Authors: Bennett R. Coles
He gave her a long look.
Her mind raced as she formed her thoughts.
“That’s why I came to you now. He’ll never let another captain change his mind, because that would show weakness. But he doesn’t see you as a threat, or a rival. He sees you as himself.”
Oh, brilliant, Breeze
.
“He wants you to succeed, because he sees in you all the talent and ambition that he had at your age. You’re his protégé. To change his mind on your recommendation wouldn’t be a failure to him—it would be a confirmation that he’s trained you well.”
Thomas was staring at her, but the expression in his eyes went much deeper. She allowed herself a moment of hope. And triumph.
She leaned back slightly, bringing her hands to his knees again.
“Thomas, I envy you. And in the normal world I’d be trying to unseat you.” She took a deep breath and stared into his eyes. “But right now I need you. And so does the entire Expeditionary Force.”
He nodded. With some effort he leaned forward, bringing his face closer to hers. “I think I might have a good alternative. When is he issuing the orders?”
“He said he was going to assess our current strength, and he wanted some input from Intelligence—wants to know if the Sirian worlds really are allying with Centauria. I told him I’d need at least three hours. So he gave me two. At midnight he’s briefing the command staff, and then issuing orders to the entire EF.”
He glanced over at the clock. Then back at her with a look she had desperately hoped not to see.
“So we have two hours.” His breath was heavy with the booze.
Behind her neutral face she grimaced. What was it with men? Wasn’t the admiration of your mentor motivation enough?
“Not much time,” she said, and she leaned back slightly, still holding his eyes.
His hands slid up her arms.
So much for “mission accomplished.” She prided herself on never having to make good on her innuendo—it was amazing how far flirting could get you—and usually she’d have the option to walk away and leave him approachable at a future date.
But not today. There wasn’t time.
She let her hands slip up his legs again.
“Thomas, you naughty man.”
He pulled her closer. She came willingly, with just a hint of resistance to heighten the arousal. Behind her sultry eyes, however, she was doing a quick, cold calculation.
What was she giving up? Not much. Some mystique, really.
What was she gaining? Hot, meaningless sex with one of the better-looking men in the ship. The delicious opportunity to “accidentally” let slip to Katja the fact that Thomas was a stallion in bed, regardless of the reality.
And something she could use in the future, when he was married to Chandler’s goddaughter.
All in all, not a bad deal.
T
homas’s head was still foggy as he sat down at the command console. He hadn’t drunk that much, but Breeze and her hot body had left him exhausted.
The memory of her was already being overshadowed by the now-familiar self-loathing, and he focused instead on how best to propose his alternative to Chandler’s suicide plan. He called up the notes that he had been frantically compiling, grateful for the lucky find that his old friend Sean and
Kristiansand
had uncovered. He knew that he only had one chance at this.
Once Chandler announced the orders, there would be no turning back.
The other members of the senior staff were taking their seats. Korolev and Vici stood grimly behind the seated Fleet officers. Chandler arrived last, as always, and sat down in his chair without ceremony. As was his habit, he intended to discuss his plans with this small group of advisors before moving forward.
“By now you’ve all read this message from the Centauris,” he said. “We don’t have a lot of time, but I want to hear your thoughts.”
Thomas knew it was a sham. Chandler had already made up his mind. But it was little gestures like this that so endeared the commodore to his subordinates. The operations officer, Commander Erikson, was the first to speak up.
“The key question is,” he said, “are the Centauris telling the truth?”
Glances passed around the conference table—tired faces half-lit from below by the personal screens embedded in the tabletop. All around them, the starry backdrop projected on
Normandy
’s bridge gave silent reminder of the absolute isolation they endured.
“There still hasn’t been any word from Terra,” Breeze said, “and right now I don’t trust anything the Sirian news channels say.”
“Trust them or don’t,” Vici responded. “They’re pretty unanimous in condemning us and cheering for Centauria. Part of the Centauri message is true, at least. How much, I can’t say.”
“I don’t care about the Sirians,” Chandler said. “We don’t have the strength to retake control—no offence to the Corps—and frankly, our priorities have shifted. Holding Sirius is meaningless if we don’t have access to our home star system.”
