Shadow of Victory - eARC (17 page)

“A courier?”

Despite himself, one of Terekhov’s eyebrows rose. He’d assumed he was about to be called away to an urgent com call, and an icicle went through him. The Admiralty didn’t send couriers on “get back to us when you can” missions.

Damn you, Charlie, he thought, remembering the glance he’d shared with his brother-in-law. Did you see this coming? And if you did, why didn’t you—?

He chopped the thought off, glanced at Sinead, and saw the same understanding in her suddenly taut expression. He squeezed her knee with one hand under the cover of the table, then looked back to Manning.

“Where is he?”

“She’s in the Brown Salon, Sir.”

“Very well.” He inhaled deeply, folded his napkin and laid it beside his plate, and leaned across to kiss the lobe of Sinead’s ear. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he promised.

“This time,” she replied around an edge of bitterness not even centuries of a naval family could blunt, her green eyes suspiciously brilliant.

“This time,” he agreed unflinchingly. Then he pushed back his chair and stood.

* * *

“Sir Lucien will see you now, Captain Terekhov,” the senior master chief petty officer behind the desk in the outer office said.

“Thank you, Senior Master Chief.”

Terekhov took a final sip from the cup of coffee the uniformed steward had brought him on his arrival. He’d needed it, given the ungodly earliness of the hour. He set the cup on the coffee table, then stood, suppressing a bone-deep reflex to straighten his flawless uniform, and followed the noncom down a short, carpeted hall to a door of beautifully stained and polished Terran wood. His guide rapped once, sharply, on the door, then opened it and stood aside.

“Captain Terekhov, My Lords,” he said, and Terekhov’s nostrils flared as he heard the plural form of address.

That was all the warning he had before he found himself face-to-face not simply with Sir Lucien Cortez, the Fifth Space Lord and head of the Bureau of Personnel, but also with First Space Lord Sir Thomas Caparelli, the RMN’s senior uniformed officer. And First Lord Hamish Alexander, Earl White Haven, who happened to be the Navy’s civilian head.

Not to mention the current prime minister’s older brother.

“Civilian,” my ass, Terekhov thought as he continued into the spacious conference room without missing a stride. He may not be in uniform at the moment, but if the Queen didn’t need him in the Cabinet, he’d probably be commanding Home Fleet right now!

The three monumentally senior officers stood as he approached, and White Haven extended his hand.

“I’m sorry we had to call you in so damned early, Captain Terekhov,” he said. “And I hate the thought of dragging you away from your wife. But we’ve all been Queen’s officers long enough to know that sometimes we just don’t have a choice. And, before we go any further, I should point out that Lucien isn’t the one putting the round pegs in the round holes this time. So if you’re going to blame someone for what’s about to happen, that particular buck stops with me.”

“Not just with you, Hamish,” Caparelli put in, and extended his own hand to Terekhov in turn. “There were several cooks involved in stirring this particular broth, Captain. Unfortunately, all of us came to the same conclusion.”

“I hope you’ll forgive me for saying you’re making me a little…uneasy, Sir Thomas,” Terekhov replied as Caparelli released his hand and Cortez extended his.

“That’s because you have good instincts,” White Haven said, and gestured for all of them to be seated.

He waited until they’d settled around the large table, then leaned back slightly in his chair, and despite his beautifully tailored civilian clothing, it was a senior admiral who looked out of his blue eyes at Terekhov, not a civilian.

“I’ll come straight to the point. ONI, SIS, and the FO have all been through your reports—and more recent ones from Talbott—forward and backward. The consensus is that your analysis and conclusions were spot on, and we rather doubt whoever was pulling the strings behind your Mister ‘Firebrand’ and Roberto Tyler will just fold his tent and disappear. We think he may pause while he reloads, but he’s not going to give up. Not after the amount of time, money, and risk he invested in his first attempt.”

He paused, clearly inviting comment, and Terekhov cocked his head, gazing out the conference room’s crystoplast windows at the Landing skyline etched against the morning sun, while he thought. Then his eyes returned to White Haven.

“If their intent was to prevent the annexation, My Lord, they’ve failed. They might decide not to throw good money after bad.”

“If their intent was solely to prevent the annexation, yes,” White Haven replied. “Unfortunately, we don’t think that was the only thing they had in mind. And neither, if you’ll forgive my saying so, do you, judging from your reports.”

