Kris Longknife 13 - Unrelenting (32 page)

As for Cannopus Station, it had pretty much ignored the Earth admiral, and he’d returned the favor, in spades. Kris found Yi in his day quarters, a space larger and plusher than hers if much farther from the bridge.

“You didn’t send me with the rest of Second Fleet,” he said bluntly, as she entered his quarters. He also refrained from standing from where he was sprawled on a red leather couch.

Has he been drinking?

If he had, Kris could detect no odor.

“I’m holding your ships as the main strike force of Fourth Fleet.”

“Who commands this new Fourth Fleet?”

“I do.”

“Oh.” He considered that for a moment. “And what do you intend to do with this new fleet?”

“It’s holding the fort while the other three delay the alien wolf packs headed our way.”

“Wolf packs. That’s not a bad name for the bastards.”

“They do fight in packs,” Kris agreed.

“You going to steal more of my men?”

“Quite likely. I notice that you’re adding colonials and Ostriches into your crews. Even a few Roosters.”

“I’ll take any that pass muster and keep their noses clean,” he allowed.

“We’re in the final stages of commissioning another squadron of frigates. I’ll likely promote more of your officers to work with those crews. I plan on drawing down the crews of the repair ships, but I’ll need experienced line officers and senior petty officers.”

“And if I won’t release them?”

“If
I
sign the order, you
will
release them,” Kris said, evenly. Was he drunk enough to swing on her? That would settle a lot.

He examined the obvious for a very long time, then nodded. “Send me your written orders.”

“You will have them this afternoon.”

With that, she turned and left.

KRIS, COULD THAT MAN HAVE WALKED A STRAIGHT LINE?

I DON’T KNOW, NELLY. WHAT I DO KNOW IS THAT I’M GOING TO BE VERY CAREFUL WITH HIM.

47

Now
Kris waited. Battles were terrifying, but you were too busy staying alive to taste it. This waiting was gut-grinding, and there was nothing to do but do it.

So Kris did what she had to do.

The one thing she couldn’t avoid was gestating this little inconvenience beneath her heart. She was entering her third trimester and all that energy she’d been enjoying for the last three months had gone AWOL.

Kris found her feet dragging . . . and swelling . . . even as she went about the desperate job of gathering support while her three distant fleets bought time.

Kris needed more scouts. She and Pipra had a knock-down, drag-out fight as they debated what ships could be passed out of the carrying trade from the asteroid mines and into Kris’s scout fleet.

“We’re operating at a bare minimum as it is,” Pipra insisted. “You do want more Smart Metal and reactors, don’t you?”

“Don’t ask silly questions,” Kris snapped back, trying to get comfortable and finding that she and baby were not getting along at the moment, and it would likely only get worse. “You know our lives depend on what your people make. I’m just asking if you can do more with less.”

Pipra scratched her head. Kris was seeing more and more of that lately. A lot of folks were carrying tension in their scalps. “You’ve kept the freighters at single reactors to make sure none of them got it in their heads to run for home.”

“Yes,” Kris conceded.

“If we went back to two reactors, we’d be running half the ships back and forth, but they’d carry more than double the load, just half as often.”

“Would that disrupt the flow of production?” Kris asked.

“Abby, what does your computer say?” Pipra said, tossing the bomb to Kris’s former maid and now super project manager.

Abby spent a whole minute staring into space, communing with her computer, one of Nelly’s kids, before she said, “We’ve got just enough of a buffer in our present inventory that we could take the hit of going to half the ships making half the runs but bringing in 235 percent each trip. But how long would it take the yards to respin two ships into one?”

“They’re getting very good at that,” Kris said, “Nelly, ask Benson.”

“I’ve passed him Mata’s schedule of ships in port and those coming in. He says they can respin two ships into one in as little as twenty-four hours. There’s not a lot to do with a freighter. If they get the two ships orbiting the moon right now into the yard before noon, they can have one out by noon tomorrow.” Nelly paused for only a moment, then added, “And that will give you fewer crew on the mining runs and some of the ship navigation and electronics for warships.”

“Every scrap helps,” Kris said, finally feeling comfortable in her chair.

