Helfort's War Book 4: The Battle for Commitment Planet (11 page)

“No, we won’t,” Michael said, his heart beginning to race with a newfound hope that Gladiator might work. “And if we drop close—”

Again Sedova could not hold back. “We’ll be well inside the Hammer’s defenses, the Hammers will be looking the wrong way, and there’s what, 10,000 k’s to cross before reentry? That,” she declared with a confident smile, “is a much better proposition than trying to cross 100,000 klicks.”

“It sure is,” Bienefelt said with feeling. “I have to say, I was worried there for a while.”

“Hold your horses, ’Swain,” Michael said, even though he knew that this was the answer they had been looking for. “We need to see if this will work, but it is looking good, I must say. Right. Jayla, Kat, can you take this and rework the plan? When you have something workable, we’ll run it through the sims to see how it holds up. Okay?”

“Sir,” the pair chorused.

Face impassive even though his stomach was a mess, Michael waited for the down-shuttle to dock; he steeled himself for what came next: He had to resolve the last impediment to Operation Gladiator.

The planning had produced something that everyone agreed would work. Anna’s last vidmail confirmed she was still tucked away inside Camp J-5209. The latest intelligence reports following the progress of the New Revolutionary Army seemed encouraging. Under the leadership of Mutti Vaas, the NRA had recovered from its defeat at Bretonville in late July. Now they were pushing north and east out of their stronghold in the Branxton Ranges to attack the towns of Perdan and Daleel, and thanks to microsat transmitters—he had no idea where Vaas’s people found them; seemingly the NRA had enough of them to replace the ones the Hammers kept shooting down—the people of Commitment could see that there might be an alternative to the ruthless totalitarian regime that had held the people of the Hammer of Kraa Worlds subjugated for centuries.

All of which was good, but one last problem had thwarted all Michael’s efforts to find a solution. With only a month to go, time was running out, and today’s meeting to finalize the Nyleth squadron’s operations for the upcoming month was his last chance to secure an operation that would allow
Redwood
and her sister dreadnoughts to get clear of Nyleth unimpeded. With a new operations officer, a woman focused on using the dreadnoughts to keep Nyleth safe, that task was harder than it should have been.

Still, Michael stayed optimistic. He had lobbied the system commander to allow the squadron to take out yet another Hammer signal intelligence station uncovered by reconsats in
Szent-Gyogyi deepspace, the sort of operation at which his dreadnoughts had proved to be devastatingly effective. The last time he spoke to Commodore Anjula, she did not say no, so there was still hope.

   Three long hours later, the meeting wrapped up. Michael commed Ferreira.

“Tell me it’s good news, sir. Please,” she said.

“Let me see now, Jayla,” Michael said, deadpan. “That depends”—Ferreira’s face fell—“but I can tell you that our new operations officer has tasked the squadron to system nearspace defense”—Ferreira’s face fell even farther—“but only until September 5, when the squadron will be departing Nyleth to blow the crap out of the Hammer SIGINT station on Maaslicht-43.”

“About time.” Ferreira’s relief was obvious. “I was beginning to think we might end up stuck here.”

“Me, too. Get everyone together. Now that we have a date, we need a final planning meeting for Gladiator. We also need to get a plan for the Maaslicht operation together even if we have no intention of going anywhere near the place.”

“I’m on it, sir.”

“See you in twenty.”

Michael started to make his way back to the shuttle portal, and his neuronics pinged to announce a priority comm. “Bugger,” he said softly when he saw who was calling; he could not help himself. What was the system commander after?

“Yes, sir?” he said when Commodore Anjula’s face appeared.

“Thought you should know that Vice Admiral Jaruzelska will be here end of next week.”

Michael’s heart skipped a beat. “Noted, sir, thank you. Anything specific?” he asked.

“Have a look at the dreadnoughts, of course. Apart from that, just a look around before she takes up her new post.”

“New post, sir? I haven’t heard.”

“The announcement has just come through. She’s the new director of Fleet planning, effective October 1.”

“Oh, right,” Michael said. “So who’s taking over the dreadnought force?”

“Nobody.”

“Nobody, sir?”

“That’s what I said,” Anjula replied, a touch testily, “nobody. The job’s been abolished. With only your three operational and no chance of any more entering service, Fleet’s decided to manage dreadnoughts as part of the heavy cruiser force. Administrative efficiency, the announcement said. She’ll be happy to debate the merits of that decision with you, I’m sure, so I won’t. My staff will get a draft program out for her visit in the next day or so.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Anjula, out.”

