.

She instantly regretted it. 

Karl turned toward her with hatred in his eyes.  Her heart sank.  She should have just let him hit her.  Gods of Our Mothers, what had she been thinking?

Wordlessly, Karl stormed from the cell and the door locked shut behind him.

Bugger me!

An hour later the door opened again and Schroder walked in with two of his goons.  Cookie warily retreated to the far side of the little table.  If they came for her she was going to use the table like a club and do as much harm as she could before she went down.  And if she went down, she didn't think she would ever get back up again.

Schroder, the sly little sociopath, read her like a book.  "No, no, my sweet little darling, I'm not here for you,” his soothing tones not matching the look of malicious delight on his face.  “Not yet.  There will be time for that soon enough.  But your Fleet gave us a bloody nose, didn't it?  Everybody's so upset.  Someone has to pay, yes they do."  He smiled a warm, comforting smile that made her stomach churn.  "I've brought you a little present.  Didn't want you to miss all the fun, did I?  That wouldn't be right."

He took out a small box and put it on her bunk.  Emily didn't even glance at it, just kept her eyes on Schroder, but he backed up a step and turned to the door.

"We've got a little surprise in store for your friend," Schroder said with quiet relish.  "I think you'll enjoy it."  And then they left, the door hissing shut behind them.

Cookie stared at the door for a long moment, her heart in her throat.  Finally she inspected the object Schroder left on her bunk.  It was a simple speaker.  The switch was already turned on.  Suddenly she heard the familiar hissing sound of a cell door opening, then Schroder's voice.

“Get on your feet, Wisnioswski.”

In the four months of her captivity, she had only been able to speak to Wisnioswski once, when they were transferring her to a different cell at the same time they were taking him to an interrogation room.  The guards had looked startled and she knew that they had screwed up, that she and Otto were not supposed to have any contact.  Her guards had immediately turned around and pulled her down a side corridor, but not before she called out, “Always together, Otto!”  And Wisnioswski had laughed and shouted “Never alone!” before she had been pulled away.

That brief moment had sustained her for weeks.

There was a shuffling sound over the speaker and Cookie could picture Wisnioswski standing up and facing Schroder and his five thugs.

“Time to pay for your sins, Wisnioswski,” Schroder said soberly, then laughed.  It was not a nice laugh.  There was more shuffling and she could picture the six Dominions fanning out on either side of him.  “Do you admit that you killed Admiral Mello with your own two hands?”

“You’ve got the fucking tape of it, what more do you want?” Wisnioswski said harshly.

“I want you to pay for the terrible thing you did,” Schroder replied.  Cookie had expected anger, but there was no anger.  Schroder sounded…amused?  Then there was the sound of flesh hitting flesh and muffled curses, then the unmistakable sound of a neuro-baton discharging.  Wisnioswski screamed, then screamed again as they zapped him a second time.

“Pin him down!” Schroder ordered, followed by the sounds of thrashing and curses from Wisnioswski.  “Hold his arms!  Hold them tight!”

For a moment there was only silence, then the heavy breathing of Wisnioswski, then a curious electric crackling sound that made Cookie wrinkle her forehead in confusion.  She had heard that sound, she knew she had, but where?

“You hear this, bitch?” Schroder called to her through the speaker.  “This is what we do to the enemies of the Dominion!”  Then the crackling sound increased.  Seized by dread, Cookie leaned forward, trying to understand what was-

Wisnioswski screamed. 

It was a long, heart-rending scream that went on and on, filled with unimaginable pain, black despair and the utter hopelessness of a man brutally pushed beyond his physical endurance to the borderline of sanity.  And when she thought it could not continue any longer, that it
had
to stop, Wisnioswski screamed again, the scream climbing higher and higher into a falsetto shriek that could not possibly come from anything human, let alone a burly Fleet Marine.

Then, mercifully, it stopped.  There was a strangled, heaving sob, the sound of something heavy and meaty smacking onto the floor, followed by the cadence of deliberate footsteps approaching the microphone. 

“Soon it will be your turn, you Vicky whore,” Schroder whispered softly.

Cookie tried hard not to whimper.  She knew that scream; she had screamed that way herself.  Then the anger seized her and she ran to the door and pounded on it.  “Schroder, you sadistic, dumb fuck, you’re a dead man!  You hear me, Schroder!  You’re dead!”

Thirty minutes later the door to her cell opened and they dragged Wisnioswski inside and dropped him, leaving without so much as a glance or a word in her direction.  He lay there on the floor, eyes open but not seeing anything, awake but not conscious.  She stared at him in turn, seeing but not comprehending, not
wanting
to comprehend.   Then he blinked rapidly and pushed himself awkwardly to his knees.  There was something flapping wetly against his chest.

Wisnioswski raised his arms.  “Look what they did to me!” he cried piteously.  “Gods of Our Mothers, look what they did!”

They had cut off both his hands.