“Kris, I’m working my people day and night. We’ve got people volunteering to work extra shifts to make sure some of the new hands don’t screw up. I know your people are out there fighting for our lives, but I need you to know that we, back here, are fighting just as hard to get you what you need before you even ask for it.”

“I know that, Pipra. Believe me, I know it.”

“Well, it would be nice if you showed it.”

“What do you want, a royal visit to your fabrication plants?”

“Hell no, that would just lose us production. But it would be nice if my folks knew you knew what they were doing and cared about it.”

“Kris,” Nelly said, “you’ve been looking at creating campaign medals for the First Battle of Alwa and an Expeditionary Medal against the Suicide Base.”

“Yes. I should have signed off on those weeks ago. We’ll need to add another for the Holding Campaign for System X.”

“Why don’t we issue a medal for industrial service in the
defense of the Alwa system?” Nelly asked. “There was a medal given back in the twentieth century. The King George Cross was awarded to the island of Malta for its people’s courage under siege.”

“We’re certainly under siege,” Pipra added, dryly.

“You want me to award a King Raymond Cross? Kris said. “I think Granny Rita might have something to say about that.”

“How about a Princess Kristine Cross?” Pipra asked.

“I know I’m a cross you bear,” Kris said, making a face, “but do we want to make it official?”

“Kris, I don’t think you realize the impact you have on my people,” Pipra said. “Yes, you’re keeping them from running, but you are here, right beside them. Even six months pregnant, you haven’t backed down. Kris, you may count on us, but we’re counting on you, too.”

“So something like the Princess Kristine Cross for Steadfast Support in the Defense of Alwa, huh?”

“Exactly. You have Nelly design you a ribbon to go with a silver medal sporting your face, and you’ll give me just what I need to keep my workers in the traces until they drop or the aliens blast us to atoms.”

“Please don’t tell that to the troops,” Kris said.

“It’s just between us two. Do we really have a chance?” Pipra asked, all levity gone.

“I don’t know,” Kris said, letting honesty slip to the surface for a moment. “With what we have, we can’t hold. With what we’re trying to patch together . . .” Kris paused, then shook her head. “Not against five base ships.”

Kris took a deep breath. “There’s supposed to be some secret weapon that they’re putting together back in human space. The last group to come out heard about it but were warned to not even try to guess what it was, or they’d be booted from the relief force. Maybe if we hold out long enough for them to get it here,” Kris said. “Maybe.”

“So we’re fighting for time and praying for a miracle.”

“I’m afraid that’s it, Pipra. That’s all I can offer.”

Pipra took a deep breath. “Then that is what we’ll do. Now, if you’ll get that cross officially knocked together, I’ll arrange a five-minute break for people to look at a certificate
with their name on it and cheer before I take the whip to them and get them back to work.”

“I can have the template of the certificate for you in an hour,” Nelly said.

A piece of paper and a prayer. Is that what we’ve come to?

But Kris signed the certificate, and Nelly distributed it to the shipyards, moon fabs, and asteroid mines.

Of baubles like that, seconds are bought.

48

Out
beyond System X, Kris’s fleets bought time the old-fashioned way, with blood and sweat and tears. The three wolf packs turned out to be a bit different, so each of the fights were, too.

Vice Admiral Bethea’s Third Fleet had the toughest time with Wolf Pack Anton. Their Enlightened One hardly deserved the name. Or maybe casualties just didn’t bother him.

Bethea deployed Third Fleet to make a stand two systems out from System X. It had two jumps in, so, of necessity, Bethea split her fleet to cover both jumps. Her situation was complicated because the eight frigates of the Esperanto League and Hispania still had the shorter-range 20-inch lasers. She split them, sending one division to each jump, then had to split up the Scanda Confederacy’s squadron, sending the
Odin
,
Thor
, and
Frigga
to fight with her own Savannah Squadron while Admiral Shoalter’s New Eden Squadron had the other three.

Fifteen ships each to hold two jumps.

Bethea’s own Task Force 5 drew the bloody straw.