“What are you suggesting, Commodore?” Korolev asked.
Chandler looked around the table, daring anyone to argue with what he was about to say. Thomas had seen that expression many times before during the Dog Watch.
“Whether this message is true or not, the fact that the Centauris control the jump gate says enough,” Chandler said. “Terra is in serious trouble, and we need to open the road back home. We have a tough fight ahead of us, and need to act now—before even more hostiles arrive.” He turned to Erikson. “How long for us to reach the jump gate at maximum cruising speed?”
“Ten hours, sir.”
“They’ll know we’re coming, but there won’t be time for them to get reinforcements to the gate. We’ll smash our way through, and jump back to Terra.”
“Sir,” the ASW controller said, “at that speed we’ll be vulnerable to stealth attack.”
“We’re vulnerable no matter what. Six hours before we reach the gate, I want the entire EF at battle stations with every Hawk on patrol and every star fighter ready for launch.” He looked around the room. “We have one chance at this, so we don’t hold anything in reserve. I want the strike fighters launched, as well—they don’t have great weapons, but they’ll create three hundred more targets to keep the enemy busy.”
“That’s three hundred dead pilots,” Vici said, “guaranteed. And us with no air support.”
From his expression, it was clear that Chandler was more than tired of her criticisms.
“You don’t need air support in a space battle,” he said. “You don’t need troopers, either, Commander… so shut up!”
Vici fumed, but held her tongue. Breeze, sitting next to Chandler, leaned forward. She was trying to hide it, but her fear was beginning to show through. Thomas looked around the table. No one looked eager.
Except Chandler.
“Every one of us swore an oath to protect Terra,” Chandler said, his voice rising. “That means a lot more than just leaving home for a few months, or working long hours until we’re exhausted. It means that we’re willing to die.” His glare passed over every member of the senior staff. “Understand this—I will take issue with
anyone
who I have to remind of that again.”
Thomas had expected this. Recent events had revealed to him a certain predictability in his mentor. Chandler didn’t just pay lip service to the ethos of the Astral Force, like so many people did—he genuinely believed it. It had been that certainty that had enabled the young XO to inspire a ship to rise to the occasion during the Dog Watch. It had no doubt been that certainty of belief that had driven Eric Chandler to work so hard, and to rise so fast in the ranks.
But now, Thomas knew, that certainty of belief was clouding the judgment of a senior officer responsible for the lives of thousands of men and women. Perhaps it was just because he knew Chandler so well, but it was no surprise to Thomas that Chandler would choose a suicidal charge. Perhaps, before this war started, he would have chosen the same.
But now no one—not even Colonel Korolev—could overrule the commodore. Their only hope, Thomas realized, was for Chandler to change his own mind. With a little bit of help.
He rolled the dice.
“With all respect, sir,” Thomas said, “there may be another way.”
The glare focused on him, and Thomas felt like a young subbie again. He searched for his voice.
“Yes, Lieutenant?” the commodore said.
All eyes were on him. He chose his words carefully.
“Sir, it’s true that our primary objective now is to defend Terra, and to do that we have to get back. A frontal assault on the enemy position at the jump gate would seriously impede our ability to fight. But there’s another route we can take—through the secret Centauri jump gate.”
To Thomas’s surprise, Chandler had actually listened. Now his expression turned to the disappointment a teacher might reserve for a bright student who has said something profoundly stupid.
“Lieutenant,” he said, “that jump gate leads right to Centauria. How is that a better plan?”
“Because they’re not expecting it. Sir, the enemy holds the high ground in Sirius. They’re waiting for us at the jump gate, and are expecting us to attack. Statistically speaking, we might win the fight, but then we’d be jumping back to Terra in a seriously weakened state, and no good against what might be waiting for us there.” He paused for effect. “Based on the tactical ingenuity we’ve seen so far, frankly I expect the Centauris to whip our asses before we even reach the Terran jump gate.”
Chandler looked ready to speak. Thomas knew he would never get another chance, and he pressed on.