“I wouldn’t say it was so much that I don’t think that was the only thing they had in mind, My Lord.” Terekhov shook his head. “It’s more a matter of instinct—more a feeling than any kind of reasoned conclusion. But, no. I don’t think we’ve seen the last of whoever it was, either.”

“Well, whether we’re all right about that or not,” Caparelli said, “there’s still that little eight-hundred-kilo hexapuma known as the Solarian League in the mix. Between the three of you, you, Admiral Khumalo, and Amanda Corvisart have handed OFS and the League their first real diplomatic black eye—the first one that really counts and can’t just be swept under the carpet—in decades. All three of the admirals in this room fully supported Her Majesty’s decision to approve your actions in Monica. That was incredibly well done in a very difficult position, and all of us know how easy it would’ve been for you to punt it back up the line and let some senior and better paid officer make the hard choices.”

Terekhov felt his cheeks warm, but he looked back at the First Space Lord steadily, and Caparelli continued in the same level tone.

“You and your people did exactly the right thing, but Frontier Security isn’t going to forgive and forget anytime soon, and it’s a virtual certainty that the SLN’s going to beef up its presence in Talbott’s vicinity. I’d like to think even Sollies are smart enough not to push things at this point, but experience suggests otherwise. In fact, it’s a lot more likely some Solly officer will decide to push back hard to restore Solarian prestige in the Verge.”

Terekhov nodded slowly. Given the fact that Monica had been a long-standing Solarian ally—not to mention a fertile source of mercenaries to break other people’s legs for Frontier Security—Caparelli was almost certainly correct. And if Manpower and whoever else had been involved in the attempt to kill the annexation decided to give the fire another kick or two…

“At the moment, it looks like the situation with the Peeps is in fairly good shape,” White Haven took up the thread of conversation again. His deep voice was as calm as ever, yet Terekhov had an odd feeling that he was less happy about the Peeps than he wanted to sound. Which was odd, given Eighth Fleet’s crushing victory at the Battle of Lovat…which had, after all, been won by his own wife.

“I’m sure we all would’ve preferred for President Pritchart’s offer of negotiations to have been made in good faith,” the First Lord continued. “It’s unfortunate that that doesn’t seem to be what happened, but I’m pretty sure Lovat has to’ve set them back on their heels. On the other hand—and this is classified, Captain—we don’t yet have the new missile control systems as broadly deployed as we’d like. There’s still a window of vulnerability, and we can’t divert large numbers of wallers to Talbott as a show of force until it closes. We will be strengthening Tenth Fleet, and as soon as the situation vis-à-vis the Peeps permits, additional ships-of-the-wall will be added to that list, but we simply can’t do that yet.

“Because we can’t, we’ll be relying on lighter combatants, instead, and ONI’s analysis—backed up in no small part by our examination of the hardware you captured intact at Monica—suggests those lighter combatants have an even bigger edge on any SLN units, especially with the new Mark Sixteen warheads, than we’ve ever been willing to assume. In other words, our more modern cruisers and destroyers should be able to hold their own against about anything the Sollies have below the wall. The problem is that the Sollies may not realize that.”

“The problem,” Caparelli amplified bluntly, “is that the Sollies damned well wouldn’t admit that even if they did.”

“Probably not,” White Haven conceded. “And that, Captain, is the real reason we’ve sent Admiral Henke off to command Tenth Fleet for Admiral Khumalo. Well, that and the fact that she gave her parole when Pritchart sent her home. We can’t deploy her against the Peeps until she’s released from that parole, which happens to make her available someplace we need her even worse.”

Terekhov nodded. He hadn’t learned about Michelle Henke’s survival until his return from Talbott, but from what he knew of her, she’d been an excellent choice for the senior fleet commander on Talbott Station. Much as he’d come to like and even admire Augustus Khumalo, he simply lacked the combat experience—and possibly what people still called the “fire in the belly”—Henke would bring to the job. She’d free Khumalo for the vital administrative duties of a station commander, which was where his true strengths lay, anyway.