The periscope gave them warning that over sixty ships in two dishes were incoming. There was no chance to call for reinforcements. Shoalter’s Task Force 6 had a dozen ships approaching his jump. Whether to force it or just fix him in place was hard to tell.

There was no question, the ships before Bethea’s jump were coming at her with intent. Bloody intent.

Three ships came through at fifteen-second intervals, firing every laser they had. Three came, three died under a hail of lasers and antimatter rockets.

Then the aliens got smart. The next three ships came
through backward, their vulnerable aft end already flipped away from the eight ships Bethea had behind the jump.

But Bethea had fifteen ships and seven were deployed
in front of
the jump. They snapped off shots at the aliens’ stern ends in rapid sequence and all three died just as dead as those that came through bow first.

Several small packages came through next, likely atomics. Quickly, they were lased to nothing.

A pause followed. Then the aliens began ramming themselves through the jump at ten-second intervals. Four- to five-hundred-thousand-ton behemoths shot through, alternating their facing.

It did them no good. Indeed, alternating them just made it easier for the two squadrons to shoot, recharge, shoot, recharge.

Twenty-four ships came through and twenty-four ships died.

After that slaughter came another pause. When it drew long, Bethea ordered the
Albatross
up to the jump. She did a quick four-gee acceleration and deceleration and slipped the periscope through.

“The other dish has had enough. It’s withdrawing.”

Bethea studied the picture for all of three seconds, and said, “Let’s not let them go without a last dance, shall we?”

In ten minutes, she had her frigates arranged in a tight line at five-second intervals. There were advantages in going to war in fifty-thousand-ton frigates verses five-hundred-thousand-ton monsters.

Bethea led Task Force 5 through, her flagship
Lion
leading.

Into a target-rich environment.

Thirty alien warships were 120,000 klicks out, in a loose sphere presenting their hind ends. It was easy pickings for the 22-inch lasers that her big cats had been up-gunned with.

By the time all fifteen frigates where through, nine aliens were balls of gas, and the commander was just reacting to his danger. He flipped his surviving twenty-one ships, loaded with lasers and thickly coated with rock, and charged Bethea’s two squadrons. Several tried to push themselves past 2.5 gees. One blew out its rocket motors and spun out of control.

Whether they made 2.5 gees or a bit more, it didn’t matter. The human frigates flipped ship and backed away, hacking
and slashing at them with their longer-ranged lasers while keeping well out of reach of the mass of lasers that might be good for lasing a planet from orbit but were totally outclassed against the humans’ big 22-inchers.

Rocky armor blazed away in flaming chunks that gave only slight protection from the next incoming volley. Ships glowed and burned until there was nothing left but raw hull and vulnerable aliens inside.

Then ships died. Some died quickly as a reactor blew out and plasma ate them. Others died slowly as lasers sliced off chunks of ship and sent them flying off to trail briefly behind the ship before falling well away.

Damaged hulls collapsed under the pressure of the 2.5-gee acceleration; ships fell in upon themselves like a flower in some sort of reverse blossom.

Twenty-one ships gave chase to the humans. Twenty-one died.

Not one alien sought to save himself.

There were three exceptions to this slaughter. Three fast movers had broken away from the jump ahead of the main force and were well on their way for the nearest jump when Bethea ordered an end to her victorious flight.

When Bethea took stock of her ships, she found little damage to report. Both fights had been well out of range of the alien lasers. What hits they got were ineffective.

Like the French knights against British longbows, the aliens would have to come up with something different if they wanted to win a fight against 22-inch lasers.

Admiral Bethea held off her report until Admiral Shoalter had a chance to chase down his nuisance force. He jumped through and blew away six still close to the jump. The other six were already well away, accelerating at a full 2.5 gees.

Kris got the report less than a week after the fight. Coming in quickly on the heels of the
Kestrel
was the
Merlin
from Admiral Miyoshi’s Second Fleet. The Beulah Wolf Pack had been more careful.

Miyoshi’s Second Fleet had a tougher system to hold. It had three jumps in; he had to spread his ships more widely. Admirals Miyoshi and L’Estock’s as well as Commodore
Zingi’s squadrons each got a jump. The new BatRon 13 of Alwa-built frigates were added two or three to each jump.