“However, the enemy has no idea that we’ve discovered their secret gate. The number of ships they must have dedicated to the battle over the Terran gates has probably spread them thin, which means their secret gate will be lightly guarded, if at all. And their home star system is probably pretty empty—because most of their ships will be at the front.”
No one stopped him, so he kept talking.
“Sir, this is what I recommend,” he said. “Douse the artificial gravity on all ships, and go silent. The Centauris will see this, and prepare for a sneak attack on the Terran gate. They’ll focus their search for us at that end of the system. Meanwhile, we fade away in the other direction and slip through their secret gate. We get through Centauri space, punch through their defenses at the Terran gate in Centauria—where we’ll have the advantage because they’ll never expect us to be there—and then jump through to join the real battle for Terra.
“It’s the long way round, but they’ll never see us coming and we’ll join the main battle with substantially greater strength.”
Chandler’s expression was unreadable. “And what if we’re discovered transiting Centauria, Lieutenant? That’s a long way to go, through the heart of enemy territory, without being seen.”
Thomas had anticipated the question.
“Then our presence will create a huge distraction for Centauria, as they scramble to figure out how the hell a Terran expeditionary force got into the heart of their home system. They’ll have to pull back forces from the front. That might give Fleet the chance to seize the initiative and regain control of the jump gates.”
He looked around the table, trying to read the faces watching him in the dim light. No one spoke.
“Either way,” he concluded, “we’ll be of much greater help to Terra, hitting Centauria from behind, than if we walk into their trap and try and fight our way out of Sirius. Respectfully, sir.”
All eyes shifted from Thomas to Chandler. The commodore sat back, his gaze focusing out on some distant point. He remained still for a long moment. Then a wry smile curled his lips as he looked at Thomas.
“For a moment there, Mr. Kane, I lost faith in you. But you’re as devious as I’d ever hoped. But you didn’t think your plan through to its logical conclusion. We’ll sneak away and jump to Centauria, as you suggest. But they’ll be guarding their side of the Terran jump gate in Centauria, too.
“There’s a good chance we’ll be detected, so I say let’s go right into the lion’s den.” He sat forward and addressed the assembled staff. “Get the ship captains on the line. We’re not sneaking through Centauria—we’re invading Centauria.”
Thomas tried to speak, but no words came out. All around him, jaws fell open, and glances were exchanged.
Breeze was white.
“Commodore,” Korolev said slowly, “I’m afraid I’m having a bit of trouble keeping up with your thinking. If the EF is outclassed here in Sirius, why would we fare any better in the heart of Centauri space?”
Chandler had a gleam in his eye. One which Thomas knew well.
“I’m not saying we’ll fare any better. But by taking the fight to Centauria we can make a difference in this war. Kane’s right—smashing ourselves against their ships here in Sirius won’t help Terra. But if we can hit our enemy where it hurts the most, we can steal the initiative and turn the tide.”
Korolev nodded slowly. “And we all die glorious deaths for Terra.”
There was no sarcasm in the colonel’s tone, but Thomas sensed a subtle lack of conviction.
Chandler appeared to take the words at face value. He nodded curtly, and turned to Erikson. “How long to reach the Centauri gate at maximum stealth speed?”
“With AG disabled, we can make better time,” the operations officer said, sounding anything but convinced. “So… forty hours.”
“At which point they’ll still be waiting for our attack at the Terran gate. They’ll spend days trying to locate us in the Sirian system.” Chandler smiled. “Spread out the force to maximum dispersion. Stealth is the only thing that matters now.”
Thomas listened as Chandler discussed various aspects of stealth warfare with the ASW controller. He caught a wide-eyed glance from Breeze, and an ambiguous look from Colonel Korolev. He dropped his eyes, and tried to shake off the cobwebs in his head.
Breeze had been right—he did know Chandler best. And knowing Chandler, he should have realized that the commodore had one driving motivation, above all others: one thing he sought with single-minded focus.
Glory.
To die in Sirius would have sufficed, since the cause was noble. But to die striking at the heart of the enemy, to save Terra from afar, a lone commander with his rag-tag fleet making the ultimate sacrifice…