Michael swore under his breath. While Jaruzelska still held the job, Michael had hoped she might persuade Fleet to see sense and restart the program. Now that hope had gone; without Jaruzelska, the dreadnoughts were finished. The ships had single-handedly destroyed the greatest threat ever faced by the Federated Worlds; now they would fade away into history, unmourned by the vast majority of Fleet’s senior officers. Their demise would be a triumph of political expediency and narrow-minded self-interest over the needs of the Federated Worlds.

Michael swore some more and stepped into the drop tube for the ride back to Nyleth’s surface. The loss of Jaruzelska’s protection and support was bad enough. Looking her in the eye knowing that he was going to steal the last three ships of the dreadnought force would be a million times worse.

“Attention on deck. Commander, Dreadnought Forces.”

Flawless in dress blacks, the crew of
Redwood
snapped to attention while the age-old ritual of piping the side played out under Chief Bienefelt’s watchful eye: Bosun’s calls squealed,
hands snapped to foreheads in salute, and Vice Admiral Jaruzelska saluted in turn as her tall, angular frame crossed the bow to board
Redwood
, her flag lieutenant close behind. Michael returned her salute; when the carry-on was piped, he stepped forward, hand extended.

“Admiral. Welcome to
Redwood
, sir.”

“Thank you,” Jaruzelska said, shaking Michael’s hand before turning to Ferreira. “Lieutenant. Hope you’re not finding
Redwood
and Nyleth too dull.”

“A dreadnought spacer’s life is never dull, sir,” Ferreira said with a broad grin.

“Hmm,” Jaruzelska said. “Why am I not surprised to hear you say that? Chief Bienefelt. How’s that enormous boyfriend of yours? Nyleth’s one hell of a long way from Anjaxx. What’s his name?”

Michael struggled to suppress a laugh; Bienefelt’s face had colored brick red. “Er,” she muttered, “er, umm … Yuri, sir. He’s fine, thank you, sir.”

“Please to hear it, Chief. When you get married, be sure to send me the holopix. I can’t wait to see you doing the virginal bride thing all in white. That’ll be one for my living room wall. Now, Captain,” Jaruzelska said, turning back to Michael, leaving Bienefelt speechless and the rest of
Redwood
’s gangway crew trying not to laugh. “Where to first?”

“Ship tour, sir,” Michael said with great difficulty, forcing his face to behave. “If you’d follow me, please.”

   Jaruzelska’s trademark whirlwind tour of
Redwood
over, she and Michael sat back in the comfortable armchairs that dominated his day cabin.

“Congratulations on your new appointment, Admiral,” Michael said, raising his coffee mug in salute.

“Thank you, Michael. It’s the right job for me, and I’m pleased to have it. I can hear the ‘but,’ though.”

“No surprises there, sir. The loss of a dedicated commander for dreadnoughts will make life hard for us. Those cruiser types don’t much like us.”

“No, they don’t, Michael. Not one bit. However, I’ve briefed Admiral Jensch and his staff on dreadnought idiosyncrasies. I
think you’ll get the support you need. Not every admiral in Fleet thinks dreadnoughts are the work of the devil.”

“Pleased to hear it, sir. Any other developments?”

“One, not that it will affect you. The INTSUM will be out this week, so there’s no harm in telling you that the reconsats have located the Hammer’s new antimatter facility. Well, what will become their new plant in however many years’ time. Bloody plant will be huge. Twice the size of the one you and your dreadnoughts destroyed.”

“Oh, shit,” Michael whispered. “But why won’t that affect us?” he continued. “Surely dreadnoughts will be critical to any operation to destroy the plant. They were the last time.”

“No, they won’t, not this time. The Hammers have learned their lesson. Trying to hide the plant in deepspace like they did with their first plant is fine in theory. There’s a lot of deepspace, after all, but we found the place and blew it to pieces, anyway. No, they’ve been much smarter this time around. It’s located on Commitment itself, on a small island so far away from civilization that nobody will notice if it goes up in smoke.”

Michael’s face betrayed his shock. “They must be insane. Building an antimatter manufacturing plant on an inhabited planet? And not just any old planet, either. Commitment! That’s the Hammer’s home planet. What if it does go up?”