The only thing that concerned him was her reputation for aggressiveness—the possibility that she might actually have too much fire in her belly. He supposed an unbiased soul might have made the same observation about him with a fair degree of accuracy, but Henke had made her name in cruisers and battlecruisers. From all accounts, she had a battlecruiser mentality, and from other accounts, she also had an ample share of the famed Winton temper. She was unlikely to tread lightly on any Solarian toes that got in her way, and the fact that she was the Queen’s first cousin—and fifth in the succession, should anything happen to Elizabeth—could make any toe-stamping she did especially painful. Or especially…politically fraught, at least.

“What we have in mind is to send you back to Talbott.” White Haven’s expression was as unflinching as his tone. “It’s not fair. If anybody deserves time at home, it’s you. Unfortunately, sometimes Her Majesty’s Navy can’t afford to worry about ‘fair,’ and you’re an especially valuable resource at this moment for several reasons. First, because you’re a proven combat commander who’s demonstrated he’s willing to act on his own initiative. Second, because at this moment I very much doubt there’s anyone in Manticoran uniform with a more formidable reputation in Solarian eyes. In that sense, we’re sending you back out to be Admiral Henke’s big stick, if it turns out she needs one. In addition to that, your Foreign Office background’s going to be at least as valuable to her as it was to Admiral Khumalo. And, finally, it’s clear from our correspondence with Prime Minister Alquezar and Baroness Medusa that no one has a better reputation—or better personal contacts—in the Quadrant than you do.” He shook his head, his expression regretful. “The truth is, we can’t afford to leave you on the beach, however much you might deserve it.”

“I understand what you’re saying, My Lord.” Terekhov tried very hard not to sound like a man looking for an argument to convince his superiors not to send him. “But Hexapuma’s still hasn’t been assigned a repair berth. And even after we get her docked and formally slotted into the queue, she’s going to be in yard hands for months. Probably longer.”

“Yes, she is, Captain.” Terekhov’s heart fell at the sympathy in Caparelli’s voice. “That’s why we’re going to give her to Commander FitzGerald—along with his overdue promotion to captain.”

Terekhov’s felt his jaw tighten. It wasn’t a surprise, not really. From the moment they’d told him they were sending him back out, he’d known they wouldn’t be sending him in Hexapuma. And if he had to lose her, she couldn’t possibly be in better hands than Ansten’s. He knew that. And it didn’t make it hurt one bit less.

“And I’m afraid that’s not the worst of it, Captain,” White Haven said quietly, and nodded to Admiral Cortez. Terekhov looked at him, and the Fifth Space Lord touched a key at his station. A holo appeared above the table—the holo of another Saganami-C-class heavy cruiser, sister to his own Hexapuma.

“HMS Quentin Saint-James,” Cortez said. “She’s the flagship of a new heavy cruiser squadron—the Ninety-Fourth—we’ve just stood up.”

Terekhov nodded. Deep inside, a familiar sense of challenge warred with his grief at leaving Hexapuma behind. There was always that edge of excitement when it came time to assume a new command and turn it into a perfectly tempered weapon. It would take months, but the sheer satisfaction would—

But then his thoughts broke off as Cortez continued.

“The bad news, Captain, is that CruRon Ninety-Four leaves for Talbott tomorrow.”

Terekhov stopped nodding and stared at him in shock. Tomorrow? He’d only gotten back from Talbott less than forty hours ago! How could he go home and tell Sinead he was leaving again tomorrow? Besides, he’d already taken command of Hexapuma on virtually no notice. Now they wanted him to take command of a brand-new heavy cruiser without even one full day’s warning?!

“I know it seems insane,” Cortez said, “but I’m afraid the decision to redeploy you—and the need to get CruRon Ninety-Four out to Tenth Fleet absolutely ASAP—doesn’t leave us much choice.”

“Sir, I understand what you’re saying,” Terekhov said again, after a long, ringing fifteen seconds of silence. “I think I do, anyway. But completely aside from the issue of leaving my wife again so quickly, I’m afraid I don’t see any way I could assume command of an entirely new crew on such short notice! If nothing else, it would be totally unfair to them! We managed to get Hexapuma worked up to an acceptable standard on the voyage to Spindle, but we’d had at least a little time to shake down as a crew before we deployed. But less than one day?” He shook his head and looked at all three of the other men seated around the table. “With all due respect, My Lords, I don’t see any way—”

“Excuse me, Captain Terekhov,” Cortez interrupted. “I wasn’t quite done.”

Terekhov shut his mouth, and Cortez grimaced.