Jaruzelska shrugged her shoulders. “They’re Hammers. They don’t worry about things like that. Anyone who objects gets shot. You know how things work over there.”

“I do, sir.”

“Putting aside the risk to the rest of the planet for the moment, the decision makes good military sense. Our attack on the original plant at Devastation Reef will have showed them the folly of trying to protect such a high-value target so far from home. Better to have it tucked away dirtside underneath Commitment’s planetary defense systems, where it’ll be safe. It’ll be a long time before Fleet’s in any position to mount a planetary invasion,” she added with a trace of bitterness, “because that’s what it will take to destroy the place.”

“So the race is on, sir?”

“Yes, it is. If we rebuild the fleet before they finish their
damn antimatter plant, we can invade: We win, they lose. If they finish their plant first and get enough antimatter warheads onto those damn Eaglehawk missiles of theirs, they win and we lose. It’s that simple.”

Michael broke what had turned into a long and uncomfortable silence. “Our antimatter project,” he said. “What about that? What progress are we making getting our own antimatter missiles into service?”

“Above your pay grade, Michael, so I won’t answer. However, the Hammers needed decades to work out how to weaponize antimatter and even longer to work out how to manufacture enough of it to support high-intensity operations, so I leave you to draw your own conclusions.”

“Oh, right,” Michael said. “Changing the subject, sir.”

“Yes?”

“Morale, sir.”

Jaruzelska looked at Michael quizzically. “Morale? What about it?”

“Well, sir. Nothing official’s come through, but the lower deck is awash with rumors about a mutiny on
Palmyra
, and—”

Jaruzelska sat upright. “Mutiny on
Palmyra
? How the hell do you know that, Captain?” she snapped, chopping him off, her eyes blazing with anger. “That’s classified information you should not have access to.”

“I keep my ear to the ground, sir,” Michael protested, raising his hands. “Some things Fleet can’t keep secret, and a mutiny’s one of them.”

Jaruzelska stared at him, the anger draining away. “If word’s leaked out, obviously that’s true,” she said. “Damn. The trash-press will have a field day when they find out.”

“There’s more, sir.”

“More?”

“Yes.
Palmyra
may be a symptom of a wider problem.”

“Oh?” Jaruzelska said with a skeptical frown. “That’s not the view inside Fleet. The briefing I received from Fleet personnel said
Palmyra
’s captain triggered the mutiny. The man should never have been given command of anything bigger than a cargo drone. We don’t always get our command postings right,
especially now, when we are so short of good officers thanks to Comdur.”

“I’m sure that’s correct, sir, but I think there’s more to it. Word is that the troops aren’t too keen on the way Fleet’s handling things. It seems there are more than a few unhappy spacers out there. They no longer think we can bring this war to a successful conclusion. Putting it bluntly, they’re losing faith in management’s ability, and that’s a worry.”

“Your troops, too, Michael?”

“Yes, sir. Not that it’s affecting my ship’s operational readiness, but they are all thinking people. They see what’s happening, and they don’t like it any more than …” Michael’s voice trailed off into silence.

Jaruzelska finished the sentence for him. “Than you do,” she said quietly.

“No, sir.”

“How bad is the problem?”

“All I know is what my coxswain tells me, sir, so it’s anecdotal, but I trust Chief Bienefelt with my life.”

“You know what? I would, too,” Jaruzelska said. “Sorry, you were saying?”

“Well, Bienefelt says it’s bad. I guess
Palmyra
proves that.”

“Damn it to hell,” Jaruzelska said, grim-faced. “I was afraid of this.”

“Bienefelt says the problem’s widespread, so Fleet may have another
Palmyra
on its hands if it’s not careful. Since Bienefelt is telling me this, I am inclined to take it seriously. She is well connected, that woman.”

“She is,” Jaruzelska said after a moment’s reflection. “Look, it’s no secret that things are not going well, and the decision to terminate the dreadnought experiment despite their success at Devastation Reef has made things worse. The latest projections show that we will not have enough spacers to man an invasion fleet capable of taking Commitment inside four years at best. Now, those projections depend on some optimistic assumptions about Fleet’s ability to deal with Hammer missiles tipped with antimatter warheads, which they still have enough of in inventory to cause us problems. So I reckon it’s going to
be more like five years. The Hammers hurt us badly at Comdur. We have a long way